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Toren Daen
The Undercrofts were dark. Burim itself always had a shadowed underglow, even in the highest reaches where the lavaducts flowed and provided the barest light. But beyond physical darkness, the stalactite-riddled base of the massive cavern was shadowed in other ways.
I trudged through a winding pathway, noting the many haphazard wooden shacks that clung to the thick spires of rock. Like newborn babes clutching onto their mother's breast, each rickety construct of wood seemed afraid that their base of support would suddenly vanish.
And every building I spotted down here appeared just as fragile as a newborn as well. Rickety stilts that had been eaten through by the relentless wash of time supported many of the dwellings–and the dwellings themselves were packed together and layered atop one another like ridged sardines. Some of the hovels had flickering lights inside, and I could hear the lifeforce of many throughout this decrepit underground.
My boots splashed as I stepped into a large puddle, my thoughts oddly calm. This was where the lowest of the low in Burim dwelled. The scum of the earth. The thieves, scoundrels, poor, and those who had no other choice.
I spared a leisurely glance to the side as I heard several heartbeats approaching, each devoid of intent. Before they could even inch closer, I raised a single finger, staring into the darkness where they crouched with anticipation.
A fireball immediately popped into existence over the tip of the digit. With casual ease, I waved the fire in front of me, causing the puddle to evaporate and clearing my forward path. The whole while, I stared into the darkness where the barest flash revealed reflective eyes.
Recognizing the true danger I represented, the thieves–each armed with glinting knives and appearing half-starved–backed off like a pack of hyenas recognizing an elephant. They had no mages amongst their number, and one thing Wade had told me so long ago was that the smartest thieves knew when to cut their losses.
I huffed as I continued back on my way. That wasn't the first time I'd resorted to intimidating a group of starving dwarves who thought they'd spotted an easy target. I stood out like a sore thumb with my expensive clothing and clean appearance, but I was no simple person to rob.
The Undercrofts shared many similarities with East Fiachra. The destitution. The parasitic despair. The abandonment by all others, and how those in power turned a blind eye to the suffering beneath them.
But for all of East Fiachra's ills, they'd always had a measure of hope. Greahd and the Rats had begun their good work long before I finally became a true part of the community. The cookfires and strikes against the upper echelons of the city had instilled a quiet aura of rebellion and purpose in the many slum rats of Fiachra.
That wasn't the case here. This place had no hope. It was where dreams went to die.
My eyes caught on a thin dwarf in ragged clothes as she slept against a stalactite, huddling under an outcropping of rotting wood as she clasped her arms around herself with a shiver. As I stared at her, images of blithe addicts and exhausted unadorned trickled through my mind.
As I passed, I called on my core. The ambient mana flexed as a wave of fire mana washed over the dwarven woman, banishing her chill. She startled, looking up at me through greasy hair with haunted eyes.
I didn't slow down. That spell would last a good few hours at least, but I knew better than to give the ailing woman coin or clothing. That would only invite the stronger gangs to tear it away from her–something I'd learned in the deep bowels of East Fiachra.
It didn't take me long to find my target. Their heartfire rumbled a hundred times louder than any others here.
I stood in front of what most would just assume to be a common beggar. In the darkest dark of the Undercrofts, it was difficult to see a foot in front of you without mana enhancing your vision–but my eyes glowed as they stared down at the lounging dwarf.
"Elder Shintstone wondered where you were," I said. "Considering the last-minute Constellate preparations are underway, she's rather adamantly demanding you be there."
The Constellate wasn't yet visible, but it was set to appear around midnight tonight. Elder Shintstone had been scrambling to get the celebrations ready, and Seris had been occupied in coordinating our own troops to interact and celebrate, too.
But that meant that the important figures of the dwarves were needed for the event.
Olfred Warend looked up at me through a hooded cowl. His eyes bore dark circles, and his long hair was unbound from his normal ponytail. If I hadn't followed his heartfire explicitly to this point, I would've never believed this man was once a Lance of Dicathen considering his ragged appearance.
"You can tell that prickly old woman that I won't be joining her," he grunted out, turning away from me and staring blankly down the weaving streets. "It's not my job, Toren."
I exhaled through my nose, feeling the melancholy through Olfred's intent. Back when I was silver core, such emotions were detectable, but they didn't have so much of an effect on me. Now, with the senses of a white core mage and my touch on the ambient mana, each sliver of intent carried so much more weight.
I sat down next to Olfred, staring off into the distance myself. We sat in dark silence for a while before I finally broke it.
"I'm sorry I couldn't heal Rahdeas," I said honestly. "The mind is still something I don't have much experience in. And… I've seen what happens when things go wrong."
Olfred had asked me soon after his return for assistance in trying to wash away the mental damage Rahdeas had suffered under the Triunion Council's torture. And I'd tried to–but I'd faced a true problem.
What was considered damage to the mind? I couldn't just wash away someone's mental trauma, but I could restore a djinn's psyche that had been weathered from extreme age. Where was the line between those?
When I'd tried to use my heartfire healing on Rahdeas, I knew immediately that just whisking away all the trauma he'd experienced was impossible. And I worried that Olfred still held me at fault for my failure.
The former Lance didn't respond to my apology at first. "He took me from these streets," he eventually said, his voice gruff. "Decades ago, in the wake of one of the worst lavatides. All these shacks and makeshift buildings were swept away under tides of magma. And when Rahdeas saw me–lost, alone, and having just lost everything–he took me in."
I remained silent as I listened to the dwarf lament his old memories, understanding that he needed to talk.
"I thought he was a con at first. Just like all the gangs and bullies I'd always known in my decade of darkness in this place. And I'd treated him as such for years–but I eventually realized that his intentions were true. I let myself call him Father."
Olfred slammed a fist into the ground in anger, the ambient mana warping as the ground trembled. "And now… now there's barely anything left in his mind!" he seethed, the ground beneath him heating as his aura expanded. "And all that he went through–all that I went through to bring him back–I wonder what the Earthforsaken point of it all was. Why must he suffer for only doing what he thinks is right? And–" Olfred swallowed, his arm shaking for an instant. "And was I even… right, to act in his name?"
I absorbed Olfred's tirade quietly, finding a note of solemn understanding. Questions such as these plagued me constantly. I asked myself what the point of Greahd's actions were when she was so simply broken by Agrona. I wanted to find a point for it all. To see what should've been done better.
"Mica was there at that meeting," Olfred whispered. "She was there, Spellsong. Blaming me for the death of her family. And I didn't know how to face her."
I allowed my eyes to close as Olfred's confusion and hurt washed over me; so much stronger now that I could divine even deeper depths.
"I killed Skarn and Hornfels Earthborn," I eventually said, my hands clenching as I flashed back to that moment. Unbidden, I felt sweat condense on my arms as I struggled to face Hornfels Earthborn's broken stare even in my memories. "And every day, I ask myself if I could have done something different. If I should have done something different. Because Mica's family–those cousins of hers–they were innocent. They were blameless in Alacrya's imperialist march."
Olfred slowly turned to face me, his dark eyes churning.
"And I've lost people, too," I said surely. "And I question if their deaths had an impact. If their deaths meant something. And every question drives knives through my heart, because I do not know."
Did Skarn and Hornfels need to die? Could I have spared them? And were their lives worth sacrificing for my greater goals? And was the pain of Greahd's death, the trauma I still grappled with… Was it worth the resolve and drive I had cultivated in the wake of that sorrow?
I took a shuddering breath, calming myself as I counted to ten inside my mind. Aurora, sensing my emotions, sent a stream of comforting warmth over our bond. "I can't tell you if your actions were justified, Olfred. I can't say for certain if every sacrifice you've made has given a net benefit. But what I can say is you must never stop asking those questions. Even if you find answers to some."
I slowly stood, staring up at the lights of the city far above. In a strange way, they almost looked like stars. "The only thing you can truly control is yourself, Olfred. Never stop asking yourself why you act; why you take the steps you do. Sometimes you won't have answers–but you must hold out for the day you do."
I slowly rose into the air, leaving the morose dwarf behind. I knew he didn't wish to follow, and though I wanted to stay a while longer to comfort the man, I didn't have the time.
As I rose into the air, I stared down at the hopeless hovels of the Undercroft. When I'd first come to this world, I might have seen such utter despair and been overcome by it in turn. How could one see any light in such darkness?
But I'd changed. Even if Olfred couldn't see it, even if the exhausted dwarves of the Undercroft couldn't see it, I could. There was hope for these people. Hope that they could rise above their hell.
—
Immediately tension released from my shoulders as I exited the massive cavern of Burim. The early Spring breeze wafted in off the Bay of Burim, carrying the scent of salt and lingering dreams. The sky above was lit by a brilliant full moon, not a cloud to be seen. The Aurora Constellate wasn't yet visible, but I knew it would be soon.
I stared contemplatively up at the sky for a moment, allowing myself to relax slightly as the breeze kissed my hair. I was wearing loose, dark pants that allowed for freedom of movement, and my dark leather boots came right up to my knee. I wore a close-fitting gray shirt that accentuated my physique–and of course, a maroon vest overtop it all.
I adjusted my vest slightly, noting how the light of the moon glanced off the orange imprint of Named Blood Daen.
"Aurora," I asked aloud, staring up at the moon, "was the Constellate named after you? Or the other way around?"
My bond's puppeteered relic flitted down onto my shoulder, whirring slightly. "I am very old, Toren," she said, sounding amused, "but not quite as old as the Constellate. The name Aurora is a generational one–passed through the Asclepius clan for millennia. I am not the first, nor will I be the last to bear the name."
I hummed in consideration, feeling like my bond had more to say. "Do you see those stars, high above?" she finally asked, tilting the avian head of her relic. "There–between the Lightning Spell and the one you call the Struggling Ascender?"
My eyes widened slightly as I noticed the difference in truth. "Why are they only visible right now?" I asked curiously. There was a glimmering patch of starlight that seemed to shine a different color than all the rest around it. A little orange and a little blue.
Aurora chortled. "That is the Chulsen Cluster. It is only visible during the Aurora Constellate, the lights somehow peering through only when those ribbons of scarlet, green, and blue finally reach us. Andravhor was fascinated by the phenomenon--it didn't make any sense to him at all. He asked the exact same question as you, Toren."
I blinked in surprise. "Did he ever find his answer?" I prodded, wanting to know more. "I mean, there's got to be a reason, right?"
The relic sighed, and I felt I'd approached something surprisingly tender. The Unseen World washed over my vision, revealing Aurora's shade. She hovered in the sky a few feet from me, staring up at the stars longingly.
"Even 'till the day he died, Andravhor never learned the secrets of those stars. They evaded him at every turn, the shrouding effects of the Aurora Constellate obscuring his attempts."
Aurora gave me a light smile as she wrapped an arm around me in a motherly way, raising a single arm to point at the Chulsen Cluster. "But he only found that more wonderful. Millennia of dedication made the djinn the greatest civilization this world has ever seen–yet they still had gaps in their knowledge. And so when our son was born, we named him Chul: because for all the djinn's knowledge, here was something they didn't yet understand."
We stayed like that for a while as Aurora's emotions–so real and brilliant–flowed over our bond. When I'd first met the phoenix, I never would've been able to fathom the sheer emotion that cascaded from her at every moment. I wondered what memory she was reliving.
Despite the depths of our soul bond and how much we had experienced together, Aurora still did not directly share her memories with me. I respected that–after all, memories were precious to her. Agrona had made it his goal to tear as many of those from my bond as he could, and that made her mind an unspoken boundary.
I allowed myself a few moments more basking in that quiet warmth and appreciating the stars before I finally shifted, staring down at the lights below.
The docks were absurdly crowded tonight: after all, one couldn't watch the Constellate from inside a cavern.
Jotilda Shintstone waited far below, and it was just about time for festivities to begin.