Myra’s deft hands trimmed away the excess hair and beard that made Draven resemble a beggar. “Today is an important day, Draven. Don’t think less of us for what is about to happen.”
“Another one of those things you can’t tell but want to?” Draven sighed.
“Yeah, man. Everybody here seems to like this sort of game.” Aemon looked at himself in the mirror with a proud face. He had trimmed his hair short and shaved his beard to a presentable look. “I think that’s pretty fucked up of you guys.”
“Something like that.” Myra’s face did not show any amusement, her curt movements belonging to someone who only wanted to finish what they were doing.
“Both of you must remember, the place you are about to enter is not friendly territory,” Helvan spoke from behind his desk, the familiar stack of paper spread around in an organized mess. “The Unbreakable Veil should mask the signature of your souls if you manage to make it withstand scrutiny.”
The last part stung at Draven. After training the shielding technique for days and with Helvan’s insights, he had finally drained the darkness from his soul into the shield, but the durability of the technique was still far from Ekron.
“House Orenn employs the services of a powerful Evoker, so do not draw his attention, Draven.” The old man put the documents down.
“Damn, gramps.” Aemon turned from the mirror, a look of surprise on his face. “Are you finally gonna elaborate on how you plan to send us to our deaths?”
A frown of displeasure instantly settled on Helvan’s face.
“Your tongue, boy. That shall be the death of you. I need not be a Dreamer to see it.” He sighed after a few breaths. “There has been word of secret gatherings inside House Orenn, rumors that none but the most influential or most inconsequential have access to. Your assignment is to find what Paradius Orenn, Virien of House Orenn, is scheming with the other houses.”
“Sounds simple enough.” Aemon spoke with clear outrage. “Walk inside a castle full of people that can murder us, and make them tell us all their secrets. All the while hoping nobody sneezes too hard on Draven’s shield so it doesn’t break.”
He has a point, Draven thought. The entire plan depended on too many factors that none of them controlled. It was bound to fail. “Nobody is gonna believe this dumbass Aemon is a lord.”
“Hey—”
“It is good that you are not infiltrating as a lord, then, but as a cook and a servant. Lowly enough to bypass any undue scrutiny, lesser in origin with documents to sustain your past, inexperienced fools who stepped foot in Anaverith for the first time.” The old man raised an eyebrow as he inspected them. “Were I not to know the truth, I would believe the lie myself.”
“I will be the servant!” Aemon took the chance to salvage a petty victory amidst disaster. “Good luck cooking, Draves.”
“But I can’t cook for shit—”
“Enough.” Helvan silenced them with the weight of his presence. “The cook apprentice shall be you, Aemon Orisanth.”
“Hey! Not fair, gramps, I called it first.” Aemon snarled. “Why are you taking his side like that?”
“The servant post was requested by the young lord Nerovian Orenn.” Helvan gazed at Draven with hesitation. “It is the second time in one month he has requested a servant, the tenth in under six months. The circumstances of the previous applicants are… unknown.”
“So you’re sending me to die,” Draven snapped. The bastard of an old man must have held a grudge against him; there was no other explanation. “I’ll do it, but you have to promise me one thing.”
Helvan waited in silence.
“If I die, you’ll get my family out of there. You’ll get them to safety.” Draven was ready to face death if it meant saving them, but he refused to die meaninglessly.
“It will be done,” Helvan said.
“Not you, Helvan. I don’t trust their lives to you.” Draven turned around and looked at Myra’s silent form. “Promise it to me, Myra.”
“Aiden…” His real name slipped out of her mouth. “I’m not sure I can face House Orenn. I’m not exactly that strong.”
“It’s not about strength. It’s about heart, Myra. If you tell me you’ll do it, then I trust you.” Draven stole a glance at Helvan. The Sovran did not look upset; no emotions were visible on his face—precisely why Draven could not trust him.
Helvan looked empty.
“I’ll get them out.” She gripped Draven’s shoulder. “But you gotta promise me one thing too. No fancy ideas! Stay in the shadows, swallow your temper. Don’t look for trouble. Don’t be stupid. Well… we are sixteen years too late for that one. Don’t get killed.”
“That’s five things. It kinda seems like I got the short end of the deal.” Draven laughed and nodded.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
One less worry gone from his head. Draven did not plan on getting himself killed, but it was always good to have a guaranteed fallback plan.
“Well then, it is good that everything is sorted out.” Helvan did not look happy or angry when he stood up; he spoke without passion. “The basics are out of the way, both of your souls are attuned, yet the final step remains to be taken. It is time for you to undergo Heightening.”
Aemon, contrary to all of his expectations, looked confused. Concerned. Draven knew how much his ability to command hexion wore down his friend’s mood. He understood firsthand how much Aemon wanted to do the same.
The time had finally come, but Aemon did not look happy at all. “All good?” Draven whispered and nudged him with an elbow.
Helvan took Myra’s hand, their position revealing a hidden rune circle beneath their feet. Now that Draven looked at it, he sensed the runes hidden in the stone. A transportation circle, most likely—perhaps one similar to the one that had sent them to Elysium.
“I don’t know, man. I just got this nasty feeling that I’ve seen this shit before.” Aemon looked around, a frown on his face. “But oh well, time to get my hands on some Empyrean Arts! You’re not gonna be the only one showing off for much longer.” He buried his hesitation under an uncertain smile.
Draven took Myra and Aemon’s hands, the power of runes rumbling beneath his feet. He closed his eyes to shield them from the overpowering brilliance that consumed the room.
The world trembled, then went silent.
***
A dark stone bed carved by skilled hands, its corners smooth, lines flowing into each other as if it were the proud work of a craftsman. That might be how someone would describe it, but to Draven, it was just a big brick that looked like an altar of sorts—its craftsmanship was of no importance next to the circle of slumbering runes around it.
He winced and looked away, a moment too late, but no one else could tell. They did the same, every effort focused on not looking directly at the mysterious instruments of power that shook their minds.
Aemon had been taken somewhere else. Draven did not like being alone in the room with only Helvan and Myra for company; it reminded him of that metallic table, the memories that occasionally haunted his resting moments. Something told him that whatever was about to happen was not much better than those bloody days.
May the Maker protect me. He remembered Asthagon’s warning. Never mind.
“Take your clothes off and lay down on the stone nexus,” Helvan spoke with eyes closed. “The process is simple enough, though incredibly expensive.”
“And just what is about to happen?” Draven took off his clothes.
“We talked about this, Draven,” Myra interjected. “Nobody is about to murder you or something, I promise. You're gonna understand it when it happens. All this silence and unanswered questions will make sense after it’s done.”
She opened an eye to steal a glance at him, blinked away tears at the sight of the runes, and closed it once more with a frown of pain.
“If you say so.” Draven walked toward the stone altar.
With his back turned to them, no one would know he could look at the runes with no consequence, so he savored every step. They were complex, closer than he had ever been to the mysterious knowledge privy to only a single soul in the entire Haven. The absence of his notebook filled him with regret.
Damn that Corvanis bastard!
If he had it with him now, just how many new runes would he be able to draw? Draven abandoned trying to count them after the tenth new one laughed at his attempt—better to understand one, to fix it into his mind, than to lose this opportunity to childish curiosity.
To his right, left, and front, a circle of grey metal encapsulated the same rune. This one looked important, and it was new. A single vertical line with four other strokes, almost forming closed triangles on each side of the original line.
Beautiful.
Easy to remember in its simplicity. Come to think of it, the simple ones were always singled out in metallic circles. He wondered for a second about the reason behind it, but he had arrived at the so-called nexus.
Draven lay down as instructed, the cold stone sending shivers against his skin, and waited in nerve-wracking anticipation. Now that he could no longer see the runes, his mind had no other distractions to focus on—its sole target was the fact that he was naked on a stone altar surrounded by runes.
“We shall begin,” Helvan announced.
A glowing cube sprouted from thin air into the palm of his open hand. Its shell was transparent like glass, but it shone with a variety of colors that would make any lord covet it as a precious jewel. The old man knelt, eyes open and a frown of pain carved deeply into his face, then placed the cube on top of the same rune Draven had inspected earlier.
“Hmph,” he grunted. A trembling step took him away from the circle. “This never gets easier. I envy whoever does not have to deal with the headache.”
“Hard to find someone who wouldn’t envy the Maker himself,” Myra whistled.
Helvan looked at Draven and grunted.
The ground shook, cold blue light filling the runes with brilliance one by one until the entire circle illuminated the room, leaving no place for shadows to hide. It thrummed, beating with the rhythm of a human heart.
A scream filled Draven’s mind as energy entered his flesh unbidden. Pure terror and unbearable pain touched his thoughts, but they were not his own. It was like hearing someone else’s voice, their thoughts and feelings inside his head.
“What is—”
The energy pierced his shield as if it was not there. The anxiety that made him sweat was his own, but the sheer regret and dread? That belonged to someone else. He saw the blue energy enter his soul, swirl around his core, dancing around it, soothing the flames of hexion that burned on its surface.
The flow stopped after a few minutes, and so did the foreign impressions in his head. The energy, so vast and brilliant, dissolved inside him. Everything that made him who he was became sharper, as his astra doubled in size, the flames burning brighter than ever.
Draven could smell his own sweat. He smelled flowers wafting from Myra, the greasy blade oil in Helvan’s hand, the stale air that had collected in this room for an untold amount of time.
When his eyes opened, he was at a loss for words. Streams of color, the same ones that had flickered in Helvan’s hand before, now swam in the air, like the wind itself had become the most precious thing in the world.
Draven stood up, eager to pester both of them with the million questions he now had.
“I suggest you remain seated,” Helvan sighed. “The worst part is yet to come.”
Black smoke wafted out from certain runes. Draven had seen it before; it resembled the same twisting, living cloud that formed after a binding oath. But he failed to understand why runes would produce that nasty thing.
Foreign memories rushed into his mind all at once.