Discordant Note | The Beginning After the End SI

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Toren Daen

Cylrit and I flew silently through the night sky over the desert of Darv. The sands whipped and tore at our loose clothing as the winds carried us along, but despite the howling noise of the dwarven country, it still felt silent between us.

I’d briefed the Retainer on what had transpired in the wake of his fight with the Wraiths. He knew how Burim had broken. He knew of my battle with Chul.

And he knew the state his master was in.

After I’d told him about Seris’ current state and why I’d taken such risks to break him from the Dicathians’ flying castle, he’d gone silent. His intent radiated a quiet sort of contemplativeness that I didn’t interrupt.

I kept my eyes forward, listening to the rush of the winds. I still felt tired, exhaustion seeping deep into my bones. I’d recovered most of my mana in the eight or so hours I’d spent meditating, but I hadn’t slept at all since before my mission to infiltrate the castle. I could feel the bags beneath my eyes drooping low.

We’d left Nico behind on that riverbank a few hours ago, glaring up at us as we departed. I was certain we’d meet again.

In my head, Aurora was silent. She sensed the upcoming meeting in a different way than I did, and I could tell that she needed her space for the moment.

“Things must change,” Cylrit finally said, his voice swallowed by the Darvish howl. “If my capture can disrupt Master Seris so greatly….”

The Retainer of Sehz-Clar was wearing more appropriate attire than loose linens and prisoner’s garb, but he still looked exhausted, too. He didn’t turn to look at me as we flew through the sky.

“It’s a matter of perspective,” I said after a moment. “Caring for others… Feeling… It’s a beautiful poison. It can seep into your veins and settle there, bringing bliss as much as pain.”

The dark-haired Retainer tilted his head, the only indicator that he was listening to me. I thought it ironic, in a way. If Seris were to die… Then this man would have nothing left. He’d dedicated himself to her so fully that there was no Cylrit outside of Seris.

“You can’t be close to somebody without bringing the potential of hurt, Cylrit. There is no future where you’re able to be all that you are and not risk her pain.” The Retainer didn’t respond after that, still stuck deep in thought. Captivity had not suited him well, and introspection even less so. I wagered all he could do while locked in those dungeons was think. “But this isn’t about that, is it?”

I could sense it in Cylrit’s intent. I didn’t know if he was entirely certain of the words and emotions churning in his stomach at all, but he needed to say them.

“When I was stationed in Vildorial, I spoke often with Olfred Warend,” the Vritra-blooded man said as we crossed over the sands. “The dwarf lamented how he felt as if he had been too loyal in following Elder Rahdeas. He warned me against the loyalty of my position, claiming it would only end poorly. I nearly struck him across the jaw for his insolence.”

I resisted a sardonic chuckle as Cylrit’s words reached me, noting how he restricted his question purely to implication rather than statement. I wondered who had developed this habit first: Cylrit, or Seris?

The Retainer was having doubts. Not truly about his level of loyalty, I didn’t think, but the quality of it. I could sense it in his intent. If he performed every order and action without question as he always had, then was he truly loyal?

“We must always question orders and the reasons why, Cylrit,” I said after a moment. “That was where Olfred failed in his loyalty to Rahdeas. It was blind to any other possibility.”

I knew that Olfred was currently stationed near the opening of the Sehz Canal in the far west, waiting for another northward push into Sapin alongside a fleet of Alacryan ships. He’d been volunteering and taking more action in the wake of the Breaking of Burim.

The former dwarven Lance’s loyalty and devotion to his father had been shattered alongside the Undercrofts. I had no doubt that Cylrit saw the parallels.

“Questioning orders leads to hesitance,” Cylrit responded automatically in an overly gruff tone. “I cannot be what Master Seris needs me to be without surety and force of will.”

I exhaled a bit through my nose, feeling the sandstorm’s anger wash past my telekinetic shroud ineffectually. I worked my jaw, uncertain of what to say.

I’d always seen Cylrit’s devotion to Seris as a good thing. He was a pillar of emotional support for her, a stalwart sentinel of security. His presence meant things were going according to plan. His presence meant that she was a Scythe and in a position of power. His presence meant that she was always reminded of what she could become.

But in my one-track focus on the Scythe and wishing for her well-being, I’d forgotten something deep inside. It had slipped past my mind like the whisper of a ghost.

Cylrit was a person, too. Just as much as anyone else. I’d subconsciously fallen into the Retainer’s own flawed mindset: that the only value he had was to Seris as his master. His only worth came from his service and the health of someone above him.

And only as the comparison to Olfred came alight did I see this.

I wilted slightly in shame as I flew, a curdling disappointment with myself rising from my gut. I’d saved Cylrit from his capture not because he was a friend and a worthy companion, but because Seris needed him. I’d rescued him not because he was just as valuable a friend as any other, but because my lover’s hope was burnt by his absence.

“But what will you do about it, Toren?” Aurora asked silently, her cool voice drifting across my mind. “What will you say?”

That was the question, wasn’t it?

“Agrona holds power because nobody questions him,” I finally said. “If you want to be truly loyal to Seris, then you can’t let her go unquestioned. If it’s what you need to do, then never hesitate in the moment. Never question your orders before they are given. But at the very least, question them after.”

The Retainer looked at me from one, deep red eye, the other covered by his dark hair.

“And you are still a person, Cylrit. Seris doesn’t need a willing slave. She needs people who can share her burdens. If you want to be loyal to her, start by being loyal to yourself.”

The Retainer was silent for many long minutes as we inched closer and closer to our destination. The angry howl of the Darvish winds slammed more and more grains of sand into our mana barriers, but we held strong. We wouldn’t be conquered by the elements.

Cylrit’s intent fluctuated greatly as he struggled to process my words and take them apart. I could see it in how his eyes observed the empty dunes far below, and in each rise and fall of his uncertain chest.

“Be myself…” the Retainer muttered, seeming more troubled than when he’d had a gadget strapped to his core. “I don’t think I know who that is.”

I chortled with amusement, flashing back to that time so long ago in the Undead Zone, where I’d been uncertain of who I was. “Would you believe me if I said there was always time to figure that out?” I offered, an amused smirk splitting my face.

“It wasn’t long ago that I was lecturing you on loyalty and dedication, Spellsong,” he retorted somberly. “Do you think our positions have changed that much?”

I worked my jaw as I remembered what Cylrit oh-so-thankfully reminded me of. Our ‘sparring sessions’ were few and far between, but each one of them had been an opportunity for the Retainer to break my jaw or pummel me into the dirt with the excuse of “teaching loyalty” as justification.

I glared a little bit at the man, remembering the phantom pains of regrowing my teeth. “Maybe I should just deliver you back to the Dicathians and have you fight your way out on your own,” I said grumpily. “Maybe after that, you can try and teach me about loyalty.”

Cylrit snorted, a slight smirk rising on his face. “It would not change reality,” he said gravely. “The truth is that my lessons taught you well. Pain is a great motivator.”

I narrowed my eyes, feeling that old, familiar annoyance bubble up inside as I squinted at the Retainer. “Maybe I should take your route of persuasion. If I hit you hard enough, perhaps your brain would rattle around in your skull to the point it all clicks.”

The Retainer only scoffed. “Perhaps then I would be rid of these incessant questions in my head.”

I squinted my eyes as I finally caught sight of our destination, a little way to the northwest. A tall, jutting spire of expertly crafted stone defied the constant winds as it stood like an iron guard over the Sehz River. One of the only dwarven castles ever constructed above ground watched the banks of the mighty flow, stalwart against any potential incursion from Sapin.

“We’re here, Cylrit,” I said quietly, allowing my voice to reach the Retainer with my sound magic.

As we got closer, it became easier to make out details around the tall, central castle. This close to the banks of the Sehz, the Darvish winds were less punishing, and sprouts of grass and copses of palm trees created the illusion of an oasis. It reminded me of the banks of the Nile from my previous life.

When men went to war along that mighty river thousands of years ago in another world, I thought, my eyes solemnly tracing the banks of the flow, did it look like this, too?

A massive, sprawling war camp spread around that central castle, stretching far across the dunes. Men and dwarves both milled about, sharpening weapons and rushing to follow orders. Campfires bloomed in countless orange embers alongside lighting artifacts, granting the entrenched men a modicum of light in the darkness. Flags of red and gray flew across the countless tents, the symbols of a dozen Named and High Blood houses flying beneath the standards of Alacrya’s Dominions.

Anticipation. Fear. Anxiety. Confidence. Dread. All of it came together like a slurry of melted metals mixed into a pot and set to boil. I could almost imagine the molten slag of war seeping through all those present and burning them away.

And across the water, the situation was much the same. A mile away, an endless sprawl of Dicathian war camps radiated terror and uncertainty, too. They didn’t have one, massive castle like the dwarves, but a sprawling military town with powerful walls and deep trenches. Deep within their ranks, I could sense another powerful mana signature: one that was incredibly familiar.

Lance Aya? I thought, furrowing my brows as I hovered in the sky, turning north. She’s been sent to try and counter Seris, I presume. She’s stronger than when we last fought. Much stronger.

The intermittent clashes along the Triple Fork south of Blackbend City weren’t the only battlegrounds of the war. The war would reach a crescendo here, too.

My attention was torn from the enemy camps, however, as an unerring, focused intent settled onto my soul. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end from its sheer, direct draw, the familiar emotions like drops of warm wine along the back of my throat.

I turned in the sky, looking back at the crenellations of the dwarven castle as it loomed high over the rest of the Alacryan camps.

An image of dark silver and waiting power stood waiting for us both atop the castle walls, alone and undaunted by the world. Seris’ horns drank in the light as she stared at Cylrit and me from a mile away, her orders made manifest in her very gaze.

Come back to me.

The Retainer and I didn’t say another word to each other as we felt Seris’ quiet demand in her mana and stare. We simply obliged, flying forward and bending to her will. It didn’t take long for us to reach the crenellations, both Cylrit and I tapping down on the castle walls.

The Scythe across from us remained silent. Outwardly, she was the perfect picture of poise and grace. With her upturned chin, cool, serene eyes, and horns that drank in the night air around us, I couldn’t imagine a more regal depiction of a stoic queen.

But her intent told me otherwise. Tinged with the pained motes of Inversion, it had only become more and more apparent to me as time went on. I could sense the emotions building behind her careful mask. Her pale, pink lips did not tremble. Her brow did not crease. Her fingers did not twitch from where she held them in front of her.

It was a bare thing. As her dark eyes observed us both, noting the blood, tears, and stains across my shirt—I’d only managed to get a spare set of boots from Nico’s camp, but hadn’t changed or washed up from my fights—I could taste the twin serpents of her anger and concern coiling around each other.

I’d left Seris after making a plan to save the Retainer at my side, and I’d succeeded. I’d seen how close to hopelessness she’d become, and I’d been determined to give her a pillar of certainty once again. And as the Scythe witnessed us both—battered, bruised, and alive—I hoped deep in my mana core that she could see it. That even if there wasn’t any light, I would make it.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The tension lingered there like building pressure in a steam boiler, ready to blow.

Cylrit’s posture had slowly become more and more refined and sturdy as the moon-blessed Scythe’s gratitude and relief both struggled past their masks. His ever-constant station as Retainer slowly slid back into place over his emotions like a glove as he stared past Seris, waiting at attention for whatever she would say.

He’d spent over a week in Dicathen’s dungeons in captivity, slowly wasting away. Afterward, I’d needed to rescue him and deliver him back. But for all the trials and tribulations Cylrit had experienced, he projected one, single message to the woman across from us.

I am here to serve, he said with that upright posture and steady, distant gaze. I am your sword and shield, always ready to do as you need. That has not changed.

And as Seris’ focus honed in on Cylrit, her eyes seeming to take in all of this at once, I felt some of that tension deep beneath her layers ease. As certainty returned, so too did her composure.

A slight smile pulled at the edges of my lips as I felt the woman I cared for finally reach a decision on how to move forward.

“Come with me,” Seris finally ordered, her voice cool and commanding. She turned on her heel, drawing an unseen strength from the presence of us both that helped her slim shoulders seem much more broad. “We have much to discuss.”

And then she began to stride back towards the castle doors, her dark dress flaring like the corona of a blackened star. Her heartbeat—whitened and pained by the inverted decay coursing through her veins—trembled unevenly.

We followed silently, both of us understanding that silence was what the Scythe needed. The click-click-click of her heels resounded through the cramped hallways of the castle.

“It has been a slight struggle to move all of our troops into position,” Seris said, her hair swaying like threads of silver. “But my pieces have all been laid across this board. Once victory is achieved at this point on the river, my forces can sweep east and reinforce those of Scythe Nico’s.”

Seris looked back at me over her shoulder. “Presumably you’ve met him, Toren.”

I exhaled through my nose, remembering my encounters with the angry, wrathful reincarnate that I was destined to kill. “I have. He desires to strike across the river immediately and take Tessia hostage. He wanted me to join him immediately, but I opted to return to you first before any commitments.”

I’d suspected that the Scythe had wanted me to interact with Nico as I’d crossed over the Grand Mountains, and the twinkle I saw in her eye told me all I needed to know. Layered in here somewhere was a scheme that would bring my blade to the reincarnate’s throat.

“Scythe Nico is impatient and brash,” Seris said after a moment of consideration. “He has never learned patience, but it is one of the most important virtues. Any plan—no matter how grand—can be dashed to the wind if one cog in the machine moves too quickly for the rest. By placing him there, it will act as a measure to temper his emotions and make him a better tool for our High Sovereign. To this end, I’ve ordered him to keep still on that southern bank and wait for my final say in intervention.”

Just from Seris’ intent, I thought I was starting to get an idea of the vague outline of her plan. She wanted Nico to act out and disobey her orders, potentially to create some sort of opening. But this might all fail for one reason alone.

“I don’t think Tessia Eralith is actually along that Northern Front,” I said quietly, remembering how I’d briefly delved into the Sea of my Soul during my meditation in Nico’s camp. Worried about Tessia potentially being captured, I’d scried the distant celestial bodies that made up that far blackness. “I think it’s some sort of ploy from King Leywin. It’s a front of some sort, designed to bait his enemies into a trap.”

I couldn’t easily detect the locations of people using the resonance I carried with their souls if they didn’t let me in, but the closer I physically was to a person, the easier it became. And while I’d been sitting on that bank of the river and looking into my Sea, I got no sense at all that Tessia was nearby.

“I concur with this, Toren,” Seris replied smoothly. The low torches in the castle’s upper hallways cast her in flickering light. “There have been conflicting and constant reports of Lance Silverthorn’s position on various points across Dicathen. Nobody can seem to decide where she truly is, but it doesn’t matter.”

The Scythe pushed her way through a final set of double doors, revealing a surprisingly sparse meeting room. But despite it all, everything was organized to perfection. An ornate desk stood proudly at the center, covered in sheets of paper that depicted battleplans and schematics. A few experimenting devices sat on the far end of the room, each bubbling and boiling with a familiar element clawing at the ambient mana.

Inverted decay, I realized, my eyes widening slightly as I stared at a particular beaker of blood. Particles of whitish-gray energy swirled within, glowing in the low light. Seris has been concentrating it from her blood somehow.

And as I remembered that plume of white poison centered around the Scythe’s heart, I felt my worries and fears return again. The Vritra-blooded mage’s heartbeat felt strong, but I could still sense that it was a façade on some level. She had never recovered from Chul spiking her heart with Inversion.

I opened my mouth, about to ask if Seris had recovered at all. Last I’d left her, she’d still been struggling to suppress every wave of the energy as it coursed like a recurring heart attack across her very physique. She’d disavowed me trying to heal her, afraid that I would only make it worse.

And I couldn’t deny the possibility. Basilisk blood already reacted poorly to my phoenix will. It was entirely possible I would only allow the angry reverse of decay to tear through her system unchecked, or accidentally strengthen it with my heartfire.

Before I could voice the question, however, Seris spoke up in a clear voice like spring chimes. “A couple of days ago, I sent you on a mission, Toren Daen.” The Vritra-blooded mage clasped her hands overtop her stomach, focusing on the not-so-distant table instead of both Cylrit and I behind her. “I ordered you to return with my Retainer alive and unharmed on an expedition to the Dicathian flying castle.”

Then she turned around, and I could see the mask on her face as cracks spread through it one second at a time. Each twitch of her brow, narrowing of her eyes, and exhale of breath past her pink lips threatened to shatter it all into glass. Her eyes darted to Cylrit, who stood by my side like a steady monolith. I could sense as her resolve hardened under his presence. And when she looked back at me, her eyes glistened slightly with the teasing possibility of a single tear. When she blinked, however, the possibility vanished beneath decades of poise.

“You’ve done as I commanded yet again, Toren, even exceeding my expectations,” she said with forced formality. “But there have clearly been complications regarding your mission.”

Her eyes traveled from each cut and tear in my clothing, lingering particularly long on the yawning, gaping hole across shirt that was mirrored on my back. It wasn’t hard to put together that something had utterly obliterated my stomach just from that.

I chanced a look at the solemn Cylrit, exhaling slightly as I noted how he forced himself to maintain his normal protocol. He never voiced his mind, only speaking when spoken to. He was a doll more than a man, his sole objective to protect the Scythe across from us.

“I don’t think you can ever give me a mission that won’t have complications somewhere,” I said with a bit of a snort. “It’s in the nature of working with you.”

Seris’ eyes tightened imperceptibly at my wording. “You work for me, not with me,” she countered, a bit of her tension releasing at my banter. “Too often, you forget your place.”

“It’s part of my charm,” I argued, puffing out my chest slightly. “I think protocols are for people who don’t want fun. Are you an enemy of fun, Seris?”

Seris scoffed, her shoulders loosening even as her chin rose higher in challenge. “Cylrit, cuff Toren across the back of the head. He has earned himself a lashing most unique.”

I smirked—the exact kind that I knew annoyed Seris to hell and back—then turned to Cylrit, who was looking at me with resigned eyes.

“You wanna try?” I goaded. “I’m pretty sure you can’t.”

Cylrit’s brow twitched. “Master Seris,“ he said, his voice sounding pained, “with all due respect, I do not think that me hitting him would solve anything. His attitude needs a more fundamental adjustment.”

Damn, I thought, the mood lightening in the air as Cylrit hit back. Never knew you had it in you, square-jaw.

I laughed slightly at that, turning back to Seris, who was also restraining a smile. The tension lingering in the room washed away like morning fog banished by the dawn. The Scythe slowly stalked toward me, her chin raised and her eyes narrowed.

Then her hand flashed, before it crashed against my cheek in a weak slap. I allowed my head to turn as it struck, feeling the emotional blow far more than the physical.

The Scythe’s fingers trembled slightly, her smile shaking at its edges. “You fought an asura without my authorization,” she said, her voice wavering. “And nearly got yourself killed when you promised you would not. What will it take for you to simply follow my orders?”

I sighed, reaching out and taking the Scythe’s shoulders. “I’m sorry,” I said honestly, my voice lowering. “I promised you I’d come back, but I shouldn’t have worried you.”

I felt the urge to take Seris in my arms and embrace her, to let her know that I was here. That Taci hadn’t found his success, and that there was still light in this world. But as that impulse clashed with the Scythe staring up at me from barely a foot away, I recognized something else.

“I’ll tell you everything that happened, Seris,” I said softly, pushing aside her insistence from an underlying, nameless fear. And there was a tremendous amount of information she needed to know. Rinia’s message to me would be important, no doubt. And Sylvie’s story of how Agrona had spoken to Arthur was of paramount concern. Alongside this, the Indrath Heir’s defiance of Windsom couldn’t be excluded.

And also… Also, Aurora had awoken, too: and she needed to speak with her captive son.

It was easy for me to tell why Seris was so insistent on me giving a mission report. It helped ease her thoughts, allowing us to fall into an old routine.

“But I really, really need to wash up,” I said lamely. “I don’t have much of a shirt at all, and I’m convinced there’s more blood and dirt on my head than actual hair.”

Seris’ eyes narrowed slightly as I kept her at arm’s length, unwilling to add dust and debris to her careful makeup and pristine appearance. Her eyes lingered on my shoulders contemplatively. “The shirt is not a problem,” she said simply, her implications very clear. “It is an unnecessary article of clothing. Nonetheless, I see what you intend, despite the inaccuracies of your statement.”

I smiled slightly, warmed by the Scythe’s usual teasing. Things can go back to how they were, I thought. They can get better. I spared a glance over at Cylrit. “You know the broad details of what happened, Cylrit,” I said, conveying as much meaning into the look as I could. “Think you can manage to tell Seris everything while I’m gone, or will you trip on your ego?”

Cylrit’s lip curled up into a slight, grateful smile. Something in him was always warmed when he saw Seris act out of common form. “Don’t let your wings catch on the doorframes, Spellsong,” he said gravely. “I’ve given more reports than you ever have.”

I shrugged, moving away from Seris. She looked at Cylrit again, drawing that same strength from his iron, stalwart self. Cylrit and I both knew that his giving a boring, rote report of events would do Seris far more good than me. Even if I thought he should find a new way to fulfill his role as Retainer, we were both united in the goal of Seris’ happiness and fulfillment, even in ways as small as this.

It was only when I was outside the room and I heard Cylrit beginning his report—given in a robotic and monotonous drawl that would have driven me insane if I were in Seris’ position—that I realized I didn’t know where the washrooms were in this castle.

I paused outside the door, momentarily considering if I should barge back in and ask for directions. Then I thought better of it.

I’ll find it eventually, I thought, beginning to walk through the castle. It had low ceilings, enough that I needed to hunch slightly for fear of smacking my head into the roof. I can find a bathroom, can’t I?

As I walked, however, the Unseen World slowly overtook my vision. Aurora walked with me, her steps locked in with mine.

The asuran shade seemed to have the power to shrink herself ever-so-slightly, otherwise she would have been forced to hunch like I was. I found myself envying that power for a while.

“My Chul is in this castle,” the phoenix shade said quietly. “I do not understand how I know, but I do. My battling songbird is here.”

I felt her quiet insistence, desire, and guilt over our bond as she kept her gaze forward. In turn, I struggled to suppress my rage that coated my mind in sudden red. Nothing could make me angry quite like the mention of Chul. At every hint of his name, all the fires and death and destruction from Burim came rushing back all at once like a thousand hammerblows.

Deep breath in, I thought, inhaling. I felt the tattered edges of my clothes against my body, each of them ever-present reminders of my last battle. Deep breath out.

My bond didn’t look at me, the shame too prevalent in her emotions. She didn’t blame Chul for his attack on Burim, not like I did: she blamed herself. She thought she’d done something wrong. Failed somewhere as a mother.

And what can I ever say to ease that wound? I thought, feeling angry hopelessness. Tell her that it’s all on Chul’s shoulders? That every life could have been spared if he’d just listened?

But Aurora knew that. And in her mind, if she had stayed with her son so many years ago and taught him temperance and patience instead of running from his painful visage, he wouldn’t have taken the actions he did on that fateful day.

I needed to remain respectful and calm. For Aurora. It didn’t matter what I thought and felt. Aurora’s feelings were what took precedent, and every instance of my hatred burned her as much as when she’d laid hands on her son. I couldn’t let it show.

“We’ll talk to him next, Aurora,” I said in silent promise. “We’ll reunite with your son.”

—

Being clean had always been a part of my life. I kept everything I owned organized just as meticulously as Seris. In fact, her cleanliness and penchant for order was one of the things that made her attractive to me.

But as the water of the shower washed away the dirt and blood that caked my body, I didn’t feel cleansed. Cramped as I was in a stall far, far too small for me, hunching my back and curling inward as I tried not to slam my elbows and skull into the walls from how small it was, I didn’t feel clean. I didn’t feel my sins or worries or fears washing away in the water.

I saw the pink-stained water rinse into a drain. I knew from Sonar Pulse that the small stream would travel all throughout the castle, before exiting near the base and into the river.

I exited the shower far earlier than I usually did. I usually spent upwards of twenty minutes just feeling the warm water along my back and savoring the removal of all the filth across my body. But when I stepped from the shower and stared into the mirror, I knew why I felt tarnished.

The Brand of the Banished stood darkly on the base of my neck, declaring the truth of my station. With a symbol of a slashed-through flame, I could feel it even in my soul.

In the time I’d spent meditating in Nico’s camp, the reality that I’d have to stay away from Alacrya until I was powerful enough to defy Agrona had made my mind spin and work. I had no other place to go; no avenue of safety. The Hearth would not keep me, and anywhere I ran would only leave me exposed for the forces of Epheotus to pick me off.

I dried myself with a simple application of fire mana, the droplets of water coating my hair and body evaporating. I shook my head, my shoulder-length golden-red hair separating slightly.

I took some time clothing myself again. Tall, leather boots were standard at this point, as were the gray slacks and undershirt that left my arms bare and exposed my oath-chain tattoos. A crimson martial vest with bronze trim adorned me, before a black belt tied my attire together.

I stared into the bathroom mirror for a long time, noting my asuran features with a stern expression. Long enough that the Unseen finally washed over my vision, revealing the burned and charred visage of Lady Dawn behind me.

In my hands rested the djinn medallion that Rinia had given me. With a slight imbuement of mana, it would take me—and a few people whom I might choose—to a distant sanctuary beneath the Darvish wastes. It would be stocked with plenty of food, water, and self-sustaining goods, too.

I would be able to rest there as long as I needed, training to match the asura. And if Chul took that one, final step—if he made a decision to reject the Will of the Clan—then he would join me there, too.

“I don’t know if I can ever be his brother, Aurora,” I said into the stillness as I stared into my reflected eyes. “I know what you want. But he hurt so many people. He drove a stake through Seris’ heart. And thousands will never wake again because of his actions.”

The phoenix behind me swallowed. Though her shade no longer bore a heart, I could feel it shatter over again into a million pieces. “I know,” she replied, squeezing her eyes shut. “I can feel everything you do, Toren. I cannot begrudge you your pain.”

Silence lingered as the mists of the Unseen swirled around the mirror. It hid Lady Dawn from me intermittently, blocking her dimming eyes from my sight.

“But can you please… can you please promise to try?” she asked, each word a plea from the deepest depths of her soul. “I know… I know what you feel. But he is your brother. My son, too. And if you cannot be there for each other… Then I understand. But please, try.”

I exhaled a slow breath, tempted to curl into a ball and never step foot outside this castle ever again as Aurora’s desperate plea washed over me.

“I swear that I’ll try,” I said quietly, tearing the words from my throat. My hands clenched, my nails drawing blood from my palms. “I swear that I’ll try to be a brother to Chul, for you. Despite my pain, I swear that I’ll try.”

The oath-chains on my arm flared with red light as the vow sank into my soul, binding me to my words. And though Aurora hugged me, restraining the urge to weep as she sensed this promise, I still felt cold.