080 – End of Book 3

In the course of defending himself and his city, Erick had killed hunters, overseen the elimination of the Hand, and directly guided soldiers to murder those who would, and had, murdered others. It was a simple decision of kill or let-your-world-be-killed, and Erick chose the former.

And yet, each time he thought he was comfortable with what he had done, his thoughts came back to those two kids who had stolen Jane’s horn. Morothy and Andar. Those two barely-Matriculated dragonkin chose to participate in the attack on Spur because of a chain of dominoes Erick set down months ago; his choice to keep raining on the Farms.

He wasn’t so narcissistic as to think that his decision alone precipitated everything that came later, where one out of every four farmers were dead, and the Farmer’s Council was two thirds murdered. Every single farmer of Spur chose to be here, to try for a new way of life that threatened the old one.

When it came down to it, the simple fact was, that neither he, nor Spur, would, or could, allow Portal to dictate what would and could not be sold between the other city states of the Crystal Forest. Portal had grown comfortable in their position of power in the local economy, and they thought this meant that they were the arbiter of said economy. They were wrong, and it was correct to go against their desires, when the alternative Erick offered was economic freedom and plentiful food. There was a cost to this freedom, as there always is; a necessity of leaving behind some luxuries in favor of others.

But Erick’s decision to invent this new scanning magic, and all that that entailed…

That was all on him.

[Cascade Imaging] had definitely prevented further reprisals and guerrilla warfare, but the end result was that Erick had killed people, and he would likely kill again.

The sun stretched through the sunroom, while Erick watched the map outside his window and in other, distant places across the desert. Small blue dots appeared here and there, but they were old dots, long since searched. His eyes might have been on the targets, but his mind wandered. His thoughts skipped through every single death he had seen since this all started…

Two days ago? Yes. He was pretty sure at least one day had fully passed. Maybe two. At the very most, it had been three days since the attack.

The search for perpetrators was long over. The search for the survivors was over, too. Now, he was just searching for Caradogh, the man that took the threat of Erick’s [Cascade Imaging] to galvanize the broken Hunters and Cinnabar Hand of the Crystal Forest into an organized threat.

Erick had begun his search yesterday. In one more hour, he would have searched the entirety of the Crystal Forest, all 35 million square kilometers of this crystal dotted land, for the fourth time.

35 million sounded like a lot, but each one of Erick’s [Cascade Imaging]s could search through almost 5 million square kilometers on their own, if he searched at max range. There were a few problems with that method, though. One, was that when Erick searched at [Cascade Imaging]s full 1200-ish radius range, the map produced took a while to fill, and even longer to detect trace DNA in that area. So Erick had relegated himself to smaller 500 kilometer radius ranges for the larger, empty parts of the Crystal Forest, and dozen-kilometer scans for more precise city mapping.

There had been a slight diplomatic concern to him searching the cities of the Crystal Forest, but the only complaint that got to him was an offhand comment from Poi that went ‘Maybe don’t set up the map in the center of Frontier, try somewhere off to the edge’. Erick was sure that he was making a huge diplomatic problem for Silverite, but he was also sure that Silverite was on his side. She said as much, a few different times. Erick would continue to image the land, without concern for people’s privacy. Later, when this was over, he would likely be reprimanded, but for now, he was cleared to step on as many toes as he needed, and Silverite would deal with the diplomatic fallout.

But there was an issue with searching for the former Lower Trademaster of Portal. Caradogh Pogi got around, a lot. He had dealings all throughout the desert, in every major city. So far, none of Erick’s searches had turned up more than hidden and not-so-hidden rooms in all the cities of the Crystal Forest. Every blue dot turned out to be nothing.

Increasingly, Erick felt like it was time to face one of two facts. Either Caradogh Pogi was not in the Crystal Forest, or he had taken on a new [Polymorph] form and [Cascade Imaging] was now useless. Or maybe someone had figured out how to create a maskward to block radio waves? It was possible, but highly unlikely. Aside from these conclusions based on the evidence before him, [Hunter’s Instincts] agreed with Erick’s assessment. Caradogh Pogi was in the wind.

Erick had been running the [Hunter’s Instincts] all this time, too. It kept him sharp, but after hours and hours of nothing found and nothing gained, the skill felt like knives at the end of his fingertips, and a sharpness to his teeth. If he moved too much, he felt like he would snap and punch out a wall, or a window.

Erick stared down at the map outside his window. His thoughts wandered back to the problem of Caradogh. “If I were him, I wouldn’t take the chance.”

Kiri asked, “The chance?”

“The chance on me being able to see through [Polymorph] at 1500 kilometers.”

“Oh. Yeah. He’s gone. Probably down in Nergal, or wherever. Merit’s last search was yesterday… So… Is it time to stop?”

Erick breathed deep. “… Yes.”

“Good.” Kiri said, “Are you hungry yet? I made a casserole. It’s almost dinner time, anyway.”

Erick slowly tore his eyes away from the white map. He turned to Kiri. She was still wearing her green armor. Sunny wrapped loosely around her neck, but craned his head up to see Erick. The little [Familiar]s green body and wings glittered like emeralds in the light of the afternoon sun.

Erick said, “I could eat.” He added, “I need to see some people, too.”

“You’ve got some standing requests for talks and such.” Kiri turned and walked to the door to the room, saying, “Poi made up a list before he crashed earlier.” She avoided stepping on the unicorn horn as she turned down the hallway.

Erick followed Kiri into the hallway, scrunching to the right to avoid stepping on to the unicorn horn.

When Kiri stepped past the horn, into the foyer, she added, “And you should turn off that skill.”

“I will when I’m done.”

Kiri glanced backward, looking into Erick’s eyes. She turned and resumed leading the way to the kitchen. Erick smelled the air. Whatever she had made smelled good; meat and potatoes, for sure.

… But where had she gotten the potatoes? The Farmer’s Market was closed. The Farms were gone. The warehouses were ash. The Farmer’s Council was mostly gone, too.

Erick asked, “Have you heard from Apogough, yet?”

“He’s one of the people I have to talk to on the list Poi gave me.”

 

– – – –

 

Erick knocked on the door, and waited under a pool of light. He had abandoned his overt white [Conjure Armor] in favor of the browns and tans of his normal outfits, but he still wore his white armor as a thin layer of dense fibers under his clothes. Ophiel was tiny, and more of a decorative pad on his left shoulder, than a bouncing ball of energy and eyes. Night had already fallen, but lights were still on in the streets and in the stone houses, like always.

Apogough answered the door. He stood lined in light from the bright interior of the house, and wearing soft pajamas. His skin was light green, but his face was sunken, with purple bags under his eyes. He blinked as he saw Erick. He stood a bit straighter, trying to put on a stronger face.

“Hello, Erick,” Apogough said. “I’m glad you’re here. Come on in.”

Erick said, “I am sorry for your loss.”

Apogough stilled. He breathed. He nodded. Then he turned and walked inside. Erick followed. Poi whispered to Erick about staying outside. Erick nodded, and left his guard behind.

Apogough led Erick to a small side room, near the front door. He sat down on one side of a small table. Erick sat down on the other. Erick almost spoke first, but Apogough looked to be struggling with something, so he waited.

Eventually, Apogough said, “I don’t have it in me to try again on the Farm. Almost all of my people were… Whoever is not dead has been poached by offers of a better life in the Greensoil Republic. Odaali, specifically. When the first of them started accepting these offers the day after the attack, the rest followed.” He said, “I’m going back to the Republic, too, to try and make something with the people who came to Spur, looking for a better life. The bounty of Water Season was something that should not have been attempted beyond those three months. Spur is deadly, but gold and good growing seasons in the past blinded us to this stark reality.” He asked, “Do you want to come with us?”

Erick sat for a moment. An answer came out of his mouth, “No. I’m here to kill the Shades. I thought strengthening Spur was possible through sustained agriculture, but the Farm was a point of weakness.” As Erick listened to himself speak, he knew something was wrong with his emotions, but if he dropped [Hunter’s Instincts] now, he would be a crying mess. He added, “I am sorry.”

Apogough took a while to respond. Silence stretched, then broke, as he said, “Then this is goodbye.”

“Does it have to be?”

“It does. I see that, now. I had hoped…” Apogough said, “They tried to kill me because I was near you. You protected the city, but absolute protection is a fool’s ideal. With this new magic you’ve made yourself an even larger target. Please never seek me out, or any of those you’ve seen on the Farms ever again. I am not just saying that because I… I am hurting. They asked me to tell you this if you chose not to come with us.” He added, “We are not ones to hold a sword against the monsters, and Spur is surrounded by more monsters than I had ever considered possible.” He stared at Erick, and said, “Please leave.”

Erick stood up, and said, “I am sorry for your loss, Apogough. I am truly sorry that this happened. If there is anything you need from me going forward, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Apogough remained sitting, and silent. He looked away.

Erick showed himself out.

 

– – – –

 

The Interfaith Church was a bright white cathedral, standing amid a green vineyard. Flying buttresses held up the roof from the outside, like carved stone arms. Towers, peaked and ridged and illuminated, reached up into the dark night sky, while rainbow light poured out from the many abstract, stained glass windows.

The front doors were open; white light kept the night away as people of all kinds walked in and out, their shadows stretching forward into the vineyard, where dim green lights hung under the tangled vines, and purple grapes.

Erick stood on the shadowy edge of the Church’s property, near a large tree. Except for Poi, he was alone. Poi had said little since they left Apogough’s house. Erick had said nothing.

He still ran Meditation, and [Hunter’s Instincts]. The Rest state of Meditation was more than enough to counter the Health drain on his body, and keep his everything sharp. Ophiel remained silent, keeping up his charade as Erick’s left shoulderpad. Erick wasn’t sure when Ophiel started doing that, but it seemed appropriate. He was in the Army, after all. Ophiel’s eyes were still there, and those slit-pupil white eyes spun around without worry for how strange he looked; he had to keep eyes on everything, after all.

And so, Erick silently watched the night, the people, and the glows from the Church.

He was not the only silent watcher in the night. Other people were scattered throughout the vineyard with their eyes closed in prayer, or their hard eyes fixed on single points in front of them. A laugh broke the silence of the night; two people finding something funny a hundred meters away, in the depths of the vineyard. Erick watched as several people turned in that direction. Laughter turned to sobbing soon enough. All eyes averted from the unknown source.

In the dark, a tall man came walking through the vineyard. The man had stopped here and there, talking to people briefly in hushed tones; Erick had noticed him well before now. He was a priest, of some sort, and also an orcol. He wore robes befitting his profession, and glinting steel armor. Maybe a priest of Sumtir?

He spoke briefly to a man and a woman who stood in the dark, holding each other but watching the Church. The woman shook her head, and the priest moved on.

He came toward Erick, and after quickly deciding that he didn’t seem like a threat, something about him seemed familiar. He was bald, with lower fangs big enough to be called tusks. He was tall, of course. Almost three meters tall, and huge, seeming like a wall of muscle in armor, but there were no lines on his face. He was quite young, and yet obviously still a priest.

The priest drew closer, saying, “Greetings, parishioners. Are you in need of communion?”

Erick said, “No thank you. Wait. You’re… You’re Savral’s friend? Sorry. I forgot your name, but not your face.”

Not a threat at all, then. Unless he was? Erick would hold off on that judgment until later, but he could still put on a pleasant face. No need to scare people into thinking there was some problem somewhere.

The man smiled, revealing upper fangs large enough to complement his lowers. “Gorgush Ammer. Battlepriest of Sumtir. I remember your name, but not this face.” He bowed a little, then stood up saying, “Archmage Erick Flatt. Thank you for your actions in the attack and in retribution against those who wronged us. My god conveys his thanks, and would like you to know that the world is brighter for the darkness you helped to banish that night, and in the following days.”

Erick tried to smile, to accept the man’s words, but the smile would not come. He said, “I tried. It wasn’t good enough.”

Gorgush spoke solemnly, “By what measurements are you judging your actions on that night?”

Erick looked past the large man, toward the white spires of the citadel Church. “People died. Dreams died. It’s a simple measurement, really.” He added, “The remaining member of the Farmer’s Council… Apogough is leaving Spur along with the remaining farmers.” He said, “I just found that out, not twenty minutes ago.”

Gorgush breathed deep. He said, “He has made his decision. This is sad news, but it is good to hear that he is following his remaining friends. Being on the front lines is not for everyone.” He asked, “What will you do?”

“Stay, of course.” Erick looked south, past the Church District and over the city walls. Ar’Kendrithyst loomed in the night, in the distance, like a black snake resting under the stars; waiting. “I still have a war to fight, here.”

Gorgush glanced south with Erick. He said, “In war, an attack such as we have suffered would be the prelude to a greater disaster, but there is something you must keep in mind. The only things we lost were our vulnerabilities. Sleep is broken, our eyes are open, we see the War to come and at our front door.” He added, “When the time comes, we will triumph over whatever disasters shall seek to blight our land.”

Erick asked, “Have you heard anything about the Dead City, recently?”

Gorgush said, “Those that come out of that Dead City in the last week are all saying the same thing, if they come out at all: We are ill prepared for the dangers coalescing in that dark land. Shadow Krakens. Obsidian golems. Leviathans and Crystal Crawlers. Shadelings, as always, but different. Shadelings with all the cunning they had in life. They are not Shades, but they are not Shadelings, either.

“A pair of women came out the other day, before the attack, talking of a dark mockery of Spur’s Market Street, where the shadelings tried to sell them trinkets made of crystal and shadows. The women escaped with their lives and with arcane objects sewn into their flesh, gifting their sword arms with uncanny speed, but they spoke of that Dark Market with trepidation, for it was obviously a Shade concoction, but it seemed real. Not ‘real’ in the matter of illusion versus Reality, but real as in actual trade, and truthful products. Shadelings ran shops, where they exchanged chipped shadows with each other, to buy black apples, to sell bone candles, to engage in commerce, like they were somehow people.

“We only found out about this development because those two women came to the Church for healing, for those objects stitched into their skins were cursed into their Status and unmovable without the touch of the divine.” Gorgush asked, “How many do you think choose to keep their dark boons hidden? What were the purposes of those objects? The two women were truly cursed with darkness, but the objects in their flesh were not overtly harmful to their wearer.”

Erick’s mind coalesced to laser focus. He asked, “Do you still have those objects?”

“I have no idea where they are. I was not involved, but I am a part of the Church, and I hear many things.” Gorgush said, “But you should be aware that your rings do not defend against these corrupted magic items. They are usable at the same time, in fact.”

Erick stared south in silence.

Gorgush said, “A time may come that a full coalition must be built against the Dead City; that a righteous war be led against that rumbling evil. Sumtir hopes that when the time comes, he can count on you to be there.”

Erick smiled, and it was a real smile, even with [Hunter’s Instincts] running. He said. “I’ll be here.”

Gorgush said, “Ikawa has lost her grandmother, but vengeance has already been met against that particular evil, thanks to you and your searching magics. She was part of the raid led against that particular killer. I have heard she wishes to speak with you, but she has no idea how to approach. If you see her, please do not mention I pointed you in her direction.”

“I’m glad she got her vengeance.” Erick asked, “How about the rest of your team? Yourself?”

“I am doing better.” Gorgush joked, “It seems I have lifted the spirits of a man who sorely needed it.”

Erick smirked. “You have. Thank you.”

“Lanore is doing fine. She was not near any of the initial fighting, but she helped afterward to track them down.” Gorgush said, “Savral was gravely wounded, but he is on the mend. The Sewermaster was able to defend both of them from their attackers. Luckily, Bacci was out of the house when it happened.”

Erick paused for a brief moment, but his instincts, both magical and mundane, forced him to continue the conversation and ignore the discrepancy he just heard. “I am glad to hear it. Have you spoken to Savral? Ah. I’ll have to go speak to him myself, and… wish him well on his recovery.” He added, “Actually. I might do that right now.”

“I saw him this morning. He was still laid up and in pain and his father shooed Lanore and I out of the house after speaking to Savral for only five minutes, but Bacci is there with him. He should be on the mend by tomorrow.” Gorgush added, “We’re all bringing a dish to the Sewerhouse tomorrow after sunset to help him get over his weakened condition. I am sure he would be happy to see you, if you wish to bring a dish, too.”

“… I might do that, instead.”

Gorgush nodded, looking down at Erick. After a moment, he asked, “Are you okay?”

“Much better. Thank you.”

Gorgush stepped back, then bowed, saying, “Archmage.”

Erick nodded, then watched as Gorgush moved onto the next person standing in the dark of the vineyard. He seemed like a good guy. Erick sent to Poi, ‘I guess Savral got that True Resurrection, but no one else knows?’

‘They know. Sewermaster Al was not the only one to request a resurrection from the Life Binder.’ Poi said, ‘People died, and now they’re better, and the Life Binder was in the area. Not everyone knows what happened, but enough do, and Gorgush certainly knows the truth. These are the lies we tell ourselves as a community, to remain a community.’

Erick stared out into the night. ‘I guess the farmers weren’t part of the community?’

‘It is a harsh thing to say, sir, but if they chose to run after one attack, then they are not people of Spur.’

‘… Has Messalina moved on?’

‘The [Eyes of the Goddess] performed by the Headmaster as of twelve hours ago, and told to us through Eduard, put Messalina between here and Portal, but veered off to the west. She is not headed for Portal.’

‘…Where’s she going?’

‘Away, and she’s taking her cloud city with her.’

‘Have you heard anything about Jane?’

‘She’s fine. She’s sleeping. She’s able to stay awake for an hour at a time, now. Her recovery should start to go much faster.’

‘Thank you, Poi.’ He turned away from the Church, to face West. ‘I want to see the Farms. Then bed, I think. We’ll take the fast route.’ He held his hand to Poi.

Poi took Erick’s hand. A blip of white interrupted the night.

 

– – – –

 

The land was a sea of rippling, black spikes, all pointed away from Spur. This eerie land laid under widespread lightwards that illuminated the entirety of the destruction. It was not the Farms Erick knew and loved. It was desolation, and despair, and it was impossible to walk upon.

So Erick and Poi stood on a [Teleporting Platform], hovering above the glassed landscape, gently floating forward, toward the center. He would have thought someone would have started turning it all back into dirt, or at least carve a path through the glass to the center, to the Harvest Temple, but maybe the glass ran deep. Too deep? Maybe.

The air smelled clean, and cold. It was proper nightly desert air that got into Erick’s clothes and bit at his senses. Now that the Farms were empty, and there were no breaks against the northern wind, the breeze whistled, playing among the black glass spikes.

Ophiel was no longer a shoulderpad, and no longer silent. He was back to being a parakeet on Erick’s left shoulder. He trilled in tiny whistles, mimicking the sounds he heard all around him. His was a sad song, or maybe Erick was just imprinting that emotion onto his whistle. Whatever the case, Erick heard loss in Ophiel’s music. A loss of life; a loss of possibility. Ophiel’s melancholy carried on the wind, mixing with the breeze, spreading through the air.

Erick controlled the platform to move forward, trying to come to grips with what he was seeing. The sheer destructive power of the Red Dot was incredible, and awful.

A huge grove of trees had been reduced to splashed black glass. A pond for rice and fish was a depression in the ground, filled with darkness. A part of Erick wanted to cry.

Another part, the part in control, thought all this solid darkness next to the city was a monumental strategic liability. That thought transformed, and Erick wondered if Melemizargo was looking at him right now, from inside that dark glass.

But if the glass was that big of a problem, then something awful would have already happened.

Right?

Slowly, inexorably, the Harvest Temple and the surrounding Ring of Gods came into view.

The statues of the gods had been stationed atop waist-high pillars around the central, eight-pillared open air temple. It had been a place of peace and introspection, and the central location where Erick had rained for months. He remembered sitting on stone benches, reading as he listened to his platinum rain. He remembered carving little farmers and life sized Earth fruits from stone, and setting them atop the massive statue of Atunir that took central stage in the back of the temple. He remembered eating lunch with Al, and Jane, and Valok and Apogough, too, though those two were rare to show up and partake. He remembered laughing with Krakina, and letting her flirts gracefully fall to the wayside. Before she began to think of him as some awful Scion of Destruction, Krakina was always quick to laugh and quick to anger. Erick had liked her, even though she did not like him, and that was okay.

He remembered how Jane had set down coftea bush cuttings behind the temple, on the other side of Atunir. How that bush had grown into a huge silver tree, with bright leaves and dark bark. How that tree’s canopy seemed to mimic the silver clouds above, and how that coftea tasted, when shared with friends.

The Harvest Temple came into view, and also not. As it was the only structure sticking up from the ground, it had to be the temple, but it was layered with enough black glass to make it look like some lighthouse in some frozen sea, where black layered over every pillar and stretched out to the west. The Ring of Gods that surrounded the central glassed spire was barely understandable as what it had been, not ten days ago. Some of the pillars and their sculptures half-survived, but they were now merely bumps of black spikes larger than the rest.

Erick floated forward, over the temple grounds.

Someone had put up lights outside the temple, and inside, too, but they were minor lights. The dark glass drank in all illumination, turning everything into shadows and night. He docked the platform onto the top of the stairs, and looked down onto the temple floor. Other people had been here; the floor was a mess of footprints and broken glass. He stepped down onto the temple floor, and saw the mess made of Atunir’s statue.

Where there was once a tall woman holding an apple, petting a cow, surrounded by stone fruits and vegetables and wheat and grains, there was now a mess of dark glass, lumpy and indistinct. Erick raised his hand to [Stoneshape] the glass away—

He stopped.

This place wasn’t the Farm, or even a farm. Not anymore. Maybe never again. Or maybe people would come back next year, in Water Season, when the land supported normal [Grow] farming and it wasn’t all just black glass.

Whistling wind caught on the land. The sound was vastly different from the breeze playing through leaves, or grasses. The cows mooing in the distance. Bees buzzing…

Erick said, “This really sucks, Poi.”

“I agree, sir.”

“But I can’t leave it like this.” Erick said, “It’s just not right.”

[Mending Aura].

A white flow pulsed from Erick, rapidly draining mana, crashing into the glass at his feet. But the black glass did not wash away; it restored itself to full. The broken glass under Erick turned solid, and spiky. Erick cut his aura. Glass crunched under his weight, spreading tiny cracks out from his shoes. He pressed against the floor. The glass broke, a little.

“It’s been damaged that much, huh.” Erick said, “All the way to its Base Self.” He frowned. He asked Poi, “Have you heard if anyone caught in the fire was unable to be revived?”

Poi did not need to check the air for the answer. He said, “The Red Dot was an attack that rewrote Reality, turning everything to fire. It ripped apart souls, completely consuming them as it burned.” He added, “We know this because a husband to one of the guards on the wall tried to get her revived. Messalina turned him away, telling him that there was no hope. The guard’s soul was utterly destroyed.”

Erick frowned at the solid glass under his feet. “She really could have warned us about what we were actually facing.”

“Silverite thinks that Messalina doesn’t actually know how her village was destroyed. She has been known to revive from impossible odds and even soul crushing magics. It is possible that she was actually out of town, or maybe something else happened. [Witness]es conducted by the Headmaster were blank when used in the center of the remains of her village, and those remains were not glassed like this here.” Poi said, “The place where her village had been was simply gone; replaced by a crater two kilometers across.”

“I managed to reflect that spell. Mostly. Maybe.” Erick looked up at the black glass layered over Atunir. “Is this what an uncontrolled Red Dot does? Was it the right call?”

Poi said, “The consensus is that if it hadn’t prematurely detonated away from Spur, none of us would be here. Two other Archmages tried to [Dispel] it before you bounced it, but they failed, even with a 25,000 mana Favored [Dispel]. The hunters in town were plan B.” He added, “What happened was truly among the best possible outcomes, sir.”

Erick mulled that thought over.

He didn’t say that he could have used [Death’s Approach] to try a 69,000 mana [Dispel]. If that didn’t work, he still had one more Favor he could apply to [Dispel], turning his next 69,000 mana into the equivalent of a 138,000 [Dispel]. That would destroy almost any magics, wouldn’t it?

But he hadn’t thought to do such a thing, at the time, and though this failure of thought was a secondary issue, it was still a part of his usual problem; he was not yet acclimated to the demands of this world. If he had thought to use [Death’s Approach], would that action have been the right call?

And then he had another thought. The Red Dot mage was still out there. Even if Erick managed to [Dispel] the attack, the Red Dot mage could try again…

I need to solve this problem, permanently. I need to find the Red Dot mage and end them. And I need to find a secondary way around the problem of that kind of spell. [Teleport Spell]? Is that a thing that exists? I need [Lightwalk]. Should I eat that horn? Jane said I could…

As dark thoughts entered and left his mind, Erick wondered at the fate of the platinum coftea tree on the other side of the destroyed temple. He briefly cast a [Scry], to see the other side of Atunir’s statue.

Behind the temple, there was just more glass, and nothing else. The platinum coftea tree was gone. Erick cut the [Scry].

“Sir.” Poi interrupted his thoughts, saying, “Let’s go home.”

Erick listened to the wind for a little while longer. Air curled and cut on whistling sharp, black glass.

 

– – – –

 

Three moons hung high in the night sky, pink, silver, and white, surrounded by stars and silence.

Erick sat in bed with his back against the headboard, in his room, in his house, but he also stared at the starlit sky through an Ophiel’s eyes, still stationed on the top of his mage tower, still watching the orange land of the Human District for any possible intruders. Erick had yet to dismiss a single Ophiel; they had all existed for the last several days, each of them experiencing the world and feeling a version of what he was feeling.

He was still running [Hunter’s Instincts], and that bled through to Ophiel, too.

Erick blipped every Ophiel to him. Nine white blips flashed in the darkness of his room. The Ophiel at Erick’s side twittered in questioning violins, as each parakeet-sized [Familiar] landed on the bed and danced over Erick’s legs, or floated to the headboard behind him.

Erick sent Ophiel, explaining, ‘I didn’t want anyone watching to see you guys dissipate out there, and think us defenseless. You all are very important for the safety of my people, and my self. I’m counting on you, so subterfuge is just as important as power.’

Ophiel wordlessly responded with knowing harp noises.

‘I also wanted you here, in case this went bad, because you’re all very fluffy and I love you all very much and I might need you to be here for me.’

Ophiel trilled in worried flutes and cellos.

‘I don’t think it’ll be that bad, but I’ve been warned by others about this skill, and I’m taking their warning seriously.’

Violins and flutes; a mixed understanding.

Erick nodded. He released [Hunter’s Instincts]. The spell vanished like the setting of a sword onto the mantle over a fireplace full of ashes. Cold rushed across his skin. He shivered. Ophiels bounced around him, their gentle sounds shifting from strings to horns. Arctic tendrils seemed to wrap around Erick’s neck, gouging into his chest, sinking deeper and deeper in time to his heartbeat.

No. This was wrong. He was still in danger. He needed—

He reached for the skill again, to turn it back on, to bring back the warmth. But he shook, instead. He tried for the skill, but nothing happened. The sword was on the mantle, and locked behind growing black glass. Tears fell from Erick’s wet face, as everything of the past few days sunk into his mind like cold talons.

He wept.

It was not pretty.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Eventually, he slept.

 

– – – –

 

Poi groaned out on the couch in the sunroom, holding his head. The world flickered between light and magic, between the real and the Real, where life existed, and where Life stretched onward. He blinked, and the magic faded like a fog vanishing. Double vision and a pressure behind his eyes lingered, but he kept blinking, trying to reorient himself to the Here and the Now.

He breathed, and focused. His eyes started working, properly. Double vision faded as he looked upon the ceiling.

He had chased away the hallucinations.

Poi was in the sunroom of the house, on the couch, below Erick and Erick’s room directly above. The wardlights were on, and a pain still lingered in his eyes, but that pain would be gone soon enough.

He stood, but he wobbled and sat back down.

Rats, sitting on the couch opposite Poi, said, “That looked rough.”

Poi lied, “It was not that bad.”

“Need a [Greater Treat Wounds]?”

“No.” Poi changed the subject. “Did the murder of Mother Eriliad’s killers bring you closure?”

Crimsonscaled Rats turned a shade redder with obvious anger. He controlled himself; shoving that anger aside. He said, “No. It did not.”

“It rarely does.”

Rats said, “If you’re going to be an asshole, then I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“You rarely have any conversations at all. Why should now be any different?”

“… Because I am leaving, and I would appreciate a real talk with you before I go.”

“But a ‘real talk’ with me would make you want to stay, for I hold every card and I know how to make you do the right thing with the littlest suggestion.”

Rats frowned. “You never drop the good guy act. What changed?”

“I rarely have a reason to be less than good, and you have already made up your mind.” Poi declared, “You are being selfish, Rats.”

“You could at least use my real name for once.”

“Why would I? Your Army name is more appropriate now than ever.”

“You think he’s losing it, too? Becoming unstable; a killer. A Hunter.”

Poi paused in thought, debating with himself if he should give his real opinion, or not. After a stretched moment, he decided that his opinion on this matter did not violate his responsibility as a Mind Mage. “No. That is incorrect. What is happening is just a crystallization of what fighting monsters does to normal people. You leaving will hurt him, though. Deeply. That does not have to happen. This is your choice, and you are making it, and you know it will hurt him, and you don’t care.”

“I thought I was working for a protector, Poi.” Rats shook his head, as he said, “I can’t… I can’t be around a killer. Around blood magic. Around Hunters. Around any of that.”

Rats stopped talking, and Poi began to think. He held a secret here, unintentionally stolen from Erick without his knowledge, that would completely nullify all of Rats’ concerns. [Cascade Imaging] was not blood magic at all, but the targeting of the true nature of the interior of cells, and those cells got everywhere, in ways Poi never knew possible. People shed DNA every second of their existence; no matter how much [Cleanse] seemed to clean up everything, there was always something left behind. Eyelashes, hair, scales, skin that turned to dust. Blood, of course, but only in the ‘white blood’ cells, not in the ‘red’, or in the ‘plasma’.

Rats saw Poi thinking. He asked, “Just tell me. Please. If you tell me that I honestly have nothing to worry about, I might believe you.”

If Poi spilled this secret, Rats would believe him. Poi could see it in the man’s eyes, could hear the truth of Rats’ words beyond the closed walls around his heart, like a party going on next door in the middle of the night.

Poi said, “I cannot say anything I haven’t already said. You have to make this decision on your own, with what you already know.”

Rats frowned. He turned to stare at the window. Night and city lights filled the vista, with ample darkness between this sunny room and the far off brilliance out there.

Rats said, “Then I have to go.”

Poi futilely attempted, “You could ask him of his magic.”

“… I could.” Rats looked up at the ceiling. “But that’s the sound of a nascent Hunter when they turn off the skill, and I don’t know if I’d believe his answer. He wouldn’t even know he was lying.”

Poi changed the subject. “Where would you go?” He twisted the knife, “Oceanside?”

Rats’ voice turned hard. “No. Not Oceanside. I have an option, but I’m still thinking it over.”

Poi almost laughed as a sudden raging anger filled his mind, but he kept himself under complete control. He leveled his eyes at Rats, declaring, “The Headmaster actually managed to poach you, didn’t he.”

Rats looked away. “You’re making this too easy for me, Poi. I would have thought you would try to talk me out of it.”

That was too much. Poi did not snap, but words he had locked away as secret poured out, anyway. “You made up your mind months ago, all the way back to the very first time he picked you up off the ground after you failed to be there for the shadowspider attack, and he showed you compassion despite your failure. You almost saw him as a father figure, and you loved it, and hated it, and had no idea what do with it, so you locked that feeling away, like an idiot.

“You doubled down on this resolve when we were all around the campfire and you spoke of your childhood and Erick showed you true compassion, again. He’s been nothing but good to you, and you have yet to prove yourself as worthy of his compassion. You even had the gall to fret over what he had done to end the Halls of the Dead. And then he was wormed the first time, and he said all those awful things, and it broke you deeper than you could ever let anyone know, and ‘proved’ all your fears true.” He shouted, “Holy FUCK Rats. He was fucking MIND CONTROLLED.” Poi calmed, then said, “He showed you compassion, and now he’s proving himself to be the same damaged person as anyone else, and you can’t handle it. There’s no recovering from this personal failure of yours, and so, you need to leave.” He rapidly added, “And don’t you dare blame this personal failure on your condition. You are doing this, Rats. You. Rats will always leave sinking ships, just like they always have, and always will.”

Rats smiled in a mixture of sadness, regret, and new beginnings. “You push people away, too. Just like you are right now. Either with anger like this, or constant silence.” He stopped smiling.

“Yup.” Poi said, “Guilty as charged.” He added, “Teressa is going to miss you.”

“That was a fling and nothing more. She knows that. I know that. Besides, we couldn’t continue that while both of us worked under the same man.”

“I know.” Poi said, “I also know you already had this conversation with Teressa and said your goodbyes, so I’m going to make it real easy for you to leave this assignment.” Poi laid it out there, “You used him to get your [Greater Treat Wounds] quest done in months instead of years, and now you have your own problems to solve. This is why you joined the Army in the first place, isn’t it? To get away from the unconditional love of Mother Eriliad and Darenka and all the rest, but to still have access to Spur’s Healers and their [Greater Treat Wounds]? You chose to join the Army because no one who knew your medical history would take you in, except us.” He continued, “And now that you’ve gotten yours, it’s time to move on. Tell me if I have any of that wrong.”

Rats clenched his teeth; hard.

Poi heard a crack.

Rats loosened his jaw and flickered red light. He said, “I can’t live like you, Poi. Like anyone else. I have physiological needs that tether me to organizations like the Army. Like the Church. For the first time… For the first time in my entire life the noose around my neck is gone.” He added, “I won’t die if I go a week without a visit to the Church. I can heal myself, now; daily, if needed. I can even see without burning [Ultrasight] all the time.”

Poi offhandedly said, “You should have talked to Messalina while she was here. Maybe she could have fixed your problem. She seemed honest enough.”

Rats said nothing. He looked away.

Poi almost kicked himself. “Gods damn you. I should have seen this sooner.” He said, “You did talk to her, didn’t you?” He asked, “What did she say?” Another thought occurred. Poi instantly added, “Oh! The Headmaster didn’t poach you at all, did he? She did.”