My favorite [Inquisitors] meet us at the Capitol building, grim-faced and geared up for war. The building is a grand edifice built of gleaming Imperial jade polished to a mirror shine, all edged in gold. The sheer amount of time required to find that much jade boggles my mind, but I shove it aside for now. I set down Lionel so Mbukhe can guide him to the [Premier], who’s suffering from the same reverse-healing that Lionel endured.
“When did you get so fast?” Lionel wheezes, clutching at his chest. He wipes tears away. “You ran so hard that the wind made my eyes leak!”
“In my defense, Rakesh did say it was an emergency,” I remind him, but I can’t help but put a little swagger in my steps as we approach our friends together. I carried him over as quickly as I could, using both empowering mana and my Domain to lift him, and my recent gains are on full display as my magic pushed me faster than before. All the recent running around is making me tired, but we still have work to do.
An [Inquisitor] darts out of the Capitol. He halts and snaps to attention in front of Casella, although he forgoes a salute. “Sir! My colleague is nearly out of mana.”
Casella acknowledges him with a grunt, then turns to his comrade in arms. “Mbukhe, go with him. Bring Lionel to the patient. Hurry! The time stasis field is failing.”
The other [Inquisitor]’s eye twitches at the mention of the status field, but he runs off with Lionel and Mbukhe. As they shoulder their way past the guards stationed outside, I turn to my old friend and take in his grizzled, heavily-lined face. More pronounced streaks of gray shoot through his beard than I recall. Has he really aged so much in half a year?
“He seems surprised you mentioned such a rare time-manipulation Skill in front of me. Classified secret?” I ask.
“Need to know basis,” Casella confirms. He reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. A fond expression softens his granite-like face. “Though, I have leeway in making a judgment call. [Chief Inquisitor] Xharrote is quite fond of you these days. You might outrank me by the time all is said and done.”
“Rakesh maybe. Not me,” I say, deflecting automatically. Before Casella can respond, I change the subject. “Bet the stasis field isn’t as good as Mel’s time dilation.”
Casella smiles widely with a gleam in his eye, all but confirming my suspicion with his reaction. “Not everything is a competition.”
“Sounds like something you’d say when you’re on the losing side,” I tease him.
We share a brief chuckle as we head inside the Capitol building to check on Lionel and his patient. Despite the serious situation—or perhaps because of it—laughter feels good. We’ve been running on the ragged edge for what feels like months now. I need the emotional release.
My good mood fractures a moment later, shattered like a glass vase without tempering enchantments dropped on the floor, when Casella flicks a silencing artifact on his wrist and envelops us in a bubble of privacy. “Stay alert, friend. We’re nothing but buzzing flies to the real powers in Densmore.”
“My whole life has been an uphill climb,” I reply lightly, though I know better than to brush off good counsel. If someone as strong as Casella is cautious, then what chance do I have? I’d be foolish to ignore him.
“Break through to your next Threshold as soon as you can. You’ll need it.”
“Working on it,” I assure him.
My frustration with my current Skills bleeds through my tone. He squints at me and tilts his head to the side, his brows pulling together into a quizzical look. “How did you get so stuffed up, anyway?”
“Found a metaphysical expert who traded some of my unformed potential for donations from my team. They helped me stabilize my inner world so that we could repair my core.”
“It’s a good thing I set up a privacy ward,” he replies after missing a beat.
I grin. For someone who is so good at taking everything in stride, he almost tripped over that news. It’s fun to watch him try to wrap his mind around all the crazy, “impossible” things that have happened to me since our last meeting.
“Hmph. Foolish, even if it solved a short-term issue. You’re a mismatch of Skills, and too many are lagging behind. You need to find a way to fix that. Now. You’re too high-profile now to be so weak.”
“I’ve gotten stronger,” I start to protest, but a warning bell sounds in the recesses of my mind. Anything—or anyone—that has Casella spooked is likely operating at the highest echelon of power. I’m not there yet, despite my rapid growth.
“Keep on that path. You’ll get it sorted,” Casella encourages me.
“I will,” I promise. “Help me put together a plan to advance? I could use your expertise.”
“You have my word. Mbukhe and I will push you forward. But be prepared; it won’t be fun or easy.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I tell him, and I mean it. My best progress has come as a direct result of overcoming challenges.
Casella twists his ring, dropping the ward. His smile grows sharp. “Excellent.”
Without the privacy ward, we chat about banal topics while we stride down the corridor to the suite where the [Premier] is laid up in bed. Dense clusters of mana signatures guard the door, and I only recognize a few as [Inquisitors]. The rest are unfamiliar, but share similarities, which makes me wonder if they’re house guards.
When we turn the corner and lay eyes on the [Guards], my hunch proves accurate. They are decked in the city colors of Gilead, and the glares they level toward us are brimming with an intensity that I can’t quite parse. Grudgingly, they move aside and grant us entrance.
Inside, a strange scene greets us. I expected that Lionel would be done by the time we got there, but he’s perched on a stool next to the comatose [Premier], sweat dripping down his face as he works to undo Saphora’s miserable ministrations. As excited as I am to see the strange runes at work, I was glad for a moment to catch up with Casella. Now it seems I have the best of both worlds.
I can’t help but grimace when I observe the state of the once-proud leader of the famed city of healing. His skin has faded into a dull gray. Black sludge seems to fill his veins, clogging up the circulatory system. The noisome ooze seeps out from under his fingernails. Twin trickles of blood roll down from the corner of his eyes.
“How is he still alive?” I ask, staring in morbid wonder. He seems worse off than I ever expected, based on how recently Saphora targeted him.
“Might still die,” Lionel whispers.
I glance up at the note of desperate anger in my best friend’s voice. Lionel’s intense look of concentration catches me off guard. “Is the wand not working?”
“It is, but he’s got an underlying condition. I’m not sure why I can’t clear the symptoms all the way. My healing isn’t taking hold. Something feels like hitting a wall.”
I frown, stroking my beard as I consider the problem. “Try again? I’ll keep a close eye on the runic arrays as they activate. Maybe I’ll be able to see what’s interfering.”
“Worth a shot,” Lionel says slowly.
“But?” I prompt.
“But I’m just about out of mana. If this doesn’t work, then I won’t be able to do anything else to help.”
“I will bring you a mana draught from the army stores,” Mbukhe says, slipping out of the room and running off to find the promised draught. To my shock, he’s almost impossible to track in my Domain, even after my Class upgrade. He must be getting stronger, too. I should ask him to train with me later.
Lionel gulps. “Let’s hope it works.”
“You got this! No fear,” I tell him.
His shoulders sag. “Not helping, Nuri. I’ll—I’ll try. But no guarantees it will be enough.”
“That’s why you have me,” I boast, walking around to the other side of the sick bed and throwing an arm around his shoulder. “I’ll bolster your Skill and empower it with my Domain. You just focus on fixing what’s wrong.”
He grimaces. “That’s just it. I can’t tell what’s wrong, or I would have fixed it already. He’s suffering from more than just Saphora’s malediction.”
“Mind if I take a look?”
“You’re better at Soundings than I am. Go ahead,” Lionel says. “I need to prepare for my attempt, anyway. This will give me a breather.”
I reach out with my Domain, enveloping the [Premier] with the power of my will. He isn’t responsive, and his core space feels weak from his ailments, so I don’t have to fight to extend my consciousness into his inner world. The Sounding technique the Menders practice is similar to the Viewing technique I learned from the [Inquisitors], but it’s focused on the body instead of metaphysical realities. I don’t know how to interpret all of the feedback—I’m not a [Healer]—but it’s clear that something is desperately wrong with his body.
Growths that shouldn’t exist are all over the place, littered throughout his body. They’re difficult to identify, since there are so many threads of unfamiliar mana woven throughout, but they don’t seem healthy to me. Weeding them out seems like the only logical choice.
I test out my theory by attempting to excise a growth using the concept of sharpness. Instantly, a burst of putrid, polluted energy flows into me from the pustule, attempting to invade my pristine core space. I annihilate it with a shudder of revulsion.
“Lio? Think I’ve got it.”
He startles, then leaps up from his seat next to the bed. “Already? You’re ridiculous! No fair. Healing is supposed to be my domain.”
Gloating doesn’t seem appropriate given our patient’s poor health, but I can’t stop the smug smile that spreads across my face. “It’s just mana senses. I have an unfair advantage.”
He nods sagely. “True. You’re still useless at healing. That’s my role. Now, tell me what you found.”
“There’s something making his body grow in weird ways. Here, let me show you what I’m seeing.”
I pick up a sheaf of papers lying on a nightstand near the bedside, peel off the top sheet, and run my favorite home-made Skill through the paper to turn it into glass. I levitate the slender mirror over to Lionel and connect to it like I do with my scrying golems to display my sight.
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“Nuri, are you sure you know what—whoa! What is that!” Lionel all but shouts, pointing at the abnormal growths in the mirror. “Those are definitely not natural.”
“Careful,” I warn him. “I tried to cut one out, and it exploded into something nasty. It tried to flow into me, but I shut it down. It’s like Saphora’s rot, though not triggered by healing. Worst? Something about it feels familiar. Kinda like being in a Rift.”
I trail off as a terrible thought occurs to me. Old fears I thought long buried rise up with a vengeance. I back away, my breathing labored, as I consider where I’ve seen this before.
Casella lays a hand on my upper arm, calming me with his strong, quiet presence. He pulls gently and leads me away. Lionel follows, and we allow him to guide us away from the guards arrayed near the doorway.
He re-activates his localized privacy ward. His gaze locks onto mine. There’s a dreadful pity in the depths of his kind eyes that I don’t want to acknowledge. He sighs deeply, rubs his forehead with his hand, and forces me to confront the truth. “Sounds like void sickness.”
“He’ll burn up from the inside out if that’s really the plague,” I whisper, my voice a ghost of its former self.
“Not likely. Someone stabilized him. His mana won’t tear him apart as it tries to combat the corrosive effects of the void.” Casella lets out another frustrated sigh. “Nuri, I’m sorry you have to see this.”
“I can’t hide forever,” I say woodenly.
“Still isn’t pleasant,” Casella says, clapping me on the shoulder. “We need to isolate him immediately—that, or put him out of his misery before his mana runs rampant.”
My stomach churns at that thought. Before I can voice my opinions, Lionel pipes up. “We aren’t losing more people to Saphora’s madness. Now that I know exactly what I’m dealing with, I can use the wand to counteract its effects.”
“And your restoration Skill?”
He shrugs. “I’ll need to regenerate mana either way. Mbukhe should be back soon with the mana draught. I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll cut, you heal?”
He nods. “Deal.”
“Work quickly. I will stand by in case of a breach of containment,” Casella rumbles in a grave tone.
I swallow hard. A breach will kill us all. We’ll die, boiled from the inside out, if Casella and I can’t restrain the virulent power of the void.
We return to the bed, ignoring the suspicious stares from the guards as we emerge from the bubble of silence. Lionel grasps the glass healing wand we created, takes a breath, and sets his jaw. I fall back on my experience with Scalpel’s odd brand of surgery, manifesting a blade of mana, and excise each malignant growth.
He activates his healing magic and moves in tandem with me, a single heartbeat behind my cuts, following each of the moves I make by watching what I do in the mirror. The full weight of my [Arcane Domain] presses down on the foreign energy flows, preventing them from leaking out and infecting anyone else present.
The longer Lionel works on the [Premier], the worse he appears. Sweat beads on his forehead. His face grows wan and thins out right before my eyes.
“You can’t heal him without your own vitality?” I ask, trying not to lose track of what I’m doing with my mana scalpel. “The rod shouldn’t require that.”
“Not if I’m going to heal everything. It’s too deeply embedded,” Lionel explains, panting as he runs low on strength. “This isn’t a normal illness.”
Sure enough, although the glass wand amplifies Lionel’s healing magic, I watch through my senses as the void plague actively corrodes mana. They’re opposites, clashing in a potent, destructive battle. More and more energy goes into fixing both the physical and metaphysical wounds, until finally we’re done.
Lionel collapses into his seat, utterly spent. His eyes flutter shut, and he dozes off. We leave him to recover his strength; I’ll wake him once Mbukhe returns.
The [Premier] is breathing more easily. Soundings no longer return such frightening and confusing results. Not all is well, however. He still shows signs of the pervasive rot that [Lady] Saphora implanted before her escape. Lionel will have to undo it with his [Runic Restoration], once he’s recovered enough to cast his powerful Skill.
Minutes stretch on, turning into another half an hour, before Mbukhe arrives. He shows the foresight that’s let him rise through the ranks, bringing an entire box of draughts with him, along with a second case of healing potions. One of each goes down Lionel’s hatch, and soon my friend’s color is restored.
“Ready to put an end to this?” he asks, some of his old vivaciousness peeking through as a big, crooked grin snakes across his face.
“About time!” I say.
“Watch closely, Nuri. Maybe one day you can be this amazing.” Lionel smirks, invoking his greatest Skill. “[Runic Restoration].”
I project my view of the runic arrays involved in his restoration Skill onto the thin mirror I made, marveling at its complexity and awesome power. The [Inquisitors] gather around as my best friend works, exclaiming over how much detail the Viewing reveals, although they cut off awkwardly whenever they run into the bounds of the geas holding their tongues. Not being able to speak freely must be miserable.
Rather than simply display what I see, I imprint it into the glass using imbuing techniques to coax the mana into stamping the image permanently into the glass. This way, I’ll be able to share the recorded data with Rakesh and Melina later. With our combined talents, we’ll analyze the runes and further our understanding of restoration magic.
“I’m losing him!” Lionel hisses.
My attention snaps back to the present. I press closer, trying to follow what’s happening. Where did we go wrong? At first, nothing stands out. Soothing mana flows out from Lionel and wraps around the [Premier], creating miniature scaffolding and encouraging his body to rebuild itself accordingly. Everything seems right.
“You sure? I don’t see a problem—”
I fall silent, noticing a strange hole in my perception at last. The absence of information was so subtle that I didn’t register it at first. Now that I see it, it’s obvious. “Something’s sucking away the mana. It’s like a whirlpool, drawing everything in and devouring it.”
Mbukhe glides up next to me, his hand extended. He murmurs under his breath, too soft for me to hear even with my Domain-enhanced senses, and a strange Skill snaps into place. It blocks off the suction, closing the odd connection to the distant point where the mana is being siphoned off, and Lionel’s Skill finally takes root.
Seconds later, the work is done. The [Premier] is healed. He’s restored, as good as new, at least in theory.
“Now what?” I ask, wondering how we’re going to handle the fallout of this intervention. Nicanor has smacked down the remaining insurgents—at least, I hope he got them all this time—but Saphora’s actions echo across the city like bad luck that keeps coming back.
Lionel exhales. He scratches his nose, still trembling. “That was way harder than it was last time.”
“Something interferes. I’ll investigate,” Mbukhe announces. He ghosts away, no doubt following the connection to the strange anomaly that devoured Lionel’s restorative magic.
“Fishy if you ask me,” I say, crossing my arms. “You can’t tell me Saphora inflicted that nasty terminal illness in such a short time.”
“Doesn’t add up,” Lionel agrees.
“You think there’s more to this story?” Casella asks him, suspicion turning him stern. Right now, he’s an [Inquisitor] first and foremost, and a friend second.
Lionel nods immediately. “Oh yeah. It took much longer for her to plant the seeds of rot in me. How did she get so much faster in just a few months?”
Before I can answer, a disturbingly-weak gurgle from deep in the [Premier]’s throat cuts into our conversation. We turn back toward him as he gasps for air, wheezing as though his last breath is rattling through his lungs.
He blinks, and his eyelids crack open. He squints at us, groaning against the light in his luxurious suite. I douse the nearest mage lamp to help him adjust to the brightness. Bleary-eyed and mumbling, he sits up with considerable effort, which leaves him panting. For all that Lionel healed him, he doesn’t seem well.
Through my Domain, I pick up on strange movements and bursts of unease. All of the loyal house guards are backing away from the room. Some of them are running.
“Something’s wrong,” I snap, distracted by how all the guards are retreating from the suite. By the time I turn back to the [Premier], he’s clutching a thin bracelet with a ward inscribed along the top of the band.
“Put that down,” Casella demands.
The politician spits in his face.
I recoil, gasping in shock. Lionel looks just as stupefied as I feel, staring at the [Premier] with his mouth gaping open.
The senior statesman of Gilead sneers at us. “You barge into my room, trample over my guards, and order me around in my own house? Despicable.”
“But—but I healed you!” Lionel sputters.
“So arrogant! Always assuming that you’re better than we are. Dogs of Densmore! Peh. You’re as predictable as ever.”
“Better than you?” I echo, thoroughly confused. “We’re just trying to help.”
He shakes his head. “Too late. Your corrupt Kingdom sealed its own fate. Densmore is ruled by monsters far worse than what crawls out of the Rifts.”
“Why don’t you put that down and we’ll talk about it?” Casella says, more gently than I expected. His eyes are locked onto the bracelet, however, and something about the intensity of his gaze makes my skin crawl.
“What is there to talk about? I admit, I didn’t expect such a thorough healing, but a young man’s kindness doesn’t outweigh the sins of an empire.”
My jaw clenches. “What’s your problem? Nothing is perfect. Densmore has her faults. But if you support Saphora, or if you did before she turned on you, then you’re worse than whatever system you’re railing against. Instead of coming together to communicate concerns and to build toward a brighter tomorrow, she murdered good people and sowed mayhem and chaos across Gilead. How is destroying everything with blood and fire any better than whatever grievances you hold against Densmore?”
The [Premier]’s sneer deepens. “You’re barely out of childhood. What would you know of grievances?”
“I know the [Viceroy] is corrupt. I know he’s manipulated the [King], imprisoned my friend and mentor, and pursues power no matter the cost. I’m not as naive as you seem to think.”
“Yet you’re standing side by side with an [Inquisitor]. You’re either foolish or too cowardly to act.” He spits over the side of the bed.
I scowl. “I’d rather work towards the common good and mutual benefit of each citizen than tear it all down.”
“Fool boy. I was never meant to live—just to deliver vengeance,” he snarls, thumbing the control ward etched into his bracelet.
The trap springs shut.
An intense chain reaction of mana sets of sirens in my head. My Domain blasts outward, catching a heavy bookshelf in the claws of my will and dragging it between my friends and the approach of death. I transmute the shelf into glass and encase every inch of it with the concept of unbreakable conviction, setting a bulwark before us in the blink of an eye.
A hidden explosive detonates, tearing the [Premier] and the bed on which he lies into ragged, bloody strips. The shockwave collides with the shelf, splintering it apart. Chains catch me and Lionel, jerking us sideways a split second before the trap kills us all.
Fury burns on Casella’s face. He dashes toward the bed, but it’s too late. The [Premier] is dead without a doubt, blasted into a thousand pieces. His remaining guards look shocked. Only a few conspicuous gaps in their ranks point toward knowledge of a conspiracy. Whoever was complicit fled before the explosion that should have damned us all.
Coughing as clouds of dust swirl around us, I stumble out of the charred remains of the [Premier]’s palatial suite, my friends at my heels. I don’t need my Domain to know that they’re both seething with anger over almost dying. All we tried to do was make things better.
“Can’t believe I fell for it,” Casella growls as we climb over the last pile of jumbled stone and plaster from the blown-out wall. “Such an obvious trap. I should never have put you two in danger like that. My deepest apologies.”
“That’s your anger speaking,” Lionel says. “We knew the risk. We came here anyway.”
I nod in approval. “Got that right! We’re not going to hide away while that witch destroys our peace of mind.”
Lionel’s fist smashes into his open palm. When he speaks, his voice comes out in a low snarl. “She’s evil. She needs to be stopped. How in all the abyssal halls did she bewitch the [Premier]? I healed him! And then he threw away his second chance at life! It doesn’t make any sense. No sense at all.”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Lionel so incensed. Mana revolves around him, a maelstrom of energy far beyond anything I’ve seen from him before. “Is that what I’ve been doing? Blind to the beauty of a second chance?”
I hesitate, licking my lips as I try to figure out how to phrase things. “You’ve been through a lot,” I start to say.
“Oh, shut up, Nuri. Don’t give me that diplomatic crap,” Lionel says. He dashes away sudden tears. “I’m done with moping around. Life’s too short. Let’s kill that hag and get on with things.”
As he speaks, the mana spins faster and faster, coalescing around him. Diffuse clouds of mana compact around him, swirling in a tight ball that sinks into his core. I exchange a glance with Casella, whose smile eclipses even his anger.
“An epiphany,” he whispers, leaning close so he doesn’t disrupt Lionel. “Rare to witness such a thing. He’s conquered his fears.”
The scintillating swirl of such pure mana around Lionel can only mean one thing. He’s breaking through to the next stage in his advancement. I’m about to congratulate him when I stop short, caught off guard by something niggling in the back of my mind.
I clench my fists. While my friends are dealing with the fear, anger, and disbelief at the suicide attack, a new fear strikes the depths of my heart: my glass golems are spreading out through the city, moving with swift purpose. I can barely sense my connection to the creatures, just enough to know that they’re following someone else’s orders.
Icy fear grips me, suffocating and unrelenting. Has [Lady] Saphora subverted them against me?