[The Twining] 28. Their Best Hope (Patreon)

Evacuate… as in, go outside, into the danger? Isen thought, though he knew the guard was dead serious.

Isen has assumed the opportunity he sensed from the caravan was limited to being let through the gates and, possibly, continuing with the caravan to a more ideal destination—not that he really knew what kind of place suited him best in these foreign lands.

But maybe… maybe the opportunity was, all along, a simple opportunity to survive the unfolding disaster.

Sticking with Talis and Druinala might be the key.

As half elves started streaming from the room, Druinala’s bow ever focused on the window, Isen knelt by the girl. Her parents gave him pleading looks. “Please, protect her,” the father said. “We saw you spar with Talis—you fight like a savage. Turn that on whatever seeks to hurt her. Please.”

Isen didn’t know whether he should be offended by the remark—or the sudden realization that most of the half elf merchants probably spoke common well enough to converse with him, but instead chose to conduct all conversations in elvish anyway—but he put aside any misgivings and gave the parents a firm nod of his head. He felt his entire body respond to the burden of having someone weak and injured reliant on him for survival. He practically vibrated with adrenaline, his skin hot.

“I’ll do as best as I can,” he declared. It wasn’t a promise, but it was heartfelt, and he saw their expressions relax slightly. He scooped the girl up as tenderly as he could, her head lolling against his back as he supported her shoulders and hips with one arm, to keep the other free. She kept slipping, so he wrapped one of her arms around his neck and pulled it to her thigh, securing her in place.

When he stood, the parents were still with him, some of the last to linger along with Druinala and Sorina. Talis had gone ahead to escort the others.

Sorina exchanged a final string of words with Druinala, then turned to Isen. Her demeanor was guarded, uncertain. “You lead us out. Druinala will defend us from any threats coming from behind.”

There was so much he wanted to ask. Why had they sheltered in the inn, rather than trying to escape earlier? Why hadn’t they tried reinforcing the windows and the doors? Were such actions simply considered pointless?

In the end, he just swallowed his reservations and said, “Okay.” He turned to Druinala. “Weapon?”

The archer seemed to almost not understand him, but after a moment of intense staring at the window, she glanced away and pulled a sheathed weapon from her belt. She tossed it to Isen, who caught it on reflex, hand grasping the wrapped silk hilt. It was a short sword, simple and symmetrical, with two gleaming sides and a sharp tip for stabbing.

He’d prefer a spear, but the short sword was an easier weapon to wield, encumbered as he was. Isen strode to the door but didn’t sense any immediate danger. He exhaled. He just had to do his best and trust his instincts.

I won’t be held back by fear of making a mistake, he thought. Another realization struck him. I’m probably the best hope these people have of escaping this death trap.

It was like when he was with Ros all over again. He’d needed the beast’s strength, and it had needed his preternatural guidance.

I can do this, he assured himself as he raced down the stairs, glancing back to make sure the others were following behind. They were keeping pace, as expected of tier one cultivators with death on their heels.

He reached the ground level of the inn and was confronted by a tense scene of Talis facing off with the innkeeper, the shriveled woman from before. A pair of dead drayavin lay next to another shattered window. Three half elf corpses lay around them, torn to pieces. The drayavin were all horribly mutated, just as the one upstairs, though in different ways. The lower body of one was a mess of limbs, two extra clawed appendages sticking out behind human legs. The other had huge spikes jutting out all over its skin like needles, one even sticking out of its eye, the organ obviously defunct.

From the way that Talis gestured to the door, Isen got the sense he was trying to convince those present that they needed to leave the inn, only to be met by terrified skepticism.

All that Isen could sense in this place was a dead end.

Death.

He felt it so much more acutely now than upstairs. He was certain that if these people stayed, they would all fall to the ravening mutants.

“Talis,” he hissed, not caring that the innkeeper shot him a barely disguised glare, along with several of the anxious half elves, their eyes darting between those speaking and the broken window. “We need to go, now. Are the other guards planning to meet us somewhere?”

Talis’s grimace spoke volumes. “They never made it to the inn—they must have gone somewhere else first and taken shelter there. I have no idea where they are, but we have to assume we’re on our own until this is over.”

Somehow, Isen got the sense those guards didn’t take their responsibilities as seriously as Talis and Druinala. Seeing the drayavin, he wasn’t sure he blamed them. Defending a merchant caravan against monsters was one thing. Defending them against an invading force of mutants… It certainly wasn’t worth a monthly pay of twenty silver.

He privately hoped that wherever they were, the other guards were helping people to survive the incursion.

“Who is this human boy?” the innkeeper asked, eyes wild and unfocused, shifting to the window.

Isen knew he had to speak for himself, and the words tumbled out, driven by his own desperation to make them depart. Talis suspected they’d die if they stayed—Isen knew that with certainty. He said the words like he’d spoken them a thousand times before, the confidence and smooth delivery borrowed from his life before the depths, from a childhood on the streets and as the pet of Lady Jin.

“I am a skilled monster hunter who comes from a faraway land,” he explained, projecting his voice only just loud enough to be heard, mindful of the threats beyond. “I’ve killed countless second tier monsters and assisted in the slaughter of multiple tier threes. Above all, I am an unparalleled navigator, and can ensure we take the safest routes past danger.” He panned his gaze over everyone in the inn. “I am your best, and perhaps only, chance of survival. And I’m leaving with him.” He pointed to Talis.

Those present seemed stunned by his little speech. Talis tried to hide it, but Isen thought he saw a flicker of doubt. He caught Druinala’s eyes from the stairs where she held her bow drawn on the first-floor window. She didn’t seem to be paying him any mind, whether because she hadn’t understood him or because she was single-mindedly focused on defending them, he couldn’t tell.

The innkeeper turned to Talis with a trembling jaw. She clenched it, then spoke. “Is that true, what he says?” She said something else in elvish.

Talis’s gaze met Isen’s for what seemed like a small eternity. Then he smiled. “It’s true. I didn’t mention it because he hadn’t agreed to help us earlier, but now he has.” The innkeeper moved to say something, but the warrior cut her off. “We’re leaving. If you come, then follow behind.”

The older woman sucked in a breath. The people in the inn, even those of the caravan, seemed disconcerted by the suddenness of the evacuation, but Talis didn’t even give them a moment to think. He bounded for the door, pulling Isen along as he went. Druinala slid down the banister with feline grace, her bow trained on the window as she landed at the ground level on the balls of her feet.

When they reached the door, Talis whispered, so softly Isen could barely hear, “I vouched for you because it might be the only way to make them leave. If you lied to achieve that purpose, thank you, but you should step aside.”

“Nothing I said was a lie,” Isen stated somberly, and it was true. The only thing he’d faked was his confidence. It was a bit of a stretch to say he’d assisted in fights against tier threes—his primary focus was always just staying alive while Ros fought—but he had genuinely helped against the one tier four. He thought that had to count for something.

Talis blinked. “Can you actually lead us?” His expression was stoic, though his eyes… all Isen could see was anguish. He thinks most of these people are going to die.

“In the lightless depths, I served as the dedicated navigator for a tier three,” Isen whispered back. “If I can’t lead them to safety, no one can.” He shifted the bleeding girl on his back. “Should someone else take her?”

“She’ll slow a tier one down,” Talis said. The other half elves were all piling up by the door; like a herd of sheep, they all moved as one body, none willing to be left behind. “One of us must take her.” Talis blinked, then unhooked the girl from Isen’s shoulder, hoisting her over his own. Then, softer than even before, his eyes intense, like molten steel, he whispered, “If you’re lying, and these people die… I won’t let the matter drop. Last chance to come clean.”

His voice was pleading. Isen just stared at him, his newly freed hand grasping the door handle. The moment was right, the danger minimal. He opened the door.

What greeted him was near darkness, the last vestiges of sunlight reflected on the clean, cobbled street, obscured by the buildings. Isen didn’t even think about the inconvenience of low light and strode out.

He didn’t know anything about this town. He knew precious little about the enemy and nothing about the overall circumstances. He was honestly still shocked that Talis and Druinala were letting him lead them all. They knew he hadn’t even known what an elf was until he’d joined the caravan.

And yet, they followed.

In the end, power speaks, Isen thought bitterly. I have no reason to lie, no obligation to help, and I’m a tier two. We’re all stronger together.

To their credit, the half elves—and there must have been at least forty of them, a ridiculous number to lead in stealth across a besieged town—moved swiftly and quietly. Isen didn’t know if they could see in the dark, but they barely stumbled. Perhaps it was just the natural endowments of hollow formation stage cultivators that allowed them to see in low light.

He couldn’t fathom such casual competence in Goldbounty.

Nobody spoke after leaving the inn, not even in hushed whispers, but as Isen ran, he thought he sensed growing doubt. He didn’t know what strange path he was taking, but it certainly wasn’t straightforward. He felt like he was running in circles, but that was nothing new after the depths, especially as they’d approached the Compass of Legacy and the waters had confounded all natural sense of direction.

Talis’s visage was the main one Isen stole glances at—Druinala’s, at the rear, was too hard to see—and all he saw there was bewilderment. It gave him a boost of confidence as he continued leading them through the night, the ambient energy much more obvious than during the day, like an old friend.

After two minutes of sprinting, Isen finally encountered a fork where both paths led to unavoidable danger.

But one… one led to both danger and opportunity. Isen shot Talis a severe look, then held up Druinala’s borrowed sword and stopped running. As the others froze, he pointed toward the path they needed to take. Some looked like they wanted to protest, but Isen shook his head. He pointed to the other path, then made a slashing gesture across his throat.

That seemed to get the point across, though many of the half elves—especially those from the caravan—shot Talis and Druinala uneasy looks. The half elf warrior just stared back, unflinching. Druinala gave Isen a nod.

The pure elf’s recognition seemed to quell any misgivings, so Isen set off once again, sword gripped tightly. He moved fast despite knowing that threats lingered ahead, and soon, the sounds of battle came into focus.

They turned a corner and entered the main square from earlier, the one with the burning blue-green pyre. All around the fire were corpses, people and drayavin, their bodies limned in the mystical glow. Several drayavin were feasting on the dead, and they looked up, their eyes reflective in the dark. One was a lizard variant, like the ones at the inn, but the others all looked lupine, their half-nude bodies covered in mangy patches of fur.

An arrow took one of the wolven invaders in the eye and it dropped. That triggered the others to run toward them.

Isen breathed deep, then circled energy through his body, concentrating it in his leg meridians. He dashed forward, leaving the others behind and confronting the fastest drayavin. He contorted his body to avoid its disjointed claws, then slashed out with the sword, taking the monstrous humanoid in the throat.

It didn’t go as deep as he would have liked—he had grown too dependent on the divine dagger. He kept going, leaving Talis to deal with the injured creature, which whined and snapped, holding a too-many-fingered hand to its neck.

Isen didn’t make the same mistake when he met his next foes—a trio trying to come at him all together. He danced around their rough strikes, reminded of the humanoid wolven monsters he’d hunted back in the depths. The tier two drayavin were more powerful than those monsters and they couldn’t be fooled by Isen’s energy-cloaking technique, at least not with the moon and the fire providing light. But Isen was also tier two, and while these assailants weren’t definitionally monsters, they still fought like them.

When Isen struck at the neck of a lupine mutant, this time he put all his strength behind the strike. The head flew off, and Isen somersaulted to the ground, avoiding a sideswipe from a new attacker joining the fray. It had struck from his blind spot, the sixth sense saving him from a serious blow. Druinala’s arrow took that one in the side of the head, ending it before it had the chance to do anything else.

Seconds later, the wolven intruders’ corpses eyed Isen balefully as he approached the fire. He just stared at the flames, waiting, though he wasn’t sure what for.

Talis loped up beside him. “What are you doing?” He shifted the weight of the girl on his shoulder. Isen noticed a thin gash on the man’s sword arm. “We need to go!”

“No, we don’t,” Isen said calmly, though his heart pounded in his chest. What if Talis insisted on leaving?

The warrior reeled, and Isen could see traces of disbelief and incredulity in his face. “Who are you, really?” He took a step closer to Isen—and the flames.

Any words Isen might have spoken died in his throat as an indescribable change suddenly swept through the air. The mist reacted, swirling around the fire. Talis couldn’t see it, but even the half elf flinched at the subtle shift.

The universal words echoed with power.

A suitable vessel is present. Offer vessel to Lumina Eldrassin’s severed spark?

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