Discordant Note | TBATE

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Seris Vritra

I had no time to waste. The moment I saw the steamships on the horizon, I was already moving. I barely spared the unconscious asura another glance.

Nico's mana signature boiled like the sea next to me as the ocean smothered the magma's warmth. I internally calculated the distance as I ground my teeth, feeling a chill working through my drenched body as the warmth left me.

The worst possible time, I seethed internally, holding Toren's body close. They chose the worst possible time to arrive.

I'd known that this fleet was coming, had expected it for the past couple of weeks as the High Sovereign finally stopped holding back and decided to push for victory. But Burim was still reeling from the devastating fight between Toren and Chul. Already, this could prove devastating to my hold on the continent if I didn't act fast.

They'll reach us in twenty minutes at minimum, I thought, gnashing my teeth as I stared at the approaching fleet. Thirty if I'm lucky.

But luck was not something I counted on. Luck was a fool's hope.

I chanced one more glance at the unconscious asura, my gaze cold as I debated my next course of action. I needed to ensure my hold on Burim was clear. If I played my pieces right, even this devastating loss could be played as a victory. I just needed to shift my pawns across the Sovereign's Quarrel board correctly.

My eyes focused on the opposite docks as I started assembling this puzzle in my mind. I floated weakly toward the opposite docks, feeling another squeeze from my core. They were bustling with activity like a swarm of bees as dwarves shouted and clamored to be heard and saw to the refugees. The stone boats were methodically pulled to shore with grappling lines, allowing the folk of the Undercrofts to stumble to relative safety.

When the dockworkers sensed my approaching aura, they froze. Work and recovery halted immediately as haunted eyes focused on me and my horns, and then on the limp body in my arms. The clamor and bustle quieted as the scent of fear and worry overtook all.

Toren would know what to say to these people to draw them together, I thought, observing them from above. But I am not Spellsong.

I knew I must look like a devastated mess, all grace and poise washed away in the ocean. Still, I kept my chin slightly raised and my gaze serene as I searched for one specific man amidst the clamor.

Finally, I found who I was looking for. Lusul Hercross was with the wounded Jotilda Shintstone as he stared mutely up at me, his eyes glassy.

"Return to your work," I ordered, allowing my voice to carry as I flexed my aura. "It is not done."

Haltingly, the workers seemed to remember what exactly they'd been doing. The tragedy and destruction had not stopped, and neither could they. I distantly remembered an old-fought battle with Scythe Kelagon as I watched these frazzled and battle-shocked civilians struggle to pull what was left of their lives together.

I drifted down, exhaling softly. I marched forward, forcing my poise and resolve to bleed into every mannerism. I was Scythe Seris now, and these men would draw strength from my surety as much as anything else.

"Lord Hercross," I said, drifting toward the second son of the Named Blood. He froze, snapping a wary, hesitant salute as his eyes focused on the body in my arms. He didn't even kneel, showing clearly how exhausted and confused he must have been.

"Scythe Seris Vritra," he said, his lip trembling in tune with his legs. "How may I serve you?"

Strong boy, I thought. He's grown into his leadership in the short months he's been stationed here. Too many men have already buckled.

I walked closer slowly. The man took a hesitant, fearful step back, but when I focused my onyx eyes on him, he froze.

"There is a body on the far docks," I said quietly, my voice smooth and even. Only this young man would be able to hear it. "Take only those you trust and recover the man there. Cover his features, and ensure none see you act. Deliver the body to my rooms in the Divot as soon as possible, bound and chained. Be as discreet as you would be with your lover on these docks."

My eyes darted dangerously to a young woman not far away as she worked to usher refugees from the stone arks. When I looked back at the Hercross—who was no longer shaking—I was certain my implicit threat was clear.

Lusul swallowed, unable to meet my eyes. "As you command, Scythe Seris."

I nodded slowly. That was one problem addressed for the time being, but it was far from the last. Scythe Nico would be arriving shortly, and I could not afford to meet another Scythe looking like a drowned rat.

I turned, suppressing another wince as my heart pulsed painfully with inverted decay. I rose slowly into the sky, passing the curtain of rising steam as I floated back into Burim. The pungent smell of sulfur and destruction suffused my nostrils again as I reached the Divot. Smoke clung to me like a suffocating blanket, and only Toren's steady warmth served to push it away.

As I rose back toward my central headquarters, I gave a few more orders to those still scrambling for direction, but my mind was elsewhere. Already, I was calculating a way to spin this in my favor and how to play it to the powers-that-be.

Toren had grown again. In only a month and a half, he was holding his own against an asura. An exhausted, disabled, and childish asura, true. But an asura.

He'd completed the puzzle I'd given him. But the pieces only brought blood and fire.

Beyond even this, Chul had been a fool to announce his clan name. I could spin this in a way to avoid implicating the man in my arms too deeply, but if it tied back the Asclepius Clan…

Something went wrong with Toren's efforts to convince the Hearth, I realized with a sinking, dreadful sensation in my stomach. Even as I settled onto the Divot's landing platform, I found something in my chest settle lower. Like a stone drifting to the bottom of a lake, I felt my hopes plummet ever deeper.

I exhaled a deep, weary sigh as I stood on the empty platform for a moment, my thoughts blanking for a second. Then I strode forward again. I was a Scythe, and the world wouldn't stop moving to give me a chance to think.

The Divot was strangely silent. Like a mausoleum of the dead, each step I took forward and through the passageways made me feel as if I were being watched. The click of my heels and the twist of the mana as I drew it in for purification were the only indicators that this place was not a tomb.

This place was unaffected, was it not? I wondered, feeling a creeping sense of dread worm its way through my mind as my steps reverberated around me. Looking about, I could see cracks lining the walls as the lighting artifacts flickered. It was designed to grant the nobles of the Overcrofts the greatest safety possible. Surely…

I strengthened my body with mana, keeping my shield regalia close in my mind as I strode into my rooms. I swept my gaze across the place I'd called my respite for months, noting the familiar chairs, bed, and desk.

They appear untouched, I thought, my fingers twitching on Toren's body as black mana particles buzzed around my fingers. But there is a scent in the air. A haze.

I walked forward slowly, each step careful in their cadence. Despite the bone-deep exhaustion pervading every cell in my body and my strained mana core, I was still a force to be reckoned with. If King Arthur had sent assassins…

No, I thought, sensing that looming, dreadful presence in the corner of the room. No, this isn't an act of King Arthur.

I gently set Toren down on my bed, allowing him to finally rest. My gaze drifted over his soot-stained and damaged body, feeling a painful pang of déjà vu as I remembered a calm night months ago where I'd finally allowed hope to burn.

I would need to change my clothes soon. My dress was drenched and in tatters. A clear cut showed the pale skin over my heart where I'd been stabbed with Inversion, and dust clung to me like rot as it stained my image. By my approximation, Nico's flagship would be here in ten or so minutes, and while the city was a smoking ruin, I wouldn't allow myself to appear as such.

I moved to my desk, affecting a composed air. I knew what presence had made the depths of the Divot feel like a graveyard. I had not felt true fear before. I was a reaper. The graveyard was my domain.

But the tower of black metal that seemed to mesh with the darkness itself was a greater bringer of death than I ever had been.

Of course. If Nico Sever was here, why wouldn't his minder?

"Cadell Vritra," I said, not turning around. "I would have prepared a better welcome for you if I knew the Hand of Agrona had arrived."

The chill in the air seemed to steal more breath from my lungs. "You have failed," Cadell's deep bass voice rumbled from those shadows. "The High Sovereign's City—which was entrusted to your protection and stewardship—is a ruin."

My mind flicked from plan to plan at mach speed as I stared forward, drawing out the silence. Cadell's words weren't a statement, weren't a question. They were a threat.

I didn't know when he had arrived. During the attack? After? Had he sought to stay low? How much did he know?

Cadell being here means that Agrona's attention is truly focused on the endgame, I thought. He's pressuring me as his first tactic. Forcing me into a corner. Why?

"An unforeseen variable interfered here, as you can no doubt sense," I said simply, but my words were tainted with the strain of those thoughts. Chul Asclepius. That wretched child. "As great as you are, Cadell Vritra, I suspect even you would face difficulty were you in my place."

More silence. "You dance and talk your way in circles, Scythe Seris," Cadell said coldly. "Say your words clearly."

I turned around slowly, carefully avoiding looking at Toren's body not far away. The Scythe of the Central Dominion, thankfully, didn't spare him a single glance.

Cadell never changed. The strongest Scythe's horns absorbed the light as they thrust like javelins towards his jaw. His hair was a curtain of bone as it stretched to his back, his black plate armor reflecting no light at all. Corpse-blood eyes bored into me, threatening to pin me to the floor.

I can't afford to reveal too much about the Hearth, I thought. Nor what Toren knows. How do I–

"Speak," Cadell ordered, his aura expanding slightly as it pressed into my weakened form.

I tilted my head, putting on an unamused and unaffected air. "A phoenix," I said. "An asura touting 'justice' and 'vengeance' assaulted this cavern. Through a combination of deception and battle, he no longer plagues us. Truthfully, I don't know if he retreated on his own, or was driven off. But the aftermath is clear for you to see."

Cadell showed no inflection on his steel gray features. No surprise or consideration about my words. "And you lived through this?"

I ignored Cadell, imbuing mana into the ground beneath me. The crystal turned slowly translucent, revealing the lavatide far below. It would continue to flow for the next few days. "I wonder… if you had been deployed earlier, perhaps this would not have happened, hmmm?"

I raised a skeptical brow as I observed Cadell, watching for any hint of a reaction. And finally, I garnered one.

His eyes turned to Toren's weakened body. My heart froze.

"Spellsong is the only reason you're alive, considering the difference in your states," he said, his grinding voice scraping at my bones. "He fought. You fled."

He took a step forward, the shadows seeming to follow and converge around him. The clank of his greaves on the stone sent tremors through my weakened physique as he approached Toren's bedside.

I stepped forward in turn, imposing myself between Agrona's Hand and Toren. My mana core squeezed painfully as I stood like a sentinel, turning up my chin to the monster.

Cadell stopped. He looked my body up and down in a peeling, unnerving way. It wasn't a lustful thing, like many had dared to do before I put them in their place. No, this was the look of a gladiator scrutinizing fresh meat.

The Hand of Agrona was a tall, tall man. He was the sort who was used to using his height and imposing figure to intimidate those lesser than him. Taegrin Caelum's shadow trailed with him, and that was a height all on its own. At that moment, I felt I had stared up at mountains with lesser stature than the carved block of empty steel before me.

He wanted me to be afraid. Of this, I was certain, even as I stood in the mountain's rainshadow like a willow tree stripped of all its bristles.

"If you continue to flex your aura like that, it might disrupt Spellsong's recovery," I said, affecting leisure as I locked my hands behind my back. It was a gesture of utmost composure, but I used the time to ensure my fingers were not trembling. I raised a silver brow. "Do you want to do that, Cadell?"

There wasn't much that could be gleaned about Agrona's personal enforcer, but I did know some. I needed to play my cards carefully. "If you want a fight from him, you'll need to wait until he's recovered. It's been some time since you've ever seen challenge."

Cadell slowly leaned forward, his shadow long and dark as it swallowed me whole. I could make out the ridges of his horns as his gray features of stone stood barely a foot from mine.

"What makes you think that I want to waste my time with a half-dead lesser in a sickbed, Scythe Seris?" he enunciated slowly—but there was a question laced within it. Not a rhetorical kind. For the first time, it seemed that Cadell was asking for my opinion.

That was dangerous.

I exhaled through my nose. "I'm talking to you right now, Cadell. Dragonslayer, they call you, for putting down a half-dead asura in the Beast Glades. Now we have a rising Phoenixslayer—and this was a battle to behold."

Cadell was a being of iron and unyielding stone. So how much could I afford to push? The Scythe didn't respond immediately, contenting himself with searching my eyes.

"You see much, Seris. Indeed, I think I understand why you've been placed as you are. I have met no others who are so much akin to our master."

I clamped down a shudder at Cadell's words. When he rose back to his full height, I could almost imagine the rumbling of stone or the twist of an avalanche reasserting itself. "But Spellsong has much left to accomplish. And still, he has yet to truly embrace his power."

The way the Scythe said it made warning bells ring in the back of my mind. I'd suspected—no, I'd known—that the High Sovereign was deeply invested in Toren's growth. He'd set us both loose from the Central Cathedral. Like rats being released from a water barrel onto the streets, he was following our progress in some way.

"Spellsong will continue to grow in strength," I said simply, focusing on this avenue. "Perhaps even strong enough for what is coming, hmm?"

Cadell smiled. His teeth were whiter than his hair, and I once again felt the encroaching questions and fears I always kept suppressed crawl across my mind like skittering insects.

I've never seen this man smile in the fifty years I have been Scythe, I thought nervously. The hungry smile made my hands clench from where they were clasped. The High Sovereign wants Toren to grow. To what end?

"This war will be ending soon, Scythe Seris Vritra," Cadell said slowly. Deliberately. "Our High Sovereign has laid the pieces he needs, and it's time to finish this once and for all. And at the vanguard, you will be leading our forces across the continent."

I nodded slowly as Cadell's words seeped through me. "I was placed on this continent initially because of my war experience," I said, forming the syllables with utmost care. "And considering I have the strongest personal hold over Darv, it is most logical."

I tilted my head, frowning slightly. "But what of Scythes Viessa and Nico? Am I to collaborate with them?"

"Nico will be under your direct command," Cadell said simply, turning away. "How you use and direct the reincarnate is up to your discretion."

I felt a quiet sort of dread as I absorbed this information. I had promised Toren a chance to slay Nico Sever, but if the Scythe were under my direction, then shifting blame and directing any assassination away from me became far, far more difficult.

"And Viessa?"

"Is not your concern," Cadell replied sharply, marching away. The shadows around him flexed and blew like wind. "Win this war for your Sovereign, Scythe Seris. That is your order."

Win this war.

I closed my eyes, trying to stop myself from collapsing into a heap. I felt that darkness rise. Not of my blood, but of my mind. I would finally see battle once more, and the one who kept me in check…

Cadell vanished like void wind, leaving me struggling to stand upright in my own rooms. I felt Cylrit's absence like an open wound as the monstrous phoenix's words flowed through my mind. I was melted candlewax that had splashed against the stones, but there was nobody to scrape me up and mold me back into a decent shape.

My lips trembled as I opened them, visions of my Retainer flickering like the shadows of my dead rooms.

I wouldn't even have time to change.