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Author's Note:

Next update is a week from now, and to be honest, I'll probably be doing one Outcast update per week until around early next month. Full disclosure: I've been battling severe burnout for a while now. Writing/editing 1.3 million words on the same series within several years is starting to take its toll. My choices are to either ease up for a bit, or start phoning in chapters, and I don't consider the latter to be an option. Especially not when we're in Outcast's endgame. I want to make sure the scenes I've planned in my head for ages are given the care they deserve, and that you guys get to experience the best conclusion possible.

With that said, if anyone feels betrayed by the schedule slip, they can message me and ask for a no-questions-asked refund. I know the value of a few dollars in this economy, and how much it means to spend it on this Patreon instead of...lots of other things. It's something I've never taken for granted.

Things should hopefully be back to normal soon, and I'll make sure to keep you guys posted. Feel free to ask any questions/concerns you may have in the comments, or with a direct message.


--


The Beacon now appeared twice as large as the sun, increasing in size as Rob and Duran neared the rendezvous point. Based on its rate of 'growth' as they advanced through the Deadlands, that meant they'd arrive at their destination in...

A few days? Maybe? They didn't have the slightest idea of how to calculate that estimate. Even if they did, distance and time within the Deadlands weren't exactly consistent.

Rob felt tempted to ask Kismet for a straight answer, but ultimately decided against it. He preferred to let the god stew in uncertainty for as long as possible. Kismet had been suspiciously silent ever since his dirty laundry was revealed during the Attunement vision, likely aware that whatever progress he'd made towards manipulating Rob was now dead and buried. The Human would rather do business with actual snake oil salesmen than strike any sort of bargain with a creature of the divine realms.

Although...that notion had led Rob down a different train of thought. One he couldn't help but feel increasingly anxious over as he marched towards the Beacon.

His ruminations were broken by Duran suddenly speaking up, ending an hours-long silence. "Is something amiss?" the Elder asked, from his position atop Rob's shoulders.

The question was so abrupt that it forced out an honest answer. "Yes," he replied, with light surprise. "How did you know?"

"Oh, I merely discerned your thoughts by scrutinizing your face. You've been in Elatra for close to a year, Rob – that's plenty of time to learn how your mind operates. Especially for someone who, if you'll recall, engaged in espionage during his younger days."

"What gave me away? Specifically, I mean."

Duran chuckled. "I won't say. If you became cognizant of your nonverbal patterns of behavior, then you would also take measures to hide them. Why, I'd need to learn them all over again! What a waste of effort that would be for the both of us."

At least he sounds happier now, Rob mused. For the past week, Duran had been acting...somber, to put it mildly. Witnessing Humanity's last moments seemed to dredge up an entire landfill's worth of long-buried guilt. Rob had tried his best to cheer up the Elder, but if anything his attempts just made things worse, as if being treated nicely by a Human felt like some sort of cosmic mockery.

This was actually the first time since the Attunement vision that he'd heard any amount of joy in Duran's voice. As far as Rob was concerned, being the butt of a couple harmless jokes was an easy trade to make for that.

"You got me there," he laughed. "Missed opportunity on your part, though. If you'd told me that – for example – I subconsciously glanced to the left whenever I was hiding something, I 100% would've believed you, then tormented myself by trying to avoid doing that in the future."

"Diplomacy trained you too well to fall for such juvenile antics." Duran poked him in the cheek. "I can also see that they trained you how to divert a line of questioning when pressed for answers."

"No, that one's self-taught." Rob sighed. "I won't make you repeat yourself. Basically: I'm worried about how much trust I'm putting in the Skills."

Elder Duran scratched his chin, as if he was mulling over a confusing puzzle. "What brought on this crisis of faith? The Skills have been nothing but loyal, stalwart allies. They revived you from death, granted you the Crystal Bearer Sub-Class – Purge Corruption included – and showed you events lost to history. Their assistance is vital to our cause. Did some evidence of deceit arise?"

Rob grimaced. "I don't have any evidence. That's why I'm nervous."

"Ah. I see you've chosen to wear your tin foil hat today."

"It isn't paranoia if people really are out to get you! Look, don't you think it's odd that our agenda and the Skills' agenda have perfectly aligned so far? No friction whatsoever. Makes me wonder if they're hiding something I wouldn't appreciate."

He frowned. "And unlike the gods or the Blight with their weird compulsions, I'm pretty sure the Skills can lie. They aren't eldritch, divine beings – they're the imprisoned souls of people. And I'm sure I don't need to tell you about how easily people can twist the truth to further their goals, Mr. Espionage."

That was enough to give Duran pause. "Hmm. When phrased in that manner, I understand your concern. What sparked this realization?"

"I was thinking about how Kismet misled the Humans without telling them a single lie. Didn't even try to make himself look good. Got me thinking; would I have been duped by him if he acted friendly with me instead of like an aloof prick? Which then made me think of..."

"The Skills." Duran drummed his fingers on his thigh. "Could you ask Diplomacy for more information? They were once a Skill, after all."

"I could, but they don't remember most of their time before 'awakening' in my head. Just the very broad strokes. They would've told me right away if they'd remembered anything I needed to worry about."

"In that case, why not go directly to the source of your troubles? The Skills gave you an empty ability in order to facilitate simpler communication. Moments like these are what it was made for. Would questioning them help prove their trustworthiness?"

Rob shrugged – gently, so he wouldn't dislodge the Elder from his perch. "I mean, why bother? They'd just say 'we haven't lied', which could be a lie, and then we're back to square one."

As if tempting fate, a system notification popped into view.

Null Skill 'A Dialogue' Has Been Updated!

Name:
A Dialogue
Prerequisite:
Description:
We have told precisely one lie.
Cooldown:

His eyes widened as he read the Description. Was it during–

Name: A Dialogue
Description: The Attunement visions have been wholly factual, presented without alteration or embellishment.

Rob sighed with relief – then caught himself a second later. He couldn't just assume the Skills were answering honestly. That was the whole damn point of his paranoia. Dealing with the gods and the Blight had gotten him too accustomed to taking things at mostly face value.

"Interesting," Duran remarked. "Your expression tells me that they've already contacted you."

"What kind of expression is...never mind." Rob concentrated on the Null Skill. Just to clarify, you're implying that you told one lie to me, correct?

Name: A Dialogue
Description: To everyone.

Rob blinked. Huh. Mind letting me know what it was?

The Description didn't update.

He waited for ten seconds to confirm that an answer wasn't forthcoming. Even with A Dialogue as a workaround, updating its Description likely cost the Skills some degree of energy. They would only do so if strictly necessary. By staying silent, they were tacitly informing Rob that the nature of their lie would remain a secret.

Fair enough. Kinda defeats the purpose if you reveal it immediately after someone asks. He stopped to think. Bit of a hail mary here, but can you tell me *why* you lied?

Name: A Dialogue
Description: Long con. Benefits all.

The Null Skill seemed to pause, adding an addendum a moment later.

Name: A Dialogue
Description: Long con. Benefits all. Except the gods. Fuck them.

Rob burst out laughing, earning a quizzical stare from Duran. "Fascinating," the Elder dryly stated. "I wasn't aware that the Skills were proficient jesters as well. By your countenance, may I rightly presume that you've chosen to trust them?"

"Yeah. Either they're on the up-and-up, or they're such blatant bullshitters that we're screwed anyway, so there's no point in obsessing over it."

For some reason, Rob actually felt reassured by the Skills' admission of deceit. Them lying to him once as part of a grand conspiracy was way easier to accept than them always telling the truth. Their admission could be a ploy to lull him into a false sense of security, letting them spin an even denser web of lies...but he had to draw the line somewhere. The Skills had saved his life on multiple occasions; it would be discourteous not to extend them the benefit of the doubt.

If anything, he was excited to find out what their fuck-the-gods long con ended up being. Like a present waiting to be unwrapped.

Rob informed Duran of his thoughts, and of what the Skills had told him. The Elder listened carefully, nodding until it was his turn to speak. "You don't take offense to them misleading you?" he asked.

"Even I've lied to people for their sake. As long as it helps us, I don't mind playing along this one ti–"

A grating beep rudely interrupted him. Rob and Duran glanced towards the Elder's pocket, where his radio was sounding off an alert. It was the noise that indicated another radio holder was pressing the alliance-wide panic button. The beep repeated afterwards, over and over, its frequency swiftly quickening to three beeps per second.

Rob probably should have been worried, but the only emotion he could muster was exasperation. The radio's incessant beeping didn't come across as someone desperately calling for aid – it just made him think of a boomer who didn't get how technology worked. One or two was enough! We heard you! You're supposed to follow up the alert by asking to talk! Don't they teach proper radio etiquette around these parts?

Sighing, he decided to bite the bullet, reaching for Duran's pocket. The beeping was liable to continue into eternity unless someone answered. Unsure of what to expect, he retrieved the radio and pressed Talk.

"Hello?"


--

Twenty Minutes Prior

Every step forward was like glass shards flowing through her veins.

Ragnavi marched in a half-conscious daze, only somewhat cognizant of the world around her. People were talking, but she paid them no more attention than buzzing gnats. In that instant, there was just herself, the ground beneath her feet, and the Corruptive agony piercing her soul.

Once again, she opened her Character Sheet, as if checking it would miraculously alter the stark reality of her life.

HP: 1364 / 1364
Stamina: 1199 / 1200
MP: 2000 / 2000
Status Effects: Madness (Advanced), Melancholia, Corruption (-868 of Base HP, -1736 Total)

More than half of her HP had succumbed to the Blight's corrosive infection. The dozen anti-Corruption Amulets fastened to her body did little to stem its influence. Slaying the giant-head Blight had exacted a heavy toll – her Corruption poisoning was even worse now than before the Human cleansed a portion of it.

The Human. Like an unholy mantra, the phrase echoed inside her mind. The Human. The Human. An image of his impertinent, mocking visage sprang forth. The Human. The Human. The Human. Need the–

Ragnavi crushed the traitorous thought as it attempted to take root.

A second later, it returned, twice as insistent and thrice as frantic. I need the Human. I hate the Human. Hate. Need. Need to hate. Hate that I need.

All of this was his fault. He'd ruined her by Purging some of her Corruption. It had reminded Ragnavi of what being free of agony used to feel like. She craved that release every waking moment, tormented both by the Corruption within her soul and the saturating miasma that permeated the Deadlands. While her Amulets prevented the miasma from worsening her affliction, it still seemed to exacerbate her pain merely by virtue of its existence. The Human once mentioned something about a 'psychosomatic response' before she told him to be silent and mind himself.

The Human. He was close. He had to be. The gods' Beacon was large in the sky, which meant their rendezvous point was just several days away.

She could...go to him. Right now. Dragonflight would close the gap in scant hours. She didn't know which direction he was in, but searching wouldn't take long. Hopefully. It was a temptation that plagued her daily, and it was far harder to resist when the Human and his damnable healing hands were SO CLOSE.

Except that if something happened to his precious friends while she was gone, he'd never grant her succor again.

Ragnavi turned to peer at the cretins marching behind her, each one an albatross hanging around her neck. Riardin's Rangers, alliance soldiers – even her own Dragonkin were scarcely better. Just leeches relying on their superiors for protection. A waste of rations and air. She shouldn't have brought them along.

Her awareness focused on one conversation transpiring in the back lines. The Human's pet Fiend was speaking with a small group of Dragonkin. Fae...Fael...whatever her name was, she seemed to have struck up an amiable accord with them. The group doubtlessly thought that they were out of earshot, but Ragnavi's doubled Perception could hear everything they said.

"I won't deny that some of my people eat souls," the Fiend explained. "To do so would be a falsehood. However, those who indulge in such atrocities are viewed as pariahs within Fiend society. They represent an exceedingly slim faction of my people. It isn't fair to decry all Fiends based on the worst of us."

"Not so sure about that," an older Dragonkin soldier replied. "That's a rather large thing to simply brush aside." Despite his words, the man's tone lacked condemnation, sounding more focused on discovering the truth of the matter than making a snap judgement.

It gave the Fiend an opening to present her rebuttal. "Think of it this way – your territory has murderers as well, yes? People that take lives without care for whom they harm? That's no different from our Soul Eaters. Every society has its villains."

A second Dragonkin shuddered. "The Scale Ripper," he whispered, with hushed dread and disgust.

"Scale Ripper?"

"...As you said," the first Dragonkin mumbled, "every society has its villains. He was one of ours."

The Fiend paused. "I am hesitant to ask for further details. His name alone inspires a deep chill within my heart."

"Then you're smarter than most." The old soldier grinned. "I'll tell you anyway, because misery loves company. The Scale Ripper did precisely what you might guess from his title. One day, people in his neighborhood began disappearing. First the elderly, then those of middle age, and finally, a child. We tracked him as best we could, yet he was infuriatingly proficient at obscuring his involvement. Six people were lost before we uncovered the culprit's identity."

His eyes darkened. "I won't regale you with everything we found in that house of his. I'd stir up my own nightmares by doing that. Two things are all you need know: drawers full of scales, and the remains of his victims in the downstairs cellar."

Appalled shock was evident on the Fiend's face. "What the hell."

"Indeed." The Dragonkin soldier shook his head, clearing internal cobwebs. "I'll be forthright with you – I still think that soul eating is a worse crime than murder, even torturous murder that prolongs suffering. At least the Scale Ripper's victims found peace in Tylrud's Hallowed Halls. Those whose souls are eaten receive nothing but the darkness of oblivion."

He let out a weary sigh. "Yet when you say we shouldn't decry a people based on the worst of them...that rings true. You've treated us as comrades throughout this godforsaken journey. If other Fiends are like you, then I am willing to broaden my horizons, so to speak."

As more Dragonkin soldiers nodded in assent, the Fiend beamed with happiness. "Thank you. That means much to hear. I have also needed to adjust my preconceptions over the past half-year, so I understand the feeling. If you're interested, I'd be glad to introduce you to any of the Fiends I know."

She stopped, her face twisting with resentment. "Besides Helkath."

"Who is Helkath?"

"Well, he's no Scale Ripper, but he is pigheaded to a fault. Nearly bungled the first-ever alliance between Fiends and another race."

The Dragonkin smiled. "Tell us about him. As my sister once said – gossip is the great unifier."

Hypocrites, Ragnavi seethed. What utter lunacy this is. The Fiend dares to use a life-and-death mission as an opportunity to forge connections with *my* soldiers? Not that they're blameless, chatting with an outsider like it was any normal day. A year ago their territories would have been at each other's throats, divided by language and history, and now they're pretending like none of that enmity ever existed.

It didn't make the slightest bit of sense to her. How could these people reconcile so easily? Where did they place all their unspent hatred?

She wanted to stomp over there, castigate the fools for their absurd behavior – but no, she was meant to guard them as payment for the Human purging her Corruption. Ridiculous. As if his Party members weren't constantly plotting her demise. Did that Elf lover of his believe she was subtle, assessing Ragnavi with a discerning eye whenever the chance arose? Always looking for the ideal moment to slip a proverbial knife in her back.

And in spite of that impending treachery...Ragnavi could do absolutely nothing about it. The almighty Dragon Queen had been reduced to a warden for those who aimed to kill her.

Ragnavi's breath caught in her throat. An indefinable pressure was constricting, suffocating, sealing her movement and thoughts. Like the tethers of society were threatening to strangle her. She couldn't stand one more minute with all these people and their desires and problems and comments and loud, loud heartbeats.

Not for the first time, her attention drifted towards a certain Skill on her Character Sheet.

Name: Melancholy Resistance (LV5) (RARE) (DEACTIVATED)
Prerequisite: Experience a deep-seated, soul-crushing sadness. Five times.
Description: Allows you to get back on your feet more quickly.

It would be so easy to make her pain go away. With but one Skill activation – barely even a thought – this anguish would vanish into nothing.

All it would take was trading away her sense of self.

Ragnavi grabbed hold of the temptation and battered it into an unrecognizable pulp. Don't give in, she told herself. You're almost there. Just a little longer, and the Human's Purging will offer relief.

Body rigid, agony burning her nerve endings, she glanced up at the Beacon. So close, yet so impossibly far away.

...What if the Human was even farther?

In a flash, Ragnavi rushed across their marching procession, sprinting directly towards the Human's lover. The Elf reached for her greatsword, eyes bulging. Ragnavi ignored her, snatched the radio from her travel pack, then sped off into the distance.

She didn't stop running until she was out of Heightened Senses range. Ragnavi hefted the radio and pressed the alert button again and again, hand trembling as she attempted not to crush the fragile device to pieces.

"Hello?" a voice eventually answered. "Someone there?"

Ragnavi forced her tone into a vestige of serenity, refusing to discard what was left of her noble decorum. "Greetings, Human. I require an answer from you."

"Oh. Okay. No problem. What's up?"

"The Beacon is 'up'. In the sky. That much should be obvious." She bit back a snarl. "How large is it? Describe it to me."

The Human paused, presumably conducting a cursory examination. "About twice as big as the sun," he politely replied. "We should be at the rendezvous point in–"

"Two to three days." Ragnavi's postured loosened, relief flowing through her, although it did nothing to blunt the Corruption's wicked bite. "You aren't lagging behind our group. We shall arrive at roughly the same time."

"Good to know. Is that everything?"

"No."

The word was out of her mouth before she even conceived of saying it. Both Ragnavi and the Human froze with surprise, neither speaking for an increasingly awkward period of time.

"Uh..." The Human began. "Alright. You have other questions, then?"

Ragnavi tried to think of one to justify her outburst. After failing, she let out a tired growl, taking a seat on the ground as her energy started to flag. "Not particularly. I just don't see the point of returning to my group as of now. There is nothing for me there."

"Wait, you're separated from your group?" Panic surged into the Human's voice. "What if they get attacked?!"

"Calm yourself. I can hear them from my current location. If a Blight ambushes them, I will know and go to assist them. Our deal is still in effect."

The Human breathed a sigh of relief. "Right. I'll Purge whatever Corruption you got from fighting the last Blight, plus a bit extra."

That confirmation should have soothed her. Instead, Ragnavi felt a vague sense of annoyance continuously gnawing at her bones. She glared at the radio, searching for the reason behind her irritation. This doesn't feel right. It's...ah. "You are speaking to me in a civil manner. Before, there would have been one snide remark by now – at minimum."

"...Well, you're protecting my friends," the Human answered, insufferably cordial. "I genuinely appreciate that."

So to him, my presence is akin to holding his allies hostage. It was a reasonable conclusion to make. Ragnavi also didn't care. "Speak plainly to me," she commanded, "or my protection will be rescinded."

The Human sputtered. After a few seconds, he obliged. "But why? I legitimately don't get why you want the snark. Practically tore my head off the last time I burned you."

"I've never been burned," Ragnavi stated, arching an eyebrow. "As a full-fledged Dragonkin, I possess Heat Immunity."

"It's. An. Expression." The Human audibly groaned. "This is what you want? No Filter Rob? Whyyyy?"

Because she'd spent years surrounded by bootlickers and sycophants. Because her tolerance for weakness was degrading more rapidly than ever before. Because she was beginning to hate her people even when they hadn't committed any major transgressions.

"My group is unbearable," she eventually replied. "I can't stand to be around them right now."

"Did they do something wrong?"

Ragnavi snorted with derision. "The same as everyone else – treat me as a monster to be feared, yet expect me to fight their battles for them. Hypocrites. So it was in Dragonkin territory, as it is here now."

"Queenie, you like people being scared of you."

"Yes, but–"

"No buts," he said, daring to interrupt her. "You can't have it both ways. If you want them to stop being scared of you, then go talk to them like a normal freaking person. I don't see why I should have to play therapist for you when there are other Dragonkin who'd jump at the chance."

Because you might understand me better than anyone else alive.

The thought was a betrayal of all that she stood for. Ragnavi hated it from the very depths of her soul.

Yet she couldn't ignore the truth of it. This Human was a Level 96 Leader; an existence inherently superior to the vast majority of people. No one else was remotely close to her power, and no one else regarded her with so little fear. Tylrud's teeth, how long had it been since someone spoke to her as an equal?

When her husband, daughter, and son were alive, most likely.

The notion was so maddening that she almost descended into a fit of unending laughter.

"I despise you," Ragnavi stated. "You, Human, are the world's cruelest jest. Hearing your voice inflames my soul with fury, yet you also possess the key to my salvation. If you must know why I have not ended this call: I am here under duress, seeking a semblance of an honest conversation, despite how I wish for nothing more than to crush your head like an overripe grape."

"Honest conversation? So...you're tired of people not being sincere with you? You feel isolated?"

"To an extent."

He hesitated, baffled. "And you think I'm the best solution to that problem?"

"As a Level 96 Combat Class user, you–"

"Don't start with that crap," the Human hissed, resembling a gorebeast whose tail had been stepped on. "I know where this is going, and it's high-grade horseshit. We aren't anything alike."

Ragnavi scoffed at him. "Do you earnestly believe that you could speak so candidly to me without an exorbitantly high Level? Your power is a part of you, Human. It is impossible to ignore, no matter how much that fact offends you. One day you'll come to know how far apart that sets you from the wheat and chaff of this world."

"Yeah, your attitude really explains a lot." He muttered obscenities under his breath. "You do realize that I despise you too?"

"Scorn does not preclude comprehension. Few others can speak with me as an equal – or the closest thing there is to one."

A scratching sound emanated through the radio as the Human kneaded his scalp. "Then why the fuck are you like this?"

Ragnavi stared, confounded. "What do you mean?"

"What do you mean, 'what do you mean'? How is this difficult at all to understand? People don't treat you with sincerity because they can't. You demand their deference, not their friendship. Imagine someone actually trying to point out one of your mistakes in a good-natured way. They'd get eviscerated the moment they opened their mouth."

His tone rose with frustration the longer he spoke. "It isn't any different with me. Maybe you kinda like how I don't throw out BS, but you'd still punish me if you could. That's been made extremely clear. How is someone less durable than me supposed to navigate a Queen's volatile emotions? You're worse than an aberrant Dungeon maze. One wrong turn and it's game over."

Carefully, Ragnavi placed the radio on the ground. She couldn't trust it in her grip anymore. "Noted. Well. In your infinite wisdom, what would you suggest, Human?"

"Do I really need to spell it out? This problem is entirely self-inflicted. Have you tried...oh, I don't know...being nice to people?"

"Such as who?"

Her response seemed to put the Human off-balance. "Um...what? Just pick a person and don't be a dick to them. It isn't hard. For instance, what happened with Meyneth's dad is a perfect example of what not to do. Glad he's dead, but yeah. He seemed to think you guys were buddies, and you hung him out to dry."

"Vurshath desired influence and power," she explained. "Any companionship he offered me was merely a means to an end."

"Okay, then he was a bad apple. I don't know many Dragonkin. Who is someone that you think would make a decent friend?"

Ragnavi gave his query deeper thought than it was worth. A minute later, she answered. "No one."

"Come on, don't be–"

"Have you been to the Dragonkin noble courts, Human? Have you dealt with that pit of venomous snakes for decades? Then trust my word when I say the answer is no one. Even if they did exist, I would not be able to recognize them, and neither of us would know how to behave in the manner you suggest."

She couldn't remember a time when she'd been interested in forging genuine connections with others. In truth, some of her earliest memories were of lessons teaching her the exact opposite. Allies, her parents had said, were resources to be exploited. Kindhearted people will be exploited to a greater degree than anyone. Putting your faith in someone's good nature was like going to war without armor, then expecting the enemy archers not to shoot for your heart. They'd taught her to memorize these virtues before she knew what half the words meant.

And nothing in her life proved them wrong. Everywhere she looked, nobles wore smiling masks as they lied and cheated and betrayed, trampling on each others' livelihood for the slimmest bit of power. Low-Level people were just as odious, wielding their weakness as its own sort of weapon, preying on the pity of the strong in order to take whatever they could.

Little wonder that she came to associate deference with victory. A person standing eye-to-eye was in position to lunge forward, but a person who knelt had exposed their neck for her to do with as she pleased.

That was the contradiction, Ragnavi realized. She wanted deference, and she wanted honesty, yet those traits could not coexist in the same person – and the notion of giving up on the former went against every fiber of her being.

Ragnavi didn't think she was capable of doing that.

"Aren't you concerned that people don't view you as a person?" she asked. "That they look at your Level and see nothing else?" It wasn't intended as an attack; Ragnavi wished to know his thoughts. Perhaps, she hoped, they would contain some hitherto unforeseen solution.

"...It's crossed my mind more than once," the Human responded, with a morose undertone. "Being famous has a bunch of perks, but it can feel isolating sometimes. I might've ended up resentful under different circumstances. Thankfully, I've got friends who I know see Rob the Person before Rob the Leader."

His Party. Riardin's Rangers. He also seemed to have an honest rapport with the Elven Elders and that silver-tongued advisor as well. As if it came naturally to him.

What makes us so different? Ragnavi pondered. Have I ever felt comfortable around anyone in the way he can relax with his allies?

Her husband and children. It always came back to them. Ardrud somehow worming his way into her confidence was a miracle that could never be replicated, so even if she was inclined to create a new family, that door was closed to her. Aside from them...

No one. Again.

She'd known that already, but the thought still stopped her short. No one could inflame her passions, or become an earnest companion, or be anything except walking sacks of resources. That was her lot, and it would not change.

In fact, she struggled to think of a point in her life where it could have changed. Exhibiting weakness early on would've resulted in her downfall. Then she became Leader and ceased to be a person to those around her. At every juncture, invisible tethers shackled her, stifling all color until a lifeless gray was all that remained.

This world has been lost to her from the very beginning.

It truly did serve no purpose.

"We are finished," Ragnavi said, her voice as calm as still waters. "This conversation is over. Do not respond."

The radio stayed silent as she returned to her group's marching procession.

Dozens of eyes were on her as she approached. She didn't register any of them. Ragnavi simply walked up to a Dragonkin soldier and handed her the radio, no longer in need of the device.

There. A flicker in the soldier's gaze. Unsaid words. "What do you wish to say?"

The soldier hesitated. "It is of no consequence, my Queen," she put forth. "Just an idle thought."

"Speak plainly," Ragnavi encouraged, without a hint of guile or malice. "I implore you."

Reluctant as they were, no soldier could ignore a direct request from their monarch. The Dragonkin stood up straight, as if she was delivering an after-battle report. "My Queen, the Dwarves informed us that these radios have a limited supply of energy. They likened it to casting a spell; whenever the radio is activated, its 'MP' goes down."

She gradually adopted a more self-assured cadence. "We also used it earlier today to communicate with Elder Alessia's group. If I may offer counsel...barring an emergency, it might be prudent to limit our usage of the radios to once per day. As we cannot be certain of how long this journey will last, it–"

Ragnavi reached out with both hands and crushed the soldier's head.

Blood on her palms. Bone shards under her claws. Screams resounding. A body dropping. And...

She found it. A spark inside her. Like an ember born within a hollow void.

It faded just as quickly. Smothered by the cold.

But it had been there.

With a start, Ragnavi noticed the looks that everyone was giving her. The Dragonkin she could understand, yet the others? "What's wrong?" she asked the Human's Elven lover. "That soldier wasn't one of yours."

Their stunned silence continued unabated, showing no signs of breaking. Some people began covertly inching away.

Shrugging, Ragnavi turned around and resumed her march towards the Beacon. The alliance didn't follow her, but they would, eventually. She was their protector, after all – a Blight would do worse to them than she ever could. This one dead soldier would be forgotten soon enough.

Their hypocrisy hardly bothered her anymore. Neither did the tethers of society. Even her torturous Corruption pain felt like merely a dull ache.

None of it mattered. The Beacon was close, and so was the Human and his Purging. He would cleanse her sickness and make her whole again. She only needed to wait just a little longer.

Just a little longer. Just a little longer. Just a little longer. Just a little longer. Just a little longer. Just a little longer. Just a little longer.

And then,

There will be
nothing holding me back.


--


Thanks for reading!

Comments

Dennis Hornsby

My dollars ain't to get access to early chapters. They are to support you. Kindly fuck your refund 😁

Rob

If you need a month that's alright with me. I want the story to be given the ending you envisioned. Let it be your mangum condom! I mean opus.

Dennis Hornsby

Ah, I should've known better but I almost expected a bit of redemption