The Beginning After The End novel Chapter 446

C.446

444: Scarred

ARTHUR LEYWIN

Rolling onto my back, I turned away from where the tempus warp portal had vanished. Something nearby was issuing a faint but worrying hum as dim light spilled across the garden: the tempus warp itself. It was glowing faintly and putting off enough heat that it had withered the flowers it had crushed only seconds ago.

I stared at the artifact for far too long, struggling to comprehend. I wasn’t really thinking about the tempus warp at all. Rather, my mind was split between the battlefield in Nirmala and the core in my sternum. The artifact was a distracting shroud to toss over the rest of my thoughts. I wasn’t ready to start processing everything that had just happened.

There was movement from the corner of my eye, and Sylvie appeared beside me. She couldn’t disguise her fear. Her hands pressed against my side, where my own aether blade had sliced through me, driven by the concentration of Cecilia’s mana. Sylvie’s eyes squeezed tightly shut, and I sensed her mind probing my own, my wound, my core. I could feel her searching for the vivum arts she’d learned in Epheotus, just like I could feel the emptiness of her magic’s response.

Her aether affinity had changed. Her insight had been rewritten.

I grabbed her hands, and her eyes flew open, startled. I’m certain I’ll be fine, I just need a moment to heal.

‘But your core, what if—”

“I’ve healed from a lot worse,” I said out loud, a sentiment that was undercut when the effort to speak sent me into a coughing fit, and I spit up a mouthful of blood. “Is Chul…”

“Unconscious,” she said softly, her voice tight with worry. “Backlash, I think, from trying to hold his phoenix form.”

I nodded. The motion sent fingers of pain clawing through me.

Light flooded the yard as magical spotlights flared from a dozen directions. Wards activated a moment later, shielding the doors and windows of the mansion we’d landed in front of.

It wasn’t long, however, before the front door opened and the ward fell again. Darrin Ordin stepped out, draped in a robe and rubbing sleep from his eyes, which shone with a slightly wild light; clearly, we’d woken him.

He waved a hand, and the light artifacts glaring down on us dimmed, allowing me to make out a number of faces peering from the mansion’s windows. “Grey, what’s—Vritra’s teeth!” he breathed, rushing across the yard to my side. He looked from my wound to my face, then to my companions, and finally back, his face pale. “Come on, let’s get you inside, that wound needs—” _{freewёbn૦νeɭ.com}

“No,” I said, forcing myself up onto my knees. “I’ll be okay. Just…need a moment.”

My mind moved inward, focusing on my core. The cut across its surface was swarming with aether; the violet particles pressed into the scratch, where they compacted before melting into the surface of the core. All the while, aether poured out of the core as well, fueling the slow healing. Only a trickle returned, the atmospheric aether gravitating toward my armor before being drawn into the wounded core for purification.

The strike to my core had been indirect, the resulting wound not enough to pierce the hard exterior. It had been a long time since I felt the fear of injury; this brought it back in full force.

If she had managed a more direct strike, my core might have been crippled.

‘Absorbing my mana must have given her some small insight about the interaction between mana and aether,’ Sylvie replied, biting her lip. ‘I’m not sure I quite understand what happened, though.’

Beside Sylvie, Darrin’s eyes stayed on my side, where the blood continued to flow.

She wrapped enough mana around my blade that she was able to force it back on me. I was confused, caught off guard, and when the second burst of mana went off, driving the blade through me, I reacted too slowly.

I felt a sudden cool comfort in my side as, bit by bit, aether began to trickle away from my core to my wound, stitching together the muscle, bone, and internal organs. The flow of blood began to slow.

Around my core, most of the aether had filled in the scratch, although the healing had left a faint scar behind and consumed most of the aether in my core. The scar itself itched, more a referred sensation in the back of my mind than on the surface of the core itself. I couldn’t pull myself away from it; like a soldier staring at a freshly healed wound in the mirror, I mentally prodded the scar tissue, leaning into the discomfort as I tried to understand it.

Only when the lacerated skin of my side began to heal over did I turn away from the scar, instead tentatively reaching for my godrunes. Not to activate them, just to ensure they were responsive. Aroa’s Requiem tingled on my spine, then Realmheart burned and brought into sight the atmospheric mana surrounding us. They worked as expected, although both were…heavier than they should have been.

I’m tired, and my core is nearly empty. Sighing, I released the channeled aether and closed my eyes, allowing myself the time necessary to heal.

I heard Darrin return to his home, likely to inform the children what was happening. Sylvie left my side to check again on Chul, her concern lingering in the back of my mind through our connection.

By the time my wound was healed, I felt well and truly exhausted. I couldn’t remember my core being so strained in a long time, and certainly not since the formation of its third layer. I would need time to recuperate and absorb aether—much more than the meager atmospheric aether available here.

Easing myself to my feet, I opened my eyes and looked again at the tempus warp.

The hum had subsided, as had the glow of leaking mana. As I pulled the artifact free of the ruined garden bed, I realized that it was warm to the touch, and there was a fine crack running down the side of the hammered metal. Curious, I used my meager supply of aether to channel the mana required to activate the device. The scar’s itch grew more pronounced.

The tempus warp responded to my efforts, but it shed light at even that minor application of mana.

“You won’t get more than a use or two out of that now,” Darrin said, reappearing in his yard in a simple traveling tunic and breeches. When I looked at him, he nodded at the tempus warp. “They only last so long, even the powerful ones like that. Not sure I’d trust it at all with that crack in it.” Smiling, he held out his hand, and I took it firmly. His gaze lowered to where my armor had sealed back over the gash. “Glad to see things weren’t as bad as they looked.”

“I’m not sure about that yet,” I muttered before catching myself and returning his smile half-heartedly. “Sorry to have stirred up your home. This was the only place I could think of given the situation we were in. But we can’t stay long. I just need to get my companion back on his feet and—”

“Grey—Arthur, there are things you need to know,” Darrin said, his voice low and urgent, his expression tense. “Alaric is here. Wasn’t woken by the perimeter alarm, of course, the old drunk, but he should have crawled out of bed and put on a pair of trousers by now. Before you run off, you should hear what he has to say.”

Darrin’s serious delivery gave me pause. After a moment’s hesitation, I nodded.

After retrieving the tempus warp, we hauled Chul’s unconscious body into the house and laid him out on a couch. I left Sylvie to watch over him, and Darrin sent his many wards back to their rooms, including a frustrated Briar.

When we entered the study, Alaric was already there, and had, of course, already poured himself a drink. Behind him, just where I’d left it, was the active ascension half of the Compass, humming away in merry ignorance of all that had transpired since the last time I’d used it.

Alaric eyed me warily as I sat down across from him. The exhaustion was pressing in on me from all sides, but I could tell the grizzled ascender was just as tired as me.

“Old man,” I said.

“Pup,” he replied with a snort. Taking a fortifying drink, he sighed and dug his palm into one eye socket. “So, can I assume it is your return to our fair continent that has kicked up such a shit storm?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms.

Alaric threw up his hands, somehow managing not to spill his drink. “What do I mean, he says.” He glanced at Darrin, who only shrugged. “Pushback, boy. Counter-offensives. Highbloods turning on us. Armies springing out of Agrona’s puckered sphincter to retake cities he’d given up on. I’m talking about months worth of gains lost in a week.”

Darrin was staring down at his hands. Alaric’s bloodshot eyes were narrowed as he glared past me into the distance. They were both exhausted…and frightened, I realized.

“Tell me more,” I said, leaning forward. “Seris should know what’s happening.”

Alaric scoffed and drained his glass before launching into a bitter but detailed explanation of the many losses the rebellion had experienced just in the last week.

Seris’s force had never been large enough to stage armies and make direct attacks against the Sovereigns; they had relied on Seris’s control of Sehz-Clar to maintain any kind of footing. Outside of Sehz-Clar, the fighting had largely happened in the shadows through spies and agents that Alaric and his connections organized. After Seris had retreated to the Relictombs, much of the active work of the rebellion had gone underground. Due to the actions of a few brave highbloods, however, they had gained and kept control of a handful of cities in Truacia, Vechor, and Sehz-Clar.

Those cities had been essential staging grounds for other efforts, primarily provisioning. According to Alaric, attempts to retake the cities had been minimal, with the rebellion forces scoring a handful of unexpected victories in the weeks after Sehz-Clar’s fall.

But in a span of days, these cities had fallen, the highbloods in control either calling on their troops to stand down or being executed by loyalist strike teams. To make matters worse, Alaric’s network of connections, informants, spies, and operators was being targeted and assassinated.

“And not one by one, but in fucking droves,” he moaned, his cheeks ruddy beneath his unkempt beard. “I’ve had to send my folks running for the hills to hide out. It’s hard to make sense of, boy. Like someone threw a Vritra-damned switch and unleashed a flood of death.”

We continued on for a while, Alaric delving into more specific situations while I listened and attempted to digest it all. In return, I explained what Seris and I had planned and told them about the events of Nirmala.

Shortly before dawn, Chul woke, and he and Sylvie joined us despite my protestations that he should continue to rest.

“I’ve rested too long. This body itches to redeem its pathetic display during the fight,” he said, crestfallen.

“You were matched poorly,” Sylvie chimed in. “Had you faced any other Scythe, you would have—”

“No, he's right,” I cut in. “It was pathetic—but so was I. Best thing we can do is learn from it, own our mistakes, and get stronger.”

Grinding his teeth, Chul posted up in the corner of the study and glared around for the remainder of the conversation.

The rolling fields visible out the study window were just turning from black to orange-gray with the first rays of dawn’s light when we were interrupted again.

A sudden and rapid banging on the study door made us all jerk around, but before anyone could call for entry, the door burst open and Briar rushed in. “Master Darrin! A broadcast—quickly—from Agrona!”

We all exchanged a wary glance, then hurriedly followed her to a sitting room outfitted with a large projection crystal. A sweeping image of the Basilisk Fang Mountains was speeding by across the crystal’s surface. When I stepped into range of the telepathic field, I heard a wakeful, nervous voice in my head: “…repeat, a mandatory message from the High Sovereign himself will be played in two minutes. All Alacryans must listen. I repeat, a mandatory…”

I stepped back out of the field and gave Darrin a curious look.

Frowning, he shrugged. “Enforced broadcasts aren’t unheard of, but they’re pretty rare. We didn’t even get one after what happened at the Victoriad.”

“The projection artifact just activated itself and started babbling about the mandatory message,” Briar added, her arms crossed as she glared at the projection.

“So, a message from Agrona Vritra himself,” Chul mused as he stepped in and out of the telepathic field. “If only I could punch his evil face through this crystal artifact.”

Alaric’s brows rose as he gave Chul an amused look. “I’m starting to see where his strengths and weaknesses lie.”

I smiled faintly. “If only we could, Chul.”

We all waited in silence until the repeating message stopped and the scene melted away.

A face appeared across the crystal projection.

“It really is the High Sovereign himself…” Briar whispered, a shiver running through her.

Agrona appeared austere, but his severity was somewhat undercut by the glittering ornamentation in his horns. He stared out at us from the projection crystal for several seconds before finally speaking.

“My people of Alacrya,” he began, his words purposeful and clear, “children of the Vritra. Today, I speak to you directly…to each and every individual among you. Listen closely and carefully, because my words are for you.”

He paused again, and I glanced around the room; a handful of the teenagers were present, as was Darrin’s housekeeper, Sorrel. They looked spellbound, all of them. Only Alaric, Chul, and I seemed able to keep mental distance from what we were seeing. Even Sylvie was wide-eyed, her lips parted slightly as she became wrapped up in this vision. But I could sense her emotions and some of her thoughts, and hers was a very different reason for being so invested.