Discordant Note | The Beginning After the End SI

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Toren Daen

I hovered in the sky, taking deep breaths to center myself as my Acquire Phase burned against my skin. As a white core mage, my control and grasp of my Phoenix Will had improved drastically. While my First Phase strained my body very little as a silver core, now there was practically no noticeable decrease in mana reserves or taxing effects across my body.

Yet as I slowly inched deeper and deeper into the burning furnace that was this nigh-infinite expanse of insight, a different kind of strain started to burden me.

“Careful, Toren,” Aurora’s voice feathered across my mind as I worked to keep the power under control. “This is the hard part. When you assimilated the insight of the Will before, you couldn’t afford to dive this deep. But the perils are just as great as the rewards.”

I quietly acknowledged my bond’s words, using them as a centering focus. For the first time in months, I was undergoing mental assimilation once more with my Beast Will. My progress of improvement in mana manipulation and spellcraft had been nearly exponential due to the influence of this process back when I was a silver core, but there was a hard limit to what I could truly absorb. But with my innate understanding of organic magic as a white core mage, the last obstruction to assimilation was lifted.

As the knowledge and understanding superimposed itself into my mind under the effect of this form, I imagined I was at the edges of a furnace, the heat scalding and barely contained. I needed to keep fueling the burning fire within, but if I poured too much energy in, the tongues of flame would surge outward, burning me, too.

I felt sweat bead on my skin as I grasped at the metaphysical embers drifting from the fire, pulling them deeper and deeper into myself. Some of those embers went out, my knowledge too slim and my hold too weak. Others kindled even brighter as I grasped their true meaning, burning like tiny stars in my subconscious.

Aurora’s steady hand guided me through the process. I could feel her shade’s touch on my shoulder as her intuitive understanding of this kept me along safer paths. Her watchful presence prevented me from putting too much energy into that bonfire, kept me from diving too deep. When there were paths that I could not yet comprehend, a subtle nudge from her in the right direction pushed me onward.

“You should rest for a time, my son,” the ancient phoenix said soothingly. “One can only do so much at one time. You are still flesh and blood.”

At my bond’s words, I felt myself hesitate. I thought I could keep going; keep absorbing more and more insight. But I’d also learned to trust what the shade had to say.

Reluctantly, I edged back from the recesses of my Phoenix Will, and as I did so I felt a wave of mental fatigue wash over me. I blinked my eyes open in surprise, then immediately winced at the glare of the rising sun.

Sweat beaded over my face, and I could notice a flushed tone to my skin as my eyes adjusted with abnormal speed to the glare of dawn. I exhaled a shuddering breath I hadn’t known I’d been repressing.

“Without the guiding hand of others, it is often easy to overwork oneself,” Lady Dawn said from my side as I gradually took stock of myself. “Especially during assimilation. It is easy for you to get lost in the deluge of power.”

I nodded slowly, feeling like my brain had been basking on a summer beach for a few hours too long. My thoughts were slow to form, each struggling to coalesce from the slurry my mind had unwittingly become.

It’s like any type of learning, I thought, using the dot of the rising sun as a focusing anchor. One can dive headfirst into knowledge and be quickly overwhelmed. It takes time and effort to truly cement what one is shown and taught.

Right now, my mind was full, and I’d need time to truly digest and assimilate all the insight I’d gained. Yet when my consciousness meshed with that of the Will’s, it became harder and harder to really notice the constraints of my physical body–which was why I’d nearly pushed past my limits.

“There’s something about my Phoenix Will that influences my soul,” I said aloud as my thoughts finally realigned. I leaned backward in the air, my hand caressing my chin as I focused on this. “I can’t exactly put my finger on how, but there’s some sort of overlap there. I can kind of… sense it, for lack of a better word. Maybe it’s because our bond is soul-deep and you once were connected to the Will. Or maybe it’s just a facet of Beast Wills themselves.”

To my surprise, Aurora’s face took on a bit of a somber cast. “It is true that you gained unique insight into the nature of the soul as you ascended to the white core,” she said, “but on the topic of the Will and its deeper nature, I truly cannot say. This is beyond my realm of expertise.”

I was surprised to sense the reluctance in Aurora’s tone. I tilted my head, focusing on the asuran shade as her emotions receded slightly. “Isn’t the body and soul the specialty of the Asclepius Clan?” I asked, wondering what she meant.

Aurora sighed, her star-burning eyes dimming slightly. The asura’s deep red hair slowed in its Unseen shifting. “While every phoenix learns the bare necessities required for their First Sculpting, most never proceed beyond that point. As you have learned, acquiring insight into the intricacies of aether is difficult, even with your entirely unique avenues of insight. But among the Elders of our clan, there tends to be a divergent path.”

Aurora raised one palm upward as she stared at me seriously. “That of the body,” she started, before lifting the other hand, “and that of the soul.”

I caught her meaning quickly. “And your focus was on using heartfire in relation to the body; the Vessel,” I said, connecting the dots, “but not the soul.”

Aurora lowered her hands. “Yes, my son,” she said sadly. “I cannot help you in these endeavors. My brother would be a higher authority in these matters, yet I sense that even he may find himself adrift when it comes to your unique insight.”

I felt my brows crease as that mote of sadness flowed over our soul bond again. I felt compelled to ask why, to question my ghost-like mother of the source of this quiet grief. But I sensed that to do so would be to prod at a wound Aurora was not ready to revisit.

“Speaking of phoenixes and all things asura,” I said into the cool spring breeze, trying to change the topic, “the story that Barth told me of the Dragon and the Mountain: what did you think of it?”

Aurora shifted in the air, crossing her arms in thought. Her martial robes began to blow again as an Unseen breeze caressed her once more. “You were right to focus so intently on that story,” she started. “The tale the Puppeteer weaved was an exact rendition of an old legend told to our youth when the time for their nightly rest draws near.”

I raised a brow. “So it was a fairy tale,” I said, feeling a bit amused.

Aurora’s expression became more severe. “We do not have ‘fairy tales,’ my son, just legends with old iotas of truth,” she said assertively.

A smile started to work its way across my face as I opened my mouth to respond, but I was cut off as I sensed a flash of mana and intent weaving up toward me.

I’d been lounging in the air rather casually before, and I didn’t change that posture as I shifted to observe the incoming person. A thunderous pulse of dark heartfire blanketed my ears like a soft shadow.

Seris drifted up to me, her lifeforce and intent unmasked to my senses. Unbidden, what I suspected could be called an ‘idiotic grin’ stretched across my face.

“Hey, Seris,” I said warmly, the mana around me conveying the fullness of the quiet passion I felt in my soul, “here to enjoy the view? It’s quite beautiful; the rising dawn and the last lingering motes of the Aurora Constellate. But you’re forcing me to choose right now.”

Seris smiled slightly in turn, chuckling at my rather overt implication. When she drifted up beside me, she took the opportunity to link her arm with mine as her onyx eyes traced the sunrise far in the east, its rays glinting off the ocean as if it were an expanse of many precious stones.

“As wondrous as this morning view is,” the Scythe said imperiously, her grip on my arm surprisingly strong, “you did well in turning to the more attractive sight. I commend you on that, Toren. I would be displeased with you otherwise,” she said with utmost sincerity.

I raised a brow as I looked at the petite Scythe at my side, watching how her silver hair blew in the sea breeze. “That’s a very arrogant thing to say, Seris,” I said, imbuing my voice with a helpful dose of skepticism.

Seris laughed demurely, her arm tightening slightly on my own as she leaned closer the barest bit. We stayed there in the sky for a short time, observing the far-distant sun as it rose.

“I do find such views beautiful. And loathe as I am to say such, I rarely find… beauty anymore,” she admitted quietly. “I struggle not to see everything in shades of cold gray.” A pause. “Can you sense that over my intent, Toren?” Seris asked–and her tone was surprisingly fearful.

I felt the urge to wrap my arms around the demure Scythe, simultaneously endeared and saddened by her uncertainty in the face of my abilities. Seris’ cloaking artifact couldn’t do much to restrain my sense of her intent. “I can sense your hesitation,” I said quietly. “A bit of your reluctance, your passion. But if I really, really try…”

My lips pursed into a thin line as my words fell away, and I focused my attention on the horizon once more. Dawn had finally passed, and without the scintillating colors of light split by the clouds and atmosphere, the last remnants of the Aurora Constellate were far more visible.

“You can sense my fear,” Seris said, voicing what I was too uncomfortable to say. She sighed slightly as the conversation stilled, her face taking on a melancholy cast.

“That’s a very human emotion,” I said into the stillness, sensing her shame as it rose. From the fact that I could sense her emotions or that she held them in the first place, I did not know.

I’d said those words before. I wasn’t sure if she believed them then, or if she believed them now.

Seris didn’t respond, instead opting to watch the shores. She seemed to be deep in thought as the sunlight kissed her pale skin.

“I told you once,” she said after a moment, “that sometimes I liked to imagine what was beyond the cliffs of Aedelgard. Create fantastical illusions within my mind of untouched lands and vast, unexplored reaches.”

Seris observed me out of the side of her eye. “Do you imagine your previous world when you stare out across these waters? A land of skyscrapers and human accomplishment?”

I shifted in the air, genuinely surprised by the question. Yet it didn’t take me long to respond. “No, no I don’t,” I said honestly. “I’ve made peace with the fact that I won’t see my old world again. Sometimes, I allow myself to reminisce and mourn for what was lost, but this… this life here? It’s another turning of a cycle. Things grow, wither, and grow again. Like the repetition of spring. My time in this world is just another springtime.”

Seris hummed contemplatively. “Or another sunrise.”

I smiled softly. “Or another sunrise.”

The Scythe hesitated for a moment, biting her lip as a slight blush worked up her cheeks. “Tell me more about your world,” she finally said, her voice slightly quiet as she kept her attention forward. “I would like to know what it was like, living in a human world.”

I blinked at the surprisingly embarrassed undertones of Seris’ intent. “I’d be happy to, Seris,” I replied, wrapping an arm around her and playfully pulling her closer. “What do you want to know?”

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The Scythe pointedly turned her chin away from me as she got her thoughts in order. “You spoke of how the people ruled themselves. Humans instead of gods,” she said quietly. “I would like to hear of this. How did it work? What gears of power turned to bring life to the home you knew?”

Amusement burned like a low candle in my chest at the powerful mage’s hesitance. For all her power, poise, and endless skill, it seemed that even Seris had fantasies of her own–and talking about them brought a nervous dusting of pink to her cheeks that I took the time to savor.

But I also didn’t want to lie to her, either. “My world wasn’t ideal in its leadership, Seris,” I said honestly. “We had failures, just like this place. Maybe not the same kind. Maybe fewer failures. But everything is susceptible to human greed and lust for power.”

“That’s the difference, though,” Seris replied, turning and nuzzling closer to me. She stared up into my eyes in a way that made my stomach do a very accurate interpretation of a somersault. “Human greed. Human desires.”

It slowly fell into place as Seris brushed her fingers through my hair absently. That was what she meant, when she said I gave her hope.

My smile was wry and slightly sad as I looked down at the sculpted woman. “I haven’t found an asura that wasn’t human in some way, Seris,” I said quietly, my voice low. “I don’t want to give you false hope.”

The Scythe tilted her head, her horns absorbing the light. “Intriguing,” she said slowly, entirely unfazed by my worries. “You don’t think the asura any different from man. Is that an otherworld ideal, too?”

I shrugged my shoulders lightly. “An asura’s intent carries all the same emotions as any human’s,” I replied. “They’re susceptible to all the same failures and desires. The only difference between Man and God is their power, not their personhood.”

Something in my words made Seris’ intent shift and crack in a way that told me I’d accidentally touched something very, very intimate. The Scythe hummed lightly, pressing her forehead into my chest as her emotions fluctuated. Her horns speared up right past my eyes.

I held her awkwardly, suppressing my uncertainty and sense of her emotions as she sorted whatever it was out. My eyes traced the horizon again, looking for new patterns.

What would an asura see in that distance that a man could not? I wondered. In all my reading of that otherworld novel, every pitfall and failing of the asura was something so painfully human. And the more I lived in this world—the more I lived with Aurora—the more their mystique as ‘deities’ fell away.

“You wish to know what I see? I see infinity,” Aurora whispered somberly, her emotions startling me out of my reverie, “endless possibility in the sunrise. But kindness, too. A mother’s warmth.”

I turned slightly, the Unseen World washing over my vision. In fact, I hadn’t even been aware that it had vanished with how solely I’d focused on Seris.

Aurora was staring at me with a fond expression, but more directly at where my arm was linked with the Scythe’s. “I knew something had changed on that night of the Constellate, but to see with my own eyes is something else, my son,” she said with a slightly amused tone.

I shifted slightly in annoyance at Aurora’s knowing look, feeling remarkably close to the teenager my body technically was at the moment. Seris picked up on my change in demeanor quickly, taking her head from my chest and looking at me intensely.

“What is it, Toren?” she asked seriously, her intent evening out into one of focus at the drop of a dime. “What is it you sense?”

I averted my eyes from Aurora’s burning ones. “I’m not sensing anything. Just, uh… being put on the spot. By a very annoying bird,” I said, feeling a strange mixture of amusement and uncertainty from how my bond was treating my relationship.

Seris, however, went slightly rigid at the mention of my bond, her eyes flicking about in a searching manner. “She is here?” she said, her arm tensing around my own with increasing strength, her nerves palpable. She separated quickly, leaving me cold. “Lady Dawn is watching us now?”

I shared a look with Aurora, asking a silent question. She slowly nodded. “I can show you,” I said slowly.

Seris focused on me, her lips pursed and her eyes hard. “What does this entail?” she asked with utter seriousness. “For me to see this… asuran shade?”

The moon-blessed Scythe was clearly still uncertain about the presence of my bond, but I hoped what I was about to do would help assuage some of those fears. I rested a few fingers against my chest, calling on my heartfire. “Nothing too absurd,” I said in what I hoped was a soothing tone as I drew a tendril of lifeforce from my chest, “just something we’ve done before.”

Seris tensed as I pressed my fingers against her chest, watching–yet still waiting–as my vein of aether brushed against her beating heart.

Inadvertently, I flashed back to the time I had slain Mardeth, draining him of his lifeforce as I drove a stake through his heart. At the very cusp of his demise, I was certain he’d been able to see the haunting shade of Aurora behind me.

And that suspicion was confirmed as Seris’ eyes widened, focusing for the very first time on Aurora. But I was surprised to note that her fear seemed to decrease as she took in the phoenix’s phantom form.

“Fascinating,” Seris eventually said. “And all this time, she has been at your side?”

“I have,” Aurora said aloud, her head tilted as she stared back at Seris like an interested bird. “And I have guided Toren as best I could.“

Seris’ brow raised as she stared between the two of us. “Is that what you were doing earlier?” she asked, sounding curious, her tension far more restrained. “Guiding him? The mana fluctuations were palpable even from my rooms–though I doubt any below the silver core could sense them.”

I snorted lightly. “Actually, yes,” I said with wry amusement. “But Aurora was actually about to tell me a story before you interrupted–a fairy tale told to young asura.”

The phoenix’s brow twitched slightly, but she restrained her annoyance at the term. “Yes; that I was,” she admitted. “At the Constellate not long ago, a puppeteer displayed an intimate knowledge of the story, but he knew not the full picture.”

Seris hummed slightly, and I could almost see the gears turning behind her eyes. “I will admit, my knowledge of the land of the gods is quite sparse, but I would have never suspected that story of the Dragon and the Mountain to have any note of truth,” she said skeptically. “You believe the puppeteer had knowledge of that land?”

“Mount Geolus is the seat of Castle Indrath,” I explained, “and from the story told by Barth, it seemed like the exact tale told to young asura. It’s not unreasonable to assume that there was some spread of culture as the asura of Epheotus influenced the path of Dicathen, but it certainly catches the eye.”

Aurora sighed, her hair drifting in the winds. “The tale of Astranorum–Father Sky, as Barth coined it–is also integral to the tale of the Asclepius,” she said almost offhandedly. “Too often are the feats of my ancestors forgotten.”

I blinked in surprise, then focused on the phoenix shade. “What do you mean?” I said, far from privy to this information. “I only knew the tale of Geolus, not any others.”

Aurora’s face tensed slightly, and a bare mental transmission threaded over our bond. “You were not aware of this piece of knowledge?” she asked, tilting her head. “You knew of Geolus, so I assumed that Astranorum was known to you as well.”

No, I thought back. My knowledge of this world is limited, true, but all I learned was the source of the Indrath’s great mountain. There were very few other perspectives of Epheotus.

“Do you two always settle into such strange, concentrated silence?” Seris asked at my side, breaking me from my contemplation. “I feel as if I am being excluded from something. Are you keeping more secrets from me, Toren?” she asked, her voice somewhere between coy and truly questioning.

“I am,” I admitted with a sigh, not willing to prod at the reasons I had such knowledge of another world. “And one day I might tell you, Seris, but it’s not something one can just… shrug off. I’ve dropped enough revelations into your lap for you to process, I think.”

Aurora still hadn’t really processed that revelation, even after half a year of time had passed. And she was a shade, unable to really affect the world or interact. And from how she turned to look at the rising sun, a contemplative cast to her face, I knew she sensed the direction of my thoughts.

Seris evidently picked up on the subtle interplay between the phoenix and me. “If that was an attempt at deflection, it was a poor one,” she said slowly.

I shook my head. I really didn’t want to drop an existential crisis on Seris’ head on top of everything else. “Aurora was just telling me something about the old legends of the Asclepius Clan,” I said, and this time it really was an attempt at deflection.

That, at least, was enough to pull Lady Dawn from her quiet musings of her own free will. “Admittedly, not much is known of the Catastrophes from millennia long past. Only stories and legends that have become even more obscured and misted as time trailed forward,” Aurora said, turning back from the rising sun and orienting on both of us. “Astranorum was one such calamity of living mana, much in the same way as Geolus. I cannot say for sure whether the tale of their motivations holds any truth, but there is something that I can say for certain.”

Aurora’s eyes brightened slightly as she continued her tale. “In the ages long past, the Asclepius would never suffer to be bested by an Indrath, no matter the reasons.”

I tilted my head, about to ask a question, but it was surprisingly Seris who spoke first. “One of your ancestors slew this Living Storm, did they not?” she said, leaning forward slightly as her pupils churned. “To contest the feat of the mighty dragons, the phoenixes needed a similar show of might.”

Aurora paused, turning to look at Seris more intently. The Scythe, for her part, seemed to have settled her nerves greatly the more she talked with Aurora, though I still sensed an undercurrent of tension.

My bond nodded slowly. “You are quick to understand, Scythe of Sehz-Clar, no doubt due to your own tempest of power struggles and politics,” she said shortly. “For countless millennia, the phoenix and the dragon were mortal enemies; contenders for the sky. And through slaying a Living Storm, one of my ancestors, Mordred Asclepius, made certain that the dragons would not upstage him. And with the corpse of the very winds he had conquered, Mordred crafted the Starbrand Sanctum so that it might forever coast along the skies, beyond the reach of all below.”

I contemplated this new bit of knowledge carefully as Aurora’s short story finished, rubbing my chin in thought. “I feel like I should have known of this,” I said a bit lamely. Something as monumental as slaying a calamity of mana felt like it should have been highlighted more within The Beginning After the End, yet…

Aurora sighed, tracing the directions of my thoughts. “The story is not nearly as well known as that of Arkanus Indrath besting Geolus,” she said sourly. “The mystical winds have long since begun to falter and fail millennia after the death of their source. Phoenixes must regularly imbue their mana into the whirling storm to keep it going, and it becomes more difficult every time. Storms do not linger as stone does. Indeed, there are tales told of Mordred and Arkanus’ meeting in the aftermath of their great battle, where Arkanus himself said as such.”

My bond enjoyed telling stories, I knew, and as I listened to her speak, I felt a quiet gratitude that this allowed her to take her mind off more existential questions. At my side, Seris listened attentively, her silver lashes contrasting the deep streaks of liner around her penetrating eyes. “A petty thing for a god to do,” she said slowly, “to slay a storm for no reason than to prove that they could.”

I felt a bit of anxiety rise at Seris’ bold statement, my brows furrowing. But Aurora took such ‘criticism’ in stride. “Your barbed tongue loosens remarkably quickly, Scythe,” she said without affectation. “But know that, unlike your Sovereigns, I claim no mantle of godhood. Indeed, it is a petty thing for a person to do. But the battle was so long ago that the true reasons for the act are no longer known–only what the Indraths claim.”

Seris’ lips pursed slightly at Aurora’s words, and I thought she seemed even more at ease in the aftermath. “A fascinating story,” she said, orienting on me. She unlinked our arms, leaving me quietly sullen at the loss of warmth. “But I cannot afford to linger in the sky all morning. I have already been sidetracked by you, Toren, and a Scythe cannot float on the winds all day, no matter how much she might want to.”

“If you wish to court a phoenix, you must accustom yourself with the sky, Scythe,” Aurora said, turning back to the sun. “You cannot expect to always be on the ground. Worry not; it will be a valuable learning opportunity for one such as yourself.”

“Regardless,” Seris said sharply, pointedly ignoring the phoenix, “I came to deliver news. Reinforcements will be arriving within a week from Alacrya on steamships, supplementing our current navy. And I have not been informed who will be arriving, but I suspect another Retainer is en route to supplant Cylrit’s station in the Beast Glades.”

The comfortable atmosphere–if slightly tense at times–drifted away as talk of war took precedence. I focused fully on Seris as I ran over the implications in my head. I was no expert tactician, but I could immediately see the problem arising.

Seris had practically full control of all Alacryan forces on Dicathen, both directly and indirectly. The two major fronts that I knew of were from Darv and the Beast Glades respectively, and Cylrit’s position in the Beast Glades ostensibly gave her control even from Burim. If she wanted to keep that control, she couldn’t afford to lose that avenue.

“To prepare for this, Cylrit will return here for a time to discuss plans,” Seris continued, “plans you will be privy to. And soon, we must speak of your plans regarding certain anchors. Am I clear?”

I shifted slightly in the air, noting the seriousness in the Scythe’s tone. I nodded slowly at her severe expression, sensing the buildup of emotions beneath the surface of her masks. “I’ll be there for it, whatever is coming,” I said with surety and iron.

The moon-sculpted mage’s expression softened slightly at my tone, a slight smile pulling at the edges of her lips. “I know you will,” she said, brushing past me before floating back down toward Burim.

I watched her go fondly, that burgeoning warmth in my chest keeping me just as warm as the spring sunlight. Eventually, the vein of lifeforce that connected our hearts dissipated as the distance grew.

“She tests me,” Aurora said with a mix of annoyance and respect. “She is subtle with her prodding, but she inches around me with veiled words and hidden meanings. I know not whether to find it amusing or irritating.”

I sighed. “All she’s ever known of asura are snakes in the grass, poised to strike,” I said solemnly, “so she treats you as if you might sink fangs into her at the slightest provocation.”

I hadn’t missed the interplay between my bond and my lover. She’d been cautious in how she’d spoken to Aurora, and her intent radiated that clearly.

“I know, my son,” Aurora said with a melancholy that mirrored my own. “I know. I cannot forget that she is iron forged by the furnace of Alacrya.”

That sentence brought my thoughts back toward what Seris had alluded to before she’d left. I worked my jaw as I thought of what was to come in this war. I didn’t know if these reinforcements were part of “canon,” but I could hardly be sure any longer.

But if I were right, it seemed as if Seris was ready to bring me fully on board with her plans for rebellion.