Remus approached the outskirts of Hybrid with the rest of his men, his legs sore, and the opportunity to drink from a well never being more appealing.
Of course, he had multiple clansmen from the Feast Clan at his back, ready to make anything at his beckon or call. Though, strangely, while they could make any other kind of beverage, the ability to produce simple water seemed to elude them. Perhaps that would cross over too much with Maris’ domain of power.
Remus didn’t drink alcohol if he could help it, and going up in Rank usually meant you became more and more resistant to its effects. Sobriety was the curse of the most powerful. That’s why Clove seemed to drink five barrels of beer a day — his stomach was a capacious thing, and nothing really got to him if he didn’t drink a hundred litres of the stuff. Remus couldn’t imagine what it would take to make a God-Graced drunk.
After washing his face, and guzzling down as much water as he could, Remus passed the bucket to Barley. The man lowered the rope attached to it, drawing up another draw of water from the depths of the well. In this fashion, they all took turns replenishing themselves.
Smiling, Remus leaned against the stone of the well, letting the warm afternoon sun seep into his aching bones. It might have been for a few mindless minutes that he sat there, trying to recover a little energy before they made their last advance into Hybrid. It was then, blinking at the sight he had been ignoring for the past moment, that he actually took notice of what was before him.
A Speed Sect outpost.
“Hey.” He nudged Barley, who was relaxing at his side. “Over there, you see?”
Barley narrowed his eyes. “The carriages?”
“Yeah. Don’t you think it’s weird how we haven’t seen any of them out here? I remember when I used to travel as a fugitive, I would see carriages so often that it was infuriating. I used to hate not being able to use them. Now though . . . to have travelled so far, and only spotting one now is awfully strange.”
“Maybe the sect fell on hard times after the war?”
“Maybe. I thought it was weird no-one was arriving to Eclipse by carriage anymore, but had never cared to look into it.” Remus leapt to his feet. “Now’s my chance.”
Together with Barley, Tess, and a still hungover Clove, Remus strolled over, only noticing the workers when he got close enough to the entrance.
Men were milling around, carrying planks of wood, chatting, or working together to dismantle what used to be open buildings, where the carriages must have been kept.
Immediately, like the scent of death infesting his nostrils, Remus realised something was off. He paused, turning to face a flicker of white he saw in the corner of his eye.
There, in a sight that made his stomach do somersaults, death bore its ugly face.
Gurneys covered the floor, every single mat occupied by a Speed clansman. They all looked worse for wear, squinting in the harsh afternoon sunlight, their bodies more emaciated than desert fruit.
When they did open their eyes, Remus caught sight of a swirling white in place of any coloured iris. The same colour he contributed to Infinity itself. Voices murmured out in pain, begging for release from something, but Remus for the life of him couldn’t find out what.
“What in the hell-” Tess cut herself off. Remus had never seen the woman’s eyes go so wide.
“What’s happening here?” Clove stumbled in behind them, and Remus had to stop him from stepping on one of the patient’s bodies. “Oi, what are you-?”
Clove’s eyes landed on the gathering. His throat swallowing couldn’t have been a more visceral sight, every twitch of skin and muscle worthy of a painting. “Good gods.”
A few workers were looking Remus’ way now, and they didn’t look pleased. Clearly, their presence was drawing attention, and it wasn’t exactly welcomed. “We’re making ourselves known.” Remus said quickly. “Experience tells me that isn’t the best thing to do outside of Divine Ground. We should ask what’s going on here, or just hurry up and-”
A hand squeezed Remus’ forearm. Instinctually, he pulled away, or attempted to do so. But then the white light flooded his vision, and Remus found himself amply disoriented.
Remus wasn’t sure what happened next. Afterwards, when recounting what on earth he had seen, the closest phenomenon he could name was an out-of-body experience. It was very similar to when Nova had forced him to witness unspeakable horrors, back before Maris’ protection made it more difficult for Violet’s father to make a move on them.
Like an eyeball hovering in space, Remus couldn’t blink. What he did see, however, was displayed in crystal clear clarity. Like always, he tried to activate his Mark, but found any connection that remained to his physical self a fickle thing.
It was less a fleshed-out vision, and more like a series of images. All a landscape right of the belly of hell.
Golden light flooded out everywhere the eye could see. The sandstorm immersed one central figure in the far distance, but Remus could make out little more than their silhouette. A sound like a bell ringing resounded around the place, over and over and over again. Remus tried to listen in closer, thought he recognised the noise to be laughter, before the scene was swept away from him.
Hundreds of still frames flooded his vision, at least ten flickering past before he could even process what was happening. Armies of Unbounded, armies of clansmen. Scenes of raging battle, scenes of spilled Ichor, scenes beyond comprehension.
Remus felt like he was pinned to the corner of a boxing ring, absorbing an endless flurry of blows. He wanted to vomit, he wanted to escape, but the visions kept coming.
One last image stuck out, the sucker-punch to conclude the string of blows, and bring the match to a dramatic finale.
He saw himself at the head of an army, First Rite expanding around him. Corpses covered the floor, Unbounded and human alike. The flagstone that made up First Rite’s bustling streets was nowhere to be seen. Grey was a rarity among a river of gold.
There he stood, some version of him, in the middle of this sea of blood. He was a sight for sore eyes, cheeks purpled, eyes black and bulging, and his own stream of Ichor spilling through his teeth. Nevertheless, he smiled. A grim smile that seemed to challenge the absurdity of the moment.
As if he had well and truly gone mad. Remus stared into his own determined eyes, through the windows of the soul. He saw nothing there but insanity.
Remus pulled away from the hand, danced on his feet for a few steps after hurtling backwards, before narrowly coming to a standstill. The wind on his skin signalled to him that this was reality. Remus got his breathing under control, trying not to blush as his companions looked at him. It was the same way you would regard someone in serious need of medical inspection.
“Such destruction.” A voice below muttered.
All eyes turned to the man who had grasped Remus. He spoke through a parched throat, and glassy eyes. A few strands of hair dangled off his head. Remus hated himself for the thought, but it was like a dead body was speaking.
Remus crouched down by the man, speaking softly. “What happened here?”
The question was completely disregarded. “I’ve never seen someone with a future as tumultuous as yours. I don’t know whether to pity or fear you.”
Remus swallowed. Okay, that wasn’t the best first exchange he’d ever had. Neither was being forced to cruise through a hell of fragmented scenes, with no rhyme or reason behind their composition.
“Tell me, what’s your name? What’s going on? I want to help if I can.”
The man looked at him. He seemed to see past his skin, and Remus suddenly felt very exposed.
“Such suffering. Such pain . . . you would do well to prepare yourself.”
The man closed his eyes. Remus opened his mouth to speak, but noticed the gradual rise and sinking of their chest. They were fast asleep.
Remus looked up just in time to see a woman storm into view. Her arms were crossed, her eyebrows knitted, and her build muscular enough to startle Remus. “What are you doing by the patients?” She shouted, each word charged with twenty different emotions. “Do you even have the slightest idea how important keeping them alive is?”
“Look, I’m sure there has been some kind of misunderstanding. What’s happening here?”
She looked at Remus like his brain cells had been fried and cooked into an omelette. “Oh please, you must . . .” her eyes trailed sceptically across their full group, each looking more clueless than the last. “Gods, you seriously don’t know?”
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Remus shook his head.
“Have you been living under a rock?” The woman couldn’t have been more exasperated. Nevertheless, the tension seemed to reach a breaking point within her. Her shoulders sagged, and Remus felt months of exhaustion wash away.
She told them everything. Remus listened to the news of Java’s death, and the clansmen’s condition, and all the while, tried to calm himself.
Enos was making moves. That news alone, regardless of whatever the being was actually doing, was enough to send every bone in his body quaking.
When the woman was done, even Clove looked like he wanted to ask for more news, but Remus didn’t think he could bear it. “We understand. I apologise for any inconvenience caused.”
“Did you see a vision?” She suddenly asked. “I saw him grabbing your hand, what did you see?”
Remus thought back to the vistas of suffering. To his own demented grin as he smiled, a butcherer standing upon his own livestock. It took everything he had not to shiver at the recollection.
She stepped closer to him, getting too close for comfort. “What did you see?” Desperation leaked into her voice now, which seemed too fragile. Like she was on the verge of breaking down.
“Bad things.” He couldn’t look her in the eye. “Bad things in my future.”
This didn’t console her, per se, but she no longer sounded on the verge of tears. “The predictions, so far . . . they seem to be true. You would be wise to remain vigilant. You might also consider yourself lucky . . . most people only have visions recounted to them. Being pulled in to experience the prophecy first-hand is a rare thing.”
Remus nodded, not quite sure what to make of anything that had happened.
The group walked in silence to the outskirts of Hybrid. An entrance to the Undercrossing loomed open ahead of them, but it was late out. Setting up camp, and delaying their entering until they were all amply rested, seemed to be the best option.
It was then, staring into the blue embers of their fire, that the full gravitas of the visions struck Remus. He thought of his own bloody face and shivered.
“Do you think it’s true?”
Tess looked over to him. “What is?”
“What she said. You know, about the visions all coming to fruition.”
She shrugged. “I doubt it. There are multiple oracles out there, and none of them have a one hundred percent success rate. I wouldn’t think about it too much.”
Even in the little light provided by the fire, Remus had no trouble seeing Barley’s frown form. “I’m not one to intrude, but what was it you saw, anyway? I’ll understand if it’s personal, but it sounded serious.”
There was one awkward pause. One tiny passage in time where everyone recalled what the white-eyed man had said. Such suffering. Such pain.
“I saw . . .” Remus found it hard to put into words. “I saw the world going ballistic. I saw a gold storm, then . . .”
“Then?”
“Then, the beginning of another war. I saw myself fighting through First Rite, gore splattered everywhere. I looked downright psychotic.”
Nobody spoke another word. The hum of cicadas was a constant buzz in the back of his ear, and Remus found it a comforting point to force his focus on.
It was much preferable over the shock of his teammates, who probably questioned their leader’s capacity to, well, lead.
“Damn.” Clove finally found the courage to shatter the silence.
Remus took this as his cue to continue. “It just has me thinking: if my destiny really is predetermined, what’s the point in doing anything? Nothing I do will affect the outcome, will it? When put into perspective . . . well, it just makes any efforts I do make rather futile.”
Now they looked really troubled.
Remus shook his hands fervently. “No, don’t take that the wrong way. I can’t prove the visions were true, and we’re not stopping. It’s just alarming. We knew what we were getting into, challenging Damosh. We just have to prepare ourselves for things to get bad. Very bad.”
If any of them were looking for a motivating leader, they wouldn’t find it in Remus. Gods above, even Remus had to fight demons to get out of bed sometimes. “Let’s be careful. I know things are going to get violent, but we should be wise about how many lives we take to put Damosh to justice. Any number would be a worthy sacrifice for such a tyrant, but I have enough blood on my hands.”
Tess looked appalled.. “Obviously we have to protect the people who fight for us. What do you take us for? Bloodthirsty monsters?”
“I was thinking over-ambitious fools.” Barley piped in.
The irony was not lost on Remus, and he chuckled alongside the rest of them.
The hours soon passed by, and Remus found himself enjoying a bowl of stew, stars starting to appear up above. The universe winking at him; perhaps in mockery.
“So what’s the plan now?” Tess asked, having finished her own bowl. “Are you and Maris still on good terms?”
“That’s still yet to be seen.” Remus looked off towards the Undercrossing, trying not to feel too nervous. Strange, he didn’t recall ever being more paranoid — even when more assassins than he knew alive had tracked his every move. “I wasn’t allowed to contact her while under house arrest. They were afraid she was going to use some legal loophole to get me out of trouble or something.”
“What’s going on in Hybrid, anyway?” Barley frowned. “If they delay the next coronation any longer . . .”
“Have you heard the rumours?” Clove muttered from behind a bottle. “Fighting. Maybe Maris has gotten too attached to her throne.”
Remus hadn’t cared to pay much attention to court politics while dealing with his legal debacle, but that was strange. He sometimes forgot how short the reign of a God-Graced truly was in Hybrid. One Rebirth couldn’t have been more cut-throat. The amount of times legislation must have changed . . .
“It seems almost pointless having a shared system like this, if each ruler hardly has time to get to grips with their newfound power, before it’s stripped away from them. I know it's to avoid the city ending up like Hell’s Floor, but with the amount of infighting we have to deal with regardless, it’s a slippery slope.”
“Who’s the next monarch, anyway?” Barley asked.
Remus imagined a mental map of Hybrid. After the arboreal kingdom of Territory Five, and the frothing seas of Territory Four . . . ah yes, it came to him, the rocky mountains of Territory Three. Home of the Mammal Clan.
A memory of blasting a group of Mammal Clansmen with a plasma beam made Remus shiver. That may have been the cruellest he’d ever been. Then Remus remembered sinking the glaciers of the Frost Clan, and quickly stopped his mind from recalling any other atrocities. Remus realised just how light his service really had been.
“The Mammal Sect.” Remus frowned. “Who’s their leader again?”
The others shrugged. “I hear they’re going to have a dogfight to decide who takes to the throne.” Barley interjected. “Clubbing each other’s skulls in, by the sounds of it.”
Remus smiled, but couldn’t help feeling troubled. If Maris’ tenure had passed as queen, it made no sense for her to continue to be the reigning monarch. Whatever the case, something fishy was going on with Hybrid politics.
Slowly, the others retired to their hammocks or sleeping bags, leaving Remus all alone. His eyelids were drooping, and sleep couldn't have been more appealing, but a thought pricked at the back of his mind. He had to contact them.
Them meant a lot of people. Namely, his family, first and foremost, but also Koa.
Koa. As much as Remus had been preoccupied the last few months, he hated not having messaged the boy enough. After such a traumatic experience in Territory Two — one he had only heard whispers of — he’d neglected sending Koa so much as a letter. And to think this was one of Remus' closest friends. Pah, it said a lot about his social life.
He’d intended on meeting Koa after first consulting Maris, but that was before Remus had realised how perturbed the situation at the city proper likely was. He didn’t want to dive headfirst into a civil war, and be forced by Oath to Maris to support her campaign. He wasn’t quite sure how much hold on him that Oath still had, and he wasn’t exactly ecstatic to find out. It had seemed to only be a temporary agreement at the time, but now? Remus wasn’t so sure. Maris could be tricky when she wanted to be, and could just as easily pull him into another binding agreement.
Remus opened the sack he carried. It was surprisingly empty, with rations not being a necessity. Inside, at the very bottom, was a bottle of ink, a quill, and creased parchment.
First things first, Remus penned another heartfelt message to his family. He wanted to constantly remind them of his safety, of course, but something bigger troubled him. Nowadays, everything seemed to irk Remus to some extent, but this was one of the heavy outliers that played on his mind, like his psyche was an amusement park. Damion was still yet to reply to his last letter. Remus had been travelling, that was true, but even during the days leading up to his departure, he hadn’t heard a word. Damion was busy as all hell back at the sect, and it might take him Durations sometimes to respond to any messages. But Remus had been sure a reply to his brother leaving custody would at least elicit a speedy reply. Remus had believed that was as sure as the sun rising the next day.
If even something that significant couldn’t wrestle Damion’s attention, perhaps matters were worse for the Carpentry Clan than Remus had first feared.
Now Remus felt like he could rely on neither: according to his visions, enough Unbounded would soon gather to blot out the sun, and his brother’s attention being wrestled away seemed to be an improbability; one it would be selfish of him to hope for. Yet he did regardless.
Though there were some glimmers of hope. Once he settled in Hybrid, Remus could request at the local postal for his letters to be redirected here. Perhaps a response had simply been stuck in transit, or was sitting in Eclipse, waiting to be resent. Hybrid was a large place, with a larger number of people within it. It was a sensible estimate that Remus would have to spend a long time here, just to spread his message to all who would hear it. Then there was no telling how long an ordeal with Maris might take to resolve. Maybe at some point during his extended stay, he would receive some confirmation of his family’s wellbeing.
Knowing Maris, she would surely have something to take up his time. Remus didn’t bother the headache trying to speculate on what.
Remus merely penned a few lines asking on his sect’s safety. With that letter complete, he slid it into an envelope, swatted his quill back into the ink, and began writing to Koa.
I don’t know if this will reach you in time, but I’m coming to visit. I hope things are going well. I’m sorry for not writing sooner.
He knew it was short, but didn’t know what else to say. It had been so long . . . Remus wondered what the remnants with his friendship with Koa would look like. He hoped there was something salvageable there.
Remus hurried through the night’s gloom, reaching a box just outside of the Undercrossing’s entrance. He slid the two letters inside, hoping they’d be sent off in a swift manner.
Stumbling back to bed, Remus had some trouble falling asleep.