He had slipped again. He had given in to the anger, to the madness. It felt so empty, his body. So light. The souls had left him, along with the burden. The constant weight and guilt he had to hold within was gone. And it felt wrong.

Dormant magic flooded his body and breathed life to his brain. He could feel the cold tickle of the gem before it even touched his chest. His flesh besieged it, ravenous for the soul hidden inside. Its light dimmed, and he was whole again. He had died three hundred and three times, and revived just as many. After a while, he knew how to reconstruct each new body, ironing out imperfections quickly. How to stretch and push and cut it down to size until it fit him. The agony of being born anew… That was just his punishment.

Leylin opened his eyes.

“I can’t do this much longer.” The man with the silver eyes pulled him up from the sand. “I had to wipe the minds of three mages to retrieve your soul. It’s gonna raise suspicion.”

Leylin cracked his jaw in place and coughed the sand out of his mouth. He moved his limbs back and forth and blinked a couple of times. The red dessert spread in every direction. This was Andren land.

“Why did you pick this body? You know I have newer ones ready.”

“You sent word that the blight is ready.” The man lowered his mask slightly, to wipe the sweat from his brow. “So I’ve arranged for the merchant to meet us here.”

Leylin hesitated. He only had himself to blame for not being careful enough. "I lost Rane. The aspect of ice helped him escape during the hunt."

The man with the silver eyes paused. He huffed underneath his mask, but measured his words. "Do you know where he is?"

"No." Leylin shook his head. Even without the souls to cloud his judgement, he grew anxious. "Finding him is a priority, but I'm not worried. For better or worse, the aspect was on his side. He should be safe."

"But for how long?" The man's voice turned stern. "Caelus is already looking for him."

"Then find him first." Leylin snapped. "You're the one that peered into his mind. You should know how he thinks."

"You know I only erase memories," the man replied. "I can't read them." He fumbled in his pocket for a sphere, and gave it a quick glance. It was a curious relic, made of interlocking, reflecting crystals. The man slipped it back in its hiding place. "If he truly is in the capital, I will find him."

"Good. Show me you're worthy of the power I gave you."

"You only gave me a soul." The man stared right in his eyes. "The power, I cultivated on my own."

"And you owe me for that, don't you?" Leylin held his gaze. “It’s been four years, and you still haven’t found my brother’s diary.”

“Hundreds of historians and arcane scholars have sought out that damned book throughout the ages. If it were that easy, they’d have found it first.” The grunts of a beast sounded in the distance, cutting the conversation short. “I’ll find it,” said the man again. “But let’s handle one blight at a time.”

A smile crossed Leylin’s face. He was looking forward to this. “Clothes?”

The man with the silver eyes pointed. He had already set up a crude tent. Leylin found clean water and his clothes waiting for him inside. They didn’t fit his new body perfectly, but it was pretty close. The partner he had chosen this time was capable, had ties and information. “A bit too hateful though,” Leylin mumbled as he toyed with the collar of his cape. After dressing, Leylin went outside, only to see the coachman pulling the beast to a halt. The slaver waved. Leylin watched in disgust as the plump ashfen huffed and struggled to get off the wagon.

“Finally! We thought we were going round for hours. The dessert is unforgiving, me father always said, and it’s sun–”

“Name your price.” Leylin cut him off. That’s how every slaver he had met was. They thought making small talk would help them gauge their client’s wallet. If anything, it made Leylin willing to part with less. Not to mention how fat most of them were. More so than the coin they made justified. Perhaps they kept their guilts at bay with food and booze.

“Ten golds each,” said the slaver. The smile had quickly left his face. “Not a silver less.”

Leylin frowned when he looked at the slaves rotting away in the cage. Both human and ashfen sat orderly inside. Days in the desert sun had sapped their vitality and they were dirty and malnourished, breastbones visible beneath their skin.“Why the sudden climb in price? They don’t seem any different.”

“You see, esteemed client, Andre is rallying up forces to prepare for war.” A slimmer ashfen stepped forward to speak. “Slaves have become a rare and precious commodity. It took us a lot of effort to sneak these few out under the empire’s nose.”

“What about your friend?” The slaver shifted his gaze to the man behind Leylin. The white, featureless mask didn’t stop his approach. Nor did the silver, unnatural eyes beneath it. Leylin knew the man would stop at nothing if he turned a profit. “Do you also wish to purchase a slave, sir?”

The man with the silver eyes didn’t respond, didn’t even spare a look at the slaver. Leylin cursed inwardly. He could feel the anger seething underneath the man’s calm facade.

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“Your best slave,” Leylin said, drawing the slaver’s attention back to himself. They needed at least one ashfen left alive. “Show him to me.”

“Of course!” The slaver almost cried out in joy. One of the ashfens in the cart stood and puffed out his chest with as much pride as a slave could muster. He was taller, more muscular than the rest. The slavers had treated him well.

“Thirty gold pieces and he’s yours!”

Leylin neared the cart and scrutinized the man. He needed someone strong enough to last the journey back. This one would do.

“For such a loyal customer as you milord, twenty seven golds!” The slaver must have mistaken Leylin’s probing for hesitancy, so he quickly lowered his price. Leylin tossed him a pouch of thirty coins regardless.

The slaver pocketed the gold and shouted, “Quickly, Kubbi! Quickly bring him here.”

A well built ashfen handed the reins to the slaver and circled the cart. He seemed to act as both coachman and guard. Like the slaves, he had been Oathbranded, binding him to his master’s will. He’s for protection, the slaver had said, although Leylin doubted he could protect anyone from what would happen next.

The coachman reached into the cart, catching the slave by the hair and dragging him out. The others shied away, afraid. Even though he was treated roughly, the slave knelt in front of Leylin obediently. Lucky bastard. It was as if he knew he’d live a bit longer than the rest.

“Anyone else, milord?”

“No, that would be it.” Leylin smirked. He flipped his palms and darkness burst forth. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Wha–” The slaver took half a step back. The darkness lunged at him like a ravenous beast pouncing on prey. It forced open his mouth and muffled his screams. Leylin poked at the man’s soul with his magic. Tiny, grey and revolting though it was, there hid a shred of magic within it. And Leylin was in dire need of souls to burn. With a thought, he crushed the man’s brain and dragged whatever parts of his soul remained into his own body. He glanced to the side. The coachman was facing the man with the silver eyes, yet he did not attack. He just stood, eyes unfocused and mouth agape.

“What can you see?” Leylin asked.

“For the last time.” The man with the silver eyes tapped the coachman’s forehead and its knees buckled as it fell. It moved with the vigor of a man possessed, lapping at the scorching sand, shoveling handfuls into its mouth and chewing. “I can only erase and create simple commands. I cannot read their minds. At least not yet.”

Was it a rare notion of sympathy or an attempt at torture? Leylin hoped it to be the latter. The man’s hatred was not one easily quenched. Deep down, Leylin admired him. His commitment to their cause, his ruthlessness. “You handle that power like it's your own,” he teased.

The man cast a glance at him and Leylin hurriedly turned his head away. He gazed at the other slaver, at the slaves inside the cart. None of them moved, lest they suffer a similar fate.

“Wh-What are you? Why must you do this?” Seeing the guard drop to his knees, the slaver trembled.

“We’re humans,” Leylin said, smiling. “The real question is what you are.”

“I-I’m only a slaver to feed my family!” The man cried out. “I’ll free the humans! I’ll free them all! Just don’t kill me, I beg you...”

Leylin neared, close enough for the revolting stench of the slaves to reach his nostrils. “You’re not just a slaver,” he said, “but an ashfen as well.” He forced himself to look at the bastard’s white face and mustered all the rage inside him. “You see, your sins carry with them a debt. Pay in gold. Pay in blood. Pay with the servitude of your kin.” He lifted the slaver by the neck and smashed him against the wood of the chart. His grip tightened. The slaver gurgled. “But pay you must.”

Veins of darkness spread up Leylin’s arms and the ashfen’s bones cracked under his strength. He’d miss this feeling. Ending a life with his own hands had always felt different. Brief though the feeling may be, it was purer. It was justice. He snapped the ashfen’s neck like a twig and threw him aside, then willed a gust of air to lift the human slaves off the cart safely. The ashfens, he murdered. Crushed them inside darkness without allowing them time to plead.

“Thank you, master sorcerer. Thank you…” An aged slave knelt before him, speaking words of praise and gratitude.

Leylin helped him up. “Follow the setting sun,” he said and pointed. “In half a day’s time you’ll find shelter. The slaver’s supplies are also yours to take.”

“If you ever speak about who or what you saw today,” said the man with the silver eyes, “you’ll lose the life you’ve been gifted.”

After that, none of the slaves dared to dally longer. They grabbed some rations and set off.

“Finally.” Leylin turned to the ashfen slave he had bought. The young ashfen was still on its knees and hadn’t dared to move an inch. Leylin didn’t even have to use the Oathbrand on the man’s forehead. The slave had probably never seen a mage before. Definitely not one of Leylin’s aptitude.

“It’s time to play!” There was excitement in Leylin’s voice, anticipation. He knelt next to the ashfen and took its hand. The man trembled, but Leylin held it firm.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said with a smile. “If all goes well, you’ll survive!” The ashfen nodded its head, yet it was obvious it was shaken. In truth, Leylin was growing restless as well. He had been itching to try his perfected creation for weeks now. The slaves he had experimented on during his travels with Rane had reacted well.

Thin, dark marks surfaced on his body and slithered across his skin before reaching his fingernails. Like tiny snakes, they coiled around Leylin’s fingers and slipped onto the ashfen’s skin. The slave’s entire body soon housed the weird sigils. They moved around frantically before settling in place, one by one. After pulsing with darkness, they vanished. Leylin stood. If the spell worked as intended, Andre would lose a great deal of power.

If one disregarded the necessary test subjects, creating a potent curse was like tuning a lyre. Making the curse untraceable had cost him hundreds of slaves, and tinkering with its lethality twice that number. If the magic was too deadly it wouldn’t have time to spread to others, but if it was too weak the Andren sorcerers would have more time to study it. Only with balance could he strike the perfect notes that would comprise a symphony of death and sickness.

“It’s finished,” Leylin called. “Do your part.”

The man with the silver eyes looked down at the ashfen and nora swirled around his arm. He grabbed the slave’s head and pressed a finger against the scar on the ashfen’s forehead. The process was different each time, Leylin had found. It depended on which memories the man had to ruin, as well as the degree of change required. Some wept, while others remained silent throughout. Rane had been the only one to scream.

A few minutes passed in silence before the ashfen stood. There existed no purpose or intelligence behind its gleaming eyes. It simply mounted one of the cart’s horses and rode off. Leylin gazed at the figure until it was but a speck of black in the distance.

The man with the silver eyes removed his mask and wiped the sweat on his forehead. “Will it work?”

“Can an Oath be broken?” Leylin asked. Of course the curse would work.

“Aren’t we trying to do just that?”

Leylin smirked, then kicked a bloody coin away. “It was a figure of speech.”