Thank you to my beta reader and editor, GlassThreads!
Tessia Eralith
One of the things that Grandpa had always told me ever since I'd been young was that I could never count on a plan.
The image of him from years back—when he didn't have so many stress-carved wrinkles across his face and trenches of corruption turning his veins black—surfaced in my mind. I could see him crouching in front of me as I complained about how Arthur always managed to do better than me in sparring. On that particular day, I'd thrown my usual tantrum, and I'd been pouting in a corner of Elenoir's palace.
When Grandpa had found me, his eyes had melted in the way they always did whenever he saw me. I'd lamented that day, furious and angry that Arthur had managed to beat me again. I'd been training and trying so hard. I couldn't understand why he was just better.
In his caring, grandfatherly way, Grandpa had explained to me something simple. "Art plans ahead, my little rascal," he'd said. "To a terrifying degree, mind you. Don't try and think like that little monster. It's enough to drive me crazy sometimes, those battle instincts of his."
"But I plan, too!" I'd complained. "I wanted to attack his shins, then break his stance! But that didn't work!"
Grandpa had only chuckled, his wizened hand ruffling my silver hair. "And once Arthur realized that, he adapted. Remember, little one: no plan survives contact with an opponent."
Plan plan plan, Willow whispered, coiled in my core as I kept my Second Phase engaged, survive.
When the thunder crashed again, the rain clinging to my face, I resisted the urge to curse. It was a comfort that I'd reached Art's parents in time, and that they were safely in the clutches of my vines. But as I hauled them through the shattered halls of Xyrus Academy—once so familiar to me—I knew it was a shallow relief.
No plan survived contact with the enemy. Not even the one I'd concocted with Arthur.
Art was currently enacting the side of the plan that would see Scythe Nico dealt with. I knew he would succeed, even if meeting his old friend would be a struggle. He had to succeed, to ensure that the Legacy would never descend.
But I had already failed. That plan had not survived contact with the enemy.
Arthur and I had both suspected Bairon Wykes of being a traitor to Dicathen. That was why he was positioned on the westernmost battlefield alongside Mica Earthborn, the furthest from the truly critical fronts. It was also why I had lain in wait, ready to drive my swordstaff through the arrogant Wykes' chest if he did something unwise.
The arrival of the red-haired Retainer had thrown everything into disarray. Bairon had met her secretly, holding one of those tempus warps. I'd realized then and there that I wouldn't get a better chance to put the traitor down. As Mica and Olfred had their clash in the background, I'd made to finish this.
Except I'd failed in the killshot. Bairon was too fast, and he'd managed to get through a summoned portal before I could drive my weapon through his core.
And when I'd realized I was in Xyrus, where Art's parents were, I'd left the last and most powerful Seed I had in reserve, leaving it to keep Bairon and that Retainer busy.
The Seeds were something new I'd discovered the ability to create in the wake of my ascension to Lance. With guiding help from Willow, I could separate a sliver of her essence into a corded bundle of nature magic. As I'd trained with Aya in the depths of Elshire, I'd gradually imbued these slivers with more and more energy, nurturing them as one did a flower with sunlight and water.
And the one that had just been slain was granted a death so brutal and abruptly violent that I knew it could not have been done by Bairon or that Retainer.
"Hold on to the vines," I said to my charges, vaulting through an opening in the broken walls. "This is going to get rough."
Reynolds had enough sense to grip the vines ensorcelling him. He shouted something to Alice, who was doing her best not to vomit from the constant back and forth of the swaying vines. I didn't think she could hear it. Albold's eyes were peeled, his Chaffer senses on high alert as he scanned our surroundings. Elder Camus had managed to keep up with us so far, but I was about to put on the speed.
Smoke rose all around into the rainstorm as I emerged from the battered body of Xyrus Academy. Rain slapped me in the face with a million tiny blows, splattering in a failed attempt to seep into my bones. I struggled to see past the curtain of constant, angry raindrops. The cold gripped me nearly instantly as I emerged into the downpour. For a split instant, I wondered if this was what the Academy looked like when the Alacryans had attacked it before.
All across the grounds, mages darted about in a mix of confusion and order. Between and around them, mana beasts attacked students, professors, and soldiers alike. They were put down with the brutal efficiency of those familiar with war. And when the dead rose again, the soldiers tore out their mana cores without a second thought.
These were soldiers who had lived through the Days of Massacre all across Sapin's plains. They knew how to fight beasts and how to protect those under their care.
I exhaled a breath, feeling my mana flowing beneath my skin. Willow's presence was a smooth balm that helped me focus on what I needed to do. Even if the attack on Xyrus—while initially surprising and devastating—was being repelled now, the students and soldiers below were unequipped for what was coming.
Staring down, I saw a young elven girl using her magic to pull water from the rain, before redirecting it to douse a fire. Her choppy blonde hair was cut short, framing a face carved of determination and fear both. She snapped out some orders to students around her.
They'll be coming for me, I thought, grinding my teeth. I couldn't sense Viessa Vritra, enmeshed as she was in the howling wind, but I knew she was there, watching me. I thought I could smell her blood. They'll be coming for Art's parents, too.
Lightning crackled in the distance, and I knew I was running out of time.
I shot through the sky, vaulting toward the gilded gates of Xyrus Academy. I could hear vague shouts of awe and fear as verdant green vines grew around me, each tendril latching onto the shimmering bars of metal.
I didn't need to guide my spells, at least not fully. Willow followed my desires, the helpful speck of mist in my mind guiding the automatic defenses of my Second Phase. With a simple tug of the sturdy vines, my charges and I were vaulting over the towering barrier.
I kept my senses peeled as I tapped down on the soaked cobblestones outside, internally apologizing to Art's mother as she audibly struggled to resist vomiting. She clearly wasn't used to such high-speed maneuvering, and it was only going to get worse.
In that split instant as my legs bent, preparing to hurtle me through the winding streets of Xyrus, I observed my surroundings. Outside of the Academy, the city appeared deceptively calm. Most citizens of the floating bastion kept inside, hoping to avoid the soaking downpour. Those that were outside seemed utterly oblivious to the doom that was close to their throats.
My vines hauled me through the streets, a dozen tendrils sinking through the cobbles and walls of nearby buildings as I moved. The silver blossoms on every verdant vine breathed out swaths of vapor that meshed with the thunderstorm, obscuring the city and cloaking our path.
I wasn't sure it would truly work, but I was confident the constant cloak of Elshire Mist would help to obstruct Viessa Vritra's seeking magic from messing with Alice, Reynolds, and Albold. As that spell slowly spread, it would also obscure the citizens and soldiers of the city from any wayward attackers.
The Alacryans aren't fielding an army, just a few select strike forces, I thought, weaving through the streets as I kept the three close to me in clutching plant matter. I spared a glance to the side as I pumped my arms, noting Elder Camus as he balanced on my vines, the wind mage allowing them to pull us forward.
I was just beginning to formulate a plan—one that might just see us through this attack—when Albold's eyes widened. "The left!" he said quickly. "The left, the left! Something's coming!"
Almost as if to corroborate his terrified words, Art's mom vomited from a mixture of motion sickness and something else, trembling in the rain.
My hair stood on end despite the water soaking it, and the scent of ozone struck my nose. The barest hint of a familiar mana signature brushed against my senses.
One of the nearby buildings simply exploded. Something massive and dark, reflective in the storm, gored its way through a dozen tons of iron, stone, and wood. A blade longer and sharper than any spear erupted from its forehead as six legs slammed into the cobblestones with pulverizing force. Every inch of the massive mana beast was armored with thick, impenetrable plates the color of obsidian.
I was reminded of the massive steam trains that Gideon was pioneering as the undead S-class mana beast charged silently toward me from barely a dozen feet away, its metallic hide gleaming. The sheer amount of noise it made with each footfall was enough to put landslides and earthquakes to shame.
I redirected my forward course, water splashing as I lurched to the left. My stomach somersaulted as I snapped in a near-ninety-degree shift in momentum. I snapped out with a vine at the last moment, hauling Elder Camus along as the sky brightened for a moment. Art's dad yelled in sudden fear as we surged toward the charging undead rhinoran, the gleaming point poised to tear me in half.
Vines erupted from below the rhinoran, creating an ever-so-slightly elevated ramp as it continued on its charge. The massive beast, unable to adjust its course as the ground rose at a sharp angle, soared through the sky without making a sound. At the same time, I ducked low, pulling all four of my charges close as I skated beneath the titan.
The sky flashed bright, and lightning arced down from on high.
Each arcing tendril of the thunderbolt was wider than a tree trunk as they surged for me like a spear, every gathered ounce of voltaic anger condensed with the power of a white core. Yet instead of striking me and my charges, that lightning predictably arced toward the closest source of metal.
I got a perfect view of the failed attack as I slid in slow motion beneath my makeshift shield. Yellow-gold electricity danced over every inch of the rhinoran's form, and if it hadn't been dead before, I was certain the sheer voltage running through its flesh would have finished the job anyway.
The rhinoran tumbled across the street, before slamming into a building, its legs thrashing and twitching as the electricity ignited its nerves.
"Eralith!" a voice boomed over the storm, a luminous figure visible against the reflectionless gray clouds. "Fight me!"
I slid through the shattered building the rhinoran had emerged from, just barely avoiding a torrent of decaying black wind that tore the life from my vines. Viessa. She was watching, toying with me. But she wasn't the most prevalent threat.
I could feel my foe approaching like one could smell an approaching thunderstorm. I built up my mana, coalescing the energy from my core, before forcing all the vines I could spare to curl inward.
I spun around as I entered the buildings, coming nearly face-to-face with my enemy.
Bairon Wykes was alight with raw lightning, each tendril sparking off his pale blonde hair. His eyes glowed with otherworldly light as his tattered Lance uniform streamed with blood. I could see light glowing from behind his clenched teeth. The raw fury in his eyes as he focused not just on me, but on Art's family, was something I wouldn't soon forget. His electrified fingers inched closer and closer, nearly enough to touch one of my vines…
I released my spell.
A vine larger than a house surged from beneath us, belching obscuring mist to the rainy sky. The vine tagged Bairon's foot, wrapping around it and snapping taut as it anchored him to the street. He snarled as all the built-up lightning that he was planning to imbue into me was instead grounded by the conductive vine.
The massive green tendril sizzled and smoked as absurd currents ran along its length, and I could sense it charing away. But it had bought me time.
I flowed through the buildings, smashing through homely walls and business storefronts as I tore my way toward some sort of safety. Behind me, Bairon's furious snarl echoed in tune with the rolling drums of the sky.
"Bairon?" I heard Reynolds Leywin sputter in fear. "Lance Wykes just tried… He just tried to kill us!"
A sardonic smirk pulled at the edges of my lips as I continued on my tumultuous passage. "What, did Art not tell you? That man's wanted to kill you all for a long time."
That earned a curse from Art's dad, his fingers digging into the vines.
The joke wasn't exactly in good taste, but it helped to center me as I focused on the plan building in the back of my head. "Hold on tight. Things are about to get a lot rougher."
Bairon will trail from behind, probably from the sky, I thought quickly, struggling to think over the pounding in my skull. He's in his element in the thunderstorm. Close quarters don't serve him well, and I can ground his attacks with my vines if need be. Which means that I can't be under the open sky.
Operating on barely an idea, I emerged into the open street. The water from the thunderstorm flowed along cunningly constructed pathways, before draining into designated sewers. I gave that a moment of thought as an option, before knowledge of toxic, flammable sewer gasses immediately waived that away as a choice.
"Sound magic, from the right," Elder Camus said sharply, twisting slightly where I held him with a vine.
I whirled, lashing out with my swordstaff on instinct. A gust of wind trailed toward the direction Elder Camus indicated, but instead of striking something, I felt my attack… dissolve. The mana particles met some sort of vibrating resistance, before melting away.
I resisted the urge to curse as I caught a glimpse of the Retainer with red hair again, running toward me with Scythes of dark void wind swirling about her. Behind me, I could hear the rhinoran charging again, and I thought I could sense more attacks building from Viessa somewhere.
Lightning arced down from the heavens, and only hastily conjured vines rising above me in a careful cage redirected the energy into the ground. But with each voltaic bolt, the searching fractals got closer and closer to the people I was trying to protect. The vines rose slower and slower, faltering in the face of the storm as a domain of writhing green and silver protected us all from certain doom.
Then the Retainer reached me. I conjured a gale of wind beneath her feet, trying to disrupt her balance, but that strange sound magic of hers was able to disassemble my spell with exceptional speed.
"Lance Silverthorn," she said, her voice smooth as a knife between the ribs as she maneuvered in close. "You've been more than a pain in our side."
I ground my teeth, aware of the charging rhinoran about to emerge from the building behind me. "Well, I've never had the opportunity to meet you," I said, countering a few blades of void wind that the Retainer sent my way with swipes of my swordstaff. The glimmering green motes of celestial emerald nature magic clashed with dark Vritra taint, both writing about each other before becoming nothing at all. With as much speed as I could manage, I shifted my charges behind me, preparing to face this errant Retainer.
"That will change soon," the woman said smoothly. "My name is Lyra Dreide, Retainer to Cadell Vritra."
And then she was on me. I deflected one of her arcs of void wind high, before feinting with a thrust toward her core. My mana and beast will guided me on, tendrils of effervescent green rising of their own accord to protect me from all sides.
The Retainer wasn't fazed by my attack. She used some sort of barrier magic to deflect the sharp edge of my bladed staff, before lunging with fingers outstretched for my throat.
A vine—barely as wide around as my wrist—snaked up from the wet ground, nearly invisible. It cinched itself around Lyra Dreide's ankle, the thorns digging in and drawing rivulets of blood.
Her halted momentum made her lurch, her eyes widening. At the same moment, I brought my knee up, aiming for her suddenly outstretched jaw.
But as a bolt of lightning finally broke through my dome of writhing, protective vines, arcing like the fingers of an angry god toward my huddled charges, I realized that I needed to change tactics.
I snarled from the depths of my soul as I grabbed Lyra Dreide's outstretched arm, before hurling her toward the lightning bolt. As she went, she twisted with supernatural deftness, sending out tiny, paper-thin arcs of decaying wind that opened up a dozen painful cuts along my uniform. One of them carved an arc along my forearm, making it harder to grip my swordstaff.
I retaliated by throwing an absurd amount of mana into my hands, focusing it as I swung my weapon with blood and rain-slick fingers. A torrent of howling fury erupted from me, slamming into the airborne Retainer. Whatever sound magic she had wasn't enough to fully disperse my attack, especially when Elder Camus added a dose of his own magic from nearby, pulling the woman closer to the target.
The lightning bolt struck her shields in a flash of yellow light, before my dome of vines hurled her outside of my domain.
"It's so fascinating," a voice said, nearly enraptured with glee as it rose from the stones and the air and the stone itself. Viessa Vritra. "You struggle so much. You know you'll die, Lance Silverthorn. It's the only logical outcome. But you struggle and struggle, like a poor rose with its petals ripped off."
There was a demented sort of pleasure that washed through each of Viessa's words that made me shudder inside as I quickly returned to Elder Camus and Art's parents. My arm trembled from the cut the Retainer had given me, and I had to fight to keep my fingers tight around my weapon. I felt a tremble of rising fear cut through my resolve, but I couldn't let it show.
"It's this that I love," that voice whispered again, crawling into my ears and tearing apart every good sound that had ever graced them. "The struggle before the end. Oh, how I missed the pleasure. So keep struggling, little rose. I want to see those petals wither."
The ground shook as the steelhorn rhinoran erupted from the building I'd barely just escaped. And as I stared into the terrified eyes of Arthur's parents—parents that he'd built this new life of his to protect and shelter—I realized that I had no choice.
Viessa Vritra watched like a hyena, savoring the smell of blood. Bairon rained a lightning storm on me from above, keeping me trapped in one place and unable to flee. And Lyra Dreide would certainly try to charge me again.
I could fight any of these cowards one on one. But all of them at once, while protecting people who were as fragile as glass?
I was going to be overwhelmed if I didn't do something. If I wanted to try and enact my plan, it needed to be now.
I growled, exhaling my anger as I drove my swordstaff into the ground beneath my feet. Drawing on the mana in my core, I squeezed the organ like a farmer squeezing a fruit for juice. I felt a painful lurch as I siphoned more and more. On high, the flickering dome of protective vines that blocked out Bairon's lightning trembled.
But beyond that, I drew on Willow, weaving her through my magic and Second Phase in the way I was only just now starting to comprehend.
This is going to hurt, Willow, I thought sadly to the ever-soothing presence in my head. I know you haven't recovered since the last time you split yourself, but I need you to try. One last time. We just need to buy time.
I could feel Willow's slow acceptance of my desperate plea. What I was about to try might cripple us both so soon after her last split. But as the intensity of my beast will brightened in my veins, I knew her decision.
Hurt hurt hurt, she pressed to me, try try try.
I exhaled a breath of mist, closing my eyes. I pressed my splayed out hand to the soaked stones beneath me, feeling the heartbeat of the stones as my fingers sank into the soil.
And then the world changed.
A surging torrent of vines engulfed all of us. Me, Reynolds, Alice, Albold, Elder Camus… A living forest grew from a single spot, all concentrated into one surge of nature. A tree greater than any yet shown dug roots into the earth, snaking into the reaches of the floating city's foundations. With silver leaves and patterns of verdant green, the towering monolith was an effigy to the elven people.
An Elshire Oak—more powerful and graceful than the countless number amidst the forests of Elenoir—denied the lightning streaking into it. The bark was solid, stronger than any steel and ready to take on a hurricane and win. No axe could fell the behemoth. No simple spell would see it broken.
After all, I'd put most of my energy into this singular spell. I'd imbued it with a sliver of Willow herself, granting this towering beacon of bark and leaves more life and vitality than it could have had otherwise. It became more than the sum of its parts, the great titan of wood standing strong against those who wished it ill.
And captured in its stalwart embrace were Art's parents, buffeted against the assault from all sides.
Paint, Willow's thoughts came as my Beast Will slowly receded. She drifted back into my core, leaving my channels to ache and burn. My hair returned to its normal silver, and the runes beneath my eyes dissipated into emerald motes.
Deep within the confines of the massive tree, I could feel our enemies struggle to see the structure toppled. Lightning made bark sizzle and crack, before flaking away. Void wind accelerated the death of this embodiment of nature, and the entire tower of wood rumbled with every charge of the steelhorn rhinoran.
Yet every time the tree was damaged, rain would soak down from the heavens, absorbed by the roots and transferred across the pulsing length. I could feel the ambient mana shift as the roots pulled it in, purifying it in a way I could hardly understand, before using all its resources to repair itself nearly as fast as it was being damaged.
I had imbued this creation with a single desire, my intent clear as a stormless sky. Protect.
But as I felt the roots straining against the repeated attacks of the rhinoran, I knew it wouldn't hold. The combined efforts of three white core mages and an S-class mana beast would see it overwhelmed quickly.
I didn't need to breathe within this life-giving construct, but I imagined I took a deep breath anyways. I could feel my core aching slightly, overtaxed and overused. I was so tired.
You're going to make it up to me when this is all over, Art, I thought, quickly realizing what I would need to do. I'm going to make you make this up to me.
I flowed up along the trunk of the tree, the wood parting for me and letting me move like a fish in a stream. As I reached the top of the boughs—the entire structure shuddering and shaking, the roots straining to stay anchored and not topple over—I prepared myself for the next part.
I emerged from the canopy of the massive tree like a butterfly from a cocoon. Immediately, I got a glimpse of Bairon's clenched face as he stared at the tree, his arms crossed. I couldn't see the Retainer or Scythe anywhere, but it seemed that the traitorous Lance had taken the smart option, saving his mana and watching.
Our eyes met. I sneered at him. He did the same, electricity crackling around him with the power of a white core mage.
And then I let the illusion spell I'd been crafting with mist flow out from me as I jumped from the top of the tree. A dozen copies of Tessia ran and flew in different directions, each spreading across the city like dewdrops slipping along a green leaf.
Bairon turned a few into less than ionized particles with a few sweeps of his arms. Void wind blades took out another few. But the majority managed to clear the distance fast enough, including me. Weakened as I was by conjuring that one massive spell, my mana signature wasn't easy to detect anymore.
I heard the traitorous bastard curse, alongside a select few hisses from the wind as I hit the ground running. Behind me, the tree stretched twenty stories tall, unbroken by the assaults.
I pumped my arms as I ran, praying that this gamble would pay off. I just needed to stall for time. Arthur was close by, and I knew he would return soon when he was done with Nico. He could snap Bairon's Lance tether easily, and was more than enough to deal with a Scythe that refused to show her face and another Retainer.
So as long as I drew the Alacryans' attention away from the tree, then there was a chance.
You need me as the Vessel, don't you? I thought angrily. I'd fought constantly throughout my life, desperately trying to avoid being controlled by others. You want to shove me into a little box. Come and get me. Come and try.
As I breezed through the streets, I could sense a few of the other illusions vanish, but it didn't appear as if I were being followed just yet. Still, the red-hot anger that kept me going—the anger at Bairon, anger at Agrona, and anger at this entire war—forced my weary limbs to keep pumping. I passed by a hundred people in the streets; bystanders who had finally wrenched themselves from the safety of their homes to stare at the massive tree now towering over everything in Xyrus City.
"Get back in your homes!" I bellowed as I vaulted over another wall, forcing every distant illusion to echo the same words. "Stay inside! Don't put yourself in harm's way!"
That's all you can do for them, I forced myself to acknowledge as I blurred through the streets, leaving behind countless innocent men and women who might stand in the way of a rampaging enemy. That's all you can do right now. Stick to your mission. The entire reason you became a Lance was so that you could be bait.
I needed to fulfill my mission. I needed to be what I promised I would be.
But as I reached a shadow of a building a few miles from the towering tree, I finally allowed myself to slow. I leaned weakly against a corner wall, my scraped and too-slow fingers clutching at the tough ridges of stones that had seen a thousand thunderstorms. Most of my other illusions were dissipating. Part of me was worried that my enemies would assume I'd escaped, then return to trying to fell the tree.
But some deep, gut instinct told me the truth. Even among Art's family, I was the priority. They couldn't afford for me to escape.
Which meant that I needed to keep running. As long as Agrona wanted me to be the Legacy, I could never stop running. I felt my lips trembling, my heartbeat hastening as I fought back a single tear.
Back when I had made the proposition to Art—Grey—the idea had lingered in the back of my head. The knowledge that I might never escape this shadow.
The war between Alacrya and Epheotus had gone on for millennia already. I couldn't imagine it ending in my lifetime, either. And if it didn't…
How long would that shadow cling to me? How long would I always be under threat of losing everything, simply because I was the most convenient container for a cruel deity to stuff someone else inside? Would I always stare up at the light and know that the shadow I cast was long and dark? Even if Art killed Nico, would Agrona just reincarnate him again? Would it just become a cycle?
I didn't know why it all rushed to the forefront of my mind then. I'd stood strong as Lance for so long, being the shoulder for Art to lean on when he felt weak. But for some reason, as I leaned against the cobblestone wall, I felt it all well up again, tearing away my hard-won strength.
I was so, so tired of war already. Would the rest of my life just be… running?
Willow was silent for the first time in a long, long time. Too much had been taken from her to craft that gargantuan tree, and I couldn't even engage my Beast Will with how little remained. She would regrow eventually, but right now I felt alone. Soaked to the bone, bleeding from a dozen cuts, and with a near-empty mana core, I felt alone.
It was the sound of stone shearing that finally tore me from my downward spiral. I blinked back my tears and swallowed the sob that wanted to escape my lips. I squinted past the low light, funneling mana toward my eyes as I tried to get a better grasp on my surroundings.
My adrenaline returned again as I recognized the landmarks around me. The fatigue vanished from my limbs as I reined my mana signature in further, clinging to the walls.
I was near the main portal gate, the one that the Alacryans had captured. But try as I might, I couldn't sense any mages nearby.
I tilted my head. There was a growing sense of utter wrongness starting from the tips of my toes, slowly freezing the blood in my veins as it worked up through my calves, thighs, torso, and then my head.
I couldn't sense anyone. Not a soul. Not a single speck of life or nature magic reached me, and there was almost always something. But even the ambient mana seemed silent and still, a complete opposite of the normally active and bustling portal gates.
That sound of cracking stone came again. Sharp. Precise. Clear. It reminded me of the sound of a mana-empowered sword crashing against rock. And for some reason, that sound tore through my brain like a spear driving into flesh.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and that was before the stench of blood struck me like an ocean flood. The pungent press of red iron suffused my nostrils like a plague, tearing memories out from the depths of my skull.
I started to move again. My instincts told me to run away, to flee into the distance and never look back as that sound of scraping rock came again. But another part of me sensed that something was wrong. Something was about to happen, and the thought made my nerves tingle with fear.
I crept around the bend, keeping to the shadows as I inched closer to that sound. My heart tried to pump my blood past the ice in my veins, but it was struggling with the weight.
And when I was finally in view of the portal, I felt my stomach churn.
The portal frame professed itself as stoically as always, that mirror finish of purple hovering within undisturbed by the strangeness around it. The surface wavered and swirled like the depths of the ocean, untold depths lurking behind that swath of aether.
The portal was unknowable, a window into something beyond me. But what lingered around that portal was terrible. Terrible in how I understood.
The square had been cleared in a radius of fifty feet, leaving plenty of room for the stage. All around the portal, runes had been carved into the stones. They glowed with scarlet light, the scent of blood wafting from them all. There was a pattern to those runes, a pattern I couldn't truly comprehend. Mana drifted from each of the bloody runes, bouncing about with tinges of red that carried the scent of stale iron.
An array of some sort, centered around the portal. Each of the connected spines spiraled about the portal like some great serpent, ready to sink its fangs into the unsuspecting pane.
But as unsettling as the array was, it paled in comparison to the being silhouetted against that reflective pane of purple. With skin the color of a gravestone, horns thrusting from their head, and a curtain of ashes stretched down from their scalp like a premonition of what was to come, I knew immediately that this was a Scythe.
The Scythe didn't react to my presence. In fact, they seemed utterly and completely focused on what they were doing. My heart finally began to pound in my chest, my weakened body urging me to run in instinctive fear. Willow's last Seed died here, I recalled belatedly. It was slain in one strike.
Two urges warred within me. The urge to flee and never look back. The array could be dealt with by someone else. Whatever this Scythe was about to do to the portal, it was above what I could manage right now. I was too weak as of right now to handle this.
But as the Scythe raised both of his gauntleted arms, I felt that other part of me rise to the fore.
In one hand was something… familiar. A horn of the purest white, streaked through with ribbons of pulsing purple and orange.
I blinked from where I crouched in the distant shadows. Spellsong's weapon. The white horn that he used to drain Sylvie's lifeforce.
And the other item was… a beating heart. It was larger than my head, and each pulse of that separated organ pumped little splatters of blood onto the ground. Yet the Scythe held it out like an offering to the gods themselves, that bulbous mass of horrendous flesh trying desperately to provide for a body that was no longer there. With every pulse of that disconnected heart, the runes all about the portal flared with scarlet red.
I could hear it. The rumbling tump, tump, tump. That heart wanted so desperately to die, but something unholy and wrong kept it working. Working for sustenance and care that would never come.
And when the monstrous Scythe raised the white horn high, its tip gleaming with reflected red light, my terror finally forced me to act.
I ran toward the Scythe, my swordstaff gleaming as I became less than a blur. The Scythe's arm started to descend, the impossibly sharp tip glistening with fell promises as it came down like a dying sun.
"No!" I yelled frantically, terrified for a reason I couldn't truly discern. The runes around the portal brightened in anticipation as I jumped, preparing to drive my weapon through the Scythe's wide-open back. "No, I won't let you do it!"
Time seemed to slow as I finally neared the Scythe, the point of my swordstaff inching closer and closer to the burnished metal of his breastplate. He had never even deigned to notice me, so focused was this creature on his task.
And I saw in terrible slow motion as the white horn sank deep into the dragon's heart, the blade-like edge parting flesh with ease.
"A spark is offered," the Scythe said evenly. "And now it begins."
The world fractured around us. Lights and colors and pain slammed into me in an enveloping wave, a kaleidoscope of magic and primordial power sending me hurtling through the sky. Space split into a dozen fragments, then a dozen more, the world bending as the runes flared. The portal frame evaporated into mist, spreading through the firmament like roots through hardened stone.
The last thing I saw before the wave of energy ripped me from consciousness was the twisted smirk on the Scythe's face as he stared back at me over his shoulder, the dragon's heart in his palm dying a cruel death.
—
I didn't know how long I was unconscious, but the flow of mana tore me from the depths. Someone was… hauling me forward. Sounds came and went, but I couldn't understand them. Not with how everything hurt. My shins dragged limply across the ground.
I coughed weakly, blood leaking from my mouth. I tried to remember what I was doing, where I was… There was so much mana in the air. My lungs shuddered and squeezed with every breath I took. I felt like someone who tried to drink too much water at once after living a life in the desert. So, so much mana. More than I had ever thought possible.
More voices. More noise. Harsh words, I thought.
My head lolled back as I tried in vain to move, and I beheld a sight that put any piece of art to shame.
The Aurora Constellate… It was here again. The entire sky was alight with orange and purple, ribbons of wonderful silk threading across the cosmos in a constant stream. The mana and aether both churned, pulled by some unseen force. Like schools of fish in a stream, curtains of dawnlight wound their way inward, the energies compressing themselves like lovers in an embrace.
It was strangely… beautiful. I stared up at it for a time, watching the magentas as they danced with the fuschias and the ochres with the copper. It was like the dawn had come again, descending from on high to grace my eyes with its soft touch. Those colors mingled with the storm, refracting their hues across the lingering droplets of rain.
And then lightning streaked through the clouds again, and I remembered.
Bairon was hauling me forward, his rigid hands clenched around my arms. Not far away, Lyra Dreide meandered around puddles of rain, the Retainer proper and poised as ever.
I tried to struggle, calling on my mana core. But despite the utter saturation of mana in the air, I skirted on the edges of backlash, my nexus of power too overwhelmed from my earlier battles.
The traitorous Lance noticed my movement, of course.
"She's awake already," he said with suppressed ire.
Lyra's eyes flicked toward me, something unknowable hidden within. "Impressive," she said simply. "The ritual's effects struck her point-blank. To wake up so quickly is—"
"It's nothing," Bairon interrupted. He sounded as arrogant as ever, even with his blazing white uniform covered in cuts and scrapes. "She's captured. Now all we need to do is break that tree and everything will be done."
Lyra opted not to respond, recognizing the hostility crackling across the undercurrents of the traitor's tone.
The fear I felt from being captured—that I had failed in my constant run—was suddenly overcome by a sense of disgust. The fact that Bairon still wore that uniform, despite how he'd been a disservice to everything Dicathen stood for…
"Disgrace," I pressed out through bloody lips. "You're a disgrace."
Suddenly, I was being hauled up, my legs dangling limply. Bairon's yellow-green eyes glinted with suppressed anger as he stared into mine. "What did you say?"
I spat blood in his face. Before it could even reach him, little tendrils of lightning arced out from his flesh, ionizing the particles of red, before burning them away.
"Disgrace," I repeated with conviction. "You're a disgrace to everything the title of Lance stands for."
The punch that slammed into my gut drove further resistance from my soul. Bairon dropped me, letting me clutch at my abdomen as I coughed in pain.
"Your little King is the disgrace," Bairon sneered from above me. "It's everything he did that made this uniform and station worthless. Before you slept your way to being a Lance, it used to mean something."
"So that's why you… Betrayed Dicathen?" I wheezed back, my tone mocking despite the pain radiating across my body. I took a lungful of air, trying not to choke on the sheer quantity of mana flowing through the skies. "Because you weren't special anymore? This is war, Bairon."
"If centuries of tradition and culture are destroyed simply because an upstart boy thinks he can play monarch," Bairon shot back, his eyes cold and calculating, "what is there to fight for? You couldn't understand, Eralith, with everything so prim and proper. But the noble Houses of Dicathen used to be a pillar. Without the nobility, there is no Dicathen."
I laughed. It was a laugh of disbelief and absurdity more than mocking as I knelt on the cobblestones. "A pillar of destruction and oppression!" I countered back. "How many elves were taken as slaves because of your reckless system? How many people did the nobles of this continent trample over to get where they were? The Alacryans will—"
"The Alacryans respect the truth of this world," Bairon snapped back, lightning crackling around his hands. "That positions must be won by strength and merit, not because you knew the right boy to sleep with."
The sheer hypocrisy of it all nearly overwhelmed the absurdity of the events so far.
I shivered on the ground, trying to suppress my fear. "That's what Lucas thought," I sneered. "Where did that get him, except turned into a limp sack of bleeding meat by someone stronger?"
Bairon raised a fist, preparing to drive it into my skull as rage overtook his features. An animalistic growl tore itself from his throat as he hauled me up again, his eyes flashing in tune with the storm.
"Enough," a voice with the icy chill of long-past time flowed over us. "You will not harm the Vessel further."
Bairon froze, his arm trembling imperceptibly. His head twisted like a poorly-oiled machine as he stared, wide-eyed, at the one who had interrupted us.
Their steps were unhurried, each coming in tune with the heartbeat of the Aurora Constellate all around us. Their ashen hair swayed in the storm, but even as rain fell onto him, none of it appeared to stay, the elements themselves fleeing in fear. Eyes like fermented blood swallowed me whole.
For the first time, I caught a glimpse of the wound in the world. Behind the leisurely Scythe, I witnessed what used to be the portal stage.
The world was caught in a cycle: one slowly expanding in a radius of incomprehensibility. Space fractured like glass, spraying purple blood, before recombining in all the wrong ways and fracturing again. Just staring at the infinite recursion of shattering and remaking made a headache build in the back of my skull. I resisted the urge to vomit.
And every single ribbon of the artificial Aurora Constellate overhead streamed down toward that central point, fueling it with perpetual threads of aether and mana both. I thought I could hear that pierced dragon's heart pulsing in pain and agony deep beneath the effects of the ritual spell.
The world will burn, it pressed into my skull. It will break and burn. They'll burn it all to the ground.
I could only stare in horror as the infection of fracturing space seeped outward, carried on fractals of violet. Any and all retorts left me as my struggles and rebellion weakened. What had Agrona done?!
"Tessia Eralith," the Scythe said nonchalantly, a cruel smirk splitting his face. "You've given my master so much trouble. But as always, things align as planned."
And at once, I knew the identity of the bone-white Scythe that stared me down with eyes that had ended ten thousand lives and would end ten thousand more.
Cadell Vritra, personal enforcer of Agrona himself. The Hand of God, who delivered his edicts and death sentences, fulfilled his will.
I trembled, the reality of my situation crashing back in like an avalanche. "Art will kill me," I said with conviction. My heartbeat thundered in my chest. "He'll snap my heart before you get the chance to bring the Legacy here."
If the Scythe was surprised by my knowledge of the Legacy, he didn't show it. Instead, those cruel eyes narrowed. The refracted light of an unraveling world bathed him from behind, casting him with strange, demonic shadows.
"Is that so?" he asked leisurely. His eyes flicked to an empty space. "Have the Leywins been retrieved?"
No response came for a moment, but finally I heard it. "No," a small voice said, no longer pompous and ecstatic. It was a child's voice, nestled with fear of being struck. "Not yet."
Cadell's lips twitched. "Cease your cowering, Viessa. Show yourself. Now."
Bairon stepped away slowly alongside Lyra as a figure phased into existence. For a moment, I was taken aback by how broken the figure looked.
We'd received information on all the Scythes from Uto and Mawar both. Viessa in particular was described as… beautiful, like an artist's skills put to grotesque work. She was described as a doll that had learned to move on her own, possessed of a keen and terrifying intellect.
When I'd fought off the Scythe's illusions, I'd been fearful that she'd kept back to enact some sort of plan. But as the broken shell revealed itself, I thought I understood why.
She was missing an arm, and the stump looked like a fresh cut. Drops of blood leaked from a haphazard cauterization, unheard through the rain. Her teal robes were soaked through with rain, but that only made the blackened mark on her throat more visible.
Not a mark, I realized with surprise. A burn. A handprint.
Someone had gripped the Scythe's throat with searing fingers. She'd been branded.
"Spellsong's work was thorough," the man contemplated. Cadell looked Viessa up and down with slow, methodical calculation. Everywhere his eyes trailed, the purple-haired necromancer shivered in fear. "He turned you into a wretch. You shiver at the slightest mention of his name."
As if on cue, the woman trembled. The fear that sparkled behind her eyes was something I didn't think I would ever forget. She didn't respond.
The rain fell, and the world continued to fracture.
"Do you fear him more than our master?"
Even Bairon's arrogance drifted away as he watched the interplay of the Scythes in muted discomfort and subtle fear. Lyra Dreide met my eyes for a moment, her masks up, before she turned away.
Viessa swallowed, the blackened flesh of her throat cracking and leaking pus and blood. She opened her mouth to reply.
But then I felt it. The same presence that had brushed against my mind like a flickering hearth so many months ago, ready to promise me the strength I needed to see Mawar fall. And in turn, I felt the tether around my heart tremble ever-so-slightly.
Even as Bairon's grip held the back of my neck, I allowed my head to fall. I accepted that presence as I had once before, letting it brush across my wounds.
Art, you're an idiot, I thought, squeezing my eyes shut as hope began to rekindle in my chest. You're such an idiot. Always late.
"Bairon," I said quietly, interrupting the rising tension between Viessa and Cadell. I didn't spare them any attention. Right now, I wanted to talk only to the traitor. "You forgot something about Arthur."
Cadell's head slowly tilted up to the sky, where the aether and mana streaming from across Sapin painted the world the color of dusk. An ever-so-slight smile tugged at the edge of his lips. His mana flared, sensible even within the deluge of the ritual.
"You called him a boy. A failure of a mage. A kid playing monarch." I licked my lips, tasting the words on my tongue alongside the blood and hope.
Bairon hauled me up by my collar, something between fear and anger warring there. He was unsettled by how Cadell had treated his fellow Scythe, and he struggled not to let it show.
"You forgot that he is your king."
Something glimmered in the skies, like a glimmering star in the night. And then a beam of burning white descended toward us like the spear of a god.
Cadell was already acting, a cruel smile splitting his face. A lance that looked like it had been molded out of layers of midnight and forged in the depths of the cosmos swirled in his hand. He thrust it forward with force. The weapon elongated with absurd speed, splitting the dawnlight skies as the tip grew and grew.
The moment the blurring spear of white plasma struck the lance, the world erupted into motion.
I felt someone's arm wrap around my torso, comforting and warm. A familiar mana signature enveloped me in its careful embrace, blocking out the terror of today's events.
And I saw the moment when Arthur phased into existence beside me, his fist grinding against Bairon's jaw.