Claire’s shaky exhalation of relief upon feeling the arrival of Zozar was met by a different response from those around her, though in spirit it was the same. The air inside the cramped mine hummed, almost but not quite a chorus as the air gestalt of the sanctuary vibrated the air around them. They were all communicating with each other, and not even the elder was in a place where they could try to translate.
It had been harder on them. Claire just had to worry about the monster above breaking through the barriers placed over the mine and killing them all. For the air gestalt, there was an active danger in that the atmosphere inside the mine was stale. Holes had been cut to allow for breezes to flow through, though they had begun to be blocked as structures above rained debris down. Some of the gestalt, likely those created with the lowest endurance, had begun to gain a muddy complexion and were the first to break for the surface when the feeling of safety hit.
That was how Claire knew she’d managed it. Zozar had come, bringing the Sojourn with them. It would take an army to pry her from their grasp, assuming she was still welcome back into the fold. Would she fail in her goal after getting this close to freedom?
…
“Sir, what’s going on?” Janice was content yet confused at the sudden death of the veteran stone eagle. Having been about to abandon the sanctuary to its fate, the sudden appearance of the cloud island had saved both the gestalt and her conscience.
“The locals called in air support,” Tounaki quipped, still in her Flame Form and enjoying every second of it. She could adjust the type of flame she was made of and was using this power to add a multi-colored aspect to it reminiscent of the Regent. “Whew. Job done. I’m asking for time off after this.”
“It’s not over.” Quala, rejoining her team on the outskirts of Marbleview, sounded far more concerned than anyone else.
“What is it?” Murdon asked.
The Cleric looked up at the cloud island and the collective on it. “That is Claire’s Sojourn. It has to be. I don’t know if it was coincidence or…” she shook her head, thought trailing off. “Murdon, they have the strength to take Claire. If they don’t understand the danger, that air gestalt will doom her with their kindness.”
“That’s a Sojourn?” Murdon might have put the pieces together sooner, but the reclusive traveling groups didn’t tend to interact much with the public when they didn’t have to. “I’d heard each had a guardian, but that? Whoever that gestalt is could blow Soraso off Aurus’ court like they were extinguishing a candle.”
A space a short distance from him was suddenly cut through, a line tracing through the air and expanding to reveal a distant place. Soraso stepped through, the sword of Threst in his hand. “I hope you don’t underestimate me that much, Murdon. I could put up an ounce of a fight.” The gestalt looked up at the cloud island. “Eh, not much more than that though. It’s probably for the best Zozar beat me here.”
“Regent, they’re going to take Claire,” Quala pleaded, not questioning why Soraso was here or here alone. “You can speak to this Zozar, can’t you? They need to understand the danger Claire is in.”
“I don’t know if they’ll listen to you if Claire’s one of their people,” Soraso warned uncertainly.
“Regent, please. You are the leader of Threst, can’t you tell them to give Claire to us?”
“Nooot the best idea,” Soraso replied, face displaying a frown. “Look, I’ll see what I can do. You can’t tell, but the air gestalt need more help than she does right now. Most of their homes are gone and they all nearly died.”
“Of course,” Quala backtracked. “I honestly don’t know how much help I can personally be, but I would try. My concern is still for Claire being in the hands of people who don’t understand her condition.”
Soraso sighed gustily. “Alright, I’ll talk to Zozar. They aren’t impossible to deal with and you all scored some points for helping out against the monster. At least, I assume you did because Murdon is here and my young hotshot is flared up.”
“Regent,” Tounaki replied, bowing her head. The Arcanist looked far more subdued in Soraso’s presence, even suppressing the wild fluctuations along the edges of her fiery form to appear more like her normal self. She’d also banished her different colors, back to the solid flame red that normally colored her feathers.
“Yeah yeah,” he sighed again in complete opposition to her formality. Looking straight at the air gestalt Murdon had singled out earlier, he added, “Wish me luck.”
…
Claire did not doubt that Zozar had seen her. You didn’t get to their level and not have a near omniscient understanding of the immediate area you could affect, especially with wisdom as a primary stat of their class. Yet she still found herself waving her arms above her head at her Sojourn above, wondering why no one at all had come down. Or, preferably, told Zozar to come get her.
The only reason she wasn’t shouting was that she’d spotted that Cleric on the island, along with the former Commander of the Thormundz. They were standing next to a fire gestalt of all things. Where’d they found one of those? Her Sojourn didn’t have one, and that was the most cosmopolitan group in the region. Crest, she hadn’t even heard of one being in either Threst or Thormundz region. The natural wind affinity just made it too intolerable for their kind.
That matter aside, she was feeling something bordering concern as the continued refusal to acknowledge her existence. Part of the reason she’d gone to the Thormundz was a deal that would have allowed the Sojourn to leave the region once the Spoke was finished. While Blessed typically benefited from free travel between regions, but it was a different matter for commoners. Many established governments disliked what they claimed was a destabilizing effect of the traveling groups, and Rikendia had finally forced the issue years ago.
Were they to be stuck even longer in Threst because of what happened in the Thormundz? While Claire’s purpose in life now was to bring about the death of that dragon, she still cared for her people.
From nowhere, the most colorful air gestalt she’d ever seen appeared out of the air in front of her through a slash in space. It took her mind a few seconds to provide the relevant information on Threst’s current leader, though she didn’t have all the facts. When he spoke, she just blinked in confusion for a few seconds. “Claire Elsemar? I am Soraso, Regent of Threst. I must speak with you on a matter of import.”
It was the formal way of speaking common to the court of Threst, puffed up like the rest of lofty nobility that cared only for style rather than substance. Still, she couldn’t stop herself from asking the question. “You can talk?”
“Yes,” the Regent answered dispassionately. “And you can bring chaos to one of the most well-organized sections of my city.”
“I was being unjustly detained,” Claire protested, now realizing the reason for Zozar’s noninterference. Frankly, the leader of her Sojourn could squash the Regent of Threst like a bug. They wouldn’t, both because the Regent was a fellow air gestalt, and for the same reason the Sojourn hadn’t packed up and left Threst the moment Aurus started their posturing: Rikendia.
Zozar had made the unfortunate mistake of becoming too powerful and too noticeable. The King had issued an ultimatum to her roving Sojourn after receiving enough complaints from those they’d passed through. Either settle, disperse, or become enemies of the state. Zozar could beat a lot of things, but if Rikendia bothered to send an army after them, they’d be blown away just as easily as the Regent in front of them.
She’d feel anger towards Rikendia for this if not for the sole rage burning in her that overcame even the immediate effects of Calm Emotions. It was there, always, driving her. The Regent, as if reading her mind, tsk’d in a way air gestalt definitely shouldn’t be able to. “The actions you took, regardless of the motivation, broke Threst’s laws. That’s enough to get you tossed out of the basement and into a cell.” He coughed then, another impossibility, seemingly just for the effect alongside the recognition that he’d begun to break decorum. “Regardless, there are special circumstances to consider. I have deliberated with Zozar and the representative of the church of the Hand on how best to approach this and we’ve come to a tentative agreement.”
“And I don’t get a say?” Perhaps the smart thing to do here would be to act respectfully and plead for mercy, but Claire realized if they cared about what she’d thought, the Regent would have asked-
“That’s actually most of the compromise.”
Claire’s thoughts broke off as she digested that. “What?”
“You’ll just escape again.” Soraso waived a hand as if to fully banish any expectation of propriety, fully discarding the high tones he’d begun to stray from earlier. “They aren’t willing to do what they’d need to to keep you contained as that would ‘interfere with your treatment’.”
“I’m not sick,” Claire ground the words out, more from a weariness of repeating an old argument than actual anger.
The Regent held up his hands. “You don’t have to convince me. You don’t have to convince anyone. But she wants another shot at convincing you.” He nodded towards Quala, who was watching the conversation. “If I understand right, you don’t hate her for what she’s done, do you?”
Claire searched herself for the answer and looked down slightly when she found it. “No. I know she thinks she’s doing what’s best for me, but that’s for me to decide! I know what my future is. All she’s doing is delaying my vengeance.”
Soraso gave her one of the most piercing looks she’d ever received, impressive for someone without actual eyes. His voice was contemplative as he spoke, half mocking and half sincere. “Oh Octyrrum, the ‘v’ word. She’s too late, isn’t she?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t worry, she’ll tell you. This is the deal. You speak with Quala, give her a chance to make a final pitch. If you don’t like the price, you can walk.”
“And what if she uses a power to twist my mind into agreeing with her?” Claire challenged, more to point out the flaw in his offer than anything else.
“Has she used something like that before?”
“Not that I know.”
“And she won’t now.” Soraso made the sound of two pillows colliding as he clapped. “This is the deal, otherwise it gets messy. You go with Zozar or you go with Quala, but it will be your choice and Aurus washes its hands of it unless you do something else that gets our attention.” He gestured towards Quala, giving a thumbs up, and she started walking towards Claire.
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Claire folded her arms. “I haven’t agreed to this deal yet.”
“Buuut you’re going to,” Soraso shot back impishly.
…
“Claire.” Quala’s voice was sad, like a mother’s who’d come home to find their child had kicked over the cooking pot in a fit of anger and burned themself in the process. Even now the sincerity she broadcasted with her eyes and the slight turn of her beak reached for something inside her. Unfortunately for the Cleric, there was nothing left to find.
“I’m leaving,” Claire stated.
“You hid your advancing well. I thought we were making progress.” Claire noticed the feathers on Quala’s outer arms were standing up slightly. That was normally a sign of fear, but that wasn't what she was getting from the Cleric. “Was I the problem? Did I make you feel uncomfortable, unable to share what you were truly feeling? I continued guardianship of your care because I was the most familiar with you, but if that is a problem changes can be made.”
“I’m not going back,” Claire repeated, at the same time trying to figure Quala out. Either she was very good at manipulating people, or she really was disheartened and worried by the prospect of Claire getting away. “You only have yourselves to blame. Telling any of you the truth of what I was feeling, what I wasn’t feeling, would have gotten me locked down harder. Can you honestly say I would have had a chance to escape if you’d put me in one of the secure wards?”
Quala’s face twisted into a rueful grin. “After the past 24 hours, I think you would have found a way. At least we could have spoken with more honesty. Like we are now. I chose the approach I did, the exercises, and recommendations I did, because I was mistaken about your true thoughts and feelings. You don’t need to spare mine with your words. If you think you can be this open with me going forward, I’m confident we can work through what happened to you.”
Claire kicked a piece of wood beneath her feet, a shard of one of the slat walls the monster had trashed. The damage wasn’t as total as it first appeared. It was still bad, but the monster hadn’t taken the time to ground every building to dust. With effort, the pieces could be salvaged and put back together, possibly saving a great deal of time, effort, and resources to bring fresh material here. Claire thought it would be wasteful to throw away everything from the past just because of one bad incident, but then again she wasn’t thinking about Marbleview.
“I’m going to get revenge for my brother. For everyone that thing killed.” She spat on the ground.
“Claire, even if that dragon is still out there-”
“I’m not here to debate this!” Claire shouted, voice rising out of nowhere as Quala tapped on the glass case surrounding her one true emotion. “I don’t care if it takes me decades. Centuries! I’m going to kill it because Parduc was my brother. I shouldn’t have to explain it any better than that.”
Quala was silent for a moment, eventually asking a question she clearly didn’t want the answer to. “Claire, did you develop a bond after losing Parduc?”
The sharp look Claire gave her was answer enough, but she confirmed it anyway. “Does it matter? Even if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t stop. Even if I hadn’t found a way to level again, I wouldn’t have stopped. Even if you lock me away for years, I’ll just be using the time to plan. Most people move on, Quala. That’s what you told me. Sooner or later you would slip again, have a more important person to devote your time and energy to, and maybe so much time would pass you wouldn’t notice I was gone.”
The Cleric had tried to speak several times during her small rant but Claire had just kept talking and accepted no interruption. In the end, there was that same sad look on Quala’s face, one Claire was beginning to faintly hate as it blamed her for all the Cleric’s problems in the world. “It is my belief,” Quala stated, seemingly more for her benefit than Claire’s, “That no one is beyond saving. Not until death, and sometimes, with the Hand’s guidance, not even then.”
“Bring my brother back and I’ll believe you.” Claire stared into Quala’s eyes until she looked away.
Quala collapsed in that moment, losing the tailwind of hope that had kept her going this far. “I am a lacking servant of my god in that way,” she said, voice small. “As I am in this one, it seems. I can’t find the words to reach you.”
“My heart is a bastion,” Claire declared. “It has taken the worst this world can give it and grown all the stronger so that its foundation may never again be shaken. There’s nothing to reach, Quala, because I don’t need your help.” She drew out her words towards the end. “How many times do I need to say it?”
“No more.” Quala breathed deeply. “No more. Perhaps my greatest failing was in trying to save you. And then to persist for so long. Too prideful by far.”
The immediate self-reflection took Claire aback for a moment, but then she reasoned that someone in Quala’s position had to be good at that kind of thing if they wanted other people doing it too. At least, if they wanted to be good at their job. As her temper cooled, Claire returning to her baseline calm, she realized she did think of Quala as a good Cleric. The handling of her aside, there wasn’t a lot to complain about. The abject dejection on Quala’s face started to bother her. “You made one mistake. I won’t say there aren’t people messed up enough to not need the kind of treatment you gave me. I just wasn’t one of them.”
Quala’s eyes turned and Claire found something approaching gratitude in them, though it was fleeting. The Cleric was mostly resigned at this moment. “Without me, I doubt there would be many pushing for your return to treatment. The floor warden, for one, would be happy if you never came back.” Quala closed her eyes and nodded. “And I no longer believe it is in your best interest to come back with me. Not because you don’t need my help, but because I can’t help you. I pray, Claire, that one day you find someone who can.”
Claire didn’t know what to think about that unless she meant finding someone who could help her kill a dragon. She’d take that kind of divine blessing. “Good. I’d stick around to say goodbye, but I think after what I’ve been through I’ll just leave it there.” Without further word, without giving Quala the chance to say anything else, Claire turned around and walked towards where her Sojourn hung in the sky.
She was still driven to get her revenge, eventually. For now, after convincing the church of the Hand to back off, all she wanted to do was go home.
…
Murdon sat in the same office that a certain teshak had been harangued in a few days earlier. His fate was not set for the same unpleasantness, in fact it was the Regent who might expect some terseness. It was finally time for Soraso to explain just why he’d had Murdon stick around in Threst for a month longer than he’d needed to.
The Regent, the Bard, like he liked to do, began with an inane tangent. “So, you didn’t take a shine to Tounaki? I thought you might have rather liked her, and vice versa.”
Murdon almost stood up then and there. It wouldn’t have been too rude since Soraso was in one of his dramatic stances by the window, the kind air gestalt could really pull off since they didn’t have bones, joints, or flesh to get in the way of a good posing. “Seriously? That factored into why you chose her?”
“Of course! It was the entire point.” Soraso split off hair-like strands of cloud from his head just so he could rub a hand through them. “I mean, seriously Murdon, from what I’ve heard you were practically celibate ever since you went off to the Thormundz.”
“I was busy. The world’s been trying to end, if you’ve forgotten,” Murdon objected. “Why do you even care? Gestalt don’t reproduce that way and don’t you dare tell me you’ve gotten some kind of power that lets you-”
“No, no, nothing like that.” Soraso cut him off before Murdon brought the conversation so far down in the mud that even he, the most irreverent Regent Threst ever had, had to object. You had to have some standards or else you wouldn’t have anything at all. “It’s more, well, think of it like this, Murdon. I am a Bard. I think the fact that my people can take this class tells you it is deeper than most give it credit for. I wonder if popular opinion on the subject doesn’t do it more harm than good.” He waved a hand, and Murdon couldn’t help but notice the gesture was angled towards a flute displayed in a case. Soraso’s original Focus, before taking the sword of Threst.
“Anyway,” he continued. “You are my friend. Even if I have to keep conflicts of interest to a minimum, and even if I have no personal stakes in these matters, I know how important private time with one another is to you fleshbags. If I can’t chase that dragon, then at least I can help others do that. Think of my take on the Bard class, well, one of them, as being the ultimate wingman.”
Murdon groaned, wondering if Soraso really had gone through all this trouble for his benefit, or just to set up that joke. “Soraso, first, if you’re going to do something like that, tell me. And I told you, I can’t spare the attention. The world is at stake.”
“Yes, yes, you mentioned that already.” Soraso pointed a finger at Murdon’s chest from across the room, the hand having separated from the arm to pull it off. “But in answer to you, first, if you knew what I was doing I would have lost all plausible deniability of it being reinforcements for a mission of mercy. Think about how that would reflect on me, sending a subordinate along with a friend and his three other friends on a remote mission where they’d be very alone, having told said friend I was expecting my subordinate to hit on them.” Soraso shook his head dramatically.
Well, when you put it that way, Murdon thought.
“And another thing. Murdon, the world ended when Eido vanished. Then it ended a few weeks after that when some god-tier monster started waking up. Then it ended again when you discovered the Illustrious may still be kicking around somehow. Most recently, it also ended because your friend wasn’t able to help some poor, misguided Arcanist.”
“That last one is a stretch,” Murdon mumbled, intelligent enough to see where this was going. “I just, it doesn’t feel right. When everything could come crashing down at a moment’s notice? That thing in the mountains is right across the region’s border. An army of monsters could appear in the next few minutes and I’d be dead before sundown.”
Soraso gave the draconoid a disbelieving look and then laughed. “Murdon, I said I don’t have first-hand experience with romance, but I still know that’s one of the times you turn to others for comfort the most. Maybe not with the same intentions as in peace time, but as far as I knew my little soon-to-be Pyromancer burns alone these days.”
“Should you know that kind of information?”
Soraso dithered for a few moments. “Ultimately, aren’t I the best to if anyone has to? The point being, Murdon, is that if you want to get attention here, all you need to do is use that armor trick out on the open street and it won’t take long. Tounaki described that power in detail in her report and I didn’t even ask her to log anything like that. I don’t remember asking her to submit a report!”
It should be said that Murdon was the kind of person to feel slight discomfort from this kind of attention, even if it was by proxy. He was the reluctant leader type, after all. Still, he found it in himself to dig out one more quip. “Use my powers to find a partner? What am I, a Bard?”
Soraso clapped a hand over where his heart would be if he had one. “My word good sir!” he exclaimed in mockery of the court’s high speech, turning it up higher to the kind almost no one used anymore. “Thou hath wounded me.”
They both smiled as Murdon felt the topic begin to drop. They hadn’t reached a conclusion, though he felt Soraso hadn’t been leading the conversation towards one anyway. The Bard had just wanted to give him a push, it was up to Murdon to fly or fall. “So,” Murdon spoke up finally, a grave note entering his voice. “Why?”
“Yes, well, that. Oddly topical given the surprise appearance of Zozar. There is a lot to explain and I don’t feel comfortable discussing some parts, even here.” He gestured to the office broadly. “Too many eyes, ears, and feathered asses lying in wait to catch me acting unbecoming.”
“They need to wait for that?” Murdon asked with a raised eyebrow.
“What, this? This is just my normal eccentricity, to hear some of the court put it. It’s the bar I’ve set with great effort and balance so I can act like a complete monkey in front of all of them without igniting a civil war. No,” Soraso sighed. “No, this is actually about something serious. I’ve already sent a message to Aughal requesting the rest of your team come here, every single one of note. Lograve, that exile we’re officially pardoning, and an as of yet unnamed but promising team I’m informed you had a hand in putting together. To name names. Or, not to.” He frowned, getting side-tracked again. “Do you know why they haven’t come up with a name yet? They do know you can change it if you don’t like it, or realize it’s stupid down the line? We had a team named the ‘Ruddy Beaks’ which, if you’ll believe it, wasn’t intentional innuendo but a case of someone thinking that word meant something else. I blame our guild’s ban on similar-sounding team names, personally. And everyone’s insistence on putting some kind of bird reference in them.”
Rather than answer the questions that bordered on rhetorical, Murdon just waited for Soraso to tire himself out and get to the point. He did, eventually. “So, Murdon. We discovered something, quite by accident. A ruin, and we’re pretty sure it dates back to before the Collapse. It’s above the sky limit.”
“Above the sky limit?” Murdon thought this was another joke at first, or at least the setup to one. “There is no ‘above the sky limit’. And old world ruins? Those are rarer than alabaster. Anything the first world built was reduced to ash and dust.”
“Unless it was kept safe. Above the sky limit,” Soraso repeated.
Murdon fixed Soraso with a stare. “We both know there’s nothing above the sky limit unless you’re being cheeky about your definition of the word up.”
“I’m being exactly literal, Murdon.” Soraso summoned the sword of Threst, the manifestation of the Spoke of the region and thus the Octyrrum’s investiture in it. “Maybe I should start at the beginning.”