Chapter 52 (Patreon)

Author's Note:

I'll be changing the schedule from 'every 3 days' (essentially two chapters every six days) to 'twice a week' (two chapters every seven days). Don't feel great making this change right at the start of a new month, but some factors came to a head that are basically forcing me to scale back a bit. My physical and mental health have been on the downturn as I've barely had any days off in months - it typically takes me three days of work to produce a chapter, not counting other editing, prep work, my part-time job which I'm committed to for a while, ect. If I don't make some more time for myself I'm going to burn out very soon, and no one wants that.

tl;dr - As of now, you can expect full chapters to update on Monday and Thursday.

I'll keep you guys posted if anything else changes, but I think that should be good for now. Thanks for your patience and your support.

--

“What the fuck?” the Dragonkin exclaimed, standing up from her seat and looking at him like he was a leprechaun that had sprouted out of the ground. She was wearing a sleeveless blue shirt and brown leather traveling pants, both of them weathered through frequent usage. “Are you a Human?”

Rob pressed his lips into a thin smile. “As far as I’m aware. Are you a Dragonkin?”

She blinked, before pointing at her scales, fangs, and claws one after another.

“Thought so,” Rob said.

They stared each other down for a full fifteen seconds.

“So when are you going to get on with it?” Rob said.

She narrowed her eyes by a few millimeters. “Get on with what?”

“With trying to kill me,” Rob said, plainly. “It seems to be most people’s initial greeting when they meet me for the first time. Personally, I’ve always found it to be a strange custom, but who am I to judge alternative cultural norms?”

The Dragonkin’s expression remained stoic until he’d finished speaking. A glimmer of consideration flashed across her face, but it was gone just as quickly as it’d came. “I think I’ll pass,” she said, giving him a small shrug before sitting back down. The Dragonkin turned her attention away from him and took another bite of her sandwich, seeming at peace with herself.

Huh, Rob thought.

Huh, Diplomacy thought.

“...is there room for one more?” Rob asked. “It’s been a long day.” The Dragonkin absently nodded and gestured to a chair at the opposite end of the table. Feeling as he was stuck in a covert Reality TV sketch where a loudmouthed host was seconds away from jumping out of a potted plant and yelling that he’d been punked, Rob took a seat in front of the Dragonkin, folding his hands together as he waited for the other shoe to drop. He repeatedly activated Not A Scratch to nullify whatever surprise attack was forthcoming, but no matter how long he waited with his nerves on a hair trigger, all she did was sit there and nonchalantly enjoy her sandwich. Just your normal everyday woman with the appearance of a supermodel bodybuilder that had bits of lizard DNA spliced in by a mad scientist. The only savagery the Dragonkin employed was towards her meal, which was being devoured at an alarming rate. If she turned those fangs on him, Regrow Limb would end up working overtime.

“So,” Rob started, hoping his thoughts would catch up to his mouth. “Yeah. Hi. Lovely weather we’re having. I assume you have a name?”

“Meyneth.”

She took another large, tooth-filled bite. Her meal would be over within the minute, which would leave them with no choice but to talk. Or stare at each other in silence. That was fast becoming a distinct possibility.

“Okay, I’m going to skip the awkward pleasantries and get right to the point,” Rob said. “Elatra’s hatred of me that stems from a war that I had nothing to do with is unfair, but it’s also universal among everyone else I’ve met. What’s different with you?”

Meyneth took a moment to think over her answer. “Even should I be so inclined to hate you, which I am not, I have no desire to engage in enemy-assisted suicide. Should we fight, you would win.”

Rob arched an eyebrow. “I know I’m a good bit higher-Leveled than you, but aren’t the Dragonkin supposed to be naturally tough?”

She frowned, her claws lengthening by half an inch. “Most of us are.”

He quieted down and let her finish her sandwich in silence.

“Much better,” Meyneth said, after cleaning her plate. “Thank you for your patience.” She sat up straight in her chair and folded her hands together on the table. “Now, in the interest of also getting right to the point, I’m going to skip to the part where I petition for you to spare my life.”

Rob’s mouth fell a quarter-inch open. “I don’t want to kill you. I thought that was pretty well-implied.”

Meyneth’s cat-slit eyes – as golden as the scales on the sides of her face – flickered with disbelief. “Come now. There’s no need to speak in Tylrud’s tongue. I doubt that any Human with the great fortune to survive The Scouring has any love left for the Dragonkin. Not after Queen Ragnavi’s Declaration. I fully well understand your grudge against me, and ask only that you give me enough time to plead my case regarding why I pose no threat to you, and why your enmity should be directed elsewhere.”

Suddenly, Rob felt as if he was looking into a mirror. Meyneth had been boxed into a corner by her own kind’s participation in a war that left deep scars in its survivors, reduced to pleading for their life to avoid death by misaimed retribution. Being on the other end of this all-too-familiar exchange made him feel as disgusted as when he’d been the one in the hot seat. It threw him for enough of a loop that was too put out to try and assuage her fears before she launched into the rest of her sales pitch.

“To make it perfectly clear: I did not take part in The Scouring,” Meyneth said. “I will not deny that the Dragonkin played perhaps the most crucial part in...what happened to the Humans, but I, personally, did not contribute to their final fate. I believe that punishing kin over the actions of their sires is an irrational response sought after by those with minds clouded by pain. Such a notion is, to put it simply, beneath you. Additionally, not only do I lack the combat prowess to defeat you even should I fight with all the might I can bring to bear, I truly have no desire whatsoever to kill you. Your visage inspires no particularly strong feelings within me outside of confusion and curiosity. Should you leave me be, I will never once raise my claws against you.”

She leaned in slightly closer. “I ask not that we become fast friends – that would be too much. But at the very least, we can be cordial and learn from each...other...oh, dear. Where did I lose you?”

Rob had started rubbing his temples as she reached the end of her spiel. “Look, I’m sorry, it was a good speech, but it was unnecessary. I have no desire to fight you and never did.”

Meyneth narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps it is foolish of me to deny your claim, but I’m sure you understand why I cannot help but find that difficult to believe.”

“My Deception Skill is Level 2,” Rob said. “What you see is what you get. I may be a dashingly handsome, one-in-a-million phenomenon, but a liar? Couldn’t do it if I tried.” He sighed. “Which I have. Doesn’t usually turn out so great.”

He drummed his fingers on the table. “If you can’t believe that right away, yeah, I get it too. But at least try to trust me when I say that, fuck, I am thoroughly tired of violence. This may not be the way I expected my first meeting with a Dragonkin to go, but I’m all for it.”

‘Not A Scratch’, he thought, activating it for the umpteenth time. The Skill went on cooldown and the Stamina cost was incurred when the buff was consumed, not when the Skill was activated, which meant he could keep it up consistently for as long as he wanted until he took damage once.

Just because he was happy that their conversation hadn’t broken out into a fight didn’t mean that he was going to forego precaution. Trust, but verify.

Meyneth drummed her fingers on the table as well, her claws making sharp tapping noises on the hardwood exterior. “You are not at all what I expected from a chance encounter with the last survivor of a vengeful warrior race.”

“Would it help if we exchanged backstories?”

“Backstories?”

Ron gave her a small grin. “The abridged version of our life stories. Where we came from, where we are now, where we’re going. It’ll help us get to know each other better.”

In truth, Rob should probably have bid her a good day and exited the premises as quickly as he could. Even if she somehow turned out to be a secret Dragonkin saboteur sent to scout out the Human lands, he wasn’t going to attack her without provocation. It just wasn’t his style. Additionally, she wasn’t part of the Deserters, nor was it likely that he would see her face again after they parted ways. He had no reason to get emotionally invested in a complete stranger when he had friends who were worrying about him at this very moment while he sat and exchanged niceties with an Amazonian blender.

He also wasn’t surprised in the slightest that he chose to keep making conversation with her. She was the sole person on Elatra he’d met so far who hadn’t freaked out upon learning that a Human was still alive and kicking. Granted, she was fearing for her life, but her sole worry was limited to him taking revenge over The Scouring. It was a basic, normal, understandable concern to have. She hadn’t called him a monster, or denied his existence as unnatural. She was treating him like a person. A person to be wary of, but a person nonetheless. That meant something to him, like when someone took the time to respond to you after the group conversation passed you by ten times in a row.

Meyneth took a few seconds to consider his request. “Learning more about each other would go a long way towards reducing tensions,” she conceded. “But I must respectfully decline your offer.”

“Aw, come on,” Rob said. “I’m not gonna judge. How about I throw out some guesses and you tell me if I’m right? Are you a Dragonkin secret agent? An explorer struck by wanderlust? Maybe-”

Her claws extended by a fraction as she dragged them across the table, leaving deep scratches in the wood. She locked eyes with Rob for a second before averting her gaze, her lips curled into a soundless snarl. “What exactly would you have me say?” she asked, in curt tone. “I am alone in a deserted military fortress in Human lands located well north of the Dragonkin borders. Surely you can infer that, had circumstances been different, this is not the life I would have chosen for myself? Even if you’re personally fine with discussing unhappy memories – of which I’m sure you have many – why is it so difficult to understand that someone else might wish to hold them close to their heart?”

Rob slumped down in his chair. “Sorry,” he said, putting meaning into the word. “You’re right; I shouldn’t have pushed. I was just, well, a little overly excited to talk with someone who was treating me normal.”

Meyneth’s eyes widened by a fraction. “Ah,” she said. “I suppose I cannot find too much fault with that.”

The two of them sat in a silence that was somewhere between awkward and contemplative, like they’d taken a bite of good food that left a bitter aftertaste and were deciding whether or not it was worth it to try more.

“When did you arrive here?” Meyneth suddenly said. “I may not be near the front entrance at all times, but I am inclined to consider it a minor personal failure that I failed to sense your coming. Especially if you’ve been here long enough to explore the upper areas.”

Rob grimaced. “Yeeeeah. About that. You know the Mines left around the borders of the Human territory?”

She nodded. “I had to take a wide berth around them to find an area where they weren’t infesting the ground. It lengthened my sojourn into Human territory by much longer than I anticipated.”

“That sounds like a great idea which I didn’t do.” Not that he could have, with the Deserters on a time crunch. “I triggered a Mine which transported me to the prison on the top floor.”

Meyneth leaned forward, interest plain on her face. “In a cell?”

“In a chair.”

She glanced at his arms, frowning at the sight of his musculature. Rob was mildly proud that he was getting kind of ripped – only mildly, as the system probably had something to do with him reaching peak condition – but ripped was a far cry from the bulging tree trunks his arms would have needed to be to bust out of one of the Dwarven-forged chairs. “Just how much Strength do you have?”

“Not nearly enough to escape by brute force.”

“Then how did you?”

Rob grinned. “Trade secret.”

Meyneth let out a small sigh. “It would be hypocritical of me to complain about you keeping information close to your chest, but must you pique my interest so, only to deny me the ending of the most interesting tale I’ve heard in months?”

“Eh, give it a few hours,” Rob admitted. “My track record for keeping secrets is spotty at best.” He floundered for a moment to find a new topic of conversation, discarding questions like ‘how long have you been here?’ for fear of pushing against her desire for privacy. Eventually, he settled on a safe topic that had no cultural barriers.

“There any food around here?” Rob asked. “I’m interested in Human military cuisine. It probably tastes like shit, but I’ll try anything once.”

She shook her head. “Very little remains. The vast majority of it spoiled in the eight years since The Cataclysm, and I’ve been rationing the rest that managed to be preserved. Your assumption that it tastes like shit is wholly correct. Even so, it’s kept me alive up until this point, and I’m not looking forward to  when I must leave this fortress to seek another place of refuge that hopefully has more supplies.”

“If you’ve been rationing food, does that mean you’re hungry?”

Meyneth rolled her cat-slitted eyes. “Yes, Human. I am hungry.”

Rob held out his hand. Meyneth jerked back and extended her claws as blue motes swirled, her alarm giving way to stupefaction as a pile of berries appeared on the tabletop.

“Bon appétit,” Ron said. “I made sure to give you the good kinds. We don’t talk about the not-so-good kinds.”

Meyneth picked up a berry and stared at it like it had fallen out of the sky. “Forgive my hypocrisy, again, but how?”

Rob raised his eyebrows. “Do you want the short version or the long version?”

–

She elected for the long version, and sat through the entire tale in rapt attention, popping berries into her mouth like she was eating popcorn at the movies. Rob told her everything, from start to finish, excluding some of his more questionable moments as was his right as the storyteller. By the time he was finished, his mouth was dry and a sense of satisfaction had spread over him like a warm blanket. Venting about his trials and tribulations in Elatra to a captive audience was all kinds of cathartic.

Meyneth stared at him with an indecipherable expression. “I believe maybe half of that,” she finally said. “But even half of it being true would imply that the world has descended into a degree of insanity that I am not currently equipped to handle. What in Tylrud’s name do I attempt to process first?”

Rob smiled wide and gave her a thumbs-up. “Welcome to my life. I’ve been leapfrogging from one messed-up scenario to another ever since I got to this stupid fucking world. You get used to it. Kind of.”

She didn’t respond, electing to stare at the wall with a faraway expression. Rob leaned back and kept quiet, giving her time to come to terms with everything she’d just heard. From an Earth standpoint, he’d just told her that an Elf from another dimension had arrived out of nowhere, a civil war had broken out which led to the population of an American state up and leaving, and that Lovecraftian horrors from beyond the veil were trying to jumpstart the apocalypse.

In retrospect, maybe he should have spaced out the revelations a bit more.

After a few minutes of contemplation. Meyneth shook her head and growled. “I don’t know what to do with any of that information. The world is going to shit and I’m sitting here twiddling my claws. Yet even should I try to make a difference, it is highly unlikely that I would be able to do anything except make a mockery of myself. My options are try and fail, or not try and fall into self-loathing. Just what am I supposed to do?”

“Whatever you want,” Rob said. “No one is forcing you to try and do something about it. There’s no shame in living life the way you were before.”

She let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “I can’t in good conscience call this living,” she muttered. “Surviving, perhaps. My daily routine already consists of hours of staring into the distance, wondering what could have been.”

The calm, collected countenance she’d put on before was rapidly crumbling away, revealing the bruised core of pain and sorrow that lay underneath.

Hmm.

Rob, are you sure about that decision you just made? Diplomacy cautioned.

Nope.

“Why don’t you come with me?” Rob offered. “Join up with the Deserters. It’s for a good cause, and I am definitely not biased when I say that. At the very least, you’ll be in good company.”

Meyneth gaped at him in disbelief. “Human, we have known each other for half an hour.”

“My name is Rob,” he said. “And that’s fine. I started trusting my current best friend in this world within five minutes of meeting her, and that was after she almost choked me to death. As far as I’m concerned, you’re ahead of the curve.”

Meyneth grit her sharklike teeth as a war waged within her. The fact that she was considering his offer at all made Rob confident that he’d made the right choice. Only a person with a sense of loneliness as deep-seated as a chasm would up and leave with a stranger the second that social interaction was dangled in front of them.

“Give me a day to decide,” she said, in a near whisper.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t give you more than an hour,” Rob said. “My friends are probably freaking the fuck out right now. Can’t delay our heartwarming reunion any longer than necessary.”

Meyneth screwed her eyes shut and left the cafeteria without another word, her muscles taut as corded rope.

This is reckless in the extreme, Diplomacy said. She could-

She could have been me, Rob interjected. Imagine if I’d never met the Elves, and by some miracle, nothing in Ixatan ever managed to kill me. I’d be by myself, losing my mind, desperate for human contact. Lonely and miserable and bitter. I don’t know exactly what her deal is, but I’d say it’s pretty apparent she has no one left to turn to. When I look at her, I see one of the possible futures I could have ended up in after being thrown into Elatra. And honestly? I’d take the insane bullshit I’ve had to deal with over the sort of externally-imposed hermit lifestyle she’s enduring right now.

And yes, Rob continued, before Diplomacy could say anything. She might turn on me. What else is new? I can count the number of people I can completely trust on one hand. The last time I met new people on equal footing, it ended with me decapitating two of them to avoid being killed or kidnapped. It’s just the nature of the beast that is Elatra. Doesn’t mean I’m going to stop extending my hand to those who might take it. It won’t always work, but I’ll never know if I don’t try. If I could stand to smile and make nice when the Village collectively hated me, I can sure as hell reach out to a lost soul who desperately needs someone to talk to. Kindness doesn’t cost anything. If she betrays my trust, well, that’s all she was. I can deal. But if she doesn’t, then hey, I’ve got a new friend, and so does she.

Diplomacy was silent. I have to ask, the Skill said, as it’s important for you to consider your own motivations. Are you doing this for her, or for yourself?

Both, Rob answered, without hesitation.

The Skill nodded. As long as you know.

–

“You swore to him that it was safe!”

Keira held back a cough as she used up precious air to vent her wrath. Post-healing exhaustion had hit her like a greatsword, and her body was pleading with her to calm down and let the peace of sleep overtake her. But while her muscles were limp and weary, her mind contained the fury of a hundred Firebombs exploding in unison. There wasn’t an acceptable target to smash into paste, and her body wouldn’t be able to cooperate even if there was, so for now the one recourse she had was to use her lungs and vocal cords to let everyone know exactly what she thought about the situation she’d woken up to.

“Humans during The Scouring always attuned their Mines to exclude their own race,” Alessia explained, her voice like the serene waters of an undisturbed lake. “Not once did I ever encounter a Mine that acted differently.”

“And you didn’t consider that your own experiences may not have accounted for the totality of the Humans’ strategy?” Keira stood up from her cot on trembling legs, pushing away the Healer who tried to coax her back to rest. “Or that the Mines might have degraded in the eight years since the Scouring, their complicated inner workings coming undone by ambient mana or the Cataclysm reshaping the lands? Tell me straight to my face that not one single flaw in your reasoning occurred to you when forming that brilliant plan of yours.”

Keira was being unfair. She knew so. Had she herself spent more time thinking about the potential faults in their plan to clear the Mines, she could have come up with those possibilities entirely on her own. Elder Alessia was not solely to blame.

It didn’t matter. The logic behind what had happened was immaterial. Keira didn’t want to argue.

She wanted to hurt someone.

“None of those potential setbacks occurred to me,” Elder Alessia replied. Her voice still had that air of placid neutrality about it, and it inflamed the fires of Keira’s rage even further. “We were in a hurry to escape to the Human lands, and rushed into a situation that required more forethought than we gave it.”

“Who is this ‘we’ you speak of?” Keira’s face contorted into a twisted grimace. “The plan was yours. Crafted, explained, and implemented by you. I can’t help but wonder if this was some sort of convoluted ploy to eliminate Rob – the Human you so hated is gone, sent off to a place only Lothren knows, and all without you having to lift a single finger.”

Elder Alessia’s face remained still as stone. Despite that, Keira got the impression that the Elder felt like she’d been slapped by a hand wearing a spiked gauntlet. “That was not my intention,” she said. “But I cannot deny that a part of my subconscious may have placed a lower priority on his well-being than I should have when designing his role in our – in my plan.”

She fell silent, the light in her eyes darkening slightly. “I have erred. I am sorry.” Her face twitched, breaking the mask of serenity for an instant. “I will make things right.”

With those three terse statements, Elder Alessia walked quickly out of their tent, fleeing from Keira’s accusations like they were arrows shot from a bow. Keira spat out a curse as she punched the ground, startling the poor Healer who had been forced to witness the entire affair. Despite everything she’d said, taking out all her anger – both justified and unjustified – on Alessia, she felt no better. Now she was angry and disgusted with herself.

Keira ignored the Healer’s protestations and stomped out of the tent. Well, with her fatigued legs it more resembled a toddler learning how to walk, but the intent was there. The sun had halfway dipped below the horizon, providing the one saving grace of the entire situation; it was too dark for the civilians to notice her as she made her way towards the field of Mines connecting the two ends of the Scar. The people had questions, so many questions, and she had no answers to give them.

For even those who cared little for Rob were panicking at the loss of over half their food supply, packed securely in his Spatial Storage and whisked away to parts unknown.

To Keira’s surprise, Zamira rushed over, a silver blur sprinting out of the darkness. Keira almost asked how the Swordmaster had known when she would wake from unconsciousness and where she would have headed right after, before soon realizing that Zamira must have been watching over her tent ever since her rescue from the Mines. Which had been hours ago.

It was...comforting, to know that Zamira cared to that degree. The anger smoldering inside dimmed from a raging inferno to a sizzling bonfire. Without saying a word, Zamira grabbed Keira’s hand and held tight, a grip that Keira returned. There was nothing to be said that they weren’t already aware of; empty platitudes would mean nothing, and discussing the worst-case possibilities out loud would hardly help improve their moods. What purpose would it serve to converse about how for all they knew, Rob may have been transported a thousand feet out into the middle of the ocean, or a thousand feet up in the air, or a thousand feet down underground? It was bad enough that she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Speaking aloud would give credence to ideas that were better left unsaid.

Keira’s legs, damned quitters that they were, couldn’t make the full trip before they gave out. Zamira caught her and gave her a shoulder to lean on, taking over walking duties for the both of them. Keira distracted herself from her embarrassment by forcing herself to confront the fact that she didn’t quite know what she was doing in this particular moment in time. It’s not like Rob would be waiting there for them, lounging in the grass and watching the sunset as he wondered what was taking them so long. And she couldn’t unleash her ire on the Mines; it wouldn’t be safe, and glaring daggers at them from a distance had no effect on them. That much had been tried and tested.

But she had to do something, even if that something was just to stare into the distance and put her thoughts in order so that she would be ready when the call to action inevitably came. Sitting around and waiting for the world to pass her by was a notion that made her skin crawl.

That one goal, the driving force keeping her going, was cut short when she and Zamira reached the Mines and discovered that they weren’t alone.

Orn’tol and Malika were sitting within the Human territory. Not close; within. Keira found her second wind as she pushed her shambling legs into a run, flipping through her mental scrapbook as she tried to remember if that section of the Mine-laden territory was one that had been cleared. It would have been easier to remember had she not recently suffered a godsdamned concussion.

Fuck it, she thought, barreling across the border and straight towards the young siblings as Zamira yelped in protest. Keira collapsed to her knees next to them, panting heavily as she grabbed Orn’tol’s shoulders, lifted him into the air, and shook him like a ragdoll. “What. Were. You. Thinki-”

Orn’tol covered her mouth and shook his head. He pointed a finger at Malika, who at first glance was staring at nothing in particular, but at second glance had unblinking eyes of fierce will, the young girl examining aspects of the world that were invisible to the rest of them.

“Don’t break her concentration,” Orn’tol whispered. “She’s Sensing Mana.”

Keira turned to look at Malika. She sucked in air through her teeth as she noticed the seven flasks of MP Potions laying at the girl’s feet, each one drained to the last drop.

“...she’s using Mana Burn to empower her senses,” Orn’tol muttered. “Says she’s close. Just needs a bit more of a push before she Levels the Skill again.”

“Orn’tol,” Keira said, in a tone of horrified admonishment. “She will subject herself to mana poisoning. If she hasn’t already.”

The boy slammed his eyes shut and grimaced. After a few seconds, he let out a long, shuddering breath. “I trust her,” he said, as if saying the words was equivalent to ripping out a tooth.

A few minutes later, his trust was rewarded.

“There,” Malika said. She pointed roughly northwest and spoke in a voice like she’d just woken from a dream. “It goes that way. A teleport isn’t instant. It moves in a line, very, very fast. And that line leaves a trail.”

She put on a grin that was smug and weary in equal measure. “Who’s up for teaching me Tracking?”

--

Thanks for reading!