Discordant Note | TBATE

Thank you to my beta reader and editor, GlassThreads!

Toren Daen

Olfred didn't say a word. In the depths of a makeshift earthen sanctuary, I quietly worked to heal his wounds with my heartfire. The dwarven Lance was dreadfully silent as I let my dawnlight mist into his body, soothing aches and internal damage that had hounded him for days.

He was laid out on a simple sickbed, covered from head to toe in bandages that were a rusty red color. Dozens like him lined the makeshift infirmary, but I didn't have the strength to see to them all healed. At least not right now.

I'd recovered quickly since waking up, a side-effect of my nascent phoenix bloodline. It had mixed well with my djinni heritage, allowing wounds to recover at truly absurd speed.

It had barely been a week since the Breaking of Burim, and I was nearly back at my full strength. Outside the aches and pains that made my heart clench at odd intervals, my power was returning with every second. Wounds and stresses that would cripple any other mage washed away quickly.

It felt wrong. Wrong that I should be well, and all those around me should still be burdened with the lavatide. But I could live with wrongness, couldn't I?

I kept my mind focused on the stream of light coming through the window as I washed away the majority of the wounds that Olfred left. And as my heartfire brushed near his core, I noticed something else. A wound—six of them—that I wouldn't have ever noticed before.

Insight gained from nearly breaking my core—cracking it from an overflow of power, before healing it back over—allowed me to see those pinprick marks in the Lance's core.

I knew from that otherworld novel that these six points of nigh indetectable damage were what kept the Lance's potential and power limited. Arthur had fixed them by isolating a healing vivum spell from a strange scepter artifact granted by the Indrath Clan.

Somehow, these six points prevent further purification of the core, I thought, in that clinical state of mind I entered whenever I performed surgery. Like cluster points blocking outward flow, it makes progression and perfect equity impossible.

Did these array points forcefully guide a Lance's purification away from the intended spots? From what I understood of how a white core advanced to Integration, it wasn't so much purification as it was… modification. I had a more intimate sense of how my body changed as my white core continued to advance, and I suspected that these array points somehow bound the Lance's mana away from continuing that modification.

It was a simple thing, washing away the wounds in his core. After all, I knew the numbness that echoed through his intent deep in my soul. He didn't speak at all. Just stared forward with eyes that would never really see the world in the same way again.

Olfred and I were both survivors of a storm-ravaged fleet, clinging to driftwood in the aftermath. Every now and then, a familiar name etched into flotsam would drift by, and all we could do was stare with empty gazes as they bobbed and flowed.

But Olfred… his pain was as great as mine. As deep as mine, if not deeper. Because he knew more of those names than I ever would. Knew Burim better than I ever would.

A rasping voice spoke then, startling me from my thoughts. With some surprise, I realized it was Olfred.

"Years after I found myself in Rahdeas' care, I had some strange thoughts," the Lance croaked, his voice dry like sandpaper. Each syllable sounded like it was laboriously scraped from a block of wood with a dull knife that barely held any room for inflection or sharpness. "I had everything I'd ever wanted. Food to fill ma belly. A man to call my father. A place where I felt I belonged, ya know?"

Olfred shifted, staring toward the far wall with a distant expression. The scent of sterility and chemicals clashed with the moans of the sick and the stench of despair in every person's intent. "I wanted to go back to Burim. Some parta me wanted to be a street rat again. Or maybe some part of me thought that was a better life than everythin' I'd been blessed with. I had nostalgia for misery, Toren. But that feeling grips me now. It strangles me slowly."

He looked down at his hands, his eyes cloudy. "I've never disagreed with my father before. Always followed him, without question. He told me not to fight the creature coming to kill us all. And I… disobeyed him. I couldn't let that monster tear everyone apart."

"No, you couldn't," I replied, suppressing the hateful hiss in my voice at the thought of Chul. "It wasn't possible."

I thought often of what I could have done differently when Chul came to this city, striking at those I loved. And the more I contemplated it, the more I realized that I had taken the only action I could have. Part of me blamed myself for the devastation in Burim.

But the fault lay at Chul's feet.

"Have you spoken with Rahdeas?" I asked quietly, certain what the answer was.

"No," Olfred replied. "Not since the attack. He's tried, but I haven't allowed it."

I nodded slowly, pushing myself to my feet. I exhaled a deep sigh, allowing myself to think of the past few days.

Ever since I'd revealed the growing life within Anasia to Lusul, something had finally changed in me. I didn't entirely feel better, but I could move. I could take each step I needed to without feeling like a gravity spell was constantly pulling me down.

But Olfred was still stuck in there, lashed to the ground and bolted down.

So what could I say to him? What could I say that would ease the dwarf's pains? This was supposed to be my gift. I was Spellsong, mender of body and heart. My words were supposed to fix things, but I could sense deep in my soul that the words I could offer wouldn't fix everything.

Just like with Lusul. Sometimes there wasn't an answer that could wash away tragedy. I could only offer options. Sometimes, things couldn't be better. But there were still reasons to go on.

"You'll be able to grow again, Olfred," I said, turning toward the exit. "Focus on your core. Your body is healed, and your life is your own."

I spared him one more nod before I walked from the underground clinic. Dozens of shadowed eyes danced with emotions I couldn't sense from the waiting sickbeds, but I didn't let them weigh me down. Not right now.

And when I stepped back amidst the roiling current of refugees and workers, those eyes became those of awe and hope. I could sense the intents of so many as they looked to me as a pillar of strength, just as Seris intended. Not many words were said, but I could taste their need for guidance.

I forced a slight smile across my face as I returned the looks, feeling slightly heartened by how the intent around me swelled again with each man I met.

As I walked through the crowd, I let my hands rest on the shoulders of those who I sensed needed it. I pulled up those who struggled to move.

Whispers of my strength and what I had done to protect this city echoed like a wraith's ghostly breath through the crowds, bolstering the burgeoning relief and hope the dwarves and Alacryans both felt. It was a more subtle thing than I would have thought. Many people only needed a quick glance at me. Some asked me for a word or a swift healing for their aching bones, before returning to their grueling tasks.

It was strange. After doing monumental tasks, moving boulders, and healing hundreds, I found that people still drew so much strength from the small things. When a man needed to run and he had no energy left, pulling him back to his feet was often enough to see him sprinting again.

I exhaled a slight sigh as I neared the end of the gathering of people, before rising into the air. I made sure my posture was straight and solid as I rose, wings of crystalline mana forming about me.

I looked down at them from above, taking in their worries and fears. Many had already gone back to their jobs. Woodworkers and stonecrafters were already working together to craft new homes and shacks along the Undercrofts and rebuilding the lives they lost.

Dwarves hammered out their stones. Carved their oh-so-flammable wood. Grunted as they struggled through the labor. Mages helped them in the dozens, but few were to spare as Burim slowly turned their mages toward the war on the northern front.

It's an endless cycle, I thought sorrowfully. Lavatide after lavatide, these people will suffer. They feel that nothing will change.

Logically, they should be hopeless. The only thing that could bring them hope should be some sort of system-altering and societal change, right? Not just a helping shoulder or a touch of dawnlight to ease their suffering? How could they find hope in that, when all that was left for their lives was this on endless repeat?

This was one of those times where Aurora would interject with some sort of helpful wisdom that would allow me to contextualize all this. But right now, the only solace I had was my own thoughts as I struggled to understand.

I drifted out of Burim, going to the edge of the docks as I just stared at the waves. It was something I'd taken to doing these past few days whenever the questions built too much.

The sea reminded me of my soul before it had changed. When I stared out at it now, I could muster a semblance of peace.

"How can I be their hope, Aurora?" I asked the sun in the sky. "How can I be Spellsong again?"

I got no answer besides the gentle caress of the glittering gemstone so, so far away. I exhaled, letting my shoulders slump a bit.

But then I sensed someone approaching. I'd been reining in my senses slightly, so while I'd been aware of this person, I hadn't been conscious of how powerful they were as they slowly approached with a few companions in tow.

"Lord Spellsong," a smooth voice echoed, carried on eddies of sound magic. "I have spent some time searching for you."

My eyes drifted to a singular woman as they approached. With purplish eyes and blazing red hair, the mage strode forward with assured confidence. Their aura pressed into the air like a deadly tremor, carrying quiet notes of their power.

She was a white core mage. A powerful one, trailed by several mages in the red and gray livery of Alacrya. Her retinue bore sigils of Bloods from the Central Dominion.

My pupils sharpened into pinpricks as I focused on her. Because I knew who she was. And immediately, I knew what her presence meant.

The woman opened her mouth, then shivered as my eyes bored holes into her soul. She coughed into her fist, forcing her gaze to remain on me. Her intent ghosted with rising fear and uncertainty. "I heard that you would likely be in this place, Spellsong. My name is–"

"Lyra Dreide," I interrupted, tilting my head. "Retainer of Cadell Vritra."

The woman's red brows furrowed as my intent swirled around her. She was strong. Nearly as powerful as Cylrit, if I were to be generous. "Indeed," she said slowly. "Your reputation and abilities precede you, Lord Daen. Words and whispers of your strength reached me even back in Alacrya, but… I have heard nothing of an ability to read thoughts."

Lyra paused, chewing on her lip as her emotions cycled. "Can you read my thoughts, Lord Morningstar? My current position is known to very, very few. I was appointed barely a few days ago."

She seemed honest in her question. Respectful, too.

"It's not your mind that I can read," I replied, tasting her strange uncertainty as her emotions bubbled around her. "But I know who you are, and I also know what your presence here means, Retainer."

In that otherworld knowledge—of a now impossible future—Lyra Dreide heralded the death of the Triunion Council. Her presence in Dicathen meant that this war was soon to end. Agrona was ready to be done with this farce. While she acted as Regent of the continent, Nico and Cadell trailed behind her like monoliths to break everything that remained.

The woman shifted slightly. I felt mildly impressed by the fact that she was willing to meet my eyes. "Indeed, Morningstar. I should not have doubted Scythe Seris' abilities to gather information," she said, bowing slightly. The respect–and fear–she felt were both very, very real. "I have been tasked with informing you that Scythe Nico Sever has reached the northern battlefront and has set up station for an eventual assault on Blackbend City."

Scythe Nico. He was here, on this continent. The objective of my goals was already here.

Hell, he'd probably been here for some time. I just wasn't informed. Anger rose deep in my soul as I recognized why, but I showed none of this on my face. Instead, another aspect of the Retainer's words settled into my blood.

"You were sent to inform me?" I queried, stepping forward. "Not Scythe Seris?"

I held political sway, to be sure. It was an open secret that Seris had taken me as a "paramour," and that meant that whatever words someone whispered in my ear had a chance to reach the Scythe's. And with my personal power, I had no doubt that my word could herald the rise and fall of Highbloods all across Alacrya, even a continent away.

But I was not the leader of this war front. Lyra had no true reason to seek me out first. She had no reason to go so far out of her way to even find me when a simple communication artifact would see the message conveyed.

The Retainer nodded sharply. "A valid question, Lord Spellsong," she said simply. "I was informed by Scythe Cadell that Scythe Seris was currently indisposed and plagued by her war duties. If I needed a swift and efficient way to convey information, you would be the best avenue."

My eyes narrowed. Truth. Lyra's heartbeat was steady and strong, and her intent showed no inflection besides ever-so-slight fear. She wasn't lying about that, but something still felt wrong.

"Thank you, Retainer," I said, turning away. "I'll deliver your words to her."

Lyra nodded, bowing slightly as I lifted into the air. "Of course, Lord Spellsong."

My mind focused on this conversation with acute attention as I floated back toward Burim, thinking of what this meant. Nico is here. He's stationed north, just within my grasp.

It didn't take me long to reach the Divot's landing platform. All around, nervous Alacryan captains darted about, bowing to me and whispering about "Spellsong" and "Morningstar." I ignored them as I strode into the deep caverns, trying to shift this new information into my plans. I needed to kill Nico. He needed to die. And we were so close to the end of this war.

The journal on that otherworld novel burned in my mind. It suddenly felt far, far heavier as it weighed on my soul.

Arthur will fight Nico and Cadell soon. Or they'll carry out an assault on the castle using Sylvie's bond, right?

Agrona needed Arthur alive. He couldn't afford to kill the new King of the Triunion, not until he had Tessia in his clutches and the Legacy reincarnated.

I'll stop them before that happens, I vowed again, my kindling anger latching onto the one certainty I had. I'll–

A discordant thrum of pain struck my ears from all sides, a heartbeat reverberating and overlapping anguish. I froze for a second in a dim hallway as I tasted that pain, recognizing its source immediately.

Seris. A wash of intent and a squeezed heart made my movements a blur as I shot through the tunnels at absurd speed, the wake of my passing blowing paintings from the walls, snuffing sconces of their flames, and tearing apart the immaculate tiles as my vision sharpened. What's happening to her?

I was in front of her office doors in barely a fraction of a second, my mind working at fevered speeds. Telekinetic shoves blew them nearly from their hinges as I traced Seris' pained heartifre, my mana burning hot in my veins.

It wasn't hard to find the Scythe. Amidst a swirl of blackened and burned papers, artifacts, and various instruments, Seris curled in on herself on the floor. With every beat of her heart, tongues of black soulfire sputtered and popped around her, carving little divots into the cobbles as she moaned in pain.

On instinct, I engaged my Acquire Phase as I called my heartfire to my fingers, zipping to her side as I tried to understand what had happened. Seris' hair clung to her face in a wave of sweat as she heaved for breath, her eyes unfocused as she clutched at something in her hands.

I recognized it immediately. Her cloaking artifact.

And as my Acquire Phase revealed Seris' dark heartfire to my sight, a nauseating horror wormed its way through my body. Goosebumps pebbled my skin as I stared at that stain of white amidst her black lifeforce, the energy eating away at her essence.

On instinct, I reached out a hand to my Scythe, my lifeforce misting between my fingers. I'd failed to heal this before when Inversion had pierced her heart, and I could tell instinctually that this infection had taken root. Like a seed burrowing deep into the soil and spreading its roots as it grew, this inverted decay clutched at the woman's lifeforce in a way I could hardly comprehend. And with every pulse of her blood, it spread along her veins and into her body. Like poison.

I was halted in my tracks, however, as Seris' pale hand grasped my wrist tightly. Her grip was impossibly tight, like a doomed man's grasp on his sword hilt as he faces impossible odds. If I were any other mage, my wrist would have crumpled from her grip.

"No," Seris hissed, still curled in on herself as she fought down spasms. "No, you don't know what it will do."

I opened my mouth to protest; to say that I could heal her. But then something in the ambient mana shifted, drawn inward by the Scythe's control. Her breathing was strained as she slowly drew in power, bringing it to her core in a subtle flood of energy.

Mana rotation.

And I could sense it in her blood. That poison of inverted decay was slowly pushed back as Seris' skin fumed with dark mist, her healing factor working to erase the lingering motes of energy along her body. She trembled as it happened, and I felt the urge to try and do something. Anything to ease her pain.

But the grip she kept on my wrist–and more than that, the utter darkness that coiled in her eyes as she stared at me–kept me at bay.

It took some time for Seris to fully banish the spread along her veins and reassert control with her core. Her heightened breathing evened out ever-so-slightly as her eyes fluttered closed, a limp exhaustion making her body slacken as she uncurled on the floor.

Her dress spread around her like a silk tapestry, each purple-lined thread seeming to absorb more of the light as she stared up at the ceiling. Her hand was still clenched around my wrist, and that burning ember of white still tainted her lifeforce.

"You said you'd fixed it," I said quietly, not knowing what else to say. "But it's still there, Seris."

She didn't respond for a time. Her other hand limply fiddled with her cloaking artifact. "You sensed my distress," she muttered, sounding… disappointed. "You weren't supposed to. I'd improved the design."

My eyes flicked to the cloaking artifact, then back to the Scythe. Her head lolled to the side, looking me up and down with lazy exhaustion. "It's from your power," she said between breaths. "Who knows what will happen if your heartfire tries to push it back? It might even nourish it. Make it worse."

"So you didn't even tell me?" I asked. "Just kept it hi–"

"Because what would telling you help?" Seris hissed. "You needed all the rest you could get, Toren. Already, your mind and resolve have been stressed nearly to breaking. What would telling you accomplish, other than shatter you further?"

She looked at me, serious and resolute. "When you awoke, you were barely maintaining your sense of self. How would you have handled it if I told you the truth? You were already dealing with so much. So much. I couldn't burden you with more."

Seris sounded honest. Her intent reinforced her words, backing them with the weight of her care for me. But with her cloaking artifact deactivated, there was something… more. A clawing desire that bore no name.

I hadn't even realized she'd put it back on, I thought distantly, feeling a strange sense of loss. When did she do it? When did she change it?

The Scythe rolled forward, moving her arm to grasp my shoulders. "Help me up," she demanded, her hair still clinging to her head. "I need to continue my work."

Silently, I slowly assisted the woman to her feet, noting the trembling ache of her body. I held her small, thin form with one arm as I maneuvered her to her table, giving her two points to lean on.

Absently, my eyes drifted over the scattered papers all about. War plans and troop placements along the northern borders. I couldn't catch much, but I did see one thing.

Seris would be departing Burim soon for the northern front of the war. She would be leading the charge personally, and she hadn't even told me this.

The Scythe immediately went back to whatever she'd been doing before her mana attack had struck her. Though her fingers shook, she acted otherwise as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. As if this was just a daily occurrence, she sifted through papers and reports with amazing efficiency.

She knew Nico and Cadell were on this continent, and she hadn't told me that, either. Hell, Cadell had probably been the one to order her. Who else could order a Scythe but Agrona's Hand?

I stared at the silver-haired mage for a time, really looking at her. And I noticed things I hadn't before. Her hair clung to her head with sweat, true. But there were strands out of place and a lack of decorum that I hadn't picked up before. She usually took the time to apply makeup every morning, painting her eyes with dark eyeliner to accentuate the silver of her hair. She'd work on her nails as well. Her dress bore a few wrinkles here and there as well which told me she hadn't bothered to care for it in the usual way.

If it were anyone else, this wouldn't have meant much. But for Seris, it meant so much.

"Lyra Dreide approached you, I suppose?" Seris asked, not looking back at me. She seemed almost afraid to meet my eyes again. "She told you of Cadell and Nico's landing, then?"

I remained silent for a time, my gaze drifting to the papers as a sort of heaviness settled over my soul. "This war is going to end soon," I said after a moment. "That's what's going to happen."

"That's what the High Sovereign wants us to think," Seris muttered, holding a particular paper up. "That's what he wants you to think, in particular."

She pointed a finger at it, a single dot of soulfire igniting over the digit. Under the strange non-glow of the dark flames, hidden ink slowly revealed itself on the page.

Like invisible ink, I thought. But it's only noticeable because of her unique basilisk arts. An ingenious way to pass messages.

"Why didn't you tell me that Nico is here?" I asked after a moment, my voice solemn. "You know what my–"

"So you could rush off and get yourself killed?" Seris snapped, turning to look at me with sudden intensity. That ember of hellfire over her finger sparked, devouring the page she'd just read and leaving nothing else. "Cadell being here means that Agrona himself has focused his full attention on this continent at last. We don't have the leeway for you to throw yourself at enemies anymore. We had our time to truly act and take risks before, but not now."

I felt my muscles tense at the Scythe's sharp words, forcing myself to remain calm. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Seris moved toward me, a strange light in her eyes as she ran one of her hands through mine.

"I won't let you die, Toren. You don't get to kill yourself in a suicidal charge against Agrona's Hand," she said, her hand clenching around mine. "Everything hinges on the balance now. This is the most dangerous time we have ever experienced, and I cannot let you act in a way that might break everything."

"So you kept this knowledge from me to keep me safe?" I asked, my words sounding as if they were uttered by someone else.

Seris had tried to keep me locked away in the birdcage of her rooms. Hidden from the world and smothered, just like the phoenixes of the Hearth. Just like Agrona.

What did the High Sovereign say to Sylvia to justify her capture?

"He's focused on you," Seris said, her voice carrying shadowed undertones as she moved closer. "I always suspected he let us go in that Cathedral, but he's testing you. Testing us. You understand this, don't you?"

The way Seris was acting; the way her fingers dug into my hands… The subtle disarray all around us, when she was usually a picture of perfection… It all started to flow together. And the final piece was on the edge of her emotions she'd been so, so desperate to hide. What I could understand, deep in my soul, had been intentionally hidden with her cloaking artifact.

Grief. But a grief that could not be felt. It could only be smothered and ignored, because to feel it would make it real.

I gently laid my hands on Seris' slim shoulders, feeling a question build in the back of my throat. "Seris, where is Cylrit?"

Seris tensed slightly. It was for a fraction of a second, imperceptible to everyone and everything. But not me. "I sent him on an undercover operation to meet with Arthur Leywin," she replied smoothly, giving no indication that my question had rattled her. "He will return eventually."

One truth, and one lie.

"What happened to him, Seris?" I whispered, feeling tired again. "Please, tell me."

The Scythe's expression shifted as she stared at me, a strange mix of annoyance and resignation churning through her intent. "Too perceptive," she muttered. "You see too much, Toren."

I see too much? No, I didn't see enough. Because Seris wasn't showing me all she could.

"Will you keep lying to me?" I finally asked, tilting my head as the entire conversation filtered through me like hot needles. "Am I just another pawn on the board to manipulate now? A sword to be pointed at the asura, because you have nothing left?"

The slap that cracked across my jaw had the strength to shatter boulders and decimate steel, but it hardly made my chin turn. It was nothing compared to what the Scythe could usually do, but the sickness in her blood had weakened her. Seris' hand moved to try again, but I caught her wrist.

The edges of her eyes shone with the subtle moisture of tears, her face curled up into a rictus snarl that would haunt my nightmares. "You have the gall to talk about lying," she snarled, her eyes narrowed as she stared up at me. "The audacity to look down on me for keeping secrets, yet it was the asura you would have called brother who did this. So why should I tell you everything, Toren? Why? My trust in you has already burned me!"

"Because he was my friend, too," I snapped back, looking down at the woman as she trembled with contained rage. "Because, just maybe, neither of us can do any of this alone!"

Seris laughed. It wasn't the beautiful chime of bells I'd heard before, but a lash of a whip. "That is fair, I suppose, my Spellsong. Maybe I will tell you everything. You've been so desperate to know my soul, haven't you? But in turn…"

Even as her wrist was restrained by my hand, her eyes drifted lower, down to the pouch on my belt. "Tell me what's in that notebook of yours. Tell me what future you foresaw so long ago, and maybe I'll trust you."

My mind had been boiling. Boiling with anger that had been building ever since I'd torn at Chul's soul and the death toll had reverberated like gongs in mine. I had half a dozen retorts ready to hurl back at Seris for whatever excuse or lie she would use to try and divert my attention again.

But I hadn't expected this. As her words registered with me, I felt a shock traveling through my limbs that made me release the Scythe. My eyes widened as I took a defensive step back, unconsciously shielding my notebook from Seris' view.

"What made you think—"

"That you knew the future?" Seris completed my sentence for me, rising into the air as she stared down at me. "Do you think me a simpleton, Toren? Did you think me blind? You told me your greatest fear, once upon a time. You said that you feared everything breaking because of you."

I took a single step back, blinking as if I'd seen a flash of light. Seris' hand lashed out, grasping at my collar. "You told me that Mordain Asclepius dabbled in future sight. And all the actions you've taken, to try and influence this war… I wasn't certain at first. Not nearly. But you have never been able to lie to me, Toren Daen."

I swatted Seris' hand away, feeling my fury rise again. "This isn't the same," I argued, but my words felt empty in my mouth. "You have no idea—"

"Then let me read it," she hissed. "Be honest with me, Spellsong, and maybe I'll be honest with you. That seems fair, doesn't it?"

I didn't respond. Even as Seris' aura tried to drown and compel me into submission, I said not a word. She stared at me, each second a demand in and of itself. And deep in those underlying motes of grief, I could sense what she truly wanted to know.

But I couldn't. Not now. Not ever. I couldn't show her the truth of this world. I couldn't let her know that Burim had never broken in that otherworld novel. That the war had been quick and efficient there, without countless civilians massacred all across Dicathen.

Seris read the truth in my eyes. Her rigid form slowly relaxed, her eyes taking on a softer expression. "That is the way of it then, isn't it?" she said quietly, drifting backward. "This is your line. You want me to hope, but you don't even feel it yourself."

I didn't respond.

Seris slowly and methodically brushed out her dress, creating a semblance of order. "I promised you a chance at the Anchor," she said, her intent distant. "It will come. Eventually, before this war is over. But that isn't your job now. Nico is under my command, and that only makes it more difficult to shift blame. And you are the only piece I have left to shift."

I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to look Seris in the eye. Anger burned with exhaustion deep in my gut. But I wouldn't let this go. "You think Cylrit is dead," I said aloud. "You're certain of it."

"Your brother said as much," Seris said, her voice struggling not to sound as tired as mine. "I have heard nothing from him, either. And I am a realist: not taken by flights of emotion and wishful thinking. We can't indulge in empty hope, can we?"

Can't indulge in empty hope?

I found myself thinking of the dwarves so far below in Burim, who kept moving along anyways despite the countless cycles of despair that held their lives. All reason dictated that they shouldn't have hope. That there was no point in putting each foot in front of the other.

Seris turned back to her papers. She seemed content to try and ignore me now, subtly dismissing me in the way politicians did. You are free to take the door at any time, that posture said. I have no more time to listen to you or be entranced by what you might offer.

Seris felt hopeless, now, in a way I had never seen before. Just like me. But she didn't need to be.

"Cylrit is alive," I said quietly. "He's still out there."

The Scythe tried to present an unaffected air, but from how her movements stuttered for a heartbeat, I knew my words had struck their mark.

"I can sense his soul, Seris. I've seen it these past few days. I wouldn't be able to see it protecting you from the darkness if he wasn't still alive."

Seris burned another paper. Then another. Then another. Her intent fluctuated wildly, and I could feel as my words took root in the same way as that seed of inverted decay in her heart.

The Scythe continued to sift through her paperwork for a time as her intent built and built. She didn't want to listen or give my words credence. Because that meant they might hurt her again. Trusting me might mean hurting her again.

But she was logical, too. She couldn't ignore them, either.

Seris finally turned, looking at me through eyes that were as beautiful as they were exhausted. They tracked across my face, searching every crease. They lingered on my brows. On my cheeks. On my lips. Then back to my eyes.

She tried so desperately to see a lie, but she could find none.

"He's somewhere to the northeast," I said as the Vritra-blooded woman's expectant stare drew the words from my lips. "I can sense… locations of souls, to a degree. It's hard to explain, and it's less distinct the further I am from them. But right now, he's somewhere far in that direction."

Seris put it together faster than I did. "I had sent him due north previously. Not east. So he must be in the Dicathians' flying castle over the Beast Glades," she said, sounding sorrowful. "Out of our reach."

"It's not out of our reach," I insisted, moving forward. I took her shoulders again, staring her deep in the eyes. "I can sense it. I can trace back to him."

"And break the treaty we forged with Virion Eralith?" Seris said, sifting for excuses. "To keep you from this war? If you would go flying off after this… dream?"

"Do you care for that treaty more than you do Cylrit?" I countered, trying to imbue her with warmth. With hope. "Are words spoken in regards to a war that is already decided and about to end worth more than him?"

Seris chewed on her lip, staring up at me. She looked so… vulnerable. I'd seen her vulnerable before. She'd allowed herself that around me. But it was different right now.

"They have an asura there," she said, finding another avenue to try and shut me down. "Taci Thyestes is–"

"A child," I countered, my voice rising with fervor as I held Seris' thin frame. "I've already fought asura, Seris. I've already won against one."

Silence lingered for a time as the Scythe wilted inward, her mind warring with indecision deep down. Her intent warped and twisted as logic and emotion warred for dominance. She wanted to trust. She so desperately wanted to. The low crackling of the sconces on the walls almost mirrored the depths of her thoughts.

"No matter what I say, you'll try anyways," Seris finally said. "No matter if I threaten or cajole or blackmail you, you're going to try and find him, won't you? I can't… I can't stop you from trying."

I chewed the inside of my lip, feeling slightly abashed. "I have a bit of a track record of–"

"Doing stupid, foolish things without my authorization," Seris cut over me, melting slightly like candlewax into my touch. "Because you're an idealistic simpleton who can't understand how the world works."

I thought about what to say for a little bit, but I really didn't have anything to deny her. Again, my mind drifted to the dwarves of the Undercrofts, so ready to stand up again as they drew strength from my presence.

But also… also how I drew strength from how they continued on. The fact alone that people could continue to survive despite the despair helped me find a little of what I'd lost in my battle with Chul.

And also Lusul. Neither of us knew hope, yet. But there was a chance to make it.

I still have that same drive that pushed me to make that ultimate decision in the Hearth, I thought, feeling the Brand of the Banished on my neck. The same willingness to make decisions that might hurt, but need to be done.

"We need to make a plan if we want to get him back," I said quietly. "I need your help, Seris, to make this work. We're going to make it work."

We would make hope.