Chapter 54 (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.

--

Rob opened his eyes and shut them a moment later when searing light drilled straight into his brain. The gentle sunlit rays of an early morning had never felt so cruel and uncaring. His head was pounding like a drum, and whatever soft material he was resting on did nothing to dull the insistent agony in his temples. It took a while before the pain had relaxed enough for him to begin to form a coherent thought.

God, how much did I drink last night? He pressed his hand over his eyes to make sure not one iota of light got through. This is easily the worst hangover I’ve ever had. Never thought Jeff’s birthday bash would be topped, but this-

Oh. Right.

In his migraine-induced daze, Rob had forgotten where he was. Only for a brief moment, but that was long enough for a pang of nostalgia to cut through him like a hot knife.

Rob couldn’t help but chuckle at himself for getting sentimental over hangovers. The slight motion worsened the pain in his head and did little to soothe the pain in his heart.

He kept still after that.

Rob? Are you there? Diplomacy asked. The Skill’s internal voice sounded garbled and scratchy, like it was speaking through a 90s Walkie Talkie toy salvaged from the bargain bin. Can you hear me? Please answer.

Can you keep it down? I have the mother of all headaches right now and you are literally inside my head. Inside voices, please.

Oh thank god, thank Lothren, and thank whoever else is listening. Diplomacy lowered its tone to a whisper. Rob, what happened? You touched the Locus of Power, and then everything on my end shut off. No sight, no sound – complete sensory deprivation. The Skill did a good job at keeping the tremor out of its voice, but it couldn’t hide the waves of fear radiating from its core like a miniature sun. I’ve been calling for you for hours now, and I still can’t hear you perfectly. Your thoughts are tinged with static.

Yours too, but it’s getting clearer the more you talk. Rob lifted his hand and opened one eye by a millimeter, chancing a peek at his surroundings. Ow. Yeah, guess I’m hangover-blind until further notice. As for what happened…

And wasn’t that the million-dollar question. Rob could remember more of his out-of-body experience than he expected, at least compared to the Auto-Translate incident. That didn’t make it any easier to interpret what he’d been subjected to. Diplomacy might have experienced sensory deprivation, but Rob had experienced sensory overload, every atom of his soul assaulted by powers that made him feel like a speck of dust whipped around by a hurricane. He’d never taken acid, but if that was even remotely what it felt like, then he’d had his fill of it for a lifetime.

There was one thing, though. A memory of white cutting through the kaleidoscope of sensations imprinted on his brain. Pure white, and a single plea.

‘Set us free.’

Rob recounted what he’d experienced to Diplomacy, and the two of them descended into thought for a few minutes. Diplomacy broke the silence first. Who? Was all he asked.

Don’t know. Couldn’t get a good look at them. Not that there was much to look at.

Diplomacy hummed. Have you checked your system messages yet? That might shed some light on what transpired.

Rob audibly groaned, his head protesting at the noise. I haven’t, actually, and I’m not looking forward to reading a message like ‘Good job almost frying your brain a second time, dumb-dumb! Here’s a point of Mind so you can make smarter decisions in the future.’

I don’t think there’ll be any like that, actually, Diplomacy said. Outside of the one Mind point you got on the trip to Reviton, you haven’t received any natural stat points since the Blight’s demise. The system may be done with handing out freebies.

Rob weighed his desire for stats versus his desire to never have to read another insulting system message ever again. The latter won out with ease, and it was with brightened spirits that he opened up his message log.

He scrolled down the long list of Brain Damage indicators, wincing at numbers that came close to the triple digits. There were also some HP Potion usages in there – he’d have to thank Meyneth later. He might have survived without them, but it would have been a much closer call. At the bottom of the Pain Parade was a message that would have made his eyes widen if he weren’t currently waging a war on sunlight.

Crystal Bearer Tier 3 Skill Unlocked!

Name: Attunement
Prerequisite: Attune to a Locus of Power
Description: Grants you the ability to Attune to Loci of Power. Each Attunement will advance this Skill to greater heights. Attune to a sufficient number of Loci, and you may be able to (*#(!)@)#$&#)!
1 Attunement: Take 50% less damage when Attuning to a Locus of Power.
2 Attunements: ???

But...I’m not even done with Tier 1, Rob mumbled.

The rustling of a tent flap drew his attention. And also informed him that he was in a tent. “Rob?” Keira’s voice said. “Are you awake?”

Rob’s mouth fell open as several things clicked into place. “Keira I am very happy to hear your voice but I’m in a lot of pain so please don’t speak loud or touch me I might actually throw up if you do,” he blurted out, as quickly as he could, before she could smother him in boisterous affection that would split his head open.

A stifled cry of happiness poked at his head. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I’m just glad you’re awake. We were confident you would recover, as you survived your last Brain Damage incident without lingering aftereffects, and your Regeneration is stronger now, but the fates aren’t always so kind.”

Keira let out a small sigh of relief. “It’s good to see you,” she said, and he could hear the smile in her tone. “Might I request that you stop giving me heart palpitations every few days? Worrying for your safety has become a disturbing routine.”

“Says the woman who got blown up by a Mine,” Rob countered, grinning. “I assume you’re fine now, considering you’re here talking to me and also not a ghost?”

“Post-Healing exhaustion has left me weary, but yes, I am otherwise fully renewed.” She paused. “Do you mind if I go fetch the others? They’ll want to know that you’re awake, and we have more than a few questions to ask regarding your side trip.”

Objectively speaking, she was correct. The Deserters were still on a timetable, and he couldn’t afford to delay anyone just because he had gone on a magic bender. Personally speaking, Rob wanted to shut himself off from the world for the next 48 hours until he could think straight again.

“Sure, that’s fine,” Rob said, injecting a hint of misery into his inflection. “Take your time though, no rush.”

Five minutes later, a gaggle of Elves had crowded around his bed and were doing a surprisingly good job at not shoving knives into his ears with their voices. Elder Alessia took the lead, the rest of Riardin’s Rangers and Elder Duran naturally deferring to her. She was quickly becoming the de facto leader of The Deserters, which Rob was perfectly okay with. Despite his misgivings about her, Alessia was as good a leader as they were going to get. The Deserters needed someone tough-as-nails in charge if they were going to successfully corral 2000 Elves deep into Human territory.

“I must admit, I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” she said, with a hint of trepidation. “Your safe return and full recovery are good tidings, of course, but there was worry that you had been transported far beyond our reach. I am glad to see that that did not end up being the case.”

Alessia hesitated. “Before we begin full questioning, I would like to apologize.”

A muted sense of shock swept through the room. “Must you all look so taken aback?” She sighed. “I didn’t properly consider what could have gone wrong when assigning Rob his role. That the Mines’ Human-exclusion specifications may have degraded over the years, or that they simply weren’t created with that in the first place, are points of failure that never occurred to me. But they should have. My negligence put you in danger, and for that, you deserve an apology.”

Rob was stunned into silence. His knee-jerk reaction was to shoot back with a quip, but even before Diplomacy started getting involved, he realized that wouldn’t be the right way to respond to Alessia reaching out. There was genuine remorse in her tone – he didn’t want to sour that.

“Thank you,” he said. “Apology accepted. I really appreciate that, actually.”

Rob peeked through his fingers just long enough to see a small, relieved smile on Elder Alessia’s face. It was worth the bit of pain in his forehead.

“Now then,” she said, drawing herself up. “First order of business-”

“Who’s the Dragonkin?!” Malika blurted out.

Orn’tol stifled a laugh, and Alessia stifled a sigh. “I was going to ask where exactly you were teleported to, but I suppose that’s as good a place to start as any.”

Rob regaled them with his story of getting sent to prison, executing a jailbreak, meeting Meyneth, and traveling with her across the Human lands. He was tempted to enhance a few details, maybe add a few packs of Chimeras that he had to heroically slay, but truth be told the entire journey was weird enough that embellishment wasn’t necessary.

“If I may understand you correctly,” Orn’tol said, in a long-suffering tone. “What the Dragonkin said was no falsehood? You touched a Locus of Power, and immediately after, your brain attempted to eat itself for the second time?”

“That about sums it up.”

He let out a hmm. “At this point, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“This raises a multitude of questions,” Elder Duran said. His measured tone was laden with poorly-hid enthusiasm. “Do you think your interaction with the Locus of Power is related to your acquisition of a Sub-Class?”

“It absolutely is,” Rob replied. “I just don’t know how or why yet. Maybe we’ll get more answers if I Attune to another Loci of Power?”

“Aren’t you at all concerned that this scenario may repeat itself should you continue to use that Skill?” Zamira pointed out. “This instance was far worse than the Auto-Translate incident, and from what I’ve been told, that one nearly killed you as well.”

“Well, the first stage of my Attunement Skill says that any damage I take from further attempts will be cut in half.”

“Exactly,” Zamira said. “Which implies that you will indeed continue to suffer horrific Brain Damage when Attuning in the future. What if the effects worsen? Half of a mountain collapsing on top of you results in the same end as if all of it did.”

Rob fell silent. “Okay, maybe we put this idea on the backburner,” he mumbled. “Yeah. Yikes. Anyway, it’s my turn to ask a question. How did you guys catch up to me so quickly? Did you manage to clear out the Mines?”

“Oh, just enough for people to walk through in a single file line,” Keira said. “We abandoned any plans of making a wide path once Malika caught wind of where you’d been transported to. I informed the civilians that they would walk through in a calm, orderly fashion, and that anyone who stepped out of the egregiously marked passage I had created for them would receive little sympathy when it came time to clean their bloodstains out of our garments.”

“Oh,” Rob said. “Huh. Did anyone not follow directions?”

“Several,” Elder Alessia said. “No deaths, thanks to timely intervention by our Healers. With that said, your Regrow Limb Skill remains in high demand.”

Rob snorted. “Doctor Rob, at your service.”

“I just realized,” Vul’to interjected. “We owe the Dragonkin an apology. She was telling the full and honest truth about what happened to you. It was necessary at the time that we take full precautions, but nevertheless, she deserves some form of recompense both for our treatment for her and the aid she provided you.”

“Yeah, Meyneth was a true blue friend when I needed her,” Rob said. I’m actually pretty fucking lucky I asked her to come. If I had stumbled upon that Locus of Power on my own, without anyone to feed me HP Potions as my brain got put through a blender...I think I owe her a beer or ten. “Where is she now? I assume you guys stuck her in a prison cell? Or whatever passes for one in a ramshackle campsite.”

“Ah, yes, she is there,” Vul’to replied. His voice was as taut as a rope, and his gaze was focused on a completely nondescript spot at the other end of the tent.

Rob pursed his lips. “Vul’to, never play Poker. It’s an Earth card game where the best bluffer wins.”

“I did not lie!”

“Sure, but what haven’t you told me?”

Rob heard the muted sounds of rustling clothes as the people in the room turned to look at someone. His eyes were still closed, so he made an educated guess. “Keira, what did you do?”

There was a pause. “She is...physically unharmed.”

–

Meyneth scratched numbers into the dirt as she waited for her next meal. Or her executioner, but that seemed unlikely. From what she’d heard, the Human was likely to recover from his ordeal, and he would corroborate her account of the events once he was well enough to speak. In a sense, Meyneth was lucky to have that opportunity; a part of her was still in disbelief that they’d given any credence to her side of the story. She was of a race that played the largest role in driving Rob’s to extinction, and they’d found her kneeling over him, his face and chest covered in blood. ‘He suddenly collapsed and started bleeding from every orifice in his head’ was an excuse she had expected to be gutted over, but Rob’s companions had accepted it, even if tentatively.

Which implied that what happened to him was not a one-off occurrence.

Well. The important thing was that he was alive, and once he read through his message log and found that she’d fed him HP Potions as requested, the strange Human would have her released soon enough. Unless he’d been carrying out a long, convoluted plot that would end in her untimely betrayal, in which case she would have to congratulate him on his inspired performance.

She put the notion out of her mind and returned to her numbers. Cold, objective, unchanging numbers, irrespective of any bias or emotional flights of fancy. She needed a stabilizing element; drawing pictures was engaging, and a pastime she valued just as equally, but practicing math was calming. It helped pass the time, and had performed that duty admirably since her confinement began. Unfortunately, she was reaching the limit of her hobby’s capacity to keep her mentally stimulated; there were only so many times you could multiply 257136 by 121012 before one had to admit that they were bored out of their skull.

Although, in a roundabout manner, the fact that she was bored at all was a matter of interest that had been keeping her occupied. Meyneth spent hours navigating the twisted corridors of her mind to find an explanation for her present state of lethargy, but no answer she produced seemed to fit quite right. She hadn’t felt bored during her years of travel. Despondent, yes, haunted by the ghosts of her past, certainly. But those were different from boredom. Oftentimes she went months without speaking to anyone besides herself. Even in that graveyard of a Human fortress, cut off from the outside world and where the dead taunted her dreams, she hadn’t felt the gnawing ennui eating away at her as she did now. Some indescribable notion within her was lacking, and the strangest part was that it had felt whole just several days ago, like she’d re-examined a completed puzzle only to find that a piece had gone missing.

Or that the piece had been missing all along, and she just never knew. Perhaps she had been bored. So bored, so lonely, and for so long that it became her new baseline for living. And that spending a day and a half traversing and making awkward conversation with a Human she barely knew had been enough to make her realize how badly she’d been craving social contact.

I suppose that may be my answer, she mused. Shame that it was such a sad one.

“May I ask your name?”

Meyneth blinked, startled. She craned her head to the side to look at her cellmate, who had just spoken for the first time. Not that their place of confinement could rightfully be called a cell. They were in an overly-large tent with no physical restraints keeping them inside. Nor were any such bindings necessary – the half a dozen guards posted outside served as their manacles.

“Um, hello?”

She did have to wonder why the Elves had imprisoned her with someone else. Perhaps they wished for the two of them to claw each others’ throats out and save the rest of them the trouble. It was a reasonable strategy in Dragonkin territory, although from what she’d heard, Elves weren’t as naturally predisposed towards aggression.

“Can you hear me?”

They were naturally predisposed towards annoying her, though.

“My name is Meyneth,” she answered, once it became clear that the man was unaware or uncaring of her disinterest. The Magic Swordsman sitting at the other end of the tent gave her a smile that looked forced when contrasted with the dark bags under his eyes.

“Ah, nice to meet you, Meyneth,” he said. “You can call me Tiarsus. I figured we’re both likely to be in here for a while, so why not get to know each other?”

Meyneth narrowed her eyes. Was he attracted to her? She couldn’t think of another reason for why – ah, he was lonely. He’d been imprisoned by the other Elves much longer than she, and the boredom must be weighing heavy on his soul.

Do I want to talk with him? She took the time to consider her thoughts, ignoring how Tiarsus started awkwardly shuffling around as the silence dragged on. No, I don’t think so. Strange, considering I am verifiably lonely. I suppose that doesn’t mean I’ll talk to just anyone.

She suppressed a sigh. Her mind had been abuzz with thoughts like that since yesterday, and frankly, it was tiring. The Human had asked her one seemingly simple question: ‘Do you prefer conversation or silence?’, and she still didn’t fully know the answer. Or why he’d asked at all.

“Am I, uh, bothering you?” Tiarsus asked. Yes, Meyneth thought, but his pathetic visage inspired just enough sympathy for her to allow the conversation to continue.

“Feel free to ask what you will,” she said, not unkindly.

Tiarsus’ face lit up. “Then ask I shall. So, before I say anything else, I must know: did you meet their Warrior?”

“The one with the overly-large greatsword?”

He shuddered in response. “Yes. Her. I was wondering if she, well, said anything to you when you were captured by the Deserters.”

Meyneth idly tapped her claws on the floor. “Nothing much. Threats of torture, broken bones, and mutilation, that sort of thing.”

Tiarsus blinked a few times before responding. “You don’t seem very perturbed about that.”

“I’m not.”

The Warrior she had met was strong. Eight Levels above Meyneth herself, and carrying a feral confidence that bespoke of someone intimately familiar with violence. Defeat would follow if the two of them came to blows, much like if Meyneth fought most of the other Combat Class users in the Elven camp. In retrospect, she was a lamb who’d walked into a lion’s den – which she took no issue with readily accepting. There was no shame in being aware of her own placement in the fighters’ hierarchy. If the Warrior came charging forth with bloodlust in her eyes, Meyneth would have no recourse but to run away while fearing for her life.

But there was a difference between fear and fear. One was a natural instinct, an emotion borne in response to a threat on your life. The other was a crushing certainty that wormed its way into your bones, a fundamental and inexorable understanding that you were a bug that should do its best to avoid being stepped on. It was the feeling one might get if they were to look at the moon up in the night sky and imagine the devastation that would be unleashed upon the world if, one day, it fell.

That was a fear reserved for monsters, and not the kind that formed from mana. The Elven Warrior was to be feared, but not feared. She was dangerous, but not a monster.

Meyneth had met a monster. Most Dragonkin had.

That monster was their Queen.

“You’re lost in thought again,” Tiarsus remarked. “Does that happen often?”

Meyneth’s eyebrow twitched. “Apparently.” What more does he want from me? I’ve answered his questions. She fumbled for a suitable topic of conversation before coming upon one that piqued her curiosity. “Why did the other Elves imprison you?”

Tiarsus’ good cheer slid off his face. “You’re aware that the Elves here have started calling themselves The Deserters, correct? I was part of an...um...elite group of operatives that were tasked with retrieving the Human and returning him to the Seneschal so that justice could be served.”

That the Seneschal would care so much about the fate of a single Human was odd. She understood that the Scouring and the Cataclysm had warped the minds of many, twisting them into knotted facsimiles of their past selves, but the Seneschal was the leader of a race. Surely he had greater responsibilities than satisfying a vendetta. Either an ulterior motive was in play, or more Elatran leaders were touched by madness than she’d known of.

“Do you expect them to grant you clemency?” Meyneth asked.

“I’m not sure,” he mumbled. “They almost killed me once already. I sorely hope they’ll grant me a greater reprieve in the future, and sometimes I consider pushing for my freedom, but what if reminding them of my presence would incite their ire? They may take another vote to decide my fate, and I doubt the dice falls in my favor a second time.”

“Ask them,” Meyneth stated, with conviction. “Death would be preferable to staying imprisoned for months or years. Accept no cages, whether of the body or of the mind.”

Tiarsus glanced to the side. “Maybe. What about you? Will you try and appeal to the good natures of those willing to turn their backs on their own kind?”

“I shouldn’t need to. Rob will awaken soon, and when he does he’ll verify my trustworthiness.” Probably. “Unlike you, I helped him in a time of dire need.”

His eyes widened. “But...you’re a Dragonkin.”

“And?”

Whatever combination of words Meyneth had said caused the Elf to fall into a silence, for which she breathed an internal sigh of relief.

A few hours of contemplative silence passed before the front flap of the tent opened. Meyneth arched an eyebrow as the Elven Warrior walked in, dispossessed of the aura of danger about her that she’d tried and failed to impress Meyneth with. The Warrior shot a piercing glance at Tiarsus, who leaned back and shut his mouth into a thin white line. She has him well-trained, Meyneth admitted, with some envy.

“Hello, Dragonkin,” the Warrior began, her tone direct, but with an undercurrent of embarrassment. “Meyneth, I suppose. I owe you an apology.”

A pleased smile spread across Meyneth’s face. “Am I to assume that Rob has recovered and apprised you of the travails we shared?”

The Warrior sighed. “You have assumed correctly. He claims that, without your assistance, his survival wouldn’t have been guaranteed. You have my apologies for our distrust, and my personal thanks for keeping him safe.”

Meyneth nodded. “I shall accept both. A word of advice; you need not threaten every person that finds themselves at your mercy. In my case, it matters not, as I have no desire to take any sort of revenge. But others might. You will win most direct confrontations, but the sword of a duelist is too often trumped by a knife in the dark.”

The Warrior flashed a vicious, predatorial grin. “They are welcome to try.”

Hmm, Meyneth hummed to herself. She has more similarities to the Queen than I thought.

Despite that unfavorable comparison, Meyneth found herself enjoying the conversation. The Warrior had a fire in her, just as Rob did. As did most everyone she’d met in the Elven camp, actually, her pitiable cellmate excluded.

It would be nice to be able to warm herself by that fire.

“You’re free to leave the tent whenever you wish,” the Warrior continued. “As payment for your services, and as an apology for your treatment, we’ve put together a bag of goods and supplies you can take with you.” She tapped her foot. “Out of curiosity, where are you planning on heading to? I would advise against traveling directly south. A Blight has been laying siege to Reviton. It has not fully revived, as far as we know, but that intel is old. You run the danger of wandering into a deathtrap should you draw too close to the city.”

“Did Rob not inform you? I plan to join the Deserters.”

The Warrior stared blankly like she’d been told that fire was cold. “...Why?”

Meyneth stood up. She stretched her muscles and let out a luxurious sigh, savoring the freedom of movement. The Dragonkin peered down at the Elf who was more than shorter than her – and who could dismantle Meyneth with ease – before gracing the Elf with a tooth-filled smile.

“Because for the first time in ages, I feel alive.”

--

Changes

Mind 26 -> 27
Learned: Attunement

--

Thanks for reading!