[Severed Divinity] 99. Convergence

“Finally made it,” Allezin hissed under his breath, the ruin of Shevenar in his sights. He never thought he’d be so happy to see the town again.

It looked dreadful. Parts of the walls scorched black, the main gates torn asunder. Drayavin and monsters must have come through after they’d left to pick it all clean.

Some would probably be there now.

“You made good time,” Welco said. The shadow puppet had stayed close to Allezin’s side the entire time, as though people would really believe that the patriarch was there in person. Anyone with eyes knew it was a toothless shadow puppet.

Allezin turned his head, taking in the group strung out behind him. On the road, he’d grouped up with Clan Femera and Clan Corasin, courtesy of Welco guiding them together. After reuniting, the Corasin head had taken the queen’s body upon her own back, personally safeguarding her divine flame. Yura trailed at the back of the group, flanked by her best cultivators and mages. Jorin and Kelsina led with Allezin at the front. Between the tier three escorts, the two clans mixed together, the mage-heavy Corasins outnumbering the cultivator-dominated Femeras.

Wherever Welco had sent his mages, it must have been far away. Otherwise Allezin would expect the shadow mage to link the mages up with the larger group.

By unsaid agreement, all the tier ones and untiered were in the middle of the groups. Nearly all of them were, of course, children. The untiered rode on the backs of swiftsteeds and tier two cultivators. Anyone who couldn’t match the pace of Corasin’s mages—the agreed-upon lowest common denominator—was similarly accommodated.

The way over hadn’t been too terrible. While Allezin was fairly confident they hadn’t been targeted directly by the Anarchate, wandering bands of monsters and drayavin had found them twice. The first group had been small and easily taken care of, Yura Corasin calling down an inferno to kill most and scatter the rest into a retreat.

The second was a larger group. By tacit agreement, Allezin, Yura, and Welco had agreed to let the tier twos fight the monsters themselves. It was valuable practice, akin to the kind they’d get when going on planned clan expeditions.

They had sustained three casualties, but no deaths. Not an unexpected outcome for two trained clans facing off against mindless monsters and barely-better drayavin. Even with the break for battle, they’d still traveled far faster than Allezin would have hoped. He’d underestimated how fast elven mages could move when pressured.

It made him even more annoyed at the multi-day odyssey from Shevenar to Eldrassin city, where people had universally refused to travel much faster than a brisk walk. 

“Are you close?” Allezin asked, pinning the mage with a glare, not that it could be seen behind his helmet.

“Yes. Just picked up the last prototype you hid. It’s impressive how much ground you could cover—we’ve been zigzagging across Eldrassin.”

Allezin rolled his eyes. It was trivial for core consolidation cultivators like himself to cover a vast distance in a short time, especially if the ground was relatively flat and sturdy. Each time he’d left to hide part of the legacy, he’d only been gone for a few minutes.

“Don’t enter Shevenar, by the way,” Welco said. “There’s a tier three inside. It’s eating the remnants of a monster corpse by the back gate.”

Probably not a powerful tier three, for it to be interested in whatever remained of a tier three carcass over a week old. It would still wipe the floor with anyone but himself and Yura.

“Still can’t tell us where we’re going next?” Allezin probed.

“Isen says he has to show us,” Welco replied.

“If this is what it’s like to work with seekers, even a false one, I hope to never encounter one again,” Allezin said, frowning. So many lives were on the line, and somehow he’d become responsible for them. After his failure at Shevenar, which was presently being rubbed in his face, that was the last thing he wanted.

Allezin had that responsibility, but he was dependent on another—a tier two—to guide him. Allezin liked Isen, and considered him a gifted cultivator, but Isen needed a few more years to mature and accumulate experience before Allezin could really trust his judgment in a do-or-die situation.

He tamped down on his frustration for now and waited for Welco’s true body to arrive.

A minute later, Welco’s shadow puppet froze, then disappeared, flitting away. Allezin’s lips pressed into a thin line. Had Welco sensed something?

A few seconds later, the mage was back. “I just informed Yura—the Aranites are approaching Shevenar.”

Allezin’s eyes widened, his hands tightening on the baton on his waist. “How do they know?”

“No idea. But it’s very bad—there’s a tier three leading them.”

Allezin inclined his head. “Only one?”

“She’s a very powerful tier three.”

“There’s three of us, four if you count your drayavin,” Allezin retorted.

“You need to start running north, now.”

Allezin turned and locked eyes with Yura, who nodded back, barely visible over the heads of the clansfolk. “Tell us what to do, then,” he spat.

“Very well,” Welco replied. The shadow grew in size, dwarfing the thousands of cultivators and mages in the procession. “Everyone,” he boomed, “we continue our advance. The Aranites pursue us—move swiftly. Your lives depend upon it.”

With that, the shadow puppet zipped forward, setting a punishing pace for the average elven mage. “Cultivators—help any who fall behind. We cannot go slower.”

“Just how powerful is this tier three?” Allezin snapped, keeping pace at the front. Jorin and Kelsina fell back a bit, looking out for anyone starting to struggle.

“Powerful enough to go head-to-head with Yvonne Lehal,” Welco said. When Allezin didn’t respond, the puppet’s expression morphed into a savage, wide grin. “Whom you might know as violet-eyes.”

***

Freyan’s heart pumped wildly in her chest. What had started out as an almost exciting adventure—her very first expedition outside Clan Femera—had gradually devolved into a nail-biting slog, especially when the second group of monsters had attacked.

As tier twos, she and Arthum had been allowed to fight along with the others. Part of her had wanted to stay behind. Arthum had shaken his head at the opportunity to fight, hanging back with the rest of the clade. He’d been intermittently carrying Lona on his back for the past two hours, whenever she waned in energy.

Freyan had almost held back as well. But then she thought of Isen, who had somehow gotten involved in all of this, and who was who-knows-where doing who-knows-what.

She knew what he’d do in her place. He’d fight.

And so, her competitive nature rearing its ugly head, she’d volunteered to join the melee.

Freyan had never seen true monsters or drayavin before. From afar, they’d seemed vicious, but like big animals.

And the tier ones were exactly like that. In a heady wave of adrenaline, she’d joined the other tier twos and pitted herself against a tier one wolf. She’d charged up a shadow step, surprising it and caving its head in without much difficulty.

She’d nearly thrown up at the smell of gore, coming not just from her kill, but all around her. She’d frozen in place, overwhelmed. A tier two had come for her next, its great lupine jaws snapping toward her neck. She’d only just barely dodged it, coming to her senses.

Years of training allowed her to avoid its subsequent attacks, but it was wicked fast and ruthless, coming down on her with a vicious need to kill. She’d never encountered anything like it before.

In the end, she’d gotten a lucky blow in, crippling its hind leg. It had stared at her with such vicious, overwhelming hatred as she’d approached, she’d nearly lost her shadow fist technique. Swallowing, she’d forced herself to seize the kill.

That time, she retched, tears streaking down her cheeks.

And then, it was over.

After she’d returned to the clade at the center of the procession, she’d been close-lipped. She wiped her hands on the grass, then on her black robes. She still felt sticky with the grayish, ashy blood. 

Time moved quickly, a blur. Suddenly, they were at Shevenar. Isen had mentioned Shevenar. He had been there before he’d come to Eldrassin...

As she stood on tiptoe to see above the others, she blinked uncomprehendingly at the destroyed town.

Just... what...

“This is where Isen came from?” Arthum murmured, his expression mirroring her own.

“I hope he’s okay,” Lona said softly, biting her lip.

Suddenly, a dark form rose up over them. Freyan’s nerves eased at the familiar guise of the patriarch’s shadow form. But as he called for them to resume their advance, faster, her ears went fuzzy, like they’d broken.

The... Aranites?

Here?

It was incomprehensible. The human empire was in the Elven Lands? Why would they be? And why would they be coming after them?

She looked frantically behind. The Corasin head was still there, and she knew Allezin was at the front. Just what kind of force was so strong that they were running away?

Her fear wasn’t isolated. She saw it in the eyes of the others around her. Confusion, disbelief, and horror.

Then, Welco moved, his shadow pacing over the ground, already growing smaller.

“Freyan, Freyan!” Arthum called, snapping her out of her stupor. Everyone was moving, herself included, but she hadn’t even registered it.

How could what was happening to them, be happening?

They ran for their lives over the northern sloping land, the ground growing increasingly rugged and rocky.

Into the mountains? she wondered. Because we’ll have the higher ground? She tried to make sense of their path, but couldn’t. It seemed like they were trying to push into the Bitter North—at this rate, they’d reach the Anarchate sooner rather than later.

Monsters became a more frequent hindrance, but Allezin and Yura killed them all before they got close, the tier threes working in deadly concert to ensure the group proceeded without pause through the increasingly treacherous terrain.

After thirty minutes of sprinting, she spotted something in the sky—a giant bird. She clenched her jaw, wondering if it was another monster. Yura had already smote down a few with fire bolts, roasting them before they got close.

But this one didn’t garner her attention. Did she somehow not see it? Should Freyan say something?

“Arthum, do you see that?” she said, nudging his arm.

He was breathing steadily, keeping pace, but she could tell his full focus was on doing so, especially since he was carrying Lona. His eyes snapped up, then widened. “Monster?”

She realized she wasn’t the only one to notice. Murmurs went through the mages and cultivators, though they went unanswered—the tier threes didn’t react. Freyan felt her nerves calm somewhat. Whatever the flying thing was, their guardians had to have seen it by now. Either they would attack it, or they wouldn’t.

It was out of her hands.

Still, she felt her heart beating when the flying shape grew steadily bigger, from a blip in the clouds to a humanoid, winged shape.

Was it a drayavin?

They proceeded up a steep slope that bordered a bubbling brook. The trees stretched up above her, great conifers and deciduous giants. For a moment, she lost sight of the approaching entity.

Then, she felt shockwaves through the earth and a loud thud. She was so startled, she nearly lost her footing. Thankfully, a tier two cultivator’s reflexes could handle a scare.

Some of the mages, though, did fall—though their companions helped them up, ensuring the group’s pace continued.

As they crested a rocky outcrop, Freyan watched in shock as a tall drayavin woman stood on the ground, the grass plastered flat around her. So much of her was covered, Freyan had no idea what she looked like. But her wings—they were magnificent. She stared at them warily, though made no move to attack.

That was when Freyan noticed the individuals behind the wings. The one on the right was Patriarch Femera. Freyan couldn’t suppress a grin—now they had 3 tier threes!

She almost didn’t believe who was on the right side. Isen. He brushed his armor off—Freyan didn’t remember him having a set of clan armor!—and strode out from the woman’s wing with sure steps, his eyes surveying everything before him. The golden one caught the light, flashing brilliantly and giving him an almost otherworldly appearance in the mountain forest.

He turned to Welco, who nodded. When he moved to speak, Allezin slammed a hand onto his shoulder from behind. Isen craned his head up, and the side of his mouth quirked into a smile.

“You will be the death of me,” Allezin stated. “Have we at least gone the right way?”

Isen turned and disengaged himself from Allezin’s gauntleted hand. “Mostly on track. We’re about an hour away.”

“Then let’s hurry, shall we?” Welco interjected.

Isen nodded, then, to Freyan’s extreme confusion, started to lead them. The entire group! Isen was at the head, even in front of Allezin!

While they ran, the winged drayavin approached Allezin, running along beside him. In hushed tones, they argued, though Freyan couldn’t hear what they said. At least they weren’t actually fighting—a fight between tier threes, this close, would be catastrophic.

Jorin and Kelsina went ahead, flanking Isen and exchanging a few words. Jorin nudged Isen’s arm in a way that was obviously affectionate, then he and Kelsina fell back.

Isen was a tier two around her own age, yet there was such a gulf between them, even wider than she’d reckoned after overhearing him talking to Allezin.

Was it ever possible for someone like her... to be like him?

“Freyan,” Arthum said, interrupting her thoughts. “He’s different from us. The kind of talent tier threes, or even fours, might fight over.”

“I guess.”

“You know it’s true. Stop comparing yourself to him.”

“I just... I don’t understand how. I want that! I want to be that amazing! That important! And yet.” She clenched her bloodied hands.

“It feels impossible.” Lona was the one to say it.

Freyan frowned. “Yeah.”

“You know why cultivators stop advancing?” Lona asked.

“Because they lack the talent to continue.”

“That’s part of it. But I think it’s mostly because they lack the drive to keep going. It’s hard. Full of pain and disappointment and danger. Tedious and boring, too.” She shot Freyan a sad smile. “But if you’re willing to go that far, and you survive...”

That was the kicker, though. If she survived. If she could stick out the pain.

She really, seriously thought about it. And she realized... she didn’t think she could.

As she watched Isen’s silhouette from behind, she wondered what kind of person he really was, that he would go where she couldn’t.