“Mm.” Alarion agreed with a nod of his head.
His straightforward response shattered the tension between them and drew a sharp laugh from Sierra. Things were alright. He was alright. She could relax.
At least, until Alex flickered into being an instant later.
Steel was already in her hand, violence already primed in her nerves. Sierra took two quick steps, rearing back for a reverse thrust when Alarion awkwardly interposed himself.
“It’s fine. He isn’t a threat.” The boy said, glancing over his shoulder to spit the Steelborn with a look that demanded his best behavior. “He’s a friend.”
That last word brought Sierra up cold. The girl looked his way, eyebrows knitted together in consternation, then back at Alex. He was different at a glance from any of the Soulless they’d encountered, from the appearance of his body, to the clothing he’d chosen to wear, but it was the way he held himself that allayed her fears. The Soulless were rigid and precise, they moved with sharp purpose or they did not move at all. This one bobbed slightly in the air, it fidgeted and shifted as it waited for the conflict to resolve.
“Steelborn, not Soulless?” She asked. Alarion nodded, and Sierra tilted slightly to one side as she spoke her next words to Alex. “What is your name?”
“He doesn’t speak Vitrian. Only Ashadi.” Alarion explained before Alex’s blank expression could irritate Sierra.
“Ugh.” Sierra grumbled. The girl’s eyes flickered briefly behind closed lids as she composed herself and asked again in a slow pace and terrible accent.
Sierra frowned again and looked to Alarion for clarification. An unusual reversal.
“A different type of Steelborn, I think,” The young man explained to the best of his ability. “Or maybe Systemborn? He told me he was human once, then they copied him. We were able to put that copy into this.”
That didn’t help Sierra’s stern expression. “Sounds more like a type of Thoughtborn. But you should not normally be able to ‘put one into’ a Steelborn.”
“Does any of this seem normal?”
He had her there.
Sierra sighed, about to say something more when she finally gave Alarion a more holistic look. They were both grimy and worse for the wear from their various battles, but the dark patch of red on white on his abdomen was new from the last time she’d seen him. “You are hurt?”
Alarion opened his mouth to lie, a headstrong ‘I’m fine’ on the tip of his tongue. Life had taught him hard lessons about showing weakness, lessons not easily forgotten. “Yes. Badly.”
Alarm registered on Sierra’s face as Alarion shifted his arm to reveal the extent of his wound, and dropped the pretense that he was not in pain. She reached out, gingerly inspecting the injury, then nodded. “I am guessing feedback from your resilience skill?”
“You have guessed correctly.”
“That is not going to heal on its own. Not in any reasonable time frame. If the revenant betrays us we are in even worse… “ Her scowl deepened as she trailed off, her eyes focused solely on his. “… Alarion, what level are you?”
“Twenty-Two swordsman and twelve Orphan.” He replied after a quick glance at his Status to confirm.
“I’m sorry… what?” Sierra’s hands were open and wide for emphasis. She’d heard him plainly, and the words matched what her own skill was telling her, but he had to be lying. “You were only gone for a few hours!?”
The boy shrugged. "They were eventful?”
“Sit. Over there, in the shade.” She gestured back toward where the tower blotted out the afternoon sun. “We may as well be comfortable while you catch me up to speed.”
—-
It took several hours, dozens of interruptions and a bit of assistance from Alex before they were able to slake Sierra’s curiosity. The answer to every question gave birth to two more, each new concept leading into labyrinths of half understood speculation. There were things that they knew and things they did not, but Sierra seemed most concerned with the things they did not know, that they did not know.
So much so, that they returned to the tower that evening.
The lift that had taken Alarion to the upper levels had been returned when the lockdown was lifted, and with Alex’s help the three quickly ascended to the higher reaches of the tower. There they located a room with a bed and left Alarion to rest while they inspected the upper floors.
It took two days for Sierra to be satisfied with her examination, though satisfied was clearly the wrong word. Even with Alex’s help, there was so much she was unable to comprehend, a frustration made all the worse by the emulation’s fragmented memories. For every bit of insight he could provide, four others had slipped through his grasp. He could explain the existence of vast laboratories, but not their purpose. He was able to explain the nuances of their hydroponics division, but not the curiously unfamiliar plants that grew there.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
The most critical questions were also the most elusive. Notably so. Anything about the original builders of the tower was missing from Alex’s memory. He broadly knew why they’d built the spire, but not how or when. He was able to speak vaguely of the gods of his time, the ones he called ‘The Three Together’ that the Revenant had also mentioned, but when it came to details the memories escaped him.
By the end of their two days together, not even Alex believed his memory had merely been fragmented over time. The damage was too precise. Someone had fractured his mind on purpose.
Ultimately they were left with more questions than answers. A sad state of affairs to be sure, but one they could do nothing about. They’d come to the spire with a purpose, and that purpose had been accomplished. It was time to leave.
Which was easier said than done.
Days of rest had done little to heal the worst of Alarion’s injuries. He could walk well enough, and pick up the pace if pressed, but that was the extent of his capabilities. Climbing anything more complicated than a ladder meant a twenty minute wait while he recovered from internal agony. Jumping across even small gaps meant a running start, and that was equally impossible. Such issues, put together, meant that the sort of semi-direct route that had brought them to the tower in the first place was out of the question.
At least, until Alarion had reminded Sierra of his newest bit of equipment.
In reality the trip back was positively boring for Alarion. Sierra climbed and jumped, doubled back and broke through walls for the sake of expediency while he sat comfortably in the shade. Then, every two hours on the hour, she planted his greatsword in the dirt, stepped away from it and waited for him to close the distance in a single flickering teleport.
It was utterly unfair. And remarkably effective.
In the end it took Sierra and Alex a little more than a day to traverse back to the outer ring of the hidden city. It was only slightly after mid-day when they arrived at the door and their final worry was assuaged. They wouldn’t have trouble finding Lamesh.
He was waiting for them.
“You have outdone yourselves,” It said without preamble. Its voice was as twisted as ever, each word spoken from between clenched teeth, every syllable strangled. It stood near the gateway, ledger and quill in hand, like some functionary ready to mark their passing. “The few others that agreed to try did not come back at all, let alone with more lives than they started.”
Alex looked to Sierra and Alarion before he answered,
The revenant paused, pointedly looking away from the trio as it struck itself three times on the hip with a balled fist and growled.
Again the trio exchanged looks. They nodded in unison and moved toward the gate, only to halt under Lamesh’s withering stare and outstretched arm.
“He’s coming with us,” Sierra said sternly.
Alarion stepped forward to protest, then stumbled back as an invisible slash tore through the earth in front of him at a single stroke of the revenant’s quill.
It turned to Alarion then, a cruel grin touching the corners of its dead lips at the look on the young man’s face.
A few strokes of the pen were all it took. One instant Alarion’s feet were firmly on the ground, prepared for what would no doubt be a losing battle against a much stronger foe. The next the gateway to the outside world had swung wide, and his stomach felt as though it had fallen to the center of the earth.
It was as though gravity had turned 90 degrees as he fell toward that open doorway. Unprepared, Alarion could do nothing but flail wildly, scrambling for purchase as the ground rushed past beneath him. He clamored for the frame of the door as he fell through it, but by then his momentum was so fast that all he accomplished was smashing his hand against the frame as he was unceremoniously ejected back into the fortress on the far side of the brass door.
At which point traditional gravity reasserted itself.
Alarion hit the ground in an awkward roll and was up running within seconds, much to Lamesh’s surprise as the fiend followed them back through the passage. With forty feet between them, Alarion drew his weapon and readied for a throw as reality warped and distorted.
This at least, was a familiar sensation. One thing that their trip through the city had taught Alarion was that teleportation was not actually instantaneous. The further the teleport, the longer the delay. A teleport of a considerable distance could take one to two seconds during which he experienced a sort of… stretching. A feeling of his body elongating between its start and its destination, only to snap back into place the moment the teleport finished.
This teleport was by far the longest. Four uncomfortable seconds of transit, before Alarion and Sierra found themselves kneeling amidst the pre-prepared teleportation circles in the basement of the manor house.
Four seconds.
Just long enough for regret.