Kieran and Rah’Na returned to their usual spots outside their shared home. But while Kieran was still struggling to control his breathing, Rah’Na seemed unaffected by the hours they had spent in the training yard. The old wolf simply sat down and picked up the drink she’d left behind, continuing to sip it slowly.
After only a few minutes, Rah’Na spoke. “While you rest, Kieran… the necklace you received from Fahra’Uhn. The soul weapon. It is time you learned to use it.”
Kieran’s ears perked up. He looked expectantly at the old wolf.
“Although, there really isn’t much to it,” Rah’Na clarified as she placed her mug on the table between them. “Once you’re attuned, it is as simple as moving your arms.”
“And how would one go about attuning to a soul weapon?” Kieran asked through ragged breaths, his fingers already reaching subconsciously for the necklace.
“I assume you know how to manipulate the energy within your body by now?” Rah’Na asked, receiving a nod in return. “Good. Then push that energy into your necklace until a connection forms. It may sound vague, but you’ll know what to do. Trust me.”
Kieran’s eyes drifted to the ground in front of him while he thought about Rah’Na’s words. Then he focused on the flow of energy within him, tugging at the strings and redirecting them to the hand in which he held the necklace.
He pushed the energy outward, trying to draw on his previous experiences of using Mend to heal others. Only, when he cast Mend, the action felt natural. The flow was unobstructed and pulled on his reserves without constraint. Now, it felt as though his energy was… fighting him. Like he was trying to plunge his hand into water, but couldn’t manage to break the surface tension.
Redoubling his efforts, Kieran directed more energy towards attempting to break this barrier. But the resistance was still too much for him to overcome. This time, the feeling reminded him of trying to pierce an extremely thick balloon. His effort was like a needle, pushing into the surface but not quite able to pop it.
Kieran took a deep breath. He suddenly realized that he had closed his eyes and clenched his right hand in a death grip around the necklace. His whole arm ached from the strain. Overall, he felt even more fatigued than he had after the six hours of training.
“It’s… fighting me,” he admitted after a few moments, sighing heavily.
“As the gifts of strife often do,” Rah’Na grumbled, crossing her arms. Judging by her expression, Kieran could guess that she had some personal experience in the matter. “It will not let you wield it if you don’t prove yourself. Try again.”
Kieran once again focused all his effort onto himself and the necklace. This time, he took a few moments to gather the energy into his hand first, accumulating power in the limb as if he was trying to strengthen Mend or Maim. Then he sent the energy forward as a surge.
All of Kieran’s collected magical might crashed into the necklace’s barrier like a flooding river against a dam.
A wave of cold nearly overwhelmed him as a result of so much energy flowing through his being, focused on a singular goal. The strain this effort put on his body was even greater. A persistent ache settled into his muscles, growing by the second.
Then the dam broke.
The sound of war cries and screaming echoed through his thoughts, much like when he touched one of the discarded weapons in the dream bestowed by Fahra’Uhn. Kieran felt threads weaving into a link in the back of his mind. It was similar to the process of marking a location for Recall, except this feeling was… unpleasant, to say the least.
A splitting headache beset him. It was like someone had taken an axe to his skull. Caught off-guard, he groaned in pain and buried his head in his hands.
Through the general haze caused by the sudden onset of agony, Kieran could hear Rah’Na trying to contain her laughter.
“Ah, yes. The headache.” The old wolf patted Kieran on the shoulder. “Forgot about that one.”
Her teasing tone revealed clearly that she had not, in fact, forgotten about it at all.
While the headache had sprung up rapidly, it faded with terrible slowness. In its wake, however, the pain left something new: a mental string that stuck out in Kieran’s mindscape like a sore thumb.
Kieran felt a presence through this connection. When he poked at it, the presence seemed to respond by merging with the streams of energy coursing through Kieran.
“Well, it seems to have worked,” Kieran observed, wincing through the final remnants of his headache. “Now how do I wield it?”
“That will take some practice, but it is no different than moving your own limbs,” Rah’Na explained.
Kieran merely looked at her, raising an eyebrow.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“All you really need is intent,” she went on. “It won’t feel natural at first. You will have to direct the soul within the necklace on what shape to take and how to move. But eventually, it will be as instinctual as breathing. We will practice.”
Kieran sat back in his chair with an extended sigh. After a long day of training, he was finally beginning to feel comfortable again. The headache was almost gone. His breathing was under control. Even his fatigue was starting to fade, making him marvel at how resilient his body was becoming during his time on Lyruna.
That thought reminded him of his first full day in this new world. Even after traveling and multiple battles, he hadn’t felt any significant need for food or drink. Perhaps physical stamina was part of the gods’ gifts to their Chosen Contenders? Or was it just part of his experience as the Contender of Death, to help equip him against the undead armies set against him by the monsters?
He glanced down at the bracelet on his wrist, his mind turning to the matter of his particular mission in this ongoing invasion.
“You mentioned you had some ideas for striking back at the Pale Watchers the other day,” he reminded Rah’Na.
“I do indeed. The survivors brought with them stories of what they saw on the road.” Rah’Na tapped a claw against the table. “Stories of undead taking hold of abandoned places and gathering there. If we go to these locations, there is a good chance we can find some of the Pale Watchers’ lower leaders.”
“Lower leaders?”
“The lowest among undead are the ones that pose the most threat to the common folk, yet they cannot act on their own. They need entities with sufficiently powerful wills to lead them. We call these entities lower leaders. Above them are the higher leaders, and at the top are the Oculus and Bone Laureate.”
The wind seemed to pick up as Rah’Na laid out the facts. “If we remove these lower leaders, then those weakest of the undead will be left listless. Without a higher will to govern them, they don’t even wander. They simply wait for another command. I can point you to these abandoned locations. Take out the lower leaders, and you will have significantly hindered the Pale Watchers’ ability to harm the citizens of Lyruna.”
Kieran considered for a moment. “Aren’t the higher leaders also capable of commanding the grunts?”
“They are, but they will not. They are too prideful.” Rah’Na scoffed. “A flaw we can and will exploit. The older undead, revenants and the like, are more prideful than the rest. It will be their downfall, as it ever was.”
The tapping of her claws was beginning to be accompanied by the tapping of rain against the ground. It struck Kieran as strange, how quickly the weather turned. The skies had been mostly clear only minutes ago. In fact, one of his defeats on the training ground was the result of sunlight hitting his eyes just as Rah’Na swung her weapon.
Still, he tried to focus on the matter at hand. He stood and stretched, turning towards the door. “A strategy as sound as any. Let me get the map. You can mark out the locations.”
As he pushed through the door, the distant rumbling of thunder shook Eon’s Peak ever so slightly.
Kieran’s instincts immediately flared up. He turned around and scanned the street, but he and Rah’Na were alone. The survivors-turned-townsfolk had retreated into their homes to recover from the night’s festivities.
He narrowed his eyes. “Am I the only one who finds this turn in weather… strange?”
“You worry too much, Kieran,” Rah’Na countered. “I checked the wards this morning. They are holding firm. No monsters can make their way into the settlement.”
Kieran lingered another few moments in careful observation. Then he pushed into the building without another word. He knew absolutely that he could trust Rah’Na. Still, something in the back of his mind was screaming at him to be on guard.
Was it the soul weapon? It certainly seemed to have a way into his mind now. And, from all the context he had, it was probably sentient to some degree. Yet when he checked on the connection in his mind, it seemed to be dormant. Kieran wasn’t sure how he knew that.
It warrants some experimenting, this new connection, he thought as he headed for his room. But not now.
The rain was intensifying. Kieran could hear it clearly even from his room as he quickly retrieved the map and hurried to rejoin Rah’Na.
“Here.” He held out the map as soon as he stepped outside. “Please mark the locations I should visit.”
While Rah’Na began marking the map, Kieran kept scanning their surroundings. He was so on edge that he couldn’t even sit down. His eyes kept wandering to the arch leading down to the Queen’s Promenade, as if he was subconsciously expecting someone to show up.
Even so, he was more than a little surprised when a figure did, in fact, step through the arch.
This figure was about Kieran’s height and broad-shouldered. They wore robes adorned with lines in zig-zag patterns. The robe’s hood was up, so Kieran couldn’t see the figure’s face, but their hands were covered in fur and ended in claws. They were using a glaive as a walking stick as they moved confidently forward into the settlement. The weapon’s blade glowed faintly in the day’s overcast gloom.
“Hey, heads up,” Kieran announced calmly.
Rah’Na first looked up at Kieran, then followed his gaze. The old wolf’s eyes narrowed.
“Those robes… that is the War Bringer’s Contender.”
Kieran felt a pang of nervousness go through him. He drowned the feeling almost as soon as it appeared, but it was hard not to find the robed figure a little foreboding.
“Well, no reason to be bad hosts.” Rah’Na quickly folded the map and stood up. “Let us greet them.”
The old wolf stepped into the rain. Kieran followed closely, raising the hood of his own robe to keep his hair from getting wet.
“Day’s greetings, stranger,” Rah’Na called, raising her voice over the ferocious rain.
The figure stopped and turned silently towards the pair. Slowly, they raised their head, revealing a chin covered in thick brown fur.
Then the figure pointed a clawed finger towards Kieran. “So, you are the one the monsters are whispering about,” the figure said, their voice a low, masculine growl.
Kieran exchanged a confused look with Rah’Na before turning back towards the figure.
“Wouldn’t know,” Kieran replied, his hand resting on the hilt of his shortsword.
“Slayer, they call you. They speak of how you slew Broken Tusk. How you scattered legions of undead. How you bring war to those around the peak.” The figure raised its glaive into a fighting stance. “As a servant of War, I am unconvinced. So I came here in search of you. I would clash blades with you, Slayer, that your blood may vindicate my name for the cause of War. Now, raise your weapon. Let us fight.”
“Oh, wonderful, one of you psychos…” Kieran muttered. He recalled countless times in the army when overeager soldiers had gone running to the front line, only to be brought back either dead or full of holes for him to patch up.
But if this figure was anything like those soldiers, then there was no stopping them. They would have their fight, regardless.
Kieran tightened his grip on Defiant Aphelion’s hilt.
“Fine. I’ll play.”