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Toren Daen
I pulled myself out of the Sea, feeling strangely detached for a bare instant. When I emerged from my meditative inspection, an odd sort of weariness stretched across my bones.
I didn't move immediately. I wasn't sure I could. Physically, I was in perfect health. But mentally…
When I'd witnessed Tessia's soul withering—a vine ever-blossoming with motes of silver and life—I'd acted on instinct. I'd reached out with more than flesh. More than the mind. I pressed outward with my very soul.
The sensation was like nothing I'd ever experienced. I was moving something that was me, but was also beyond and above and through me. It was impossible to put into words. Language simply failed to describe something so vast.
And as my soul had approached Tessia's, I was able to do a sort of… inverse of how I traced my heartfire up to my essence. When I sought my soul, I was a fish fighting against an upward current of heartfire. Yet by knowing the dips and weaves of that lifeforce—by understanding myself—I could follow that life-giving river to its source.
When I'd approached Tessia Eralith's soul, I saw the downward trickle of her pained heartfire. I could see and sense and feel the anguish that radiated through her blood. And I'd done all I could. I'd reached out, offering whatever I could to help her.
And she'd accepted the help I'd offered. But what I sensed as I healed her–the damages I'd detected in her flesh and bones…
Decay. The wounds Tessia Eralith bore could've only been caused by void wind and bile water.
"Agrona has made his move," Aurora said gravely at my side, her shade pacing back and forth. "He has levied an attack on Elshire. The Heart of Elenoir, no? That was where your nest-mate's intel placed the elven princess." Her eyes dimmed for a moment as they flicked to me. "Has he succeeded in the capture of Elshire? As you worked to prevent?"
I allowed myself a deep breath, steadying my heartbeat. I wanted to panic. Wanted to rush to Seris and demand what intel she had on the elven forest.
But that would solve nothing. I needed the calm that my meditation left me in to sort this through, to understand the facts I had at hand.
No, I do not think so, I thought to Aurora. But the wounds on Tessia's body… they matched the abilities of a specific few people. Mawar and Bilal, the ones who were about to enact some sort of plan soon.
My mood darkened as I exhaled. Aurora's emotions matched my own, questions there. Viessa Vritra had made her move. The only question now was what the outcome was.
—
I struggled to maintain my composure as I walked through the deep chasm of the Divot, wary of every shadow that appeared a bit too deep. In my head, I constantly weighed the possibilities of this war.
The weight of Mordain's message had redoubled in the back of my mind, a headache growing that no amount of heartfire healing could wash away. My head throbbed with piercing pain as I approached Seris' quarters.
Mordain laid the weight of Agrona's massacres at my feet. If not directly blaming me, then at least asking me if what I worked for was worth the cost.
And now another divergence from what I knew. Bilal, Mawar, and presumably Bivran–going off the conversation I'd heard not long ago between them–had somehow infiltrated the elven forest. Was I willing–was I able–to bear the weight of whatever lives were lost on my shoulders?
I could feel Seris in her room, alongside Cylrit. I could not hear them through the wards, but I suspected they were deep in conversation.
Internally, I lamented the fact that I'd only increase their stressors.
I knocked on the door, mentally preparing myself for the talk to come. Aurora rested her ghostly hand on my shoulder, quietly conveying her support.
"Come in, Toren," Seris' pristine voice echoed out. "You are always welcome in my rooms."
I sighed audibly before I pushed open the door. Seris leaned over a simple desk, several items prominent as she inspected them. I spotted a few tools I didn't recognize but could swear I'd seen among Sevren's messy collage in the Town Zone, and a few scattered communication artifacts that helped coordinate her with her forces across Darv. Her brows were furrowed in thought as she cross-referenced a map on one end and her devices on the other. And there was something else on the desk, too. A familiar horn that sent subconscious shivers down my spine.
One of Varadoth's horns, I thought gravely, remembering the distant boom of his heartfire. It was still stained with his blackened blood.
Cylrit stood guard by the door, as he always made sure to do. He nodded to me curtly as I stepped inside. I nodded back.
Seris seemed preoccupied with whatever she was doing with her paper map–a map of Dicathen, I realized. An elegant fountain pen traced red ink across the map as she swiped lines across certain points on the fresh parchment. "I expected you sooner than this, Toren. Are you here to explain your reaction to Rahdeas' message to me now that you've collected yourself?"
My eyes snapped to the crimson lines Seris was drawing across the board, each a bit too much like blood. One north of Mirror Lake. Another a little bit to the left of Greengate. And one east of Kalberk.
But those were the ones with the largest strokes of the brush. There were a dozen tinier lines in no distinct pattern radiating from the center. I almost imagined they were veins of blood reaping their toll.
Seris obviously noticed my attention. She slowed in her annotations, becoming far more serious as she sensed my emotions.
"It was about that," I said, nodding my head toward the map Seris was making of the points of massacre. I ground my teeth, the points of each mass murder burned into my mind's eye. "The massacres. The corpses left in our wake, and who is responsible."
Seris' dark eyes softened slightly, a reserved mournfulness shadowing her pupils as she stared back at the map. "I was going to tell you soon, Toren. I wished for your bond's input on this. What she thinks it might mean, considering her… tenure with the High Sovereign," she said sadly. "But I haven't gathered all the knowledge I could of the attacks. They've been happening sporadically all across Sapin, starting shortly after your battle with Scythe Viessa. I don't have the full picture, but I believe she ordered the start of these attacks not long after your battle. And she has declined to inform me of her plans or even what purpose these bloody assaults serve, beyond instilling terror and fear into every Dicathian," she said with a sigh that seemed to carry her soul.
Her words did little to quiet my unease. In fact, they only served to make my vision swim slightly. "If I'd killed Viessa when I could have," I said slowly, intentionally annunciating each syllable so that my voice wouldn't tremble, "would those people still be alive?"
Seris head turned slowly as she caught on the deliberate nature of my words. Her expression fell into something deeper–just as somber as before, but quietly understanding. I waited on her words as one might wait by a rope in a chasm, the dangling hopes set to pull them out.
But I didn't know if what awaited me was a rope or a serpent.
"No," Seris said after a moment of contemplation. "This is not the work of Viessa, Toren. It is done through her, true–but it is the work of one beyond her. One above us all that compels her hand, for reasons I cannot yet divine." She shook her head slowly. "No. This would have happened regardless of your choice."
The first thing I felt was relief. Relief that the lives of so many dead couldn't be so easily laid at my feet. That Mordain's quiet accusation was still foggy and unclear in my mind. That I could not trace the flap of the butterfly's wings to the tornado that ruined lives.
But then I felt a wave of guilt as I realized this in turn. Guilt that I was afraid to face the truth, whatever it may be.
"What does it mean," I started solemnly, my eyes locked on the map bearing the weight of blood, "if nothing we do can change the outcome?"
Seris smiled slightly. It was a resigned, knowing thing that dug into my chest like a razor. "We continue anyways, Toren," she said, and it had the echo of a statement repeated constantly to herself. "We do what we can with what we know."
There was a beat of long quiet silence that stretched through the room like tar.
We do what we can with what we know, I thought. Is that not what I have always done, since the start of this war? Can I just… keep doing that? Like a machine?
I felt Aurora's reassuring hand on my shoulder as she let me process this. "Your nest-mate is right, Toren," she said with the weight of millennia of wisdom. "Even among the asura, there is no such thing as true foresight."
"Except there is," I said cynically, responding aloud. "There is one who knows the answer, Aurora."
My bond's tenuous touch shifted as she turned away mentally, feeling a bit of guilt of her own as I reminded her of her brother.
Seris peered at me, something indecipherable in her eyes. "There is more to why this bothers you so," she said, holding her chin in her hands in the way she did whenever she thought on something deeply. "Something I do not have the privilege of knowing."
I snorted. It appeared there was one constant in this world–that the moon-blessed Scythe would always be able to pick apart what I was thinking with just a glance. "There is," I acknowledged. "But it isn't important right now. Not as important as what I came here to say."
I stared at the Scythe across from me, knowing the mana around me warped from the intensity of my focus. "Mordain Asclepius sent me a message through Rahdeas. Me in particular. But that can be addressed later," I said, pulling myself back on track. "Because Viessa Vritra has made her move on Elshire."
It didn't take me long to give a vague rundown of what I'd sensed. I couldn't really explain too much of my abilities regarding the soul, only that I was able to sense when Tessia Eralith was under duress–and further, that when I healed her, I'd washed away the distinctive marks of void wind decay and bile water rot.
Seris listened to my explanation with characteristic calm, and if I could not sense her emotions beneath her mask, I would have thought she was entirely unphased by my revelations. She asked occasional questions, which I answered to the best of my ability. Was the capital directly invaded? I didn't think so, but it wasn't impossible. Could you sense the state of any others in her vicinity? No, I couldn't. Were you able to pick apart Tessia Eralith's thoughts? No, I couldn't–but I did get a feel for her intent.
Which led us to our current situation, where Seris was meticulously sending out requests for information to select spies across Dicathen. She didn't have enough information to make any conclusive statements, but that could be remedied.
My Scythe had informed me that her network was weakest in Elenoir. It was difficult to seed spies amidst the long-eared people for multiple reasons: namely, the best spies couldn't be Alacryans. Humans stood out in Elenoir, which narrowed candidates for spies significantly. The most viable option would be to turn an elf against their very nation–and that was a difficult thing to do.
Which was why Seris had pushed for a workaround. She didn't even have true spies in the city of Zestier, but–among similar places–had plants within the neighboring merchant guilds that had opened branches from Sapin as the Triunion came together so many years ago.
And a secondary problem that faced the Scythe was Elshire's mists. They made long-range communication difficult and spotty, their strange nature disrupting mana travel as they blanketed the forest. Apparently, Seris' plants had to use some creative methods to get their messages beyond the forest. One of them simply strapped their communication artifact to a flying artifact and allowed it to hover above the trees so it could convey its messages.
So it was that it took nearly forty-five minutes for Seris to gather enough concrete reports to paint a clear picture of what had happened–or as clear as she could manage. Some sort of attack had gone down in Zestier itself. It wasn't clear yet what exactly had happened. Some reports said that four assailants had tried to strike at the Elven Royal Family, but had been beaten back with a single casualty. Others said that the Commander of the Triunion had managed to singlehandedly fend off a Retainer, but had been wounded in the process. And still others claimed that Princess Tessia Eralith had killed half a dozen Alacryan infiltrators in a rage after her grandfather was wounded.
And Zestier was on lockdown–no movement allowed in or out of the city.
"There is a throughline to this," Seris said as she strode to another desk with characteristic grace. "All reports my spy included mentioned the royal family in some way, and always at least one of their number being gravely wounded or slain. The rumors were consistent with a small team of Alacryan infiltrators rather than a full breach or assault, and they were beaten back—but not without cost."
While Seris meticulously pieced together this puzzle with confidence and grace, I was far less composed. I paced across the opaque crystal floor, my hands shoved in my pockets as I did my best to sift through the muddy waters.
"Tessia Eralith is alive," I ground out as I loped, voicing my thoughts as they came. "At the time I brushed against her emotions, she was on the cusp of grief. The cusp of loss. But it wasn't quite there yet." My brow wrinkled as a bead of sweat traced its way down my forehead. "I don't think any one of the elven royal family is dead. Wounded, more likely. I've felt similar reactions elsewhere."
I stopped in my tracks as a dark, gauntleted hand rested heavily on my shoulder. I turned with slight surprise to see Cylrit, his blood-red eyes quietly compelling. "Do not pace, Spellsong," he said gravely. "Such an action does not serve to settle anxiety, only enhance it. You must take deep breaths and watch the pace of your heart so that it does not rip itself from your chest."
I forced myself to stand still as I inhaled through my nose, letting the air fill my lungs, before exhaling slowly. Cylrit nodded slowly as he retreated back to the shadows, his countenance as even as ever.
I can understand why Seris relies on him so much to maintain her masks, I thought as I allowed my thoughts to settle. His presence demands you mirror him. When he is silent, you are silent. When he speaks, you can speak. He is a model of what I must be right now.
Seris shifted through a few papers of notes she'd marked down in exquisite handwriting after each subsequent message. "I concur, Toren. Death of a family member seems unlikely, but wounding is not off the table. The true intricacies of this come into play once we can discern who was wounded, and what became of Retainers Mawar and Bilal."
I felt the hand of Aurora's shade on my shoulder–comforting and warm. "The targets of this attack are easy to deduce," I said, finally letting myself down in one of Seris' comfortable chairs as I forced my emotions to settle. "Virion and Tessia Eralith are the most important by far. So the one most likely to be wounded, if Tessia is not…"
I trailed off, my lips coming to a thin line. If Virion Eralith were wounded in battle, it would be simple work–unless the damage was deep and pervasive–for them to patch him up in a week at most.
Seris withdrew something from her dimension ring as she marched over to her chaise lounge across from me, settling herself down in it like a queen in her baths. Yet despite the grace and elegance in each movement, there was a sharpness to her intent and focus that told me she was deep in preparation.
The Scythe hefted the item in front of her. A communication artifact.
"It's time I had a talk with Viessa Vritra. We've put this off for far too long, and she has questions she must answer," Seris said sternly, setting the communication artifact on the desk. "We can make as many guesses as we wish, but ultimately, we can learn them directly from the source."
Seris tapped something across the artifact in quick succession, slight mana pulses radiating out as she presumably entered a sort of cipher. I leaned forward in my seat, clasping my hands together as I stared at the device.
I could hear the warbling ping that announced an outgoing call. It rang once. Twice. Thrice.
And finally, it stopped. My hands clenched as I narrowed my eyes.
"Hello, Seris," Viessa's grave-smooth voice echoed out from the artifact. "I expected a call from you. You're slow, by your standards."
My brow twitched. Cylrit glared at the artifact.
Seris simply smiled.
"I have more things to do with my time than babysit your operations, Viessa," the Scythe of Sehz-Clar countered playfully. "But maybe I should reserve more of my time for monitoring your operations. War is won and lost on information, you know."
Viessa was silent for a moment, and I understood why. Seris had a way of weaving words that made you question every subtle inflection within, tearing them apart for some sort of hidden meaning.
"Truer words have not been spoken," the Truacian Scythe eventually said. "The one who knows the most is always the victor in any war. But in the slog of battle, it can be easy to lose track of what information is known."
"Masked words," Aurora chortled in my head. "A vain attempt to hide how she withholds critical information from her allies."
Seris clicked her fingers together. "We all make mistakes, Viessa," she said with faux sympathy. She paused, and the grin that stretched across her face as she spared me a glance was enough to send shivers down my spine. "Speaking of which, I've arranged a shipment of soothing cream produced by the finest craftsmen in Burim. It should arrive at your encampment in the Beast Glades within the next few days. The dwarves of this continent have long dealt with scalding burns and aching limbs from their quarries with lava and fire salts. They are accustomed to delving too far into fires that burn and char."
I felt a wry smirk rise to match Seris' as she savored the silence for a pregnant pause. She was also good at that. Measuring how much silence could be concocted into one recipe of a conversation. "I hope it will serve to soothe the troubles you recently endured."
And at my invisible side, Aurora laughed lightly–something that was rare. "It has been a long time since I have seen a subtle ploy so exquisite," she chortled. "But I suspect the burns Viessa Vritra endured will not be so simply remedied. They are the kind that taint the mind more than the body."
An uneasy silence lingered in the aftermath of Seris' words. She seemed content to wait for whatever Viessa would have to say in response to the subtle barb.
"We know why you called, Seris," Viessa finally said. "You can't stand to be left out of the circle of information. It's what drives you. That sense of power is what gives you purpose. So go ahead. Ask me for what I have to give. Maybe I'll consider it."
Seris' expression darkened as the taunt landed. I felt a bit of anger well up at the barbs Viessa levied at my lover, but I knew she had this under control. I trusted whatever plan she'd come up with.
"I didn't call to ask questions, Viessa," Seris said. "In our very first meeting, I espoused the importance of working together to further the goals of the ones we call Sovereign. And yet you have repeatedly taken action without informing me or seeking my advice–my expertise. I've allowed this for a time."
"Allowed it?" Viessa responded, a dark undertone to her words. "We are both Scythes, Seris Vritra. You have no more power over me than I do over you. Our operations are our own. Separate. Distinct."
"And that's why you failed," Seris said casually, cutting across her counterpart's growing irritation. "None of the objectives our High Sovereign gave you were accomplished today. The Elven Royal Family limps, but the two you needed–the two he commanded you to target–they don't bow."
Viessa didn't appear to know how to respond. I could almost imagine her gnashing her teeth on the other end. I leaned forward, feeling my heartbeat quicken as I awaited the outcome of this gambit.
"He told you?" Viessa finally said.
"Why wouldn't he?" Seris countered. "I am the only one among us who has been to war, Viessa. Our High Sovereign knows my expertise in warfare is the greatest of the Scythes. The only other contender for that position fell beneath my boot like a wretch half a century ago," she said, and there was something hungry that flickered in the depths of her intent that gave me pause.
"Bold," Aurora said, the Unseen World manifesting as she stared at Seris with a mixture of respect and no little uncertainty. "Very, very bold."
Because Seris didn't know what Agrona's plans were–but just from this simple interaction, she'd divined much. It wasn't outright said, but I could read between the lines.
There had been two targets in the assault. Viessa had failed in some way, and she was being given explicit orders from Agrona himself.
"The Commander and the Princess didn't quite fall as you needed them to, did they?" Seris prodded. "The Princess escaped without any wounds at all, as a matter of fact."
"Commander Virion Eralith is comatose," Viessa bit back. "My foolish Retainer may have failed to inject the Princess with the corruptive concoction, but they at least staked the Commander. And without him, Dicathen's resistance crumbles."
My eyes slowly widened as the words sank in. I shared a look with Cylrit as I registered what exactly Viessa had said.
Virion is comatose, I thought, only starting to grasp the implications of the words, and if he's comatose, then–
Seris received the news in characteristic stride, however, not nearly as rattled by the news as I. "True enough," she said lazily. "But despite the central nature of Virion Eralith's position in this war, he was not the true focus of our High Sovereign. Furthermore, the piercing assault through the Elshire Forest hasn't borne the fruit we expected. If you had spoken to me, Viessa, these could have been avoided."
The rest of Seris' tense conversation with Viessa fell away as they continued their charged back and forth.
But I didn't hear it. I was too lost in the storm of my thoughts, running the implications over and over and over in my head.
Because if Commander Viiron Eralith was removed from the playing field, it was only a matter of time before the Triunion Council fractured at the seams.