Chapter 203 – Return

Mirian’s journey back to Mahatan was significantly longer. By the time she arrived in the city, the worst of the soul disruptions were smoothed out, though she still sometimes felt her aura discharge mana as some tangle swirled about. She could still sense soul fragments, and still incorporate ambient mana, so the damage didn’t seem to be permanent. The warning was clear, though. Necromancy was a path to power unlike any other. But it was equally dangerous. She needed to properly learn it.

Unfortunately, she knew of only one teacher.

The sky above Mahatan was full of auroras. By now, any fool could see the apocalypse was well under way. Still, it was the 23rd of Duala, and the eruptions weren’t as bad. Their initial data had predicted this, but it was nice to see it confirmed. A Gate connection between Mahatan and Torrviol was more effective at slowing the cascade that eventually led to the leyline collapse.

Keep this up, and I might even see the month of Merisheth again. Making it to Spring was still a distant dream.

Smoke was rising from Mahatan, though mostly by the palace district. When a desert drake burst from its hiding place and tried to attack Mirian, she strongly considered letting it eat her just so she wouldn’t have to deal with the inevitable mess awaiting her. She ended up killing it with a bolt of lightning though, then trudged onward.

The eastern gate to the city was mostly deserted. The routes going east were the most dangerous, and while the journey across the desert was shorter and avoided several port fees and border taxes, it also often ended in disaster. Few merchants and fewer mercenaries were willing to risk it. But that didn’t mean no one. One caravan was parked outside the gate, waiting for someone to review its manifest. Mirian passed it by.

“Halt—oh fuck,” one of the guards said, apparently recognizing Mirian. “What do we do?” he asked the other guard.

“I heard she killed a dozen Holy Sentinels,” the other guard said, perhaps not realizing how far his voice carried. They both stood aside, looking nervous as she passed by. After she was in the city, she heard him say, “She can fly anyways, wasn’t really any point trying to stop her.”

Inside the city, she got the same fearful glances as she passed by whispering crowds. No one barred her way.

As she approached the palace, she could see the damage. She braced herself for what was coming next. If the professors were all dead, so be it. She’d seen them die too many times for it to do anything more than cause a distant ache in her heart. No, it was Gabriel she didn’t want to talk to. And he’ll likely tell Liuan Var, who will get even more paranoid about me… but putting it off will only make it worse.

Four guards stood at the entrance of the palace. Their armor looked ill-fitting, and Mirian didn’t recognize their faces. Probably new recruits. But who ended up in charge?

As soon as they saw her, they started gesturing and talking rapidly. As she summited the steps and approached the door, they all stood rigidly at attention. “Uh, Chosen,” one of them said. She recognized his Adamic accent as one held by the lower classes of the city, and was pleased with herself for recognizing the distinction.

“Who’s in charge now?” she asked, wondering how ready she needed to be for a fight.

The guards glanced at each other. “Didn’t you, uh, already… foresee it?” one of them asked.

“You can’t just ask a Chosen if they’ve foreseen something!” another whispered.

“Foresight doesn’t at all work like you think it does,” Mirian said.

The guard who’d just admonished the other one said, “Vaulted Chosen, Her Highness Prince Zeysum commands Mahatan with her, uh, wisely rule.”

“I see,” Mirian said. Then, because she couldn’t help herself, “The word is ‘vaunted.’” And it’s not really a traditional honorific, she didn’t add. “And Jibril?”

“His in-generous Minister of Gates,” the first one said.

This time, Mirian didn’t bother with the correction. “Well. Good. Thank you.” She proceeded inside.

The signs of battle were everywhere. Wrecked artwork, burnt tapestries, scorch and slash marks over the walls and floors, shattered windows, and blood splatters that the servants were still scrubbing away.

With detect life, she could tell the throne room itself was empty. It made sense. It wasn’t like she’d given anyone time to prepare for an audience, and there was probably plenty to do. “Where is the Prince and the Minister of Gates?” she asked the throne room guards.

One of them had grown pale upon seeing her, and the other swallowed nervously. “In the diviner’s room, Blessed Chosen.”

Mirian headed that way, causing a commotion simply by passing through the halls. It annoyed her. By the time she made her way to the diviner’s room, she was in a sour mood. She burst in on Gabriel and the newly crowned Prince Zeysum along with several guards and bureaucrats.

“Have you ever noticed that knowledge never gets the same respect as violence?” she said to Gabriel.

“That’s how she says, ‘hello,’” said Gabriel to the Prince, sotto voce. He’d looked shocked to see her, but had quickly recovered.

“The riders are dead. I pray that was enough and Ibrahim will remain ignorant.” To the room she said, “And you will all pray he remains so as well unless you’d like legions of undead ransacking Mahatan!” she snapped.

The room had grown very quiet, and the occupants very still.

Turning back to Gabriel, she said, “Did any of the leyline detectors survive? Any of the professors?”

The other Prophet cleared his throat and said, “Your Highness—”

“Cut the charade, Gabriel. You’ve seen the aurora intensity. We have a few more days at most before armageddon. Even a zephyr falcon couldn’t get Ibrahim a message in time. What is the point!?” It was the 23rd, two full days after the longest cycle they’d had yet had ended. However useful it was for extending the cycles, it still wasn’t a solution.

Gabriel clutched his forehead. Normally, he would have swapped to Eskinar, but he kept speaking Adamic. “The point is to make preparations for what comes after. Any illusion of foresight will vanish too quickly, especially for us, with only a month and a half. I already told you—you keep this ‘Chosen’ bullshit up and the inevitable result is a holy war. There’s no point saving the world if it just gets torn apart by rampaging armies right afterward.”

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“The historical analogy isn’t at all comparable. None of the other timeloops had more than a single Prophet.”

“That we know about,” Gabriel said. “But Sulvorath disappeared, didn’t he? Who’s to say more of us won’t be pruned away like so many lotus petals.” His gaze was now directly on Mirian. She could see the fear in his eyes, suppressed, but not gone. He knew what she was capable of now; there was no hiding it. For a moment, the room was gripped in silence. The new Prince Zeysum was looking at Gabriel with something between horror and hatred.

Gabriel unclenched his jaw and started ticking off names on his fingers. “Torres and Jei are dead. Seneca took a dive in the oasis, though I don’t know if she actually managed to make it to the Gate. A bunch of commoners hid Endresen so she’s fine. Viridian is alive, but not in good shape. I honestly don’t remember the names of the others you brought through, but I’d say half of them are dead. One of the leyline detectors was destroyed, though no one was targeting them, it was just bad luck.”