Among the three races, there are various terms for this phenomenon, but they all agree on one point: a being's soul is both the most powerful tool, and the sharpest blade one can wield.
Humans call those who manage to unlock the potential of their souls Sorcerers. This is typically achieved through the birth of a Soulart. Rarely does a human manage to create a Soulweapon first, let alone tame a Soulbeast. Such feats are more commonly attributed to the other two races.
For centuries, scholars and philosophers have proposed theories about how a being develops a Soulart. Some suggest it is the influence of a higher power, that the Old Gods choose those deemed worthy to stand at the pinnacle of human refinement. Yet, since the rise of the Steamchurch, the number of Sorcerers has not decreased, while the Old Gods have faded further into obscurity.
Thus, Arin placed little stock in such chatter.
As for other theories, Arin's understanding was limited. However, Mayia had once shared something with him - something she had read in their mother's books. It was a quote from some lofty thinker named Orostos, but it stuck in Arin's mind:
Purpose shapes the soul, and without the soul, no purpose is born.
Arin closed his eyes, rose from the bed, and took a deep breath. He didn't fully grasp the meaning of the quote, but his interpretation was simple: he had been given a tool, and he would use that tool to heal his sister.
The sudden voice from the Fool interrupted his moment of internal determination.
"Oh, look who's here! You know, if you just laze around with Mayia all day, you're going to get fat. That'd be a real shame. Want to switch places for a bit?"
Arin ignored him, but the Stubborn didn't.
"You must still be drunk from the wine if you think I'm letting you spend more time with Mayia than I do."
"Oh please, stop it with the whine. See what I did there? Probably not, your dumbass couldn't tell good wine from piss."
"What did you say?"
"I called you a dumbass, dumbass."
…at the very least, this Arin would do whatever was necessary. What his idiotic doppelgangers were up to most of the time, he honestly had no idea. At least they had aligning goals.
He sighed, rolled his eyes, and asked, "How did it go?"
The Fool and the Stubborn, who had been grappling with each other, simultaneously turned their - Arin's - head toward him and replied in unison:
"Stroll."
"Boring."
Immediately, their hostile gazes locked again. Behind Arin, he could hear Mayia chuckle softly. Her voice carried a newfound cheerfulness amidst the exhausting chaos:
"You get along better every day. That's what I love about you two."
The Stubborn and the Fool froze. The Stubborn began scratching the back of his head awkwardly, his perpetually stern expression suddenly softening.
"Is that so?" he asked.
Like a tamed dog, Arin thought impressed.
The Fool cleared his throat and crossed his arms.
"Ahem, if you say so, sis…"
Arin watched the display with deadpan eyes.
Unbelievable, he thought, turning slightly to glance at his sister with both admiration and a faintly furrowed brow.
She really knows how to handle them… Wait, does that mean I'm this easy for her to manipulate?
He shook his head. The Stubborn and the Fool were parts of his personality, but that didn't mean they were him - no more than a single cog defined an entire machine.
He turned to his rational side, the Cold, who had been silently standing in the doorway, as still and indifferent as ever.
"Do you have it?" Arin asked impatiently.
The Cold nodded and produced two vials of liquid Soulfuel. Arin's eyes widened as he beheld the pulsing green liquid. Two whole vials! Moreover, they were dark green, almost opaque - an exceptionally high-quality sample. The Cold approached and held the vials out.
Arin did not hesitate, reaching for them. But before he could take them, the Cold seized his wrist, and their gray eyes met.
"We need to talk," the Cold said.
A sense of unease immediately washed over Arin. But he nodded. The Cold released his grip, and Arin took the vials. Without another word, he returned to his sister by the bed, leaving his three incarnations to exchange curious glances behind him.
Mayia was smiling faintly, her pale lips twitching as she looked at Arin. For a moment, she seemed at peace, but her expression shifted the instant Arin uncorked one of the vials. As the vial's sharp scent filled the air, her soft smile faded, replaced by a wary look. The green liquid glimmered ominously in the dim light. He hesitated for a heartbeat, then knelt beside her, holding it out.
"Drink this," he urged.
Her eyes, shadowed with pain, flickered open.
"Where did you get it?"
Arin faltered, gripping the vial tighter. He wanted to tell her the truth, but the thought of her fragile face clouded with disappointment held his tongue.
"The others bought it," he lied. Even as the words left his mouth, he knew how absurd they sounded. Liquid Soulfuel wasn't something you could simply buy - and certainly not by someone like him.
Mayia's green eyes narrowed.
"Arin…"
He avoided her gaze and pressed the vial closer.
"Please. You're in pain. Just drink it."
She shook her head weakly, her voice trembling.
"Stubborn, where did you get this?"
The Stubborn stiffened. His gaze darted to Arin, then back to Mayia.
"I… I…"
"Tell me," Mayia said softly but firmly.
Stubborn's shoulders slumped. He mumbled, "Took it from some shady alchemist…"
The Fool immediately exploded.
"Can't you just lie once in your life?!"
"You know I can't! And even if I could, I wouldn't lie to Mayia!"
"But it's for her sake, dammit!"
As the two bickered, Mayia turned her gaze back to Arin. Her expression was mad at first, but then her eyes suddenly held a piercing sadness. She raised a trembling hand and placed it gently on his cheek.
"You said you wouldn't hurt anybody anymore for me," she whispered.
Arin flinched. It wasn't an accusation, just a quiet disappointment. But it hurt even more because of it. He averted his gaze.
"I told them to make sure he was a bad person first," he muttered.
"We didn't take all of them," the Cold interjected. Mayia and Arin turned to him.
"He's still got one left," the Cold continued. "And he was a thief himself."
Mayia's sad gaze swept over the group, her lips quivering slightly and her shoulders slumping as though burdened by a weight she could no longer carry.
"At first, it was only stealing from the rich. Now you steal from alchemists and people who make their living with it… What's next? Other orphans?"
"Orphans don't have liquid Soulfuel lying around-"
"That's not the point, Arin. That's not the point…"
She looked down at her hands. They seemed so fragile, so weak in Arin's eyes.
"I don't want to get to live like that."
***
Mayia had finally agreed to drink the Soulfuel, but only because the pain once again entered her chest. It was horrible to watch. Now, with one vial empty, she had fallen into a deep slumber, exhaustion overtaking her. Arin and the others stood around the bed, watching her delicate body rise and fall in a slow, but steady rhythm.
The quality and quantity of the vial would be enough to ease the illness of her Soul for some time. But within a matter of months, a second dose would be required, and even then, a cure was still out of reach.
How long would Arin still be able to steal? How long would his sister tolerate it? He didn't know.
Suddenly, he felt an elbow at his ribs. The Cold looked at him. Arin hesitated, then nodded and said to the other two:
"Come back for now. You did a good job."
The Fool gave Mayia one last long look before nodding as well. The Stubborn, on the other hand, protested and regarded the Cold with a competitive glance.
"Why does he get to stay?"
"Just do as he says," the Fool said, exasperated.
"Tsk."
One moment later, both of them dissolved in a vapor of green Soulfuel and vanished into thin air. The sensation of something - a part of his identity - coming back to Arin, to his Soul, overtook him, and he once again felt more complete. It took a moment to regain his thoughts.
Whenever the Incarnations returned to his Soul, it was like a wave of emotions overcame him. Regret, fear, and a profound sorrow mixed with flickers of hope and determination washed over him, each feeling sharp and overwhelming. He could sense their shared pain for Mayia's plight, their desperation and will bleeding into his own, leaving him both resolute and burdened by their collective anguish. Emotions and feelings they experienced while they were away from his body.
Settling down on a nearby stool, Arin took a loud breath and asked the Cold:
"What did you want to talk about?"
The Cold regarded Mayia for another moment before joining Arin at the table.
"We're running out of options," he said unfeeling. Harsh, but the truth, that much Arin knew.
"I know. We'll have to be more active in finding more sources."
The Cold shook his head.
"That won't do, and you know it. After all, I'm you. And even if you can ignore me when I'm with you, there are moments when you need to hear yourself. Your true self."
Arin regarded the Cold with furrowed brows.
"You're not more me than the others, you know that?"
"But I am. I am what you truly are. What you should be. All the others are just noise in your head in the task of saving Mayia. They're a distraction."
"That distraction just got us two full vials."
"And how long will it take for another two? For another one? How long until one of their antics gets us caught? It took us four weeks to find the Alchemist. Two more to plan the robbery, in which we got lucky. We could've even taken all three vials if you wouldn't have insisted on sparing some."
Arin gritted his teeth and leaned forward.
"You know this was the only way Mayia would accept it."
For a long time, both of them stared at each other grimly. Then the Cold said:
"I don't know if we can find another source in time. But there are other ways."
"…like what?"
"We can make it a sustainable source."
Arin didn't like where this was going. He even considered calling the Cold back to his Soul for a second but then realized he would only be running from the inevitable. The Cold seemed to sense his hesitation and took the moment:
"That Alchemist was weak. But his skills in making Soulfuel are unprecedented."
The Cold never averted his gaze or hesitated when speaking the next words:
"I know he has a daughter in the middle level. We could-"
Arin slammed his fist on the table, immediately regretting it and checking if Mayia had woken up. Luckily, she was still steadily asleep. His furious gaze turned back to the Cold.
"There will be no such action taken by you or any other part of me. We are not monsters!"
Silence.
The Cold's gaze was as soulless as ever. It unsettled Arin. Made him feel small. When the Cold spoke, Arin couldn't avert his eyes anymore.
"There is a thin line between being a monster and saving someone you love sometimes."
Arin shook his head, tolerating these words no further. He hated himself for them. He knew the Cold didn't come up with these plans himself. After all, he was a part of Arin.
"We won't. If need be, I can still summon one more Incarnation at a time. I myself can get to searching. We'll find a way. A way that doesn't make us... We won't become the brother Mayia fears. Never."
The Cold had stayed silent. Now he shook his head. "We're already Oilrats. Soon it won't make a difference, and then you'll have to decide. But I guess, for now there is still something else we can try."
Again, Arin hesitated because he knew what the Cold was implying.
"You're talking about Erik?"
The Cold nodded. "We've worked for the Guild before. Every time, Erik paid us the Soulfuel he promised."
"And every time, it took four of us, and we still nearly died. It's too risky."
"Then what is the alternative? Do you want Mayia to die?"
Arin sprung up.
"I'd kill all of you and then myself before letting that happen."
The Cold never even bothered to move. Still sitting comfortably, he answered:
"Then learn to kill others as well. Here."
Suddenly, the Cold pulled something else out of his pocket. Arin's eyes widened as he recognized the sigil on the letter. The Cold spoke:
"I found it at our door. Erik's inviting us."
Arin slowly sat back down and watched the letter with trembling eyes.
"It wasn't here before. I would've seen it."
The Cold nodded.
"You know Erik has a sense for the dramatic," he said.
"He never approached us before. It was always the other way around," Arin murmured absentmindedly.
The Cold stood up and put a hand on Arin's shoulder. Their gazes met and Arin could once again see why, even if he didn't like that part of himself, there were times, it was the only he could rely on.
"Then this might be our chance. Mayia's chance."