Chapter 195: Crafting Hope

Toren Daen

Seris' words settled over her small council of captains like a light blanket. Each seemed to be individually contemplating her words; trying to figure out the logistics of her proposal.

A captain I didn't recognize spoke up next. "It could work," he said, his eyes widening as he stared at the board. "It would also provide us a more stable and reliable foothold on the continent."

The talk continued for a while after that, each captain inputting their own ideas and observations about the proposed plan. Seris interjected every once and a while, clarifying her intent and solidifying her control over the group as a whole.

But even while this plan–which seemed valid to me–was spoken about, a sense of wrongness threaded through my veins. Like a single edge was out of alignment on a building's foundation, leaving the entire structure unbalanced and off.

"Though all of this hinges on the dwarves cooperating with us," Captain Dromorth said with a snort. "The traitors have solid numbers, true, but will they follow this plan to capture Vildorial?"

The captain who had spoken up first in response to Seris–whose name I now knew was Alyx–replied with a gruff sigh. "They're all roaring and raging about Rahdeas' capture. They'll flock after our Scythes' orders like wogarts into a pen."

My mind flashed back to Elder Shintstone's bitter words. Of the unfair treatment her people received from the Triunion Council. From their point of view, they were underrepresented and never afforded respect. And honestly, as I stared at these captains speaking of their own allies, I realized I could see it. The discrimination the short, stocky people of Darv experienced wasn't just from Dicathen. It was from Alacrya, too.

For the first time in the meeting, I spoke up, interjecting myself into the silence following Captain Alyx's harsh words.

"We're talking of what the dwarves can contribute," I said slowly, "Conversing about their rebellion and their future. But I don't see a single dwarf in attendance." I tapped a finger on the map. "Shouldn't we seek their input?"

The captains present nearly all looked at me askance. Some of the looks were hostile, others were curious. I felt a cautious respect from Dromorth, at least.

"This is a meeting called by Scythe Seris," Captain Alyx said, a dismissive cast to his voice. "Only Alacryans are allowed here. The dwarves can tell us how to help later." He paused, then focused on me with narrowed eyes. "You've been interacting with them, haven't you, Spellsong? You should be able to get them to agree to whatever we decide. After all, that was your job, yes? To ease them into the rule of the Sovereigns?"

I felt Seris' eyes on my back. Instinctually, I knew she wouldn't intervene in this. Here was where I needed to prove the value of what I'd been doing.

I tapped a finger against the table. "That's the wrong way to look at what my task is," I said. The eyes of all in the room were focused on me. Maybe I would have felt nervous in such a situation upon my first arrival in this world, but now it was practically nothing. "I'm supposed to be the glue that holds our alliance together, Captain. Not their leader or some manipulative schemer." My gaze slowly swept over the gathered men. "Many dwarves are in rebellion due to the unfair treatment from the Triunion Council of the Graysunders and Elder Rahdeas afterward. It's clear to them that Sapin and Darv don't give a damn for the dwarves. So tell me, what do you think the dwarves–who supposedly should help and assist us once they've captured their capital for however long we need–will think that we made the decision for them? Just as their previous allies did?"

That got a few murmurs out of the military men. "Trust between allies is important," Dromorth grunted as he nodded slowly. "If the dwarves feel they can't trust us when they hold their city, then it would be difficult to operate from it effectively."

Okay, he isn't thinking from the dwarven perspective, I thought, But it's still a step forward.

"We wouldn't need to worry about that for long," Alyx countered. "Once we have reinforcements from our homeland, it wouldn't matter what the dwarves think when we outnumber their mages five to one."

I sighed internally. And then there was the step back. "But are you willing to endanger what operations we have in that time when it can be simply solved?" I said, trying to work from a more logical angle. I had a feeling that would be more effective than arguing for the sake of the dwarves innately. "War is unpredictable and chaotic. Shouldn't you take what measures you can for certainty?"

Alyx's brow furrowed as he looked at me, then chanced a glance to my right. Throughout all of this, Seris had remained quiet, allowing me to speak my peace.

"It makes a powerful statement," Aurora acknowledged. "You speak from her left hand, and are allowed to do so without interruption or intervention. It puts you in a similar position as the Retainer on her right, and these men know it."

"You make good arguments, Lord Daen," the man begrudgingly said. "But we are ultimately here at the behest of our Scythe. Any other invitees must be at her grace as well."

The attention of the room shifted to Seris by my side. She was lightly inspecting her nails, scratching her index and thumb together. Her face was shadowed by her silver hair. We all waited on her decision, each understanding she had the final say in this.

"Captain Alyx's conjecture was understandable," Seris said evenly. "But Lord Daen's original point still stands. Even now, we rely on our dwarven allies to maintain our tunnels and keep us hidden from Dicathen." She looked up from her nails. "It is in our best interest that we keep them satisfied. After all, our High Sovereign rewards service. And these are the first to pledge their cause to ours, even if indirectly." Seris turned to inspect me. "Who would you recommend to attend this meeting, Lord Daen?" she asked seriously.

Before she'd even finished the words, I already knew my answer. There were only two logical choices for this, and thus I would call them forward. "I believe Lance Olfred Warend and Elder Jotilda Shintstone would be best," I said. "Both are symbols for the Darvish rebellion and should have a voice in its future."

Seris nodded sharply. "It shall be done, then."

—

All things considered, it didn't take long to bring the dwarves into the meeting room. Olfred Warend was notably nervous as he stepped in tune with Elder Shintstone, his eyes avoiding Seris' at all costs. The dwarven woman, however, unabashedly moved herself right next to me–and by proxy, putting herself and Olfred at the head of the table.

"So what's all this, then?" Jotilda said, her arms crossed and her nose wrinkling in distaste. "Some sort of meeting to decide the fate of the world? Is that why we were called here?"

"Not quite, Lady Shintstone," Seris said demurely. "Our contingent has been deciding the next phase of this war. Certain parties–" the Scythe's eyes flicked to me, "--have made it clear that, since these matters concern your rebellion as much as our war, representatives of the dwarves should be present. Thus, you have been brought to join in this meeting on my honor."

Elder Shintstone looked at me, her dark gray brows furrowing as she easily pinpointed who had called for her inclusion. I saw the conflicted feelings in her eyes. After all, it had taken an Alacryan to even push for a dwarven voice. To her, it must have seemed strangely bittersweet.

She grunted in response. "Aye, makes sense," she allowed, her eyes scanning the room. "And what exactly are these matters of concern?" Jotilda asked suspiciously.

"An assault on Vildorial was being proposed," Captain Dromorth spoke up, then began to explain the barebones details–cutting out the parts where the dwarves were ignored. I watched as Olfred's face darkened at the mention of his inclusion in the rebellion and status as a symbol, but he remained silent.

When it was done, Jotilda Shintstone's meaty hand was rubbing her chin in thought. Though there was an undercurrent of something more irritatedly resigned in her intent, I got the feeling she was generally on board with the plans put forward.

"Aye, it's a good idea," she grunted. "Have our rebellion hold our homeland, granting you Alacryans asylum and free passage. It might even work. I've already been workin' to seed knowledge of Rahdeas' capture and Lance Olfred's survival to our spies and plants across the continent. That's done a mighty job of sewing discontent, and the knowledge that Olfred is free of his Lance artifact…"

She turned to look at Olfred. "Is it true that you aren't bound anymore, Warend?" she said, sounding unsure.

Olfred looked at me, his lips pursing. "Aye, it is," he acknowledged after a moment, sounding generally uncomfortable. "Toren Daen freed me from the chains of the asura who hold my artifact."

Elder Shintstone gave me a meaningful look, holding my gaze at Olfred's words. I found myself wondering–had I made the right decision? Had I proven my intentions to this dwarf? I thought I saw a grateful note in the depths of her serious face, but I couldn't be sure.

"With the knowledge that you Alacryans freed our Lance from the clutches of the asura," Jotilda huffed, "You might even turn the opinion of our members in your favor, too."

Captain Dromorth leaned forward on the table, looking at the dwarven elder. "Then it should be possible? To march on your own capital and hold indefinitely with the forces you have, alongside our assistance?"

The anticipation in the room rose several notches as the Alacryan captains–each masking their disdain for the dwarven inclusion–leaned in close.

Instead of addressing the captains, however, Elder Shintstone turned, looking straight at the Scythe. "Maybe if we were humans like you, it would be enough. Set up another option to support. Have a Lance on your side. Prove yourself 'liberators,' or whatever. But we of Darv aren't like you humans," she said, a note of bitterness in her tone.

Scythe Seris raised a perfect silver brow in response to the Elder's address. "And what are you like, then?" Seris said in reply.

Elder Shintstone's hands clenched. "We've been beaten down for so long, most dwarves don't care who rules over them anymore," she said with a huff. "So long as the common folk can continue uninterrupted in their firesalt mines, shape the earth in their tunnels, and hammer away at the smiths, they don't care that they're treated as lesser. It's not worth the effort to risk their lives when there's stone to chip away at. And that means we have the same issue as you Alacryans. Not enough numbers for our cause. We couldn't take Vildorial if we wanted to. It's a pretty plan, Scythe, but fundamentally flawed."

A defeated sort of air suffused the meeting room in the aftermath of Jotilda's words. Seris herself was still staring down Jotilda, a quiet clash of wills almost palpable between them. Seris opened her mouth to speak.

"We don't have the numbers for Vildorial," a new voice spoke up. "But it's not necessarily Vildorial you need, is it?"

I turned, startled to see that Olfred had stepped forward. He laid his hands on the table, leaning over it slightly as he stared at Darv. His bronze skin seemed to be a part of the earth as he stood still as a statue.

"You simply need a staging ground for your people so you can gather your strength in relative safety, no?" the Lance said, looking at Seris.

"That is correct," Seris said slowly. "Tell me what you have in mind, Lance Balrog."

Jotilda was looking at Olfred, a deep crease on her face that made her look twice her age. The other captains had retreated slightly, understanding that they held no place in this discussion at the moment. Still, they watched with rapt attention.

Olfred reached out a large hand, a single finger extended. And when he brought it down onto the map, it was situated over a single city.

"Burim," he grunted. "This is where you should strike for the most gain. It is smaller than Vildorial, and thus can't field as many troops or supply lines. But it is bordered on two sides by water–the river Sehz marks the city's eastern border, and it looks out onto the Grand Mountain Strait. It is Darv's only city with a port." He looked meaningfully at the Scythe. "And it would be perfect to field troops from."

At Olfred's suggestion, there was a ripple of enthusiasm that went through the captains. "Our ships are far superior to anything Sapin or Elenoir can field," Captain Alyx reluctantly admitted, lost in his own thoughts. "If we were to hold a port city, it would make resupplying and resting infinitely easier," he gruffly acknowledged. "Reinforcements wouldn't need to be smuggled in if we controlled the seas completely and utterly."

"And by capturing a city, the dwarves would see their rebellion truly has a chance," Dromorth said next, following a different track. "It would be far more feasible to capture the Darvish capital afterward. Presumably, there'd be far more recruits after that, correct?" he said, directing the question to Jotilda Shintstone.

"Aye, there would," Elder Shintstone said with a tap of her plated greaves. "But there's still a problem here. One Lance Olfred didn't solve. Burim is underground, just like Vildorial. But it possibly has even greater defense than Darv's capital city because of its border with the Grand Mountain Strait, not to mention the magma pits that scar its ground levels, making conventional invasion impossible. So how are we going to capture that, if we can't capture Vildorial?"

"That's where I come in," Olfred grunted, leaning forward over the table. His long hair spilled down his simple tunic, brushing against the map. "I grew up in Burim under… unique circumstances. I know ways into the city that most wouldn't even think of, and I'm confident that I can smuggle a small strike force into the heart of the city, straight to the teleportation gates."

His eyes darkened perceptibly as he stared at Seris, his mana churning perceptibly. "But I have a condition for helping you take what was once my home, Scythe," he said with restrained venom.

I sucked air in through my teeth, my hands clenching from where they gripped the edge of the table. Predictably, the mood of the gathered men dipped as their Scythe was challenged.

Seris tilted her head, a stern expression on her face. "And what terms would these be?" she said, entirely unphased.

Olfred took a deep, deep breath. "The negotiation of the release of Elder Rahdeas from the grip of the Triunion," he said, "By any terms necessary."

Seris' demure finger brushed her lips, her dark eyes seeming to drink in even the shadows. "By any terms necessary, Lance Olfred?" I watched a slow, predatory smile split the Scythe's face. "That can be arranged."

—

As the Scythe's word was given, the meeting began to shift in scope, planning out an upcoming attack on Burim. Aurora helped me follow along with the politics of it all, but internally I was worrying about something else.

I was currently sitting on a bench along one of the main tunnelways, the back of my head resting against the warm stone. The meeting had been adjourned for the day, but it had been made clear we'd return in the morning to finalize discussions on infiltration of Burim.

But one thing that had been made certain during the discussions was that I would be accompanying Lance Olfred during whatever infiltration mission he'd concocted. Both as a measure to my station as the Alacryan bound to the dwarven rebellion, but also, I suspected, to keep the dwarven Lance in check.

The Unseen World blanketed my vision in mute grays and dark mists. My bond sat beside me on the bench, her arms clasped over her legs.

I don't know if I can avoid it this time, I thought sadly. I'm being pointed toward conflict where I can't just point at my enemies and say they're evil, or that they deserve death.

My mind flashed back to my last conversation with Darrin Ordin. Where he'd condemned me for valuing human life beneath my goals.

And a deep part of me knew that Seris was intentionally sending me there.

My bond was silent for a time, allowing me to silently contemplate the blood that would soon spill over my hands. "You must weigh your actions against what you hope to prevent," she said after a moment. "You are a soldier, Toren. Sometimes soldiers must perform acts they deem atrocious for a cause far greater than they. It is regrettable, but such is war."

I expect to kill innocents soon, Lady Dawn, I thought back tiredly. And I'm not just a solder. I'm–

A voice interrupted my thoughts, grating like gravel and a deep bass. "So ya really did pull through for us?" it said, begrudging respect in her voice.

I looked up. Jotilda Shintstone loomed over me, blocking out the light from a nearby torch. Her shadow seemed to swallow me at that moment.

"You had a point," I admitted with a sigh. "About the Triunion Council not treating the dwarves correctly. And I saw the same play out in that war meeting myself."

Jotilda grunted. "It was a good step forward, Daen," she acknowledged. "We dwarves will finally be respected on this continent. Burim's a tough nut to crack, but Warend should be more than able to infiltrate as we're planning. No more hiding and cowering from our oppressors."

Even as Jotilda's words stretched into the cavern, I felt my mood plummet lower. "The people we'll be fighting aren't that different from you," I said. "People fighting for what they think is right."

"Isn't that what we all fight for, Daen?" Jotilda said, clapping me on the arm in a friendly manner that sent a jolt through my entire body. She was strong. "But we've thought it out. I admitted I had my doubts about ya, but you've proven you care."

Actions spoke louder than words. And apparently, my actions here were enough to prove my resolve to the dwarven elder.

"Things won't be as simple as you think," I said. "Perhaps I have your best interests at heart, but you no doubt noticed the disdain the Alacryan upper echelons hold for you."

"Bah," Jotilda dismissed. "They won't be a problem once our rebellion has a hold of Burim. The true hearts of Darv will hold sway then, and none will afford to look down on us."

It was a strange sort of optimism I detected in the Elder's voice. I'd taken her as an outright pessimist, showing cynicism at every turn. Yet there was a strange sort of hope in her tone.

That guilt made my stomach twist with self-loathing.

The Elder walked off after that, leaving me to brood on the bench. Even as the warm firelight of the wall sconce bathed me again, I felt a chill slowly creep along my veins.

We all fight for what we believe is right, I agreed, staring up at the jagged stone above me. But how far are we willing to go? What parts of ourselves are we ready to sacrifice for that final goal?

I stood up, feeling an angry energy thrumming across my veins. I wanted to punch something; to leave a crater the size of a house in the nearby wall. Maybe this guilt would leave my system if I slammed my knuckles against the stone. But I knew it wouldn't.

I began to walk. I flexed my hands, stalking through the unfamiliar tunnels as my mana churned beneath my skin. The tunnels seemed to twist and weave in a nauseating flux as I strode over the hard stone, my destination set. Inside my head, my thoughts were awhirl.

The Darvish rebellion, no matter their support, was destined for failure. Even if the rebellion emerged victorious against the loyalists, the forces of Agrona would simply steamroll over them afterward. And I'd grown to sympathize with their cause. Slowly gained respect for their grit and endurance as I helped them work and shift.

I'd been assigned to be the glue between the dwarves and the Alacryans. I'd been acting as an equal, treating the rebellion as if it had a true chance of success. But I knew better; and pretended that these people would not be dominated by the disgusting asura of Alacrya because of actions I took.

Could I look Elder Jotilda in the eye and confidently tell her that her situation would improve? That her hope–the hope I'd helped to instill–would kindle into true flame?

I knew the answer. And it made my gut churn with twofold guilt. Was I willing to use these dwarves–to use their hope–to justify my goals?

I felt Aurora's deep, coiling uncertainty as we reached the same realization in tune. She retreated back, her emotions beginning to mirror my own.

Because to use the dwarves as pawns–to throw away their aspirations and goals for the sake of my own–did not Agrona do the same?

The echo of my boots on stone seemed like the drums of some sort of broken war machine as I finally reached my destination, my intent barely kept in check. Before me, a large training platform took up an entire cavern on its own. A set of dials and mana inputs stood off to the side at a central control sector, denoting where I could adjust settings.

I stalked forward, steam leaking from my mouth as I stepped up onto the raised training platform. Robotically, I set a few of the dials–one for masking mana signatures, and another to raise a barrier around the platform. I watched, barely restraining myself, as the shield of solid blue mana slowly rose to cover the little platform.

I withdrew Inversion from my belt and then began to work through my dagger forms. The weapon forms taught to me by an eminent phoenix of the Asclepius clan guided me along the stone platform, dust trailing in my wake as my boots slid across the ground.

The Unseen World washed across my vision, revealing Aurora's shade. She was following my movement in a perfect mirror, our intertwined thoughts allowing for a perfect rhythm. I began to push mana across my channels, my speed increasing gradually.

I feinted upward, then thrust forward with the spike of Inversion. The movement was so fast that the normal eye wouldn't have been able to track it. I was a blur of red and white. But still, I couldn't outspeed my thoughts.

Faster, I thought, gritting my teeth. Sweat dripped down my brow in slow motion as I zipped around the training platform. Aurora's shade kept up with my increase in speed, her arms a whirlwind within the Unseen World. My limbs burned as I forced them onward, the pulse of mana across my limbs buoying my strength and speed. Faster!

Soon enough, it became hard to maintain my balance as my perception started to blur. My part-asuran physique creaked as I tried desperately to escape my own thoughts in this underground cavern.

But I wasn't fast enough.

I skidded to a halt, a trail of scorched earth searing behind me. All around the training platform, footprints of blackened stone revealed where I'd moved through my martial forms.

Aurora looked at me with a worried crease on her brow, sensing my chaotic thoughts. My limbs felt like they'd been stretched too far, my part-asuran physique and assimilated body strained by the attempt to push my limits.

But my body could only go so fast. I could only funnel so much mana across my mana channels. There was an upward limit to what I could do. I was barred from further augmented speed by both my core level–and thus, the purity of mana I could force through my channels–and the strength and size of those channels as well.

I heard my heartbeat in my ears as I grit my teeth, sweat dripping into my eye. But there was a way to circumvent those barriers, wasn't there?

I called on my lifeforce, urging my heart to beat in a different tune. Not faster, but harder. Like I'd done in the icy mountain zone of the Relictombs to escape the yeti's time-stop ability.

I growled, feeling a painful twist in my chest. But sure enough, my heart thundered. My lifeforce surged across my veins, flowing like a tide. But that wasn't what I wanted–not across my veins. I thought of what I'd seen in Circe Milview's three-point array. All the tests I'd done… And then how the Lance Artifacts had forcefully widened Olfred's mana veins.

"Toren," Aurora said quickly, moving to my side with a face cast in worry. "Be careful. I can see within your mind what you are trying, but if you fail–"

The damage could be catastrophic, I thought back, feeling as my muscles began to heat up. I know. And right now, I don't care. I can heal myself from anything.

My heart clenched painfully. I snarled, my hand clasping my chest as pain surged across my body. I tasted bloody copper in my mouth as I leaned forward, focusing on pushing my heart further despite my body's protests.

"You can't heal yourself from everything," Aurora chastised harshly. "There are limits to what you can do. There always will be! Do not force yourself to do anything before you are ready!"

I remembered the echoes of Seris' greatest fear. How she feared herself. And in that echo, my worries resonated.

"And what should I do instead?" I snapped out loud, my words coming out pained. "I've got a plan in place for what I need! I just need time to execute it!" After all, with Albold captured, the one issue I needed to address for my plans–that of the Trailblazer Division–had been solved. But there were factors at play beyond just my own. "But when that is over, what will I do? I promised Karsien that I wouldn't become my enemies. I raged at Darrin because he accused me of being them. And now I can't ignore what I'll need to do!"

"That is correct, Spellsong," a stern, cold voice said, resounding off the walls of the cavern. "For once, you shall be forced to do something difficult."

My enforced heartbeat nearly stopped, leaving my limbs feeling like mashed paste. Lethargically, I turned, focusing on the source of the voice.

Cylrit hovered at the edge of the arena. He stood ramrod straight as ever, his posture impeccable. His hair was swept neatly to the side, emphasizing his horns and annoyingly perfect jawline. He hovered slightly above the ground, his massive black sword–easily larger than he was–floating in the air behind him.

I shifted, feeling my body protest at the movement. Even as my heartfire worked to soothe over whatever strains I'd put it through, there were some that could only be alleviated through rest and recuperation. "If you think I've never done anything difficult in my life," I sneered, feeling close to the edge as I glared at the Retainer, "Then you're wrong, Cylrit."

He huffed out, floating forward as contempt radiated through his intent. "You have never been in war, Spellsong. Horrendous as the Plaguefire Incursion was, it was no war. Do you think yourself prepared for war?"

His eyes–each the color of curdled blood–roiled like the undercurrent of a storm.

"I'm more prepared than you think," I hissed back at the Retainer, my emotions–normally kept in control and under wraps–simmering to the surface like steam off a hot stone. "You don't know how I've planned for this. How I've readied myself for this."

"And yet still you struggle," Cylrit countered, his lips twisting into a scowl. "It seems further instruction is needed." The Retainer thrust his hand behind him, grabbing his massive pitch-black greatsword. The shadows around it seemed to warp. "Prepare yourself, Lord Daen."