Sansir huddled in the alley, wincing at the feel of water rushing across his ankles. “Bronze Bargain?” he asked the man before.
Stains marked his pot-bellied shirt, food remnants stuck to his week-old beard growth, and grime stained his fingers beyond just the nails. “Through,” he mumbled, thumbing behind him.
Sighing, Sansir squeezed past the short man. He smelled worse than he looked and the alley was too narrow to avoid brushing against him. Thankfully, the man didn’t follow. The alley opened into a courtyard between the buildings.
A sweet, slightly bitter smell filled the air. He recognized the smell of cooking, even if he didn’t know what they were making. Two guards stood before an entryway, both of them strong enough to rate as second-stages. Their clothes, seemingly chosen at random, were clean and washed recently.
“Bronze Bargain?” Sansir asked, thumbing his stone. The week’s worth of charge was running out soon. One man nodded, the other stumbled through his name. It didn’t come easy to neither the written nor spoken version Fiyan.
He was let through the door and into a sparse reception. Two chairs sat against the wall, a desk and chair sat next to a door leading further into what he was suspecting was a compound of cobbled together buildings. All the furniture was untreated wood. While roughly hewn and put together in a hurry, it was clearly made by someone with no time but a lot of skill.
“You are Sansir?” asked a woman. She was dressed like the guards outside. As if all her clothes came from a pile of randomly colored cloth. Her shirt had a gradient at the bottom fifth, turning from a solid red to a bleak green. He didn’t even know where to start on such a color change.
The woman, only a little stronger than a first-stage, led him out of the reception and through several corridors, through another alley where her hair would’ve been blown into disarray, if it hadn’t already been. Finally, they ended the strange tour in a small office, where a standing desk was pushed against the wall. Two chairs had been set in the corner, separated by a small table.
Taking the seat offered to him, Sansir watched as she grabbed a note and paper. “My name is Green,” she said. “What can we help you with today?”
Green? Sansir thought, glancing at the bleak color on her shirt. “A technique,” he said. “I’m looking for something that’ll allow me to hurt someone. Someone stronger than me.”
Green nodded and scribbled on her paper. “As per procedure, I am obliged to tell you that such skills are usually very dangerous, and require sacrifice that few are willing to make. If you choose to proceed further, you will have to swear on this Secret stone.”
She pulled a small gray stone from her pocket and placed it on the table. To his eyes, it looked no different from the translation stone on his neck, yet it seemed to mute his tether-sense on touch.
“Agreed.”
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Dovar watched as the triplet master, a man named Zubair, strained against their combined efforts. His spirit wasn’t quivering right on the edge of suppression. It wasn’t quite the effect of someone a stage higher undermining another’s mana, but it was close.
The triplet master could barely function underneath the force of their attention. “She won’t just be standing still,” Morphos warned, as Zubair took tentative steps. He walked as if many times heavier, yet he left no deeper dent in the soil than normal. It was all an impression.
“I don’t expect she will. But it’s working!” Dovar laughed. Even Zubair had an impressed look on his face, though he didn’t appear worried. They’d only been working on him for a minute, but already a few of the students were showing the strain. Dovar was halfway surprised that he wasn’t one of them.
“All we need is to slow her down enough to land a telling blow.”
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Kirs watched the students of the academy strain against the ritual. They weren’t doing a good job. Mostly, she was uncertain whether this would tell them anything. Going to the academy looking for space-tethered soldiers, she’d found a second-stage teacher in his mid-forties and three score students, ranging from fresh-faced to newly second-stage.
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None of them were outright breaking the ritual, but this was hardly a worthy test. If she wanted a proper trial, she’d need to wait for Ranvir to return. Either that or throw it straight on the fire against Saleema. Unlikely to end well, I think.
Through all of Elusria, they’d been unable to present another third-stage space-tethered to take on the role of teacher at the academy. All they were left with were a couple, slightly more knowledgeable, second-stage tethered. There was one other, but he belonged to the Sleeping Sons and was technically still on active duty. It was all too poignant to their current situation.
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Ayvir followed the flesh-torn beyond the wall. A narrow passage in the dark stone that was almost invisible in the shadows of the vast structure, even during the height of day. It was an underwhelming sight that greeted him. The other side was more of the same. Rain-choked landscape, muddy fields where there wasn’t water-logged grass.
There were signs of abandoned habitation. The front lines had moved beyond the wall and so it seemed most of their soldiers as well. Yet still, these people persisted. Patrols traversed the area often, and more than one peeked out from the rundown houses. Hard eyes glaring at him.
Ayvir glimpsed the inside. Warm rugs and a merry fireplace, yet not a single light in the windows. Perhaps not so abandoned after all. More of the flesh-torn wielded their spears here. Such a strange sight. He was used to seeing them fighting with their bare hands, perhaps picking up weapons from the ground.
And every single one of them had that strange, distorted energy about them. It wasn’t mana; he was certain of that, yet he’d never seen it before coming here. Half a decade on the front lines, yet they could still keep such secrets from him.
His guide, who had suddenly and inexplicably changed from hostile to worried, veered off towards a house with a sagging roof and crumbled windowsill. It could’ve fit into any Elusrian village Ayvir had ever seen.
Yet when the door opened, steps led him down three feet into the ground. The roof was braced with support beams, keeping it in place. Strange furniture, backs split into two or more pieces, was carefully arranged throughout the room.
Another of the flesh-torn stood over a table, a swath of distorted energies hovering above its shoulders. It turned as Ayvir’s guide approached. It was taller still, forehead peeking above the other’s seven-foot frame. The bluish gray skin peeking through its bandages had a pallid tint, making Ayvir think it was sickly. It glanced narrow eyed at Ayvir before listening to the harsh words of its subordinate, judging from the body language.
Once finished, Ayvir’s guide was waved away. It scurried past him, sending looks Ayvir would’ve called fearful after the two of them.
“You are not he,” the flesh-torn said. “Ubuld was wrong.”
Ayvir turned to the older man. “At least you seem capable of keeping a regular conversation.” He let a little mana through his tether. Though he couldn’t tell how, he knew his eyes glowed a little hotter, the red slightly more intense.
“Ubuld should’ve never let you get this far.”
“Probably not, but times are changing. I came here looking for answers.” Ayvir reached into his bag. The creature didn’t seem worried about it, nor should it be. If Ayvir attacked, it wouldn’t come from his items. He pulled out the item, stripping away the oiled leather, protecting it from rain. Big letters covered the front of the book. ‘Anirai’.
“According to our oldest stories, flesh-torn and the ralith were supposed to be hulking masses of flesh, creatures stitched together, sometimes from the bodies of hundreds of people. Yet, you don’t look like any people I’ve seen.”
“What do you seek, Human?” the creature strolled closer, the distortion lagging a pace behind.
“I believe this book,” he tapped the hard leather covered front. “Called you the ‘People of the Goddess.’ If that is so, then you had tethered while we were still wrestling in the mud.”
“Perhaps.”
“Then I seek advice.”
“Then you’ve come to the wrong place. I cannot help you. Nor would I if able.”
Ayvir grit his teeth and took in a deep breath. “Anything at all.”
It hesitated, looking him over. A tendril of the distortion reached out and Ayvir felt its tether-sense, refined and strong, brush over him. “I would have to ask my leaders. They would be the only ones able to make the call. The Hall of Stars do not meet often.”
“Any help would be greatly appreciated.”
The creature spread its arms to the side. The gesture felt habitual to Ayvir’s eyes, and it took a step back. “What is the object on your chest?”
The comforting heat of Redpaw slumbering underneath his jacket was brought back to Ayvir’s attention. “Just something I’ve found on my journeys. I’ll be back.” Then he stepped out.
“I’m sure you will.”
Ayvir left the flesh-torn behind as he considered how best to return to the school. This entire trip had been a dud, mostly. He was certain. These were not flesh-torn at all, but another race entirely. Even if he couldn’t get the creature to answer him straight forwardly. Another notable thing, he thought as he drew more power, preparing to leap the wall. They know another human. Yet not so well as to recognize him on sight.
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Huyin fell into his seat, hands shaking as he rested them against his desk. Ubuld might be a vicious fool most of the time, but somehow he’d managed not to piss off the human. Thank the Stars for that. Outside, the human’s power blossomed, and he leapt away. A few half-hearted attacks from the people failed to keep pace with him.
He would be sending a letter to the Bishop, but not regarding teaching. Another human had achieved Enlightenment. One step closer to Ascension. A third, yet not a full Priest yet.
Could it be? Were the humans discovering the secret to Enlightenment? Even he hadn’t managed such a feat and he was getting too old to promote further. He realized his fingers were tapping the table nervously.
Through an effort of will, he stilled himself and began composing the letter in his mind.