ARC 7-Cursed Fates-09 (Patreon)

There isn’t an army waiting for us. Nor a pack of hunters with their magic at the ready. Not even a crowd of peasants ready to take their chances at bludgeoning me with tools or the largest stick they can find.

The biggest reaction to my arrival is the guard taking a second too long to ask for the reason for my stay after I step out of the carriage. I’m the one to step down as I would be the least affected by a surprise knife to the heart but there’s no need for my sacrifice. The guards wish me a good day and we enter Quest with no issues.

The effects of the Myriad Zone aren’t stopped by being in a closed carriage. Yulia can’t stop staring at herself, twisting her hand in front of her eyes while the other holds a squirming Allen in her lap. The strange color distortions change every day. This time around, the snow bunny’s pale skin is painted in shades of pink, her dark hair is a bright silver, and her blue eyes are…blue. And so are the whites of her eyes. Huh. “Having fun?”

“Yes. Immensely.” Yulia smiles with pale blue teeth. “The world is such a big place, with so many fascinating things in it. It’s hard to believe that most of fellow Victorians will never know anything but the looming peaks.”

Victorians? Is that what they call themselves? No, no, don’t laugh. If it’s one thing that can offend someone, it’s making fun of their identity, either personal or cultural. Few things are as important as a name. “It’s a fun trick the first couple of times you see it.”

“Are you telling me you don’t find this magical?”

“Eh. My succubus kind of ripped the awe right out of me.”

“What do you mean?”

Should I tell her? She’s enjoying herself so much and I know how hearing the harsh truth made me feel.

“I want to know.”

Well. “This whole magical area is a big mistake. The result of someone’s fuck up. One they couldn’t fix so they leaned into it, made it all seem like one big party. Sorry, good people of Quest. We, the casters you hoped would bring you the sun, brought you a spell that paints the world in new, nauseating colors every day. But don’t worry! It’s fun, right? People will pay a killing to see this. Set up a few bars and you’ll rake in the crowns! Hm? What’s that? You just want the sun? Oh, sorry everyone but you’re fucked. Can’t put the spilled shroom juice back in the bottle.”

“Does being a mistake rob it of is splendor?” Yulia questions. “Yes, they failed to return things to normal but in the attempt, they created something unique that has wowed everyone who lays eyes on it. Generations have appreciated this mistake and many more will in the future. This world is full of things that people don’t question. Constant things. Yet here, something as constant as color is fluid.”

“Technically,” Alana grumbles, “the colors don’t change. How we see them does. Blue is still blue once you step out of the zone.”

Her sister huffs at the explanation. “It doesn’t matter. In this city, someone can take a few steps and the whole world changes. The people here…their concept of what is possible is so much wider than anywhere else. Their imaginations are so much wider. In that light, the mistake is better than what they intended, don’t you think?”

Alana huffs. “I think you’re making a mountain out of a shitheap. This isn’t a city of intellectual or artistic prodigies that will change the world after having their imaginations expanded. It’s full of common people that will be lucky to live a common life. I bet this magical mistake is as common as the Enchanted Forest is to elves. We might be amazed by pink and purple trees but for the people that live there, it’s the same as Victory’s gray skies. You get used to it.”

“The star is right,” Kierra adds lazily, eyes closed as she leans her head against the wall. “Creatures can become used to anything. As eyes adjust to bright light, they can adjust to beauty. Beautiful things become common. Common things become ugly and distasteful. To truly inspire requires something deeper than, hm, merry colors. But what lies beneath the Myriad Zone is a mistake. Ineptitude. Failure and then a failure to correct that failing.”

Yulia winces. “You all are a little gloomy. I expect as much from Alana, but I thought people from the south would be more cheerful.”

[We are at the platform, my summoner.]

“Hold that thought.” I exit the carriage, taking a moment to brace myself against the dizzying array of colors. We are stopped just before the platform that will take us to the Hall, a group of casters dressed in the unassuming robes of acolytes blocking the way. “Hello, gentlemen. We’re—"

“No need to introduce yourself,” one of them interrupts. “Lady Lourianne Tome. Welcome back to the Hall. We’ll send you on your way.”

“…alright.” I climb back into the carriage, sitting down with a frown. “Am I being overly sensitive, or did he seem especially eager to get us moving?”

“His tone was quite hurried,” Kierra confirms, her eyes opening as she sits up.

“Your…fight with the hunters disrupted the city. The March can be an event that sparks a civil war. The Grand Hall may be intending to remain a neutral bystander to the ensuing events, but it would be stupid not to keep themselves appraised of the situation.” Yulia frowns. “If so, there’s a good chance their men on the ground have valuable information. I don’t suppose you saw any familiar faces?”

“I didn’t. And before you ask, I’m not confident in getting anything out of them without the use of force. My reputation wasn’t good before this mess. I don’t want to imagine what they’re saying about me now.”

[Shall I scour their minds?]

You’re going to keep asking me things like this no matter how many times I say I don’t want to use the mental affinity wantonly, aren’t you?

[It is my nature to tempt. The opportunity is fleeing.]

Let it go.

A moment after I give my order, the carriage jolts, the signal that we’re rising. Allen yelps and Yulia holds him closer. Won’t be long until we’re home now. The first thing on the agenda is to relax. Alana’s earlier teasing has me craving soap and warm water something fierce.

In the morning, we’ll have to check the estate. Make sure no one took advantage of our absence to do something stupid. Kierra will want to check on her garden. I have to make arrangements for my first year as an acolyte, namely registering with the Summoner Hall. I’ll finally have access to the largest collection of summoning records in the kingdom. Hopefully, there’ll be a reference to Cosmo in there. Maybe a few classes in a few more obscure magical disciplines. Or nonmagical ones. May as well make the most of the tuition.

Then I’ll have to see to the less mundane issues. Starting with gathering the guilds for a conversation. A hard one. Saints willing, getting them to sit at a table will be the hardest part. There’s a chance they want nothing to do with me but, if Alana’s right and information about the March has reached the guildmasters, they might be eager to talk.

They won’t be as eager when we get to the negotiations. It’s going to be hard for everyone, but mostly for them. I don’t expect it to be quick or painless. And when it’s done, it’ll leave a wound that’ll take years to recover from. Maybe decades, if they can recover at all.

It’ll be wonderful if the situation is resolved with a round of talks. If it isn’t, I don’t know if we’ll let Victory march or handle it ourselves. The first option is more likely to end with a surrender but will provoke a response from the crown. The second will prevent any chance of civil war, but the guilds are far more likely to fight if they’re only facing a handful of combatants. They’ve already shown that they will underestimate me, regardless of the consequences.

Either way, I’ll have a break to address the matter of bettering myself. Exploring my affinities and this body’s capabilities. Practicing my shapeshifting. Some spars with Kierra. Real ones instead of the usual “foreplay”.

Somewhere in there I’ll have to fit in writing a letter home. My ancestor wrote a journal chronicling a journey north to speak the estrazi, more commonly known as the Lords of Winter. It was offensively short on detail. Unbecoming of a summoner. More importantly, summoners do not give away their records, of any kind, to outsiders. It stays in the family.

I have a theory that my ancestor wrote that little summary to appease his employers, the James of the time, but recorded a more detailed account of their journey later. If so, that record will be in the family library, waiting to be rediscovered. It’s a favor Father won’t be too bothered to grant, I think. And I suppose I should let him know I’m alive after participating in a northern campaign. He’s not aware of my constitution so he might…be worried.

I could invite him to the Grand Hall. He’s a very capable summoner, which makes him a very capable researcher. He could help with searching the records of the Summoner Hall. I know he’d be fascinated with my impending trade with the Dark Lord and we could work on the mystery of our ancestor together.

Working together with my father as fellow summoners, huh.

Never thought the day would come but…I think I’d like that.