Waking up in a cold sweat was a unique sensation. No matter how much Jean buried herself in warm blankets. No matter how often she carved warming runes in the air. She always, always woke up with a chill in her bones and fear in her heart.
Leonard’s visit was the starting point. What made the bad memories spring forth once again from the dark pit she had thrown them in. But it wasn’t his fault.
I decided to avoid a part of myself. It’s only normal it comes back to bite me when I least need it.
Rumors swirled in the capital about the Hero’s madness. About his savage killing of good nobles. His stealing their gold and goods, only to force them in chains to work. To humiliate them.
Jean thought that even the bards tasked with repeating the tale didn’t believe what they were singing. Unfortunately, people might if the truth didn’t come knocking soon. Lies had a way of filtering through the strata of society, not unlike the way alchemists purified their brews. They dripped down, drop by drop, until they were so different from the beginning that they were unrecognizable.
At that point, even wise men would struggle to understand they were drinking a poisoned brew.
Jean was inured to this specific lie. She met and talked with Leonard and knew the tale of his madness was false. Not that he didn’t hide a terrible rage, no. But it was a cold thing. He would use it as fuel for his ambition, not to commit atrocities.
Her own lies, too, stopped working. Whether that was because she had grown enough that they could not veil the truth any longer or because someone forcefully stripped her goggles away, she didn’t know.
The consequences were the same. She could no longer ignore the truth of the matter, which was that she had no intention of remaining in her golden cage.
She spent a week trying to tamp the thought down, like she always did whenever she was forced to do something by the Archmage. This time, it didn’t work.
The bards sang their songs even within the Tower. Especially within the Tower, where she could hear their lies and they could poison her ears.
It took no genius to realize the old man was trying to prevent any thought of joining the rebel Hero from forming in her mind. It was too late, unfortunately for him, and Jean, by now, knew how to play to his tune and not let him find out.
Despite the young voice screaming in her mind to be a good girl and that she was jeopardizing everything she had for a foolish notion of justice, Jean still organized her affairs.
No one, not even Demetria, was aware of the full scope of her abilities, which made it easy to operate without supervision. She opened her secret safe, took all the riches and materials she could scrounge up in the months since returning from the campaign, and placed them safely in the storage amulet that adorned her neck.
It had been originally the Archmage’s gift for coming back victorious. Enchanted to facilitate the flow of her mana and protect her from mind corruption, Jean had stripped it of its runes and replaced them with her own.
Despite its immense value on the open market, she did not need such a trinket. Where any mage would give their arm thoughtlessly at the possibility of increasing their casting efficiency by simply wearing a piece of jewelry, Jean found it cloying and restricting. It tried to force her mana in predetermined ways that might have been slightly more efficient than her own but prevented her from using her greatest weapon - her flexibility.
Surprisingly, a few of her noble apprentices caught onto the change within her. She had always dismissed them as inconsequential and spoiled, but somehow, they not only deciphered her intentions of leaving but also kept her secret.
When they had first confronted her - a girl and two boys staying back to ask questions after a lesson wasn’t that weird, despite her known preference for being left alone - Jean had almost struck them down where they stood. It would have taken little effort to break through the trinkets they wore for protection.
By their trembling hands, they knew it too. And still, they came to talk to her, promising they shared her conviction that the Hero was fighting a just cause.
It should have been unsurprising that it was nobles who had access to the least corrupted information, but Jean was still shocked. Because they promised they would abandon their wealth and titles if they were allowed to join her in her escape.
Of course, she hadn’t accepted their request with just that. A thorough examination of their minds had followed, one that they consented to with only minimal trepidation. Finding out that they were clear of external influence was relieving and anxiety-inducing in both parts. Because it meant that she now had a responsibility towards them.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Their addition to her plans had lengthened them by a couple of days, but she had been ready to leave for twenty-four hours and could no longer put it off.
Still, she had one last person she needed to meet to achieve a semblance of inner tranquillity.
Waiting outside the Archmage’s office was an old habit. It used to be that the old man would make her stay standing for hours on end. After proving herself, a chair had been added for her, and the time shortened to a mere half-hour. Now that she was the well-respected inventor of Pure Casting, the Archmage deigned to see her within fifteen.
Jean suppressed the bitter smile that threatened to spring on her lips and walked forth once the heavy Cold Iron doors opened.
That he could waste such expensive material on mere doors went to show how wealthy Wilbert Helmut was. Casting them from pure gold might have been less wasteful, but that would have looked tacky rather than powerful and mysterious, and he was nothing if not careful with his image.
A well-groomed silver beard covered his chin, and clear blue eyes peered at her with gravitas. He was old compared to her but quite young in the grand scheme of things - the Archmage of Brander was rumored to be close to two hundred years old. However, he held himself with the air of someone used to be in charge.
image [https://i.postimg.cc/ydDH50Yn/persimmon0-short-cropped-beard-clear-blue-eyes-Archmage-old-man-ee90ad30-5ebd-44c6-9ae7-0451f7ef628e.png]
“My dear, you must forgive me for the wait.” He said once she entered, gesturing for her to take a seat. This, too, was a new habit. Once, she would have been made to stand in silence while he completed his work, and even after she earned her first chair, he wouldn’t have apologized.
Of course, he didn’t elaborate on why he had made her wait. But she hadn’t expected it. He still needed to draw the line somewhere to remind her of her place, after all.
“I wanted to talk to you about something personal,” She said instead of addressing his behavior. It wouldn’t change anything anyway.
The Archmage waved her on with a grandfatherly look. It made her teeth itch.
“I have been having trouble sleeping lately.” It was an admission of weakness that Jean had purged herself of long ago. From the way Helmut slowly blinked, he hadn’t expected her to say anything of the sort. Their talks usually were about her research and, if she was bothered enough by something, a request to deal with it for her in exchange for a service of some kind. She stopped asking for his affection when she turned eleven and was made to sacrifice her favorite stuffed animal to empower a ward over her bedroom.
Still, the old man was canny enough not to interrupt her while she made a mistake.
“All this trouble in the south reminded me of the people dispossessed by the Void. I know you told me the local nobles would receive the help to get things back to what they should be, but the process seems too slow.” She finally said, immediately noticing a flicker of annoyance in his eyes.
Jean hadn’t forgotten those she left behind once the Incursion was repelled. She had tried to use her personal influence to direct resources there, and when she found it insufficient, she asked for her mentor’s help.
By Leonard’s account, nothing of the sort ever arrived in the South. The people were abandoned to the mercy of greedy nobles who took advantage of their weakness, enslaved, and sold them. Those who remained free felt the same pangs of hunger and despair Jean had left behind so long ago.
“Operations are impossible now that Leonard Weiss has decided to go on a rampage. The latest reports show that he has taken the town of Thelma and killed all of its nobility.” It wasn’t an answer. It didn’t even attempt to be one. Wilbert Helmut needed to bow his head only to the king and relished that power. He certainly didn’t need to solve her every request.
It was also the last chance she could afford to give him. To show a drop of compassion. Of affection. Instead, he revealed himself to be what she had always known. A calculating, cold politician who cared nothing for the people’s suffering. He was a man who had climbed the Tower to stand at its very top and regretted nothing of the atrocities he had to commit to get there.
He might have been able to afford some compassion if he had been as talented as she was. But he wasn’t, and so he didn’t.
Jean, however, was done justifying his actions. Rather than ask for a more thorough explanation, she nodded, tucked her head in her shoulders like she always did whenever he rejected her requests, and left.
He didn’t even look once at her retreating, gaze already turned to a report on his desk.
Grimly, Jean realized this was the last time she’d see him outside of combat. There couldn’t be a world where he’d forgive her for her betrayal. The next time they’d see each other, he’d try to kill her.
The walk back to her chambers was silent, though Jean could almost physically feel Demetria’s gaze.
The woman knew her too well. Her collar imposed loyalty toward the Archmage, but she had seen Jean grow and had helped her when the world became too much. Had seen her touch the heights of magic and fall apart at a disparaging comment from her mentor. Demetria hadn’t pried in the last few weeks, simply because while she could keep her silence if she didn’t know something, the moment her suspicions became knowledge, she’d be forced to report it.
Jean didn’t doubt the woman who was the closest thing to a mother she had was aware of what she was plotting. Luckily, she had long since surpassed her mentor in the magical arts, and removing a collar enhanced by the Void with Pure Casting was a simple issue.
She flexed her will the moment they stepped into the chambers, sealing them in. Demetria had a single moment to look back in confusion before she was sent into unconsciousness by a simple sleeping spell.
“I’ll wake you up before leaving. You’ll have your chance to decide, but first, I need to take it off you.” Jean murmured, eyes soft.
Collecting her things was the work of a few moments. The bulk of what she wanted to take was already in her pendant, and she selected a few more dresses and smallclothes before turning her attention back to the sleeping slave.
She had already crossed the line with her actions. The three noble brats were likely already waiting for her at the sewers’ entrance near the docks, and night was fast approaching.
That, and I still need to make a decision about the orphans... Oh, who am I kidding? I already know I cannot leave them here to suffer in my place.
Light Magic had never been her forte. Not like what Leonard was capable of, anyway. But Pure Casting allowed her to cross that gap. A simple [Unlock] charm would have worked on a lowest-grade collar, but Demetria bore a much better one despite her lack of personal power. Simulating the Archmage’s signature was another possibility. Unfortunately, it would take time and was too delicate a work to test on Demetria when the collar going off would end her life.
No, she needed to simultaneously cast a spell powerful enough to melt the collar while protecting the woman from the effects. Luckily, Jean Franklin was the youngest Champion in Haylich’s history. Her eyes glowed as she allowed her mana to flood, and she set to work.