Chapter 280: What the Pages Whisper

Thank you to my beta reader and editor, GlassThreads!

Toren Daen

The oceans burned in my dreams. The Sea of my Soul flashed and churned with angry torrents as time slipped by meaninglessly. Sometimes I was drowning, thrashing through a mist of memories as they blackened my heart. Others, I managed to tread water, gasping for air.

I saw flashes outside. Dark walls and the scent of iron and copper. Rough hands, warmth and worried voices.

Then I was submerged again in that boiling sea. The spire of banishment made everything hot, made my heart beat in my chest as if it wanted to tear its way out.

More flashes. Onyx eyes and severe, pale skin. Silver hair and the scent of roses. A hand over my forehead.

I screamed in my dreams. A severed sun, bleeding the love of his mother. A turbulent, raging star that was riddled with scars. It pulsed with every inch of tremorous pain. A dark moon with no more masks. A weakly pulsing shield, littered with cracks. A crown of family and steel, halfway forged into a sword.

Chul. Aurora. Seris. Cylrit. Arthur.

More and more, these images crashed through my very soul. I forgot who I was. Then I remembered it again, trying to pull back. But then I forgot again amidst the storm. Birdsong and the rustling of autumn leaves echoed all around me in half-known memories.

"I have more freedom here than I enjoyed in an age."

"A birdcage of oaths for one of silver vines and autumn leaves?"

"I love you, Chul! Let us stop this madness!"

The screams of innocents dying, dying under my watch. Their heartfire scraping at my bones.

Pain. Pain and agony like I had never known. The sea became blood as I drowned. That scent of copper and iron became an overwhelming sensation as I sank like a stone in the unending tide of red.

My Sea wasn't water anymore. No, it was blood.

That red burned everything. It boiled away my skin, sinking deep into my muscles and tearing at my nerves. And when I opened my mouth to scream, to beg for my mother, only an infinite tide of sloshing curdled crimson. It squeezed itself through my pores, in the spaces between my eyes and my skull. My wings shattered and broke, splintering and adding only more to the unending flood.

Nobody came. I was alone as that boiling sea drew me deeper in, as my very soul devoured me. Not-thoughts came and went as the bloody abyss reflected itself above the surface beside a reddened, broken sun.

But as I drowned in my very soul, space warping and twisting into things that should not be and thoughts that could not be known, I… started to hear it.

In between the weaves of sorrow, agony, and darkness, there was a… flow. Even in how I drowned, pulling myself about my own ravaged soul as I struggled not to be overwhelmed, there was a cadence to it. A rhythm in the stars and sonata in the blood.

Every cry for help and anguished pulse of my heart only seemed to add to this echoing symphony of despair. Each pulse was a note that pulled me over and under and through.

I was naught but a tapestry of bones as the hateful crimson boiled my flesh away. And when the mortality had been scoured away–

I opened my eyes, like a corpse that lived again.

My senses flowed back toward me slowly, each one taking painful time. The sloshing of blood in my meat puppet of a body. My breathing in my ragged chest, my ribs rattling. The ache of my core and every single muscle as they squeezed. The distant sounds of chugging, rugged steel.

And the wetness on my skin. The clingy, sticky sensation of blood. The unending smell of it as it painstakingly worked through my sinuses, staining them with guilt and iron.

I was in a tub of some sort, submerged in a pool of blood. The lifeforce within hummed with a dying tune, before it was drawn almost subconsciously through my scarred, burned skin. My heart cycled and dominated that heartfire, using it to bolster my body's healing process.

I laid there for a time, watching the back-and-forth flow of that blood. The phantom sensation of my body melting away in boiling blood made it shiver unconsciously.

This wasn't really boiling. But it was warm. Far, far too warm. My body, too. A fever churned beneath my skin, drawing sweat from every pore.

I dully observed the rest of the room. I recognized it with ease.

Seris' room. I was in Seris' room. The only illumination was a few candles that flickered all around, casting shadows on the stones. On the far edge of the room, a tall mirror stood like a portal to hell, and next to it was an iron dresser bolted to the floor.

I was alone.

I slowly raised myself from the tub, the blood streaming off me. The red waves clung to my skin, sinking into the uncountable scars and burns littering my body. Each droplet sank its claws into my flesh greedily, refusing to leave me unstained.

I stared down mutely at the stump of my left arm, feeling the weakness of my heart. My lifespan was nearly crippled, torn as it had been since I healed my core in a reckless bid.

The blood coating my body and swishing around my legs steamed as I began to consciously draw the heartfire from it. I didn't know where it had come from, didn't know what beast had sacrificed itself to give me life again. But as the motes of heartfire slowly flowed into my weakened heart, then out along my limb, I felt a mix of gratitude and disgust.

Red mist rose from my skin as I absorbed the blood, my flesh and bones gradually reknitting. My heartbeat was a painful, raw thing as I watched my arm grow back, almost like watching time flow backward. Bone sprouted like a spear, before flesh wove itself around like strong fibers. Tendons and sinew stretched between that, making way for pale skin.

When I was done, the tub was empty. I stared at the pristine hand as if it weren't my own. Scars still remained along the top of my hand where Seris had claimed me. The runic oath-chains had followed, too. They weren't a thing of flesh, not really. Just like the Brand of the Banished, they were a physical representation of my soul pressing against my Vessel.

I stepped outside of the tub on shaking legs, my eyes darting to the dresser. Lethargically, I made my way there one weary step at a time

A set of clothes and undergarments had been laid atop the metal, fitted perfectly for me.

Crimson, I thought with amusement, noting the tight-fitting shirt's color. Like blood.

Black pants fit nicely over my toned body as I got dressed, following an echo of a routine. My fingers worked at a belt as I knotted it, then moved with old grace as I pulled the shirt over my head.

My breathing hitched as I finally pulled the shirt on, leaning over the dresser as I fought to keep my balance. My vision swam as flashes of dying men and cracking stalactites threatened to overwhelm me. A headache pounded in the back of my skull like a heartbeat.

No. Don't think about that, I told myself, holding back a groan. My hands clenched around the iron dresser, my fingers sinking deep into the metal. Not right now.

I forced my eyes to look anywhere but at my bloodstained hands. The walls, the tub, the nearby bed. The top of the dresser.

My dimension ring rested there, glistening silver. I reached out a hand toward it, putting it on. Everything was still inside. The two phoenix wyrm pendants. My violin and bow. My journal, noting all I knew of that otherworld novel.

My journal.

I withdrew it hesitantly, the familiar weight settling into my hands. It waited there like a bible waited for a sinner, demanding they confess and repent, judging them for their wrongs.

I brushed a tentative hand across it, fingers trembling, before I finally clutched the blackened leather. I held it close to my chest as I hobbled toward the bed, the sway of my balance threatening to break my stance at any moment.

I sank into Seris' bed. My headache was no longer a drumbeat in my skull that reverberated down my spine. Now, it was a lulling metronome.

And then I started to read.

It had been so, so long since I'd read any sort of story. So long since I immersed myself in another world. But as the familiar notes on The Beginning After the End flowed through my head, deciphered at speed, I found myself sinking into who I used to be. The naive man who thought there could be a good ending for everyone.

Hours passed as I read, remembering old nostalgia. I felt little swells of triumph at each recalled sentence of Arthur's victory. The depths of despair at his losses and fights with his loved ones. Little embers of hope as he forged ahead despite it all, being what I wanted to be.

My mind was silent, cold and dark except for the turning of each page. For the first time in what felt like centuries, I only had my own thoughts to guide me as each swish of paper tore cuts along my hope like the simple sweep of a saber.

In what world are countless civilians massacred? I thought, my mind hazy as I turned another page. It must have been hours since I started. The beast horde being sent against the Dicathians… In what world can that lead to a happy ending?

Another page turned.

In what world do thousands of dwarves die, swallowed by a flood of magma? I wondered, my vision blurring as I tried to read the pages. My fingers trembled. In what world does my brother try and kill the woman I love?

A sob wrenched itself from my throat, and I couldn't hold it back anymore. The book slipped from my fingers, falling like a dropped stone to the floor, but I didn't hear it hit the ground. My fingers dug through my hair as I gnashed my teeth in silent pain.

In what world does this become anything good?

I wept alone in the room, my tears flowing. I sobbed, sometimes. But what use was that sound when there was nobody to hear? My shoulders shook as each teardrop fell like a stalactite toward those I'd sworn to protect.

Aurora was silent. Her soul had been burned simply from trying to shelter Chul from the lava. Merely touching her own son nearly killed her all over again.

A presence finally caught my attention as it approached. A faint heartbeat that should be stronger, and a powerful wave of intent like a bottled hurricane.

I lowered my shaking hands, grasping at the singed notebook. I clutched it, feeling it burn me like the brand on my neck. My fingers fumbled for a second or two, my movements uncoordinated, before I finally got a hold on it.

And the door swung open slowly, heralding the entrance of another.

Seris stepped inside, her dark dress swirling around her like phantom fog. From her impassive, severe expression and the way her eyes churned, I recognized the mask of a Scythe on the small woman's face.

And then she turned to look at me, and that mask softened somewhat as her eyes trailed over me. She gently closed the door behind her, still looking at me with an unreadable expression.

A long silence stretched between us. I didn't know if I should speak, or what I could say. So I just… didn't say anything at all. I didn't have the energy deep in my soul to make my mouth move and force my tongue to form words.

Seris eventually moved. The normal grace that followed every one of her movements had… shifted, somehow. Changed. As if she were a slithering serpent rather than an ethereal fae.

She sat down on the edge of the bed next to me hesitantly, before trying to link her arm through mine. But when I didn't react to her gesture, she instead folded them over her lap. Our shadows overlapped behind us, becoming one, dark creature.

"What's in that book, Toren?" she finally asked, her silver hair a thousand rays of moonlight as it brushed against my shoulder. Her eyes traced over the leather cover, lingering on the old symbol of Named Blood Daen in the corner.

I didn't respond for a time, only listening to silence. "A broken dream," I replied at last, my mouth struggling to form the words. My voice sounded raw and ragged; tired in a way I could never understand. "Just a broken dream, Seris. It doesn't matter anymore."

She didn't ask anything more for a time. Instead, she laid her head against my shoulder, her dark horns brushing against me. The mirror across from us reflected her gaze as she observed us both.

I wonder what she sees there? I thought, looking into my mirrored eyes. They were dark and red-rimmed from my earlier weeping. She sees so, so much.

But when my eyes shifted to hers, I felt something in my cracked heart clench.

Because hers were the same. It was hidden better, of course. Masked with makeup, power, and an imperial gaze. But signs of distress were there if you knew Seris. Knew the depths of her heart.

"Seris," I said, turning slightly on instinct as I honed in on that sheltered grief. "Are you–"

"Not right now, Toren," she interrupted, still watching herself in the mirror in an almost calculating way. "Keep your mind away from mine."

I flinched, but thoughts of the Scythe brought other memories to the fore. Of Inversion thrusting from her chest. "Seris, your heart," I said, turning slightly. "I didn't fully heal–"

"It is fixed," she cut through my words coolly for the second time. Her arm laced through mine, and this time I let it. Her slim hand clenched over mine, almost enough to bring pain. "I saw to it."

My brows furrowed with worry. That deep white infection of inverted decay had been worming its way from Seris' heart the last time I'd spoken with her, taking its sweet time in corruption. I honed in a bit on my ears, trying to–

"Why did this happen, Toren?" she asked, breaking my concentration. "Tell me."

I squeezed my eyes shut, my mouth opening. Then it closed again, and I looked away, unable to bear the sight of the woman I'd failed.

"Tell me why Burim broke," she demanded again. "Why did one you promised would help try and raze everything to the ground?"

I pulled my hand away from Seris', unworthy of the warmth. Her eyes tightened.

"Chul had already left the Hearth when I arrived there," I said quietly. "He'd been gone for a long time, searching for his mother. Something about her reincarnation arts, or something I'd done, reflected back to the Hearth. They knew that she was alive."

Seris shifted slightly on the bed, moving closer to me. She raised both of her hands, and for a moment I thought she would wrap them around my throat. But instead, she slowly pulled back the collar of my shirt, revealing the Brand of the Banished on the base of my neck.

The tip of her finger traced over the symbol of slashed-through fire, her nail digging into my skin. The dark digit was rigid like a knife as the pad sent goosebumps along my neck.

"Am I to expect the rest of the Asclepius Clan to rain hellfire down on us, too?" she asked, her eyes glued to the symbol.

"No," I whispered, visions of my failure flashing through my skull. "They'll never send aid to any side in this war. And Chul… he thought I was a prison for her."

Silence trailed in the wake of my words as Seris' finger continued to trace the Brand on my throat.

"She isn't here, is she?" the Scythe asked lowly. "Lady Dawn is not present with us."

I shook my head, staring at myself in the mirror. Seris' hands slowly released my collar, instead clutching at my arm in a desperate, almost possessive sort of way. Her eyes churned, secrets and raw fury burning in their depths.

"Then we're alone," Seris said, pressing closer to me. It wasn't the comforting nuzzle she normally did whenever she desired warmth, laced with intimacy and care. This was more like a thief hiding in the shadows to escape the light. "We're all we have left, Toren."

Seris' hand peeled open my fingers, pressing something there. The warm, familiar touch of Aurora's relic almost seemed to burn as the Scythe closed my digits around it.

That was… something. The relic had survived the cataclysm. But Inversion… I couldn't sense it anymore.

"What now?" I asked emptily, staring up at the ceiling. "What do I do now, Seris? I… Where do I go from here?"

I'd always had a sense of purpose ever since coming to this world. A sort of drive that pushed one foot in front of the other. But as I started thinking of what might be after this war, the Hearth and Aurora had always burned like bright stars of possibility in my mind.

That short time I'd spent at the Hearth had felt like a lifetime. A fleeting glimpse of everything I desired, like a lit candle casting a warm glow on a hidden painting. But that light had been snuffed out, the candle wax strewn across the floor by my banishment.

"This war will be over soon," Seris said, holding my arm like a vise. Her face was a painted mask, so full of cracks. "I've been ordered to finish it with a newly arrived fleet, and that is what we shall do. We will return to Alacrya then, Toren. We cannot doubt the future."

I opened my mouth, my tongue heavier than any lead. We couldn't doubt the future? The notebook in my hand suddenly drew my mind like a burning star. "I need to heal this city," I said quietly. "They need me to help fix what I broke."

Seris' arm tightened around mine. "No," she rebutted, her voice cool as a grave. There was something unnerving in her eyes that made goosebumps trail along my skin. "No, Toren. You will stay here in my rooms until you've recovered. I won't allow you out into that city."

My brow furrowed as Seris' fingers dug into my skin like claws. "Seris, I need to do what I can," I insisted, emotions and needs fighting to be known in my words. My voice came out stronger than I expected. "I promised the dwarves hope. I already–"

"Broke it?" the Scythe said, her eyes narrowing as they pierced mine in the mirror. "You broke the hope you promised?"

I recoiled as if I'd been slapped, her words sinking deeper into my flesh than any of Chul's strikes. I pulled away from the Scythe, feeling unworthy of the closeness.

I'd given Seris hope. She said as much. But had I broken her hope, too? Had I…

I didn't dare look Seris in the eyes. I was too cowardly; too fearful of what I might find. My actions had already resulted in Aurora being stripped of her family. I didn't want to risk seeing the woman I loved stripped of her hope, too.

We sat in silence for a long, long time as I fermented in my thoughts. A swirling mix of blame, hatred, guilt, and sorrow made my soul churn as I tried to make something cohesive out of all of it.

"I sent many of our troops up the Sehz River," Seris said after a moment, sitting like a doll on the bed. "They'll be making pushes for Blackbend at the forks in the flow. Once we capture Blackbend, Sapin will fall soon after if we maintain such momentum. That is what they'll expect."

I didn't really hear the Scythe as she spoke, still engrossed in my own thoughts and questions. But the words she spoke next banished every single bit of mental stability I'd cobbled together in this past hour or so.

"King Arthur will be on guard from his southern front," the Scythe said, more to herself than to me. "I'll press him from the west as well. That's the best option to–"

"King Arthur?" I asked, my blood freezing in my veins. My body went rigid, my hands tensing over my lap.

Seris tilted her head, her moon-blessed hair cascading down her dark dress like a river of quicksilver. There was something sharp and inquisitive in her expression as she stared at me, every look carving away my secrets. "You wouldn't know about this, would you?" she said serenely, not moving an inch from the bed. "You were gone when–"

I grasped the Scythe's slim shoulders, holding them as much for support as I did in demand. She didn't react. "Seris, does this mean what I think it does? That Arthur Leywin is some sort of King?"

Seris observed me casually, my panic and worry washing over her like spring rain. "Shortly after you left for the Hearth, Epheotus intervened in the crumbling Council to prop up their own little regime, with an asura poised at the head."

"No," I said in denial, taking my hands from Seris' shoulders. "That doesn't make sense. That would be breaking the treaty!"

"And Aurora Asclepius' presence can't be construed as such?" Seris countered, tilting her head as she stared through me. "The only action this asura is allowed to do openly is rip you apart, Toren. 'Even the playing field.' But regardless, someone else intervened, offering themself as candidate for Commander."

I slumped in the bed, splaying myself out across the sheets in utter defeat.

Arthur would never take the mantle of King again. He shouldn't ever take it up. He cared too much about his family. Hated what he used to be too much. There was nothing that could change that.

But then I thought of all the death and destruction that had ravaged Sapin these past few months. In a timeline now lost, Agrona had restrained his actions against the populace in an attempt to sway Arthur to his side. But if he were destroying everything, putting Arthur's family in jeopardy…

Ultimately, though, I didn't know. Things had changed too much. All I had was speculation.

What must he be feeling? I wondered emptily, my arms stretched out on the bed like a corpse. My long hair flared around me like a broken halo. I felt my exhaustion crashing back into me as I tried to understand all of it.

A single, terrifying thought peeked its horrifying visage over the horizon of my mind.

If Arthur is some sort of King, I wondered with dread, will he ever form his aether core? If he's in charge of this continent, can I even expect him to be the pillar of power he needs to be?

Seris' shadow was long and dark as it draped over me like morning mist. All I could do was ask questions that had no answers, and lament a future I might have already destroyed.