For the third time, I awoke.
At last, this waking was a pleasant one. Birds were chirping. A soft breeze was blowing. The sun’s light graced my tired eyes. It was morning. I almost wept.
Somehow, I’d survived the night.
I groaned, expecting my body to protest as I lifted myself up, but found that Draconic Blood had restored me near entirely as I slept. Cracking my neck and flexing my muscles experimentally, nothing felt out of place. Though my mind remained foggy and overdrawn, it seemed my body was fully recuperated.
I glanced around. Somehow, I’d awoken on a thin, threadbare cot, my body completely washed and wearing a clean and intact roughspun shirt and breeches. The room around me was small, and sparsely furnished.
It sported nothing other than a couple of simple chairs and shelves, along with a small, glass-paned window through which the morning rays shone. A clay vase with wilting flowers adorned a wooden desk covered with a ream of papers. For a moment, I entertained the possibility that the entire night had simply been a bad dream.
But closer inspection proved my thoughts to be nothing but fantasy. The sun’s light filtered not only through the open window, but also through multiple cracks and holes in the walls, scorched with soot and ash. The soft breeze that wafted through it was cool and refreshing, but carried with it just a hint of blood, brimstone and the memory of burnt flesh.
This was no dream.
My life, as I knew it, had changed forever. I’d never again see Aldwyn’s twinkling eyes, see his proud smile as he watched me grow. I’d never face the weight of Master Ewan’s sword on mine as we sparred, the gruff corners of his lips quirking ever so slightly upwards as I parried perfectly or completed a combination. I’d never feel Raynie’s hair, soft and smooth, against my chest, feel the warmth of her pervade me.
Grief, guilt, and melancholy swelled up in an overwhelming tide, but I fought against it. I’d mourn them, but I’d not lose myself in doing so. I’d not break my promise to Aldwyn. I’d honor their memory instead, saving who I could, doing my best to truly be the Hero I’d always wanted to become.
As the heartache washed over me, I sat silently, simply letting it flow through and around. I cast my gaze within, watching the ripples in my song slowly fade away until its surface was cool and calm, placid once more. As I examined it in more detail, I was amazed.
The sea of Entropy that whirled within my song was massive, truly epic in proportions. A vast expanse of briny energy. Perhaps it’d never had time to fully regenerate before now. Even more peculiarly, it seemed to have taken on traits from each of my Blessings.
Though the sea’s primary color was the same blue-green tinge it had always been, flashes of blood-red lightning lit its surface now, descending from stormy clouds above. The dark ocean floor had become volcanic, lit with glowing lines of magma that resembled the patterning that lined the Kobold Champion’s form. And finally, swimming throughout the sea, I could just make out a single, minute creature composed entirely of blanched white bone. It looked like a mix between a shark and a wolf. It patrolled the waters fearlessly, hunting little glimmers of azure minnows, fast and sharp and deadly.
My Blessings had intertwined, coexisting, becoming symbiotic. Just as ADMINISTRATION said they would. It felt strangely right, somehow, seeing the powers interact with one another. Their individual melodies had joined gloriously in the song, making it so much deeper, richer, fuller than before. Perhaps, given time, they would grow to enhance one another as well.
On that note, I mentally manifested my Grimoire in front of me, beholding the changes therein.
~~~
Hero
Attunement: ADMINISTRATION 8.
Grain: Shard Broadcast Attunement. The Host is able to comprehend the Shardsong, the language of Shards and Entities.
Active Slots:
* Draconic Blood 6. The Host’s blood takes on the properties of an ancient dragon, granting increased strength, resilience, and greatly increased healing. The Host gains an affinity to fire and blood.
* Flash Step 3. The Host gains the ability to move any distance in a single step, at the cost of damaging their body. Entropy spent and bodily damage scales with distance traveled. This ability does not enhance the Host’s senses whilst in motion. The Host may not change their body position during a Flash Step. The Host gains an affinity to lightning.
* Soulbound Weapon 2. The Host is granted a personalized weapon, chosen to fit the Host’s subconscious. In this case the weapon is Fang, The Boneblade. This weapon will grow with the Host as they gain Attunement, displaying more esoteric effects as it does so. This weapon may always be recalled to the Host, regardless of location. This weapon may be dismissed and summoned by the Host at will. If this weapon is destroyed, it may be regenerated at the cost of Entropy.
* Empty.
* Empty.
Save Slots:
* Empty.
* Empty.
* Empty.
* Empty.
* Empty.
Good luck, Hero. The survival of both our races depends on you.
~~~
Draconic Blood and ADMINISTRATION had grown in Attunement once more each as a result of the battle with the Blessed, though the powers I’d copied from the bandit leaders remained weak. I hadn’t had time to read my Grimoire during the fight, gaining only the instinctual understanding of Blessings that no doubt most Blessed normally received.
Flash Step was just as powerful as I’d imagined it to be, and just as costly as well. The ability to move any distance in a single step, without any cooldown period. To a swordsman, positioning and speed were everything. The affinity to lightning it granted was interesting as well. Would it allow me to shape the corresponding element, as Draconic Blood had? I resolved to prioritize training with it more in the future.
I was eternally grateful to my first copied Blessing. Without the potent regeneration it offered, repeatedly making use of the Step would likely be impossible, and my progress with it would be slowed to a crawl. Hopefully, being able to practice frequently would make it more amenable to repeated use.
Soulbound Weapon was more confusing. Unlike my other two Blessings, I could truly feel it in my song, as if the thing was alive. I could sense Fang crow with pleasure as I acknowledged it, communicating to me wordlessly through the melody.
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It was delighted to have been placed in the hands of one who’d trained so relentlessly with the sword, eagerly pledging its eternal loyalty to me and me alone. It was infuriated to have suffered such a humiliating defeat at the hands of Flange, and it hungered for the opportunity to redeem itself. Its lupine form twirled and danced within my azure sea as I focused upon it.
Apparently, Fang had also reformed while I’d slept, and with a thought, I called it to my palm. It manifested in a coalescence of pale particles, and preened as I examined it properly.
Without a doubt, it was a beautiful weapon. Where Flange’s mace had resembled his nature; simple, hardy steel, this weapon too seemed to take on my characteristics.
Fang was long, longer even than a normal longsword, but much thinner. It looked wickedly sharp and, at the same time, delicate as a flower, the same bone-white color as my hair. Here and there, running along the blade, were little lines of silver, runes and flourishes. They glimmered in the sun’s gentle light.
On a whim, I channeled my Entropy into the sword, and immediately it began to glow with silver light, keening with pleasure in the song. It felt stronger, sharper, more real. Cutting off the flow, the sword dimmed once more.
I raised my eyebrows, huffing in consideration, and dismissed the weapon. Even with the detailed descriptions, it seemed as if I had much to learn about the nature of each of my Blessings.
Coming to the final sentence of my Grimoire, I frowned. I’d ignored the lengthy description of my main Blessing this time, as it hadn’t changed at all, but its final sentence still concerned me.
Good luck, Hero.
It sat there, as if mocking me. Promising a grand destiny. Daring me to find answers.
I sighed, shaking my head. I needed to know more, but didn’t know where to begin. I was entirely out of my depth here. As a child, and even beyond, I’d devoured any rumors and tidbits of knowledge about Blessed I could possibly come by in the village, but it wasn’t near enough.
And I got a bad feeling about asking people outright. Any ideas of going to Uther directly for answers had died on the lips of the bandit leader.
No one can copy powers. No one.
That’s what he’d said. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he’d amended it by saying the Vile Titan could. Not exactly a promising comparison. How would people react if they found out? At worst, they’d kill me outright, fearful of what I might one day become. At best, they’d keep me locked up, a secret weapon to be used against their enemies.
There weren’t any good Aristocrats, and so, there weren’t any good options.
No, divulging the nature of my Blessing was impossible. I couldn’t tell anyone. I’d have to find answers on my own. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like other Blessed had the same hearing as I did, unable to determine each other’s nature by encounter alone. Surge certainly hadn’t been able to tell I could copy Blessings, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to kill him so easily. Flange hadn’t known about it until I used his partner’s Blessing in front of him.
Something to avoid in the future, then.
The door swept open suddenly, rousing me from my contemplation. A young woman walked in, carrying a plate of food. Older than me, but not by much. Not many of the elderly had made it through the night. She wore clean clothes and her hair was freshly washed, but I could make out deep, dark rings beneath her eyes, and raw skin on her hands from where the manacles had chafed. I didn’t recognize her.
She startled upon seeing me awake, almost dropping the plate, but quickly composed herself. She approached me cautiously, eyeing me carefully, as if treating an injured beast. She wrung her hands nervously as she spoke.
“T-Taiven?”
I nodded, keeping my body language as calm and unthreatening as possible.
“Oh, thank the Priest,” she said, letting out a held breath. “Thank the Gods. I…we….it looked like you, but we weren’t–weren’t sure…”
She paused, arresting her stuttered speech, and inhaled deeply. When she spoke again, she was a measure calmer.
“We, um, we weren’t sure you were going to make it, to be honest. You were breathing, but your shoulder–your whole left side was…” She stopped, swallowing, then continued.
“A–anyways, eventually you started healing, and, um, we figured we’d better clean you up, there was SO much blood, so we did, and then we set you up in Aldwyn’s place,” she winced slightly as she said his name, “and figured we’d better let you rest, so…” She trailed off, glancing at me out of the corners of her eyes, fingers still wringing anxiously.
I looked around. So this was Aldwyn’s cabin, huh? It looked appropriate. Simple, functional, humble, home. I closed my eyes, blocking out the grief once more.
“Um, I just wanted–”
“What’s your name?” I interrupted her, causing her to jump.
“Tara, milord.” She replied immediately, almost reflexively. I frowned.
“You don’t have to call me that.” She flinched as I chided her, making me sigh. I hadn’t meant to upset her. She was probably still on edge from last night. We didn’t get Blessed in the village often, but reverence to the Aristocracy had been bred into us, embedded in our beings. And, in a way, I was part of it now.
“How many are left?” I said, bracing myself for her reply.
“Twenty two, mi–um, Taiven. Fifteen adults and seven children.”
Priest. So few.
“Are you the eldest?” I asked.
“No!” She replied, shaking her head vehemently. “Winnifred is. She’s sorting things out, still, seeing to the children, taking inventory and all.” Aldwyn’s apprentice had made it, then. A small mercy. Winnifred was older than me by quite a bit, almost 28 now. She’d be able to handle matters well enough.
“I was just here, um, to leave some food out for you,” Tara said, lamely, thrusting out a plate of dried meats and old bread. The Priest delivers unto the needy, indeed. I was famished. I hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning. I thanked Tara, and took the plate. Bowing awkwardly, much to my exasperation, she left after telling me she’d go get Winnifred.
Upon her departure, I set to devouring the food. I’d been so hungry, yet strangely, I hadn’t felt it until now. By the time Aldwyn’s aide arrived, my plate was licked clean, and I was pulling on my boots.
Winnifred was the oldest unmarried girl in the village, though she didn’t look it. No doubt that was the only reason she’d survived the night. Still, the weight of leadership and the events of the raid had taken a great toll on her. She had to fill impossibly large shoes in a trying time. But she was well-suited to the role.
“Taiven,” She said.
“Winnifred,” I replied, standing.
“I almost hesitate to ask, but,” she said, closing her eyes, “You’re the only one who made it out? No one else?” I nodded, and deep lines of sorrow creased her face for a moment, though it vanished quickly. She’d already known the truth. Aldwyn’s duty was hers now.
“What happened?” She asked.
“We were unprepared,” I responded, simply. “We never should have delved. The first room killed nearly everyone. I was the only survivor. I triggered, and managed to make it out alive. I ran as soon as I saw the smoke. Wasn’t fast enough.” I said, spreading my arms helplessly. “You know the rest.”
She nodded twice, somberly, then shook her head.
“No, the fault wasn’t yours,” she stated, firmly. “Everyone agreed on the delve. The choice was all of ours. We couldn’t have anticipated the raid. It was just…bad luck. Fate…” She trailed off, contemplatively. She closed her eyes once more, then sighed.
“We can’t stay. We lost everything in the fire. More than half the village is gone. Everyone’s dead. We barely have supplies for a week, and we’ve children to care for.” She paced slowly along the hardwood floor, producing faint creaks as she did so.
“We’ll head for Soffehn. To the east. The closest proper city to the village. We’ll report the Maw when we get there.” She sighed once more. “Gods willing, they’ll give us enough for a new start. We can contact the others in Rockfort and Pennfeld from there. It won’t be easy. But we’ll survive.”
“No. You won’t,” I said.
Her head snapped over to face me. In my hand I held the dungeon satchel, returned honorably to my bedside, unopened by the villagers.
“You won’t survive,” I repeated. “You’ll do better than that,” I said, opening the satchel and letting the blue light spill forth from within. Winnifred’s eyes gleamed, widening, watering on the edges.
“Are those…crystals?” She asked, breathlessly.
“I’ve dozens in this bag. One, I’m keeping for myself. The rest are yours. Poor consolation for all we’ve lost, but plenty to secure a new, comfortable life in the cities.” She looked at me, eyes shining.
“I’ll escort you all the way to Soffehn, but I’m not staying, Winnifred. I’m continuing on from there.”
I knew what I had to do. I knew where I had to go.
East, to Talos. To the City of Shields and Spires. To the heart of Cell Uther. In a strangely fitting way, I’d be the first and last of all Burrick to go there.
East, to find answers.
East, to my destiny.