Seris Vritra
I sipped at my tea, the autumn flavors caressing my throat as the slightly-bitter aftertaste lingered. The greenish liquid remained pristine as Lake Boolan on the outskirts of Etril as I set the cup down on my table.
The breeze from the Vritra's Maw Sea sifted through the open doors, bringing the scent of salt and the cries of gulls. But now, a lingering wafting smoke from the steaming stacks of Alacrya's ironclads also brushed my nose.
I found myself drifting far, far back in time to the old Redfeud War. The last time I had truly participated in a war, I'd been a brutal tactician. An unrestrained force that shifted and bled men without a single care. And I had enjoyed it, too. The feeling of fresh, warm blood trailing down my skin as the light left my enemy's eyes.
I felt my hands tense along my teacup. So close to shattering the thin porcelain.
Will I become that woman again? I wondered to myself, looking at the pristine liquid tea as it slowly cooled. Can I trust myself to keep in check?
"Will Spellsong be brought into your plans soon? Your true plans?" Cylrit asked from nearby.
I looked up, dismissing thoughts of the war from my mind. I took in my Retainer's appearance: his stalwart posture, severe expression, and unwavering will.
I exhaled a slight sigh, feeling bolstered by the presence of my closest aide. The sharp lines of his face stood starkly as the greatest reminder of what I feared.
I would remain true to my goals.
"Why do you ask, Cylrit?" I finally prodded. Cylrit would be going to Dicathen today, and I would follow not long after.
Cylrit shifted slightly. "You have been… open with him. You have been less subtle with Spellsong than most."
I watched the table in front of me. Not a day past, Toren Daen had agreed to my position for him within the war. And Cylrit was right: I'd been growing less and less cautious with my intentions and plans around the Named Blood man. I still allowed my words to have an air of plausible deniability, but I was sure Toren had picked up on some of my intentions.
Even in my own thoughts, I did not voice my true intentions, for I could not trust those to be masked from the High Sovereign himself.
I should not be so open with Toren, I thought absently. I have been planting seeds and laying groundwork for decades, and am prepared to do so for decades more. For me to be so open now is… unlike me.
I liked to tell myself that I was simply playing another part when I teased Toren; when I granted him insight into who I was and how I thought. I was just wearing another mask to ensure his loyalty. When I really tried, I could almost deceive myself into believing so as well.
Unfortunately, I was not one to allow falsehoods to cloud my vision–especially those I laid myself. That was how the Vritra operated: they repeated something so often that you grew to believe it. I could prod at Toren Daen all I wanted, watching his reactions and gauging his responses, but I knew my teasing was not ultimately sourced in a well-developed plan.
Toren had that effect on me; drawing my innermost secrets and self to the surface. And hopefully, he'd have that effect on the dwarves as well. Maybe, in a distant future, on the elves and humans, too.
"No, I will not," I answered. "I am still many, many years away from my goals, and every person who knows raises the chance of their failure exponentially." I took a liberal sip of my tea, feeling disappointed as the warmth left the beverage. "Though I suspect he shall be among the first to know. He has become… more important to my plans than I initially anticipated."
It was in the wake of Toren's Fiachran speech that I realized what true potential he had for my eventual plans. I could scheme and plan all I wanted, but if the people were not connected, how long would we last? How much could we endure?
Toren wished to be a symbol in Alacrya only one time. Yet I would have to break my promises to him one more time as I laid the necessary groundwork for him to be the connective tissue of my goals.
He'd already agreed to bind Darv and Alacrya together. That precedent would make it simpler to undermine his reluctance when the time came.
"If I may interject, Scythe Seris," Cylrit said haltingly. "I would like to speak my opinion on this matter."
I slowly turned to my Retainer. He knew I always welcomed his counsel. Further, he knew he did not require my express permission to speak. Yet some part of the man still felt somehow obligated to ask, as if his words were innately beneath my own.
I sighed. "Speak, Cylrit. I wish to know your thoughts."
Cylrit straightened slightly, looking past me from where he stood at my side. "I believe it wise to allow Lord Spellsong into our plans sooner rather than later," he said haltingly, the words leaving his mouth as if they were forced through an opening far too small for them. "He would make an invaluable ally in your endeavors."
I hummed in surprise. Admittedly, I had been expecting my Retainer to push for the exact opposite. "I must admit, I am surprised you push for such an inclusion. Your interactions with Lord Daen have been less than cordial. I am aware of the animosity you two share, even if I do not yet understand its source."
Cylrit was quiet for a long moment, an uncomfortable crease to his features that made him look his true age for an instant. "Your observations, as always, are accurate, Master Seris," he said, bowing slightly in respect. "But while I may not like Spellsong for… personal reasons, I am capable of setting those reservations aside for the greater picture." He straightened once more. "After all, that was what your speech to him was about yesterday. Of incompatible peoples finding compatibility."
I raised a brow as I turned in my seat, sensing more in my Retainer's words. He kept his hands clasped behind his back as always, his red gaze forward to avoid meeting my own. The common protocol for a Retainer was to show respect and deference to their Scythe, even if I never truly enforced such rules between us.
"There is something more to this view of yours, is there not?" I questioned, seeing the waiting tension in Cylrit's sharp jaw. "It has something to do with Uto, and the confrontation between you and he yesterday."
Cylrit nodded slightly. "I would have struck Uto across the jaw for what he dared say of you, my Scythe," he said. "In doing so, I would have provoked a struggle and conflict that Uto wished to create on the eve of our departure. Such would likely set your plans awry, as it would be impossible and illogical to pair Uto and I together for the war if we had true conflict just before."
"But Spellsong…" Cylrit raised a gauntleted hand to his face, brushing back his hair. "I doubted his talents before. The music that you championed and pushed… I admit my arrogance and lack of vision regarding those powers. I must apologize for doubting you."
I slowly stood, something ominous in my Retainer's tone. "Cylrit, what happened between Uto and Toren?" I pushed, a strange sensation in my chest that implored me to ask.
"While I wished to lash out in anger and rightful vengeance, Spellsong was calm. So unerringly calm and confident. It was eerie, Scythe Seris, the surety that seemed to grip the air itself as he spoke."
I stared my Retainer down, and he finally spoke again. "Toren Daen told Uto to remember the moment he uttered such disgusting words to us, and to lament it when he was chained in the dark. When he was broken and lashed. It was not just the words themselves, else I would have dismissed him as mad or foolish. But his utter confidence that seemed to embrace the mana itself as he goaded Uto will stay with me for a long, long time." Cylrit huffed. "I do not think I have ever seen Uto unnerved before that day."
I looked down at my now-cold tea, adding this event to the jumbling box of mysteries that all surrounded Toren Daen. Gradually, I saw my reflection in the beverage.
What should I expect from this war? I found myself asking. And if I am to take my Retainer's advice, how could I allow another past so many of my defenses?
It had been a long, long time since I had shown myself to anyone. The thought of that unnerved me in a way I did not understand.
—
I watched the tempus warp as it swallowed Cylrit and Uto, teleporting them a continent away. I felt a grim sort of resolve settle into my bones as the first step of this war began.
Dragoth huffed beside me, turning around and walking away without sparing me another word. I knew he and the other Scythes viewed me with increasing wariness in the wake of Varadoth's death.
It has been so long since Scythe Kelagon's death that they have forgotten the fear I used to instill in them, I thought. But Varadoth has reminded them that I still have fangs.
It was truly ironic. Agrona Vritra had intended to send a message to me by slaying Varadoth–a message I could easily discern. Do not lose your fear of me. Do not think yourself safe in your position.
My lips curved upward subtly as I moved. Agrona's message had a cascading effect on all of my peers. They tread lightly around me in a way I had nearly forgotten–but that only served to cement my plans further.
Taegrin Caelum, as always, bore vast, open hallways and expansive rooms. Yet as I strode away from the teleportation room, I felt that every wall slowly shifted inward, compressing and strangling any sort of escape.
Many, many years ago, I had investigated if this was the effect of some sort of artifact designed to instill fear in the High Sovereign's foes. But I had grown to understand it was my own psychology enforcing the terror I already felt, projecting it onto the very stone I walked.
As I walked, I entered one of the many trophy passages that Agrona had instilled among the mazelike stretches of his sanctum. This one was unique: while many of Agrona's trophies were asuran in nature, this room seemed slightly mundane in comparison.
Along the walls, a few dead relics were kept in stalwart containers that banished the elements, preventing further decay. Further down, I saw a hundred other small items and trinkets, each representing a small step forward in Alacryan culture and technology.
There are major victories, and then there are the small, incremental steps forward, I mused as I strode through the hall. Agrona may be brutal, but his mindset toward victory is precise, even when he plays at cross-purposes to himself.
I stopped before the last item displayed, inspecting it closely. It was a long strip of jagged metal, flowing script stretching across the steel.
The Dicatheous. This was a part of the hull of the steamship sent from Dicathen, commandeered and conquered by Alacryan forces off the coast of Truacia. It marked a significant expediting of Agrona's plans as the steam engine allowed for reliable transport of troops across the oceans.
At least that was what was claimed. I suspected that Agrona had long been fermenting the narrative that he was decades away from the true invasion of Dicathen, and the steamship was a happy little accident that allowed him to keep up that facade.
"They all think it's so fantastic," a caustic voice said from nearby, laced with deep fatigue. "The wondrous invention of the steam engine! But Grey gave those schematics to some no-name artificer in Dicathen, pawning it off as his own work. But it's one of the most basic inventions from our world."
I turned, feeling slightly surprised to see a battered and exhausted Nico Sever lounging near the wall. His clothes were covered in scrapes and battle tears, and his glasses bore several cracks. His coal-black hair was in disarray from fighting, adding to his wild, rage-bent appearance. Yet I saw no injuries over his body despite his core being so dry I could barely sense his presence.
The young reincarnate was being forced through a grueling training regimen with Scythes Viessa and Melzri. He was likely on the barest break between sparring sessions at the moment.
While Melzri reluctantly welcomed Nico into the fold as a "new brother"–so long as Agrona approved something, she would never truly question it–the other Scythes viewed him as a disgrace to their station. Dragoth laughed, treating him like a child. Viessa sneered in distaste, and Cadell acted as if Nico did not exist at all.
But they were shortsighted. Perhaps it was my own tendency to nurture and groom the potential and power of many mages throughout my life, but I could not bring myself to dismiss the reincarnated boy outright. He embodied caricatures of what made one strong and intelligent, true, but I found myself questioning what he could be without the touch of Agrona across his mind.
If I did not ask these questions of the least of us, how could I ask it for us all? For the entire continent?
"You say that the steam engine was one of your world's most basic inventions," I said, drawing on that line of thinking. "Yet you speak as if you could contribute something greater to this war."
Nico scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "If I wanted to, I could give this pitiful world anything it could need, the pathetic achievements of the ancient mages be damned. Electricity. The transistor. The electric engine. Even the theories behind nuclear power. But Agrona wants none of it. He thinks he's all fine with his own knowledge, dismissing the achievements of 'petty lessers.'"
I tilted my head, looking down at the boy. He blinked belatedly, seeming to realize both who exactly he had been speaking to, as well as the fact that he had spoken at all. I watched his lips start to curve into a sneer, a caustic, angry remark ready to spew forth like bile.
"Those might benefit Agrona," I said, cutting the boy's words off at the root. "But what would you wish to bring to this world?"
Nico's eyes narrowed in angry suspicion. "And why would you care, Scythe Seris?" he said with a snap. "Are you here to mock me, too, or just poke fun at the weakest of the Scythes?"
I sighed, inspecting the beleaguered boy. Truthfully, I did see him as a wretch, but not one of his own creation. This was what Agrona did to people.
"Perhaps I was simply curious," I responded in turn. "But if all you wish to speak are insults and barbs, then I do not believe you have anything worthwhile to say."
I turned on my heel, already beginning to stride away.
Yet a small voice called out to me. "Wait," Nico said, raising his hand out from where he lay, as if he could grasp the hem of my skirts. "Did… did you truly want to know?"
I turned back slowly.
If you want to know more of a person, you must be like Toren, I told myself. Be open with yourself, and others will reciprocate.
"I am an inventor myself, Nico Sever." After all, the shield generators beneath my Aedelgard Estate were being pioneered through my own methods. I simply lacked an efficient storage method to utilize them to their fullest. Furthermore, the asura-detecting artifacts placed all throughout Sehz-Clar were also created by my hands. "And if this steam engine could grant Agrona such a boost in resources, I find myself questioning what else could help our efforts."
Nico watched me with a guarded look. Like a prey animal that saw some sort of predator, or a beaten dog being offered a cut of meat, he thought he sensed some sort of trap. But ultimately, he could find none.
"There was this old creation," Nico started, "Called the Internet in my world. After the fall of the Gilded Age of Technology and the many wars that reduced our populations to near extinction, it was one of the only things that stopped us from reverting to true barbarism," the dark-haired boy said. "It was like a universal library, accessible by everyone with devices smaller than a watch. Your population is so ignorant and backward compared to the common street urchins of my world," he said, a hint of arrogance seeping through. "I think… I think I'd make something like that, if I could."
I allowed myself to imagine it for a moment, but it seemed so alien. Everyone allowed free information? How did anyone maintain control if such knowledge was freely transmitted?
"I do not believe I can truly imagine such a thing," I said slowly. What would the effects of such a system be?
"Of course, you couldn't," Nico said dismissively, slumping back against the wall. "But it's either that I'd create. Or coffee."
I blinked as Nico said the last words. Coffee. Hadn't someone else talked about that?
"Coffee?" I echoed numbly, my mind blank for an instant.
Nico scoffed. "It's a caffeinated drink from my old world," he said. "Helped engineers always stay awake. It's bitter and dark. Made with beans that, no matter where I tried to look, just don't exist in this world."
And just like that, my mind began to churn and roil. Toren had spoken of coffee, hadn't he? He'd given me a sip of a beverage exactly like Nico described. Which either meant Nico was wrong, and that somewhere those beans existed. Or…
"Nico," I said, my breath slightly uneven as I prepared to ask a question. Anticipation coiled along my veins like a spring, and I very nearly failed to voice the words. "What were the cities of your old world like?"
My mind jumped to the stories of the zone the Unblooded Party had encountered alongside Toren Daen. Of massive buildings of steel and glass that towered hundreds of feet into the air. Of structures that should have collapsed under their own sheer weight, yet somehow made a sprawling cityscape unlike anything Alacrya or Dicathen had ever seen.
I'd already concluded from the evidence around Toren that he was the source of that zone's strange architecture and design. Yet I'd assumed that it was mirroring Epheotus, the land of the gods, due to the slumbering Phoenix Will in his core. But just maybe…
Nico glared at me, but he answered after a bare moment. "They're like yours, Seris," he said. "Lots of buildings. Lots of people. Lots of filth. I'd say that Cardigan is more impressive than most," he said caustically.
I blinked, feeling my anticipation diminish. That high I got whenever I put the last piece of a puzzle together began to slowly fizzle away as the impossibility of my assumption made itself known.
It was a foolish assumption nonetheless, I thought, feeling slightly dejected. That Toren had knowledge of another–
"Though there were some cities," Nico said, withdrawing into himself slightly, "That still bore remnants from the Gilded Age. Back when we made towers that touched the clouds."
My blood ran cold.
"We still had the ability to make those colossal buildings of steel, but the population just wasn't there anymore for our urban centers," Nico mused, some of his anger drifting away. "So skyscrapers just weren't practical to keep being built."
Skyscrapers. The same word Toren coined for the Unblooded Party.
I turned on my heel, feeling as if I would collapse into a puddle if I did not make it to my estate in time. So many pieces of a puzzle that each tried to slot themselves into the whole, tumbling block after tumbling block careening through my mind.
"Thank you for your time," I said stiffly to Nico as I began to speed away. "This has been beyond enlightening for me."
Nico's face fell into something approaching shock and irritation as I practically fled the hallway, my mana burning in my core and my heartbeat like thunder in my chest.
I grasped one puzzle piece in my mind, pulling it close. Toren's effects on the Relictombs, forcing them to create towering structures of steel and glass that he displayed intimate knowledge of.
I pulled another just beside it, the two fitting together flush. The coffee Toren carried, and his fondness for the drink. His vehement claim I would never unearth the secret, even with the resources I had.
Another piece drifted next to that one, cementing the three in a triangular pattern. Toren's rigid view of Nico as he entered the room. His one-track focus that seemed to ignore all else.
But still, the conclusion of these puzzle pieces did not make sense. There was a why, but not a how.
Until the fourth and final piece, outlined in orange and purple, seemed to burn itself before my mind's eye.
The phoenixes of Epheotus were the true masters of rebirth. They broke themselves down, then built themselves back up again. I had long suspected that the High Sovereign's knowledge of reincarnation and other worlds stemmed from the many phoenixes he kept caged in his dungeons, each providing more and more knowledge.
And that one, final piece that made it all fit together at the center. The asura known as Lady Dawn had perished in her cell over half a year ago, succumbing to the ministrations of the High Sovereign.
But her Will had appeared within the core of a young man named Toren Daen as he slowly grew in strength, causing cascading ripples in my plans with every step he took. Agrona himself had acknowledged her touch on his mind.
At first, I had suspected someone from Epheotus had replaced the true Toren Daen, using the name of a boy none would miss to influence the world and keep tabs on Alacrya. But that could not be the case: after all, his actions did not align with those of a spy. They were fully counter to that of a man trying to keep his head low.
But if it were not the body that was replaced, but the soul…
Each of my footfalls felt like the crash of a gong as the impossible picture came into focus. There were still holes here and there, of course, but something that I would have otherwise dismissed as utter absurdity began to make more and more sense. One of the greatest puzzles I had encountered appeared to lead to an astounding conclusion.
It almost appeared that Toren Daen was a reincarnate, one that not even the Lord of the Vritra had anticipated.