Toren Daen

I sat cross-legged on a white platform in an endless purple expanse. This zone had no sky, no sun, and nothing resembling the waking world.

Promise floated near where I tied off a bandage. When I cinched it tight, wincing at the slight stroke of pain, my glowing dagger glided smoothly in, cutting off the bare excess of white cloth.

I was going to have another scar on my arm when that healed. Thankfully, it wouldn’t debilitate me in a fight, but I wondered when my body would have more scar tissue than normal skin.

“Your mastery of the First Phase has improved dramatically,” my bond commented, staring out into the purple nothingness. It fascinated and unnerved the asura in equal measure, where I simply dissociated until such things didn’t bother me anymore.

Coming from another world tended to have that effect on your ability to suspend disbelief.

“I can’t use it too often, though,” I said, flexing my hand. The leather of my gloves creaked as I clenched and unclenched my fists. The red washed out of them surprisingly easily, considering how many times I’d bled on them. Though there was a faint tinge that I couldn’t remove anymore. “My basilisk blood remains close to the surface. If I use the Will in succession too many times, it’s sure to wake.”

I usually waited a few days between uses of my Will and only engaged the Acquire Phase when absolutely necessary. I’d been in this zone for a couple of weeks so far, traveling from platform to platform.

It was the same zone Arthur had traveled through soon after the creation of his aether core. These were the same platforms that brought forth the creation of the Destruction rune and allowed Regis to gain a corporeal form.

At least I thought it was the same. Some of the platforms differed slightly from the description. Did that mean this was a different zone, or did it simply adapt to my presence?

“And your use of the Will is… partial as well, Contractor,” Lady Dawn said. “Akin to a man who uses an axe only to cut down foes, rather than fell a tree.”

The phoenix watched as a paper poster drifted in the endless aetheric expanse past my glowing white platform. It was far enough away that I would be unable to reach it, even with telekinesis.

The words on the front read ‘Fall Out Boy,’ and the men displayed clearly resembled the members of the band. Except there were tiny details wrong: a nose a bit too large, a smile too thin, a hairstyle out of place. It was as if the band were drawn from memory.

I’d gotten used to random objects that looked like they’d be from Earth drifting in the aetheric atmosphere after the first week, where they popped up every couple of days. This one still threw me for a loop. Patrick Stump had an absolutely appalling bowl cut in that poster, and I was nearly certain that the lead singer for Fall Out Boy never wore such an atrocity against nature.

If he did, I’d have to stop humming Centuries to myself when I cut through hordes of aether beasts.

I shook away my bewilderment at the image. “What am I missing, then?” I asked, taking a glance at the next platform. It hovered in a seemingly endless void, a few shimmering steps of solidified aether inviting me to follow. They followed a predictable pattern: white, red, orange, blue, then black. I’d just managed to kill the boss monster on my sixth black platform.

“The full goal of the Will is to assimilate the knowledge into yourself, much as you assimilate mana into your muscles, bones, and organs. You disperse this to your very being, instead of using the knowledge of countless phoenixes as a power boost.”

I rolled that knowledge around in my mind for a moment. Maybe when I get to a place where I can afford to meditate, I said. I’d made it out of the last boss battle with minimal injuries. I’d improved by leagues working through this zone, the regular testing and increasing difficulty serving as the perfect whetstone for the blade I was. But as ever, I was going to savor this white platform.

After a quick meal of protein paste and water, I withdrew my violin from my dimension ring. After the high-octane battle I had just been through, I took this time to try and center myself with one thing I was truly gifted at: music.

The clarwood finish of the violin rested comfortably against my collar

But as I set my bow against the strings, I watched Lady Dawn gaze out into the endless abyss. There was something lonely about that image. Like a sailor’s wife, staring out at the sea for signs of her wayward husband’s ship.

“Do you know any songs?” I asked. “Anything at all, really.”

The phoenix didn’t respond. The emptiness I felt over our bond seemed to widen, making me feel guilty for asking.

“If you don’t want to–”

“No, Contractor,” the asura interrupted, cutting across my thoughts and words. “It has been many long years since I have sung. I wonder if I still know how.”

I settled my violin down, the instrument forgotten for the moment. “As with anything, you’ve just gotta try,” I said, trying to be encouraging.

There were several more moments of almost uncomfortable silence. I opened my mouth to add something more, but then I felt the swell of emotion in her mind. Then she began to sing. It was a quiet, slow song. Her voice was an instrument unto itself, carrying a melody I could never catch with my own.

Oh, oh oh,

We are all here for you.

We are masters of the sky,

Oh, oh oh.

The phoenix’s voice was soft as a mother’s caress, and though I felt no change in the ambient sound mana, the melody she played sounded like magic.

Go kiss your young farewell, my dear,

Go sleep, you child, there’s no need to fight.

Birds and wraiths dance without fear.

They feel their joy while the day is bright,

And drift in silence when we are here.

It continued on for several more verses as I listened, mesmerized. It sounded… it sounded like a lullaby.

If you are happy, you’ll find peace first,

You work your way to a life filled with gold.

If you have hope, it will quench your thirst,

And leave you well, that’s what I’m told.

When Lady Dawn finally finished, her hauntingly smooth voice reaching a higher note before slowly tapering off, I watched her in obvious awe.

“You wondered if you still knew how?” I asked, a bit incredulous. I had the distinct impression my bond was uncomfortable under my awed gaze. I quickly shut my mouth.

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“It is an old phoenix lullaby,” my bond said, her emotions still settling. “I do not know how long it has been since it was created. My mother sang it to me when I was a chick, and I hummed it to my own son when he was young.” She was silent for a moment. “I wonder if my son will sing the words to his children, or if the song dies with me.”

She misses her Hearth, I realized, understanding the loneliness and sense of loss. I missed Earth and all the opportunities I had lost as well.

I smiled slightly, trying my best to add a measure of hope to the asura. “I think I might sing it to my own children if I ever have any,” I promised. “And I’ll tell them they’re the next in a very, very long line of children to hear it.”

The phoenix side-eyed me, but she stayed silent. I didn’t know if my words had done any good, or if they were leaves on the wind.

—

The next morning–or whatever counted for morning in the Relictombs–I faced off the next platform. Orange platforms gave me a unique enemy to fight, forcing me to think outside of the box. Blue platforms had unique puzzles and mind-bending logical puzzles. Black platforms were home to difficult boss monsters that drew all my latent powers and abilities to the fore.

But the red platforms, the first in the repeating cycle, were some of the most difficult. They tested my physical and mental fortitude, bombarding me with rampant emotions and sensations that I had to push through. From pervading electric shocks to overwhelming hunger, it seemed that nothing was off the table.

Promise floated of its own accord toward me, sheathing itself on my right hip. I had used it earlier to change the bandages on my forearm, which needed cycling after eight or so hours of rest.

Lady Dawn watched the platform with her own kind of apprehension. She wasn’t afflicted with the effects of the platforms, but she felt the effects over our bond.

“Are you prepared?” my bond asked me. My apprehension was no secret.

As ready as I’ll ever be, I thought back, watching the opaque red platform with no small amount of trepidation.

I took a single step onto a shimmering red stair, then another. The white platform slowly began to fade behind me as I continued on, the stairs following suit.

And soon I was on the red platform.

I blinked. I didn’t feel any different. Before, the effects had been immediate and like a tide, smashing into me all at once. From the jittering tangle of electric shocks making my knees buckle and the overwhelming hunger both felt as if some switch had been flipped in my brain.

Huh, I thought, anxious. If I wasn’t feeling the effect, that meant I was missing something. I slowly began to track toward the orange stairs, so far away. My footsteps slowed unconsciously as I walked, trying to think of the reason for this platform. They were supposed to make me stronger, weren’t they?

I spotted the Fall Out Boy poster again as it drifted on invisible currents. Another reminder of my previous life passed by, distorted slightly in every way.

I took another step, wondering. Would I eventually remember my previous life like that? Images slightly wrong, memories refracted by the glass of time?

I wondered sometimes about my previous life. Actually, I thought about it a lot. I was going to be something there, with dreams and aspirations. And maybe I could accomplish some of those in my new world. I could find love. Make a successful life for myself; complete with a family and a legacy to enjoy.

I took another couple of steps.

But there are some things I’ll never get back, I thought a bit sourly. Like computers, and book clubs, and my family and friends.

Sometimes, late at night, I wondered how they were taking my death. Did they mourn me, as I mourned Norgan? I vaguely remembered a car crash. Did the other driver survive? I couldn’t remember the circumstances surrounding that last night very well, but I hoped I wasn’t a murderer before I was reborn. But if the other driver was at fault, would my family pursue them with the same vengeance I did Kaelan Joan?

My walking slowed. I missed my old world so much. The constant pain and suffering of Alacrya was almost overwhelming at times. I felt so powerful; so sure of my own mana abilities. I could conjure a fire in my hand and distort the very vibrations of air. And yet people around me starved and died of blithe overdoses. How could I be so powerful in one way and so weak in another?

I stopped in the center of the platform, my thoughts coming faster now. After I got out of these Relictombs, I would have to simply go back in again. To increase my strength faster. Even as the weakest of them, Nico was a Scythe. If I wanted to prevent the Legacy’s reincarnation, I needed to become at least as powerful as Arthur was near the end of Dicathen’s war.

Could… could I even do that? I asked myself. Arthur had his failings, sure, but he was so much more than I was. He grasped his power with his own two hands, driven by his desire to protect others and shelter his loved ones.

And yet all around me, people died. How could I ever compare? How could I delude myself into thinking I could kill a Scythe? Arthur was a man with nearly forty years of worldly experience when he reincarnated, compared to my measly twenty-something.

My knees shook slightly, and I felt an overwhelming urge to simply lay down. The pressure came like it always did: working up my legs, grasping at my back, then weighing on my shoulders. And there it stayed, the lives of countless people dependent on my ability to stop the Legacy’s return.

But I should wait to rest until I got to the next platform. That was a better idea. More logical.

But what use is logic, a traitorous voice whispered in my mind, In the face of divinity? You seek to kill a demigod.

My legs trembled and I opened my mouth, my tongue working like a fish drowning on dry land.

Lay down here for a moment, the voice said. Sleep your troubles away. Maybe you’ll feel better afterward. Or maybe not. This world doesn’t need, you, does it? You are not a part of its story. Would it not be simpler to let the world continue as it should?

Yes, that was true. I was an outsider to this. How could I tell myself that my actions wouldn’t damn this place to hell? I’d failed so many times already. How many people died during that Clarwood Forest expedition? How many brothers did the Joans execute before I got to them?

I began to kneel.

“No, Contractor,” a quiet voice brushed against my thoughts. But it was small and insignificant compared to all the other voices that vied for my attention in my skull.

“You are more than this, Toren Daen,” the voice said again, the warmth in its tone pushing back against the hissing thoughts. “You are no failure.”

“How am I not?” I asked aloud. My voice sounded alien to my own ears, like I was listening to it from far away. “I can’t expect to do this. To actually alter this world’s future. Any change I make can make things so much worse. But I’m just… I’m just me.”

“And yet you acknowledge the power you have over a predestined Fate,” the voice soothed. I could recognize it now. My bond was sending a deluge of warmth and comfort over our tether, seeking to reinforce my psyche against the pervading dark. “If one touch can make a tower topple, then that touch must be significant indeed. Your story is not one of failure.”

I straightened slightly. She was right about that. It wasn’t all failure, was it?

“And you wanted to change this world for the better, did you not?”

I took a few more steps, my vision refocusing on the orange stairs not far away.

Yes, I thought. I hated Alacrya. I despised it with every ounce of my being. The death, the struggle, the common person broken under the yoke of tyrannical gods. My previous world was not perfect. But it was far easier to grow and thrive when you were allowed to think. And the things I hated about this world were going to change, weren’t they?

My feet neared the edge of the platform. The voices in my head seethed. But you have already failed, Toren Daen, they said. How many have died under your watch? How can you compare to the powers you seek to face? You are alone. You stand as a rock amidst a swirling ocean. You may stand for a while, but time weathers all.

But the voices were wrong. I couldn’t see it at the start, the pervading void encompassing my sight. But there was a kind light that anchored me, pushing through the cold nothingness with the guiding light of a North Star.

I rejected the message of despair, leaving my doubts behind. Maybe I would fail. Maybe I would make this world worse through my actions.

But I would stand strong in my convictions. I was not alone.

I stepped off the red platform.

Thank you, Aurora, I thought, sending quiet gratitude toward my bond.