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Seris Vritra
There wasn't much of anywhere to walk to in this dreary, mind-numbing zone. Just endless hills, endless sky, and endless questions.
Nonetheless, I allowed myself to ask some of those questions as I stared up at one of the homes lining the infinite street. How did these pocket dimensions of the djinn understand the architecture of another world? Was it taken from Toren's mind, or something more transcendent?
Caera walked behind me, her nervousness palpable. It wasn't the jittery anxiety of a young girl facing something alien, no. Even as we meandered along the street, looking up at buildings that held so many secrets, I could sense that she was waiting to ask me something.
"I don't think I've seen you in anything but your dark dresses," my pupil said, looking at me with a drop of uncertainty. "It's sort of strange seeing you in something else. But it looks good on you."
I chuckled lightly, looking back down at the sleek, black turtleneck I'd scavenged from the Town Zone's dressers and the white slacks that swish-swish-swished with every step. It was more leisurely attire than what I was accustomed to. No embroidery, elaborate stitching, or anything else.
Were I on the outside, I would have sought something more imperial nearly immediately. One's clothes were an extension of oneself, just as a sword was an extension of their arm. But while a blade would cut through flesh and a shield may deflect magical blows, the dress was a presentation just as potent. Cut through assumptions, project power, assert station…
Yes, physical appearance was as much an aspect of power as anything else. But here in this Town Zone, away from the trappings of politics and cutthroat intent, I could afford liberties.
I favored my pupil with a measuring gaze, noting her own attire. Sleek, dark vambraces, a metal pauldron, and interlocking straps of leather adorned her form-fitting shirt and loose pants. I might have been dressed for comfort, but Caera was outfitted like an ascender. Fit for any sort of physical confrontation with a blade at the ready.
"Thank you for the compliment, Caera. I must say that your presentation has changed greatly since we last met, too. You're an ascender now, tried and true, as you always wanted to be." I allowed a slight smile to spread across my lips as Caera forced herself to match my stare. "Is it all you wished it would be? I know you were always itching to join your brother on his ascents."
The navy-haired young woman crossed her arms, her brows furrowing slightly. "It's different than I expected," she said, tapping a gloved finger against her forearm. "I guess I thought it would be fulfilling and help me master my powers. And it has. I've gotten stronger. But…" Caera went silent, that earlier nervousness resurfacing.
"But?" I said, sensing my student had more to say. "You're free to say whatever you wish to me, Caera."
"It was good for a time, ascending with Sevren. Plotting routes through the Relictombs, feeling the challenge as I learned more and more how to use my soulfire. But then Toren left, and Naereni joined us. Or I guess she roped us all into her little pack, making us choose names and pick masks and everything." Caera looked back at the 'Carapace House,' chewing her lip. "And then ascending stopped feeling like it meant anything. We didn't just go on ascents anymore. We started tracking down Blithe distributors, working undercover with Lord Morthelm, and other people. And Naereni, she…"
The young woman shook her head, her hair swaying. "I just don't feel like the progress is right anymore."
I nodded slowly, digesting my pupil's words. "And is that why you've come to me?" I asked, careful to keep my tone curious and inviting. "You correctly deduced that I'll be going to a different zone soon. I assume you want to join me, then?"
Caera gave me a sideways glance, but didn't respond. Despite that, I could see the hope in her eyes. That was a yes, then.
"If that is why you came to talk to me, Caera, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed," I said, tracing the rims of one of the windows. I knew the girl wanted to prove herself. To me or to herself, I wasn't entirely certain. Likely a mix of both. "Considering my power—of which I am still not entirely a master—I cannot allow you to accompany me through the Relictombs. I suspect I will find the first struggle I have had in a very, very long time soon as I adjust to my… new circumstances." I brushed a hand over one of my horns, feeling how warm it was beneath my skin. Before, the onyx hadn't been cold. But it wasn't warm, either.
The Relictombs crafted monstrosities designed to match an ascender's strength, and considering the ocean-wide gap between my student and myself, I could not, in good conscience, allow her to follow me.
She'd need to find a way to prove herself another way. She had always wanted that, cooped up as the glass figurine of the Denoirs, given so little guidance except from my hand. Was she looking for more, now? A place to test herself and her power?
"You can't be a Scythe anymore," Caera said quietly. "And you aren't going back to the surface any time soon. Nothing will be the same. My family, the politics of it all… I'm afraid about what will happen."
I exhaled through my nose, lowering my hand from my horn. "Your family will have a level of protection," I said somberly. "It will be imperfect, and likely far from enough considering their enemies. But I have arranged that—in the case of my death—Cylrit would take the mantle of Scythe of Sehz-Clar."
Cylrit… I worried for him. I had made him promise that I'd return, that he wouldn't be left adrift. I could not imagine what he faced right now if he presumed my death.
I'm sorry, my Retainer, I thought darkly. But you—above all others—cannot know that I still live. They will watch for that knowledge from you, and if they catch wind of it, they will use it.
Kelagon's son deserved better than that. For all the loyalty and dedication he had given to me, to suddenly be charged with even greater duty was unfair, but it was necessary. I hoped he would be able to manage without me for however long was necessary.
My brow wrinkled as I contemplated all that had changed between my Retainer and me in the past few months, and all the things that remained the same.
"He will be able to provide protection to the Denoirs. Some. But it will be unsturdy, with the perceived loss of the Dicathian front. Sehz-Clar is likely to be a political scapegoat for some time." I ground my teeth. Alacrya would be a hellscape of deceit and backstabbing soon as the Dominions tore at those perceived weak. I suspected that Truacia and the Central Dominion were lacking in Scythes, too, meaning more metaphorical pie to rip apart. "Better for the masses to blame the pieces on the board rather than those who play the game, hmmm?"
And I could not assist. Not until I was ready. I needed to capitalize on the unrest that would no doubt tear through Alacryan high society soon. That priority left one of the only men to show true loyalty… Abandoned.
I am not casting him away, I reminded myself, feeling a dark curdling in my gut. I am not abandoning him like a tool.
"Will you miss it?" Caera asked suddenly, the words tumbling from her mouth. "Being a Scythe?"
I turned toward my pupil, noting the nervousness in her voice. In some deep, repressed corner of my mind, I remembered someone asking me something similar a long, long time ago.
"Do you want it?" Kelagon's Retainer had asked. Before I'd changed her. Before she'd been molded and corrupted into something rotten. "Do you want to be a Scythe?"
Caera did not look the same as that young woman from so long ago. Longer hair, sharper horns, fewer smiles… But there was something there. An alignment in the kindling fierceness that danced behind my pupil's eyes.
When I'd been asked that question a long time ago, I'd taken some time, pretending to consider it. When I had answered, I'd imbued my words with faux nuance. "I want to be a Scythe, certainly. But the reasons why are what matter, no?"
I'd said something false, then. I could not recall what it was, but it was something designed to pull and meddle.
I considered this question for a time, too. A long time. Would I miss being Scythe?
"There is something to power," I finally said, falling beneath the weight of memories. "It is intoxicating, in a way, to hold strength over others. That is why one must set boundaries for oneself. Barriers that they can never cross."
I looked down at my hands, tracing the pristine alabaster. Cylrit had been my boundary as Scythe. When I looked at him, I saw Kelagon. I remembered the monster I had been decades past, and that brought me willpower. But now the power I wielded was beyond even that. And even now, I felt that itch. That Vritra-damned pull from my blood that demanded I prod and nudge at my young student.
When I had Ascended, my inner demons had not left me as I'd wished. They had simply changed targets. What boundary was there for me now? Without Cylrit, without Toren? How could I trust myself with power?
So you'll lock yourself away in a little Relictombs Zone, I acknowledged internally. Better to remove a sharpened knife from so much soft flesh.
"I suppose I will miss the power I wielded," I said, my voice strained at the edges. "I took some comfort in it, all that I'd built around myself. With a wave of my hand, men would scrape at my feet. Their heads could roll. I will miss that power." I looked back up at my student. "If you learn anything from me, Caera, let it be that power must have limitations. Do you understand?"
Caera blinked several times, her jaw slowly working as she stared at me. "Yeah," she said uncomfortably. "Yeah. I think I get that."
But despite her words, she still looked at me as if I were something strange.
"You stare as if I am a wogart in the High Sovereign's court," I said, chuckling lightly at my student's look. "Have I surprised you so much with my honest advice? You know I've always been truthful with you."
A slight flush worked along Caera's cheeks. She coughed into her fist as I caught her gawking at me, averting her eyes from me as I subtly teased her. "Yeah, I know. I knew from the start when you told me about Taegrin Caelum and what my manifestation meant. But I thought you'd say something like… I don't know, you'd miss it for the resources it gave you. For the ability to spread your message and ideals."
I considered this for a moment. "Those would have been truthful answers, I suppose," I offered. "But not substantive. When you asked your question, you wanted something with meaning, did you not? Something to reframe your perspective. And so I granted you what you wished."
Caera looked at me strangely, and I thought I saw something in her perspective align. The unspoken truth lingered between us like morning fog not yet banished by the rising sun as we recognized a truth at the same time. I would not have given her such an answer before this war, would not have shown such perceived weakness.
I hummed nervously to myself. I supposed I found another thing I would miss from being a Scythe: the certainty in myself, who I was, and what actions I would take. How strange was it that I found myself unpredictable? Myself a puzzle that needed solving?
I wished to move on from this now, away from the vulnerability I had unwittingly displayed.
"Regardless, I know you haven't spoken to me of what you truly wish. I can tell you want to get it out."
Caera weighed her words for a moment, staring at me with trepidation. "I always told myself I wanted to be an ascender. But then Naereni joined us. I didn't like her at first. She was so irritating. And she wouldn't stop bothering me about being stuffed away all my life." The navy-haired woman scoffed. Her voice took on a mocking tone as she flung out her arms, doing a startlingly good impression of the Young Rat. "'Oh, Miss Boulders wouldn't know anything about struggle, would she? She should let the Rat do it all and watch from the side.' 'You should really just let me handle it! Can't dirty the princess' clothes with the mud, can we?' On and on and on it went. It made me so angry. But then we did things… other than ascents. And I saw her speak about people addicted to Blithe. I saw her talk about unadorned and Toren's songs and I realized that I felt… empty. Because she was doing something important, and I was just upset that Corbett didn't let me go on an ascent with my brother."
The navy-haired noble appeared to be on the brink of a full-blown rant, her words coming faster and faster. She paced back and forth, flushed like a caged wolf. I watched her move, her eyes never focusing on one thing for long.
Basic psychology, I thought, feeling a strange sort of solemnity as my student released everything that had been pent up inside. When there's too much stacked up inside, it needs an outlet.
"And then I thought I started to get it. Everything you were trying to do, bringing me, Sevren, Naereni, and Toren all together. I thought I started to see the plan, Sc— Seris. And I realized that there was a point to it all. I wasn't just ascending for nothing, or just to make myself strong. So I kept waiting. For you to come back and enact your plans and put all of it into play, where I could follow and do good."
I lowered my head as Caera's tirade reached a crescendo, her face flushed and her fists clenched. "And then came the news of my death," I muttered, seeing where this was going.
Caera looked at me sharply. Tears blurred at the edges of her eyes, her teeth clenched hard enough to chew through steel. But as she stared at me, I realized for the first time something I had not considered.
I had put so much of myself toward my goals and plans, both on Dicathen and Alacrya, that I had not truly considered that some might… mourn me. For all that I wished Sevren Denoir to see me as something other than some sort of reflected knife aimed at Agrona's underbelly, I hadn't really seen myself any other way.
I stood there numbly, my pupil staring at me on the brink of tears. I warred inside, trying to find the right thing to say. The right thing to do.
And finally, I forced my leaden limbs to move. I moved forward stiffly, like a mannequin whose joints had never felt the brush of grease. I raised a hand, resting it on Caera's shoulder tentatively. The contact didn't tingle like it had before; my inverted powers under control just this once. "I am sorry. I did not consider how this might have worried yo—"
My student wrapped me in a hug, nearly crushing the air from my lungs. Her breath shuddered, and I could feel the droplets of her tears as they shattered against my shoulder.
Though the last time she had done such, I had frozen, I found the strength to raise my arms—shaking so very strangely—and wrap them around the girl I had raised.
"I am sorry," I said again, finding some strength in me as I hugged Caera back. "I never wished to distress you, Caera."
Caera shuddered. Like willow moss unwilling to abandon the bark it had known all its life, the young Vritra-blooded woman clung to me, finding some measure of strength as barriers that had always been there fell.
I wasn't a Scythe anymore. Caera wasn't the appointed student of the Denoirs, kept in reserve and taught combat by a demigod. I was a teacher, and she was my student. That was all that was left.
When Caera finally pushed away from me, her eyes were rimmed red as the ruby within her pupils. But that spark was still there, the one that had shone when I'd first met her in this zone. The familiar spark that I'd seen vanish in another so, so long ago.
What would you say if you could see me now? I wondered, asking questions of a Retainer long dead, name long forgotten. I wronged you, all those years ago. But this is better, is it not? She is better. We are better. You aren't gone.
Caera sniffled, a watery smile stretching across her face. "I realized something when you were gone," she said quietly. "Naereni didn't wait for a Scythe to come and save her. Toren didn't compromise and give up. My brother didn't wait for another to decide his future. He tried to make it himself. I can't just keep ascending. I need to do what's right, not just wait for someone to decide it for me."
It was my turn to smile, the pride that coiled deep inside rising like the sun. In Toren's little book, there was a time when I went to face Orlaeth. The Sovereign had tried to force this young woman to take an action she could never afford: and I saw it. I saw it, as I always had.
"I think you discredit what you've gained on those ascents of yours, Caera," I said chidingly, squeezing her arm. "Strength isn't simply how many spells you can throw, dear girl. It's what keeps you going up here," I patted the young woman on the head, before tapping a finger over her heart, "and in here. That strength is not aimless, and it is not useless."
Caera blinked a few times, that smile becoming a bit more fragile. "I think my mentor might have died on Dicathen. You're somebody else."
I nodded a bit at that, feeling content in this moment. "I think she did. You'll have to make do with me, now. A true shame."
Caera's smile fell slightly as she stared at me, the peace and solemnity of the moment settling slightly. She pushed away from me, her shoulders loose. "Seris, when I first manifested, you gave me a choice," she said in a whisper. A hand drifted up to her horns, caressing them as if they were something alien. "You said I could go to Taegrin Caelum, to be experimented on and picked apart. I could offer myself to the High Sovereign's armies, or I could hide away, always the daughter of the Denoirs."
Something in me—something that had been relaxed and unworried, basking in this strange relaxation—went rigid, straight as brittle obsidian glass. My mind retraced the steps of our conversation slowly, then faster. The throughline started to make itself known.
Talks about Scythes. About Cylrit, about resolve, and taking steps that would have otherwise been closed off.
"Caera, this is not what you—"
"I need to do something, Seris," she said, her gaze becoming dark iron. "Naereni's doing what she can from the underground. You're sending Sevren off somewhere, Alaric will probably be doing something with his spy network… But I see a place I can help."
"Caera, listen to me," I said sternly, rising into the air. "What you imply is not something so simple. I have elucidated several times the dangers that come with revealing yourself. It is not just grueling on the body, it is grueling on the—"
"The mind and soul," my student finished with me. "But that doesn't matter. Not when something bigger is at stake."
I struggled to restrain my aura as my emotions swelled, visions of another seeping behind my eyes like candle wax. I felt the urge to grab the young woman by the shoulders, to stare into her soul and imbue the weight of everything that occurred in those terrible dungeons into her skull. "That place has broken people like you before, Caera. This is simply not up for debate. I have other places for you in my plans, but this is not your path."
Caera could do many things, but I would not let her venture into the heart of Agrona's power. Visions of another—with shorn white hair, softer features, and that same fire—overlapped my student's face. Lips forming around the same words, eyes sparking and hopeful.
But then she said something none had asked before.
"Are you taking that choice from me?" Caera asked sharply, stepping away from my rising intent. She shook slightly as it churned about her, but her eyes didn't waver. Sweat beaded along her brow, her breathing unsteady. But that fire didn't dim. "You promised I would always have that."
My throat clenched, my hold of my mana stuttering and dying. I teetered in the air, uncertain if I wanted to fly higher and never look back or simply bury myself in the ground. Instead, I opted to take a deep breath, settling my nerves. I needed to remain in control.
"Caera," I enunciated slowly, hoping for a different route, "you haven't thought this through. I can talk with you about this, but it is not wise. We can't be hasty or rash."
"My family is going to get torn apart, Seris," Caera said sharply. "The Denoirs will be bled out quickly. No political protection, except for what meager offerings Cylrit might be able to provide. You yourself admitted that they won't have a chance. But if they managed to push a Vritra-blooded woman to manifest, then they'd have protection again. Protection for a time before you enact whatever plans you have. And what is the point of any of this rebellion—of throwing off the Vritra at all—if we can't protect those we care for at home?"
The young mage stared up at me, defiant against all odds. Even as my aura had swelled about her, her light hadn't dimmed. Even as she presented the preposterous notion, pushing me to accept it, she hadn't backed down.
I hovered there, not knowing what to feel. I felt pride, in the woman who would defy me for her ideals. Pride that she was all that I'd seen her grow to be. Pride that what I had read of in a stupid little notebook—of a woman who could resist the control of the Sovereigns themselves—was made manifest before me.
But I was also afraid. So afraid, because I'd seen what happened to the idealistic flowers like her. I'd ripped petal after petal after petal from the last Caera, stripping them of everything that made them care. Agrona would do the same, would he not? He'd rip her apart from the inside. He'd spread his rot.
I had no point of reference, no sunlight or clear day that told me what I was supposed to do or where I should go. The ever-present oceans of chaos and order seemed to lose their meaning within me, one becoming the other and the other becoming one.
But even as it tore at me inside, I could not stop Caera's choice.Because while Caera spoke truly—what point was there to rebellion if there was nothing to rebel for?—there was another truth in my soul.
I used the methods of the Vritra, true. But what set me apart—what defined me—was that I let them all choose.
Pulled between two extremes, my emotions barely contained beneath my veneer of marble and silver, I found a few words. "I do not want you to do this," I said, closing my eyes. "You always have your choice. But that does not make it less foolhardy."
Caera licked her lips, wiping a bead of sweat away from her forehead. She winced as she pressed a hand to her horns. "I'm sorry, Seris. I know… I need this. But I still don't know how to do it, or what steps I can take. I need your help, still."
I stared down at my pupil, so different from how I'd left her. And loathe as I was to admit it, it seemed my plans were going to change again.
—
Hours later—after I'd laid the groundwork with Caera, spoken to Naereni, and finalized my upcoming trip to the Undead Zone—I sat at a desk by one of the windows, working to finalize a few of my scattered pages of plans and ideas. I kept my notebook on hand, trying to scribble down the upcoming future as best I could.
Caera was bold. Bolder than I'd ever given her credit for, I thought, and that alone made pride well up in my chest.
I paused in my writing, looking down at the scattered pages about my desk. Is this what Aurora felt for Toren? I wondered, suddenly unable to force my pen to move as the thought occurred to me. This strange, boiling-pot mix of pride and utter terror? They shouldn't coexist, but they do.
What would Aurora Asclepius have said to me at this moment, I wondered? Something mildly caustic, I was certain. The phoenix was too arrogant by half… But I thought I understood her a little more.
I swallowed heavily, trying to force myself to write. But no matter how I moved my hand, for some reason, the letters came out crooked and wrong, as if they'd been stretched like putty.
I stared out the window of the house, watching Naereni and Caera snap at each other like rabid wolves. Alaric was with them, watching with something approaching annoyance. At their side, Sevren busied himself with adjusting a few straps on his cloak.
It was a picture I'd helped to create. One that would stay after the Sovereigns were overthrown, and all of Agrona's taint had been destroyed.
I watched them stepping toward the descension portal, trailing my pen absently over my notebook's pages, lost in thought. They all stepped through, one by one by one. Alaric first, then Naereni. Sevren exchanged a word with his sister, before marching through as well. He'd gotten my instructions, of course, and I thought he would enjoy working through them.
Before Caera could step through, however, she spared me a single glance. A nod, one of secrets and resolve both. A nod of trust in all I'd told her and what we'd decided on in private.
And then she stepped through the portal, too, and I was alone again. I was alone with my thoughts in an ancient tomb of the long-gone. And as they left, I found that I missed my students already. A strange sensation.
Yes, I think I know now, I thought, trying to force my fingers to trace the letters. I think I understand Aurora and why she acted as she did. I think I know how she found such drive. But what did she do with everything else, I wonder?
I looked down at my notebook, taking a deep breath. So, so much had happened. So much changed, yet so much remained the same. I would need to go to the Undead Zone here shortly, too, but first I just needed to write the rest of my plans down. Yet despite my attempt to regain control and force my thoughts away from their course, I found myself tumbling back to my talks with Caera. What we'd planned.
It's not gone, I thought, forcing my hand to rest along the page. If I can take anything from this encounter and what I have planned, it should be that… it isn't dead. What I rotted from her is here. Again.
A wet spot appeared on the page, seeping through the ink like a knife into my heart.
I scoffed with annoyance as the dark streaks of letters bled ever-so-slightly. I moved my pen to the side, realizing I would have to start anew on that sentence. But then another wet spot tore through my meticulous writing. And then another. My vision blurred.
That… That was unexpected.
I exhaled a shuddering breath, forcing myself to be calm. Steady my heartbeat, measure my thoughts. Gingerly, I set my pen down as I felt the water stream down my face, like morning dew across a marble cliff.
My fingers brushed against my cheeks, capturing a single droplet. I stared at it inquisitively, my vision still blurred by the storm raging inside. A single specimen reflected what little light I had in this room.
"Interesting," I said in an even voice, my shoulders trembling. I could not recall a time I had ever truly wept in my many long years. Not when I had ascended to Scythe. Not when I had killed her for being like me. Not when I had set my plans in motion, or when I'd taken Toren into my fold.
The value of things in this world was determined by their rarity. Gold, basilisk blood, diamonds, mana conductive fluid, love itself… Value was dictated by supply. But as I stared weakly at the single tear sleeping on the willow branch of my finger, I tried to find a way to section this into every other logical framework I knew. What was this tear worth?
The single droplet of water wavered from my shaking finger, then slipped away like so many moments in my life. Gone, lost to the page below.
It's basic psychology, I repeated to myself. I tried to push it away, to understand it all. Understanding would make it easier. Simple, basic psychology. When there's so much building up, it needs an outlet for it to burst. It makes sense, but I suppose I did not think myself one to—
My chest heaved, and more tears left my eyes without my permission. I lost track of everything I was trying to do, the scattered puzzle pieces falling apart like too-wet clay in my hands. I leaned back in my chair, staring silently at the ceiling as it all finally tore out. They streamed silently from the edges of my eyes, falling like rain to the floor.
Tomorrow… I could go to the Undead Zone tomorrow. I did not think I was fit for it today.