Merchants and livery folk hurried in and out of the main doors of the Erudoran embassy with boxes, baskets, and bags of goods, and an elegantly dressed man sprinted past Riot with a vivid green dress draped over his arms.

“A party in my honor, is it?” Riot asked grimly.

Kerne chuckled. “I’m glad you still have a sense of humor. The Erudoran Embassy is hosting a ball this evening, the biggest of the season.”

“The Covenant army is on their doorstep, and they spend the night dancing,” Riot replied with a shake of his head.

“We won’t see Bimil-pal until the spring. He won’t breach the outer defenses, and then he’ll turn back when too many of them freeze to death,” Kerne replied.

Inside, valets, servants, and maids hurried too and fro with silver trays, armfuls of crisp linen, and vases of flowers. In the corner of a ballroom, a trio of musicians tuned their instruments, and the smell of fine food wafted through hallways, which were hung with antique weapons and armor in the Erudoran style. Stern faced Erudorian nobles frowned down from their portraits, glowering in their disapproval as if they knew full well Riot's family history.

“What’s going to happen now?” Riot asked as they descended into the bowels of the residence.

“You’ll undergo the procedure to be bound to an arcane leyline.”

“I thought the Wikkan didn’t like Leybound. You don’t have a problem with this?”

“We’re not binding Wikkan leylines, are we? You’d need four Wikkan for that anyway, and we famously do not play well together.”

They emerged into a cobbled courtyard that was several stories below the embassy. The curved walls were at least thirty feet high and opened out onto the sky, creating an oasis of calm in the frenzy of the residence, but Riot’s thoughts were dominated by the large wooden table with leather straps nailed into it. It was identical to another table, in another place, a long time ago.

Riot stopped, stock still. “Rook had a table like this, and he was an arcanist,” he said, his voice tight.

“From what I understand, he was a part of early leybound experiments,” Kerne replied.

Human experiments. There had been broken bodies all over the place. Most of them burned, melted almost.

“They told me he was a madman, that he tortured them, but he was making leybound?”

“Alric Rook was most certainly a madman. But he was also an arcanist, and the arcanum were very careful to cover everything up. They made you a sergeant, didn’t they?”

“They told me to keep my mouth shut.”

“Well, however unsavory it was, the work of the past will contribute to your elevated chances of survival today.” Kerne pulled Riot's uniform out of a cloth sack. “I retrieved this for you. I know how sentimental soldiers are about old flags and rags, and the new leybound commander wishes for you to wear a uniform.”

The jacket was the dark blue of the Duke of Fallow, and it was the only uniform he had ever worn. It was a battered rag for the most part; the white fabric of the lapels had long since fallen off, and it had been mended and patched so many times that it looked like a poor gleeman's coat.

Kerne rolled the uniform jacket into a ball as the sound of booted feet could be heard approaching.

“Sergeant Riot, You’ve gotten yourself into a fine scrape, haven’t you?” Riley boomed as he emerged into the chamber.

Riot groaned softly. The last time he had seen Riley, the arcanist had been bolting away from them while they ran for their lives.

“A hedron survivor,” Riley continued. “You know there have only been a handful; I looked them up, you are the only one to keep all of your limbs. But what would anyone expect from you, eh? The last man.”

“We are fortunate to have Arcanist Riley. There were not many members of the arcanum willing to help you. You have your former commander to thank for that.”

“Williams?”

“No, Captain Mercer. His father is a master arcanist of the Arcanum at Volos. There aren't many who would defy him and perform the procedure on you.”

“Fortunately enough, sergeant, I cannot be bought; it is my solemn duty to aid my comrade in arms. That is to say, I also had certain requests that only Wikkan Kerne here could arrange for me.” Riley gave Kerne an exaggerated wink. “But we won’t say any more about it. A wonderful surprise, what!”

Riot flinched; his nerves stretched to breaking point.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

“I have an elixir that should improve the sergeant's chances of survival.” Kerne said, patting her pockets absently and producing a small vial of silver liquid.

Riley held it up to the lamplight to appraise it. “Fine, very fine, much better than the muck that we use over here. Drink it all up, sergeant.”

“What is it?” Riot asked.

“It’s liquid linium. You’re not an innate magic user, and as you lack the channels for the arcane ley power to flow through, it will carve them directly into your body. The linium will help to lessen your resistance and hopefully stop you from being ripped apart.”

Riley produced a smaller flask and unscrewed the cap.

“What about that one?” Riot asked.

“This, dear boy, is a very fine brandy, and though its usefulness in this procedure is yet to be proven, I remain dedicated to exploring it.” Riley took a deep pull from the flask and smacked his lips. “That’s better.”

Riot held the small vial, watching as the light from the oil lamps seemed to be sucked into the thick liquid.

“There’s enough there to buy a whole regiment and pay them for a year. A gift from Roveran,” Kerne said.

“And what does Roveran want in exchange?” Riot asked.

Kernes face was a careful mask. “You think highly of yourself, Nathaniel. It’s likely that Lord Roveran has already quite forgotten all about you.”

“Now drink it up, and up on the table with you, sergeant,” Riley boomed.

The door was open; he could likely make it out. But what then? Even if he managed to flee the city, he had no money, and winter was already upon them. Then there was Roveran, a leybound who commanded Colonels, set far above the rank and file. If he led the combined armies of Erudor and the regiments, would the leybound still be seen the same way?

Riot sat up on the table, flicked the cork out with his thumb, and drained the vial. It had a metallic taste that was unpleasant, but as far as he could tell, there was no other effect. “I can’t feel anything.”

“You will. Arcanist Riley will conduct a leyline through your body, just as if he were threading a needle; if it is not suitable, he will withdraw it and find another. You will find the process quite uncomfortable,” Kerne explained.

“These are to stop me moving?” Riot said, eyeing the straps.

“Yes, but in this case, you won’t need them; the elixir you drank contains a formidable paralytic.”

Every muscle in Riot’s body was taken out of his control, and as he flopped helplessly backwards, Kerne thrust the balled uniform out to cushion his head. He was utterly powerless, only able to take in shallow breaths as he stared up at the empty hole in the ceiling.

“That seems a little unsporting, Ritta,” Riley said with a pout.

“This is how they do it in Erudor, and most of theirs survive. Is there anything I can do to assist you?” Kerne asked.

“I believe I understand the theory well enough; perhaps you could extinguish the lamps.” Riley leaned over and thumbed open Riot's eyelids, so close that Riot could see the broken veins on his nose and smell the liquor on his breath. “Sergeant Riot, you are about to witness something that very few can lay claim to having seen.”

The night sky above was dark one moment, and the next, a serpent made of millions of colored strands of light snaked across it. It seemed to Riot that the colors were the living embodiment of everything he had ever seen. The green and brown of the land and everything that sat upon it, the blues of the ocean and sky, and everything that flew and swam in their currents of water and air. Flickers of vibrant shades and elusive threads of black and white could be seen in the chaos that was all moving, no, surging across the sky in a graceful arc that reminded Riot of a great flow of swallows, twisting and undulating.

Riot wanted to speak, but his tongue was leaden in his mouth.

“The leylines, sergeant. We are fortunate that their path brings them to this area of the continent. Now, let’s begin,” Riley said.

A light gray thread of light snapped out of the surging chaos above, writhing like a fish out of water before lancing down faster than Riot’s eye could track and plunging into his stomach.

It felt as though someone were cutting into his flesh with a piece of broken glass. The ley power burrowed through his veins, not hungry like a wolf or some beast of the echo. It seemed to search him relentlessly before pouncing on the hedron scar and bursting out of his body.

Riots hand burned, and Riley and Kerne threw themselves out of the way as dirty gray light flared out and battered the stone wall high above them, showering them with falling stone and dust.

The ley line snapped out of his body, whipping back up to rejoin the surging chaos in the sky, leaving an emptiness that caused his stomach to cramp and a strangled moan to escape his throat.

“Curious,” Riley said, standing up and brushing his robe down. The arcanist prodded at the burned mass on Riots palm with his chubby finger. “The hedron's imprint is enabling the leypower to escape from your body. A crude working, and if left open likely to burn his hand off. I can seal it off, but it might pose a problem for the spell crafter,” Riley said, looking over to Kerne.

“Do what you have to do, master arcanist,” Kerne instructed.

Riot felt a greasy layer cover the hedron scar, like it had been slathered with grease.

“Let’s begin again, shall we sergeant?” Riley proposed.

Riot tried to say no, but his tongue lolled in his mouth.

Another gray leyline flickered out from the churning mass and plunged into Riot, the pressure collapsing his lungs. He couldn’t draw breath, and his heart was squeezed so hard that he felt the beats gradually slow as his vision dimmed.

“No, not that one, not at all,” Riley said, and Riot thought he heard a slight strain in the arcanists voice as the gray line flickered back into the churning mass above them.

The next two leylines came in quick succession, with Riley sending them snaking back up into the atmosphere almost as soon as they touched Riot’s skin.

The third felt like his skin was being flensed away.

And the fourth nearly killed him.

It was thicker than the others and moved slightly slower, like a predator sniffing the air. Then it darted down, and the moment it touched Riot's body, he was blinded by gray light, and a deafening silence ruptured his eardrums. Every inch of his skin felt like it was being stabbed with needles, and the stench of burning flesh caused him to retch uncontrollably. His hand felt as if it had been thrust into the heart of a forge, and with his last scrap of consciousness, Riot remembered Colonel Williams words, and he silently begged for death.