As far as pain went, this was not the worst. Breaking through to tier four with dissonant essence topped the list, but on a scale of one to ten, it was a twenty. Having multiple broken bones was definitely still a nine or ten. This was the first thought Tristan had when he woke up. The second was to stare forlornly at the empty essence reservoir he held to his gut.
Finally, there was anger, “Vulcan. Why did you try to kill me!”
“Do some math you moron,” Vulcan’s voice was just as irritable as Tristan’s
“What math! I’m not going to calculate how hard I have to hit the ground before I die.”
“We are still inside the range of Viral’s metal sense,” Vulcan said back, “You need to get farther away before he starts tearing the mountain apart.”
Viral, so was that the name of the person who destroyed the Caldera. How would Vulcan know his name? Didn’t he die a thousand or so years ago? He was about to ask Vulcan about it, but he could feel the ancient being going back to sleep. Tristan moaned he had a few broken bones and a tier fifteen that slept more than a geriatric grandpa.
He shelved his anger for later and assessed his injuries again. His leg was still broken and so was his arm, but the fingers on the hand holding the amulet were healed. Tristan’s ribs were also better, he was glad that he wouldn’t have any trouble breathing, but he would have rather gotten his leg working again.
Thankfully his bag was still intact. Tristan started hobbling his way towards his property. The Epsom salts burned as they worked their way into the various cuts on his palm and knees. He shoved his books, skull, and essence reservoirs into his bag. There were several other nick-nacks. A pendant from Janis and an emblem showing that he was part of the River Caldera’s guard.
Tristan had not realized that the most valuable thing about Janis’s payment was the cord the pendant hung from. Removing it from the rope, Tristan ripped a relatively straight branch from a tree that had carved a rut through the dirt when it was thrown by the explosion. After stripping the needles off, he attempted to make a splint. He tied the pendant cord around his ankle - it hurt, but it would hold.
Now he needed to set the bone so that he could tie off the top. Tristan had never broken a bone this badly before. One of the benefits of a metal kern was super durable bones. He had gotten fractures before, but with his healing alloy, it was possible to quite literally walk those off. The bones had to be lined up, that was about all he knew.
Tentatively he touched it to push the two ends back in line. Pain flared in his leg and he jerked his hand back. He contemplated simply waiting for his leg to heal itself. Tristan was sure that the healing alloy would pull his leg back into place, that was the purpose of the architect force. It kept the growth force in check.
Looking to the north where the Lake Caldera had been, Tristan decided that he didn’t have a handful of days to waste. Gritting his teeth he wrenched the bone back into place. He just hoped that he was too far away for Viral to hear his scream. The bone did not snap back into place, it ground back into place, the two ends weren’t quite aligned when he decided haste was his best course of action.
Blinking tears from his eyes Tristan started searching for something he could use to tie off the top of the splint. He could use one of the straps from his backpack. That would make walking an issue. His shirt could work. He decided that being shirtless was better than limping with a single strapped backpack.
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The ground shook again. Tristan started hurrying. He tied off the splint and then searched for something he could use as a crutch. A ‘Y’ shaped branch was his best bet. It came as a bit of a surprise when he found a pitchfork embedded point first in a tree about thirty feet away. Hobbling his way over the debris strewn ground, he pried the farming implement free.
Was it perfect? No. Would it work? Yes. He set to work removing most of the tines. Using his knife he sliced all but an inch of all four tines off. After testing the height he found that it was a few inches short of what he needed. He grabbed a piece of shattered wood that probably came from the same barn the pitchfork was stored in. Tristan cut it down to the right size before hammering it down onto the tines.
After making sure the points failed to go completely through the wood, Tristan rounded out the top and placed it under his arm. The creation was far from comfortable, without a grip parallel to the ground Tristan had to twist his wrist at an awkward angle to hold himself up. Still, it would work for the days that he needed it.
With difficulty, he put his backpack on and started hobbling to the edge of the Caldera. It did not take him long to realize how slow he was going. Before, Tristan could comfortably break a two minute mile. Now he was lucky to move the same distance in fifteen minutes. It was not even difficult to work as, despite his enhanced weight, Tristan did not struggle to support himself.
The air vibrated every so often, letting Tristan know that Viral was still tearing the Caldera apart. For some reason, the vibrations came through the air. The earth no longer trembled like it had with the first two explosions. Tristan did not know if that meant that Luke and Eve would be safe, but it gave him some hope.
Moving so slowly gave Tristan time to think. He had abandoned Drew. Just let go of him and ran. It would have been better for Drew if he had cut off the smith's hand and dragged him along…..but then the explosion would have pulped him. There was no way Drew’s tier zero or one fire kern attribute body would have held up as well as Tristan's.
He had finally made himself a home. Sure there was still the Temple, but he would be willing to bet that everyone had someone petty who disliked them. Most of the rest of the Caldera appreciated him, there had been no jeers when Eve had handed him the medal. There was little chance that a single one of those people were still alive.
A voice in the back of his head whispered. You didn’t really need them anyway.
For a second he thought it was Vulcan talking. It wasn’t, the artifact was still sleeping off the stress of the day. Shaking his head, he cleared the thought away. Sure he did not need them in the same way he needed water or food. Biology would keep ticking along regardless of human companionship.
However, he still needed them in a very real sense. As much as he wanted to be self sufficient, it was not a good choice. The largest difference between himself and the moral void that was Hadrid were the people around them. Tristan had nearly the same tier, the same force, shared at least one alloy, were both rejected by society and were even acquainted with the same set of sisters.
They diverged in the type of relationships they had. Tristan was not perfect, but he had people around him to keep him from falling. Siren would keep his ego down, Luke pushed him to face greater and greater challenges, and Eve was innocent in a way that made him want to keep her safe.
It was your job to keep them safe. His subconscious pushed forward.
“Shut up,” Tristan growled to himself.
It wasn’t wrong though. He had tried to keep them alive, they had most likely been cooked in the oven-like temperatures the world had gotten to. The sun was starting to rise. Dawn’s twilight mixed with the harsh glow created by Viral’s fire essence to create a facsimile of noon. Tristan looked up, realizing it had been months since he had seen the stars.
“What should I do then?” Tristan was lost, he had wanted to leave the Caldera and its people behind for so long. Now it felt like a curse.
He looked for answers in his past and checked to see if Vulcan was available to speak to. Just get strong enough that no one can take anything from you again. Tristan set his jaw, it worked for the Steel Saint. That man had been born in a tribal village according to Conni’s stories. He grew to kill dragons, then he killed gods.
If he could do it alone, Tristan could do it with the guidance of that man’s descendant. Wounds would heal with time. He would just have to make sure those wounds would never be made again.