We are the same. That does not mean we are united.
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True to his word, Larenok arranged meetings with Jair for eighteen different people in the first day. These ranged from people with disturbed mentalities to those with old injuries, all of whom were wealthy enough to afford the excessive fees Jair’s new agent deemed appropriate.
When Jair had decided to test Darkflame, this wasn’t what he had in mind. But, at the time, he’d been thinking of it as an innately destructive ability. The venix’s fire, for all its dark appearance, was ultimately a power not of consumption but of rebirth.
Darkflame’s impact on old injuries was varied. Some, it restored as though the injury had never been. Others, it completed the healing process or softened the scars, but did not undo them completely. Two young men had their missing limbs replaced like new, while four others remained severed.
It would take more testing to figure out the pattern behind what was replaced or considered not in need of change, but Jair theorized it had to do with the recency of the injury. Past a certain distance, it was beyond undoing.
The way Larenok had kept appearing back in the same spot, Jair had begun to think Darkflame might have merged with Temporal Reversion, but the way it healed his missing arm rather than undoing the event entirely put that theory into question.
Even those whose injuries were fully undone did not revert to the condition they had been in before it, but merely a version of their current self who had fully (even miraculously) recovered.
What had been going on with it in the first iterations, before he came back and fed Maelstrom his soul, he wasn't sure. Perhaps the fact that it was at a minimal percentage had prevented it from moving on to the next stage of its recreation, being only a tenth of Maelstrom’s soul meant it had enough power for the destructive part, but not the rebirth part.
In a way, it might’ve been preferable to keep it at the destruction-only stage. Then again, that version hadn’t even had the power to take out a normal large creature, let alone something the size of Ryenzo.
Then there was its other questionable effect. Since his… discussion with Larenok, his soulspace had gotten larger. Since using Darkflame to heal a collection of injured nobility—and taking large cuts of their money which would go towards financing his Dragon slaying team—he’d started to feel odd flickers of other things.
Nothing so clear as to be discernible for what it was, but every now and again Maelstrom would display a single spark of red, or the glint of reflection would look pinkish or bright blue instead of its usual silver and green-black. He couldn’t see any changes to the soulmap, his conjoined sword and soul remained stable.
Yet… he remembered the blade's ongoing hunger, its eagerness.
He couldn't escape the feeling that Maelstrom was doing more than just healing, it was making an exchange. And he did not know what it might be taking in repayment.
The venix had never come back. How many times could he steal away a piece of someone's soul before they no longer existed? Or would they continue to exist, but become like the mindless revenants Darkflame had inadvertently created in the past?
Jair was so tempted to try it on himself. The more he saw, and the more convoluted the power…
He couldn’t quite convince himself to follow through. The possibility of negative repercussions was too high to risk it just to satisfy his curiosity.
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Jair didn’t limit himself to Larenok’s contact network or the Darkflame investigations. He saw no reason not to continue with his planned collection of robberies, for instance. If he could get their money legitimately, all well and good, but their spendable money wasn’t enough.
The best of the best wasn’t cheap. But you could get some discounts, if you knew the right people.
The difference between having only Veor available and having vast swaths of the rest of the world couldn't be compared.
Jair would have killed to have this kind of opportunity a thousand years ago. Now... he wouldn’t even need to kill for it. Just ruin a few cities’ economy.
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"Lord Veshin. I need to borrow your local cousin."
"Cousin? I can't imagine what you mean, young Welburne. None of my older relatives live in Veor these days, I am the sole patriarch of this oasis."
"Yet they do sometimes come to visit. Or, in this case, help you out with events."
Lord Veshin's eyes narrowed. "I don't know what you're trying to imply, but I assure you, you're quite mistaken."
"Just tell Yalenin I need his help the morning after Dark Night. I know it'll cost a fortune to keep him here away from the coasts, but I'm good for it."
"You very likely are, aren't you?" Lord Veshin murmured, scanning his gaze over Jair appraisingly. "I'll see if I can get in contact. Though, Dark Night, you understand, isn't--"
"I'm sure you can find him. There's only so far one can get to within Veor."
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"King Farshen. I can find your son."
"Who are you? How did you get in here?" The king of Veor slouched in his bedchamber on a sofa so covered in cushions it may as well have been a bed, but he lifted his head to squint in the general direction of the invader.
"I have my ways." Jair gestured to the doorway. He'd carved the door itself completely off its hinges and set it aside in four smaller pieces, leaving it an open archway. "I am an independent agent here on behalf of your wife. She's very sad to see you in this condition, and wants to see you and Orren reconciled."
"Reconciliation requires effort on both sides, intruder," Farshen said mournfully, allowing himself to flop back against the pillows. "Nothing can be done so long as Orren insists on trying to overthrow me."
"He's not trying to overthrow you, that's just your paranoia talking."
Farshen's eyes roamed unsteadily around the room, never quite focusing on Jair properly. "You don't sound like any of Olina's messengers. Who are you?"
"I'm sometimes known as Alahir."
"The stable boy? Why would she..." he trailed off into incoherent mumbling.
"I need you to send a royal edict to these people to meet me outside Mount Ryenzo the morning after Dark Night. If you do that, I'll see to it that Prince Orren is here to meet you in time for Solaria."
Farshen raised one hand in a feeble fist, then extended two fingers to point at Jair. "You don't get to tell me what edicts I need to edict. I'm the edicter around here."
"Yes, and I'm the investigator who finds things that need to be brought to your attention."
"You can't fool me. Alahir is dead. Olina is dead. Orren is dead to me. You can't convince me to change my mind."
"And if Prince Orren truly was willing to put in the effort to reconcile?"
"He won't. He's too greedy for my throne." Farshen sat up straighter, scootched himself back into the corner of the sofa, and clutched his blankets closer to his chest. "Everyone's against me, everyone. This plague, it's their fault. Not mine. The dragon. Not my doing. All schemes and plots to take over. You can't lie to me, Alahir."
This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
"Indeed, I would never dream of deceiving you, my lord king." Jair bowed, then knelt with head still bowed. "I am but a humble agent of your wife's, seeking to reunite your family."
"Then go get my son and bring him here. Maybe beat some sense into him while you're at it."
"I'll do that. And I'll leave this package here for you to look over. If you see anything you disapprove of, burn it. Anything you like, feel free to sign and pass off to your chief of staff. I'm confident my proposals are in your best interests, but of course it's always your decision, my lord king."
Jair held up the envelope containing the edicts he needed signed, each of which was accompanied by a cover letter tailored specifically to Farshen's delusions and hopes.
"I might consider it, once I see Orren for myself."
"Of course, my lord king. I will bring him within the week."
And he’d be slipping a copy of them to a certain caretaker who might be able to get through to him more readily. He highly doubted that, left to his own devices, the king would so much as open the package. He didn’t expect a full success out of this little scheme, but he figured it had at least a thirty percent chance of getting him something.
The best Veor had to offer wasn't much in the grand scheme of things, but even a little was better than nothing.
Since he was in the area anyway to rob the treasury blind, may as well try for a bonus on the way out.
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The days passed all too quickly, and far too slowly at the same time.
Jair collected materials, connections, and wealth. He spent hours pushing his body to its limits, working to reshape his manabody to his desired specifications, and reinforced the beginning imprints on his hands and arms.
His spells wouldn't be ready for weeks, and there was nothing to be done about that.
The next lunar passage to the Ghost Moon, Zelura, would do nothing to speed up that process. Unlike the intensely magical atmosphere of Nuprima, the Ghost Moon had almost no ambient mana at all.
What little mana was present in the domes had to be imported from the planet or purchased from Nuprima. Spend more than a few days out on Zelura outside the domes, and your manabody would starve and disintegrate entirely. Rebuilding a manabody from the ground up was not a pleasant or simple process, and Jair had no plans of doing it again any time soon.
But while the lack of magic made the place terrible for most of his purposes, it did do one very important thing. People who survived on its treacherous surface knew how to fight monsters without relying on spells. Much like a hyper-specialized spellbow, when going up against a dragon that could absorb almost all magic, that freedom from mana requirements was invaluable.
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Jair waited until the day before Dark Night to confront Larenok again.
The man had taken to his new position as Jair's publicist and organizer with great enthusiasm. He had lined up a great many opportunities for Jair to use Darkflame, though Jair did refuse several of them. He saw nothing wrong with pilfering slivers of soul from the avaricious, but for ordinary people being overcharged and exploited, he’d prefer to wait until he had a better idea of what exactly Maelstrom was taking and what impact it would have on those it took from.
That evening, an hour before the lunar passage was open, he and Larenok met to go over final details. Jair gave him the list of people who were authorized to join their party, instructing Larenok to accommodate them fully.
“And you don’t want me to come with you?”
“No, this I have to do alone.”
Larenok looked over the list, then paused and tapped at one spot. “You had a meeting with King Farshen himself? Did you heal him?”
Jair opened his mouth, frowned, and laughed faintly. “I didn’t even think of it.”
Larenok stared at him with such openly baffled astonishment that Jair was impressed his mouth could even open that wide. “You… didn’t think of it? You have the richest, most powerful man in all of Veor right in front of you, and you don’t even consider selling him your service?”
“All this flame-healing is your gig.” Jair waved a hand. “I’m dealing with more important things at the moment. But if you want to contact the king and add him to the client list for when I return, I’m not opposed.”
Larenok snorted and shook his head pityingly. “And this is why so many of you talented geniuses end up going nowhere. No sense of shameless self-promotion whatsoever. Here.” He handed over the transit token and authorization papers Jair would need in order to gain access to the lunar platform. “Try to remember you’re a business now, not just a citizen.”
“Business. Right.” Jair pinned Larenok to the wall with Maelstrom through his chest and held them there.
Larenok disappeared into ashes as Darkflame consumed him. He reappeared, and Darkflame consumed him again.
There was no moving from his position, no appearing elsewhere, simply reforming with Maelstrom already stabbed through him and disappearing just as fast in a flicker of fire.
Larenok didn't even have time to look confused before he burned away again and again and again. Black and green filled Jair’s vision, blinding and skewing perception, but he did not relent.
There were questions he still needed answered.
With the instances in such close proximity and repeated, Jair began to feel the change. Subtly, ever so gradually, the sword leeched power from the man and slipped it silently into Jair and Maelstrom’s shared soul.
It was tiny, a bare sliver of a fragment. Not even close to the amount Maelstrom had been desperately gouging out of people when it was incomplete and searching for anything to fill that void. It would take a lot more than ten instances at this rate to consume a whole soul.
But Darkflame flared up every second, and they had a whole hour.
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Larenok never did disappear completely. Even after being immolated thousands of times without pause, he still reappeared.
He still hadn't managed to look surprised, disappearing as fast as he was re-created.
When time was almost out before the lunar passage, Jair finally stopped and withdrew his sword.
Larenok reformed for the final time, and scowled. "What was that for?” His voice was barely unhappy. More curious than anything.
"What was what for?"
"You stabbed me. Was I being that annoying? Needed to reset my emotions already?"
Jair chuckled. "You've lost track of time. We need to go."
"What are you talking about? We have an hour…"
Jair gestured up at the sky, where the ghost moon was fully visible, its glowing scars almost entirely turned toward the planet below.
Larenok cursed. "Aelir! I have lost track of time.” He began rushing about, collecting things and muttering instructions that Jair tuned out. He knew how to handle himself on Zelura. That wasn’t something he needed Larenok to teach him.
Instead he was searching within himself and Maelstrom, for what changes might have been wrought by taking so many fragments of Larenok’s existence.
The man didn’t seem to have noticed anything amiss. For all he knew, Jair had only killed him the once, and he’d lost track of time on his own.
Jair had noticed his soulspace growing fractionally before, after his first interview with Larenok. He tended to keep it full of any miscellany that he might want or need, so having a blank spot, however small, was notable.
The change this time was even greater. The boundaries were stronger than ever, but the amount of space had increased by nearly a quarter of his total.
That… was not normal. Jair had lived decades into the future. He’d studied and experimented and done everything he could conceive of to make any and every part of himself stronger. His soulspace had been of particular interest. If there was any way to bring, say, an anti-dragon frozen shrapnel bomb from the future, that would be of extreme value to his goal.
He’d reinforced his soulspace. He’d stretched and reshaped his soulspace. He’d done unspeakable things to his soulspace and… well, the less said about those years the better. But in none of his hundreds of timelines had he ever expanded his soulspace to such a drastic degree.
It was almost as big as himself now. He could fit so much more material in there now… he immediately started planning it all out.
But for now, he had a lunar passage to catch and the most epic recruitment run of Veor’s history to make.
Or so he thought.
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Jair arrived at the Sejrilo underground lunar platform a few minutes before the first passage opened. He handed over the authorization package Larenok had given him, pleased by the smoothness of the transaction. None of the usual coercion and bribery was necessary, just a simple exchange and he was sent right through.
It was so smooth in fact that he ended up standing around waiting for the passage to activate a full two minutes longer than he’d expected.
He stepped off the platform amid the initial group of VIPs, into Zelura’s eternal twilight beneath the dome.
A glint of light drew his eye, as a woman in a floor-length silver dress took a single step toward him, eyes boring into his.
Jair recognized her immediately. He stepped forward and bowed, smiling. “Nay Ahll Mersine? It’s been a long time. What brings you out into the world of we mere mortals?”
The ancient seer looked as though she’d stopped aging somewhere around her mid-thirties, the starting traces of age on her face but body youthful. Only her tired eyes betrayed the darkness she’d seen and the disasters she’d lived through, both in life and vision.
Being an elder among the elves, her horns were adorned with sunsilver in patterns denoting wisdom and strength. Gleaming black hair with a hint of iridescent purple fell in soft waves almost to her knees, contrasting with the patterned silver fabric of her dress.
If it were anyone else, Jair would be impressed she managed to walk alone and unarmed through the most lawless city on the lawless moon in such a clearly expensive outfit, but Nay Ahll Mersine was foresightful on a level that even a time traveler had to respect. Jair owed her his life and more. Without her, he might never have taken control of his soulspell in the first place, back in those early loops when he’d fallen helplessly again and again and again.
They’d been friends across a hundred lifetimes. The fact that they’d never met in this version of their lives meant nothing.
She nodded in acknowledgement of his greeting, but did not answer his smile, her face set in a grim line. “Jair Welburne. I hoped you wouldn’t be here.”
Jair’s smile slipped. “That’s not the greeting I expected. What brings you to this corner of the underworld?”
“I’m here to warn you.” She stepped forward, and the fear in her expression was something he’d never before seen from her in all their lifetimes. Resignation was familiar, almost expected when they had occasion to debate, but this was something else entirely.
Deep dread.
Jair’s flippancy disappeared completely. “What’s wrong?” Anything that could worry Nay Ahll Mersine was something he needed to treat very, very seriously.
She’d only come to him with warnings twice before; once when Sekir was poised to destroy Veor and its neighboring continents, and again when the Letyran beastlord was about to invade Celsin.
Neither time had she looked half as worried as she did now.
“You,” she said, and the tremor in her voice… in all his lifetimes he’d never heard the word uttered in a way that cut him so deeply. “You have to stop. You are going too far.”
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