[Severed Divinity] 66. Shadowed Agents

Isen stayed for hours, long after Julra left. Most of the practice was dedicated to his breathing and instilling the muscle memory of shooting. The time for dinner came and went, but Isen felt no desire to go.

He didn’t want to see Freyan and Arthum. He didn’t want to be around other people at all—he wanted to keep pushing himself. An almost manic energy coursed through him, an unquenchable need to prepare himself as much as possible for the coming storm. The targets were so riddled in arrows they looked like porcupines, and Isen kept going, his arms beyond tired.

He needed this.

After night fully descended on the world, Isen finally decided to break. His hands shook as he strung the bow to his back. He placed one hand on the hilt of the Shard of Erasmus, finding its presence comforting, and walked out of his firing section.

The world was beautiful at night to his special perception. Mist billowed around the trees like an ethereal fog, unmolested by the slight breeze. It swirled around him as he walked. Letting his mind wander, he went off the path, wandering through the forest, his hands trailing over the bark of the trees.

He breathed carefully, sipping the mist into his hollow core, starving himself of air as much as he could.

He was jarred from his thoughts by low chatter.

Isen crouched behind a tree, gaze peaking out to see two figures. He hadn’t realized it, but he’d walked close to Welco’s mansion. The figures appeared to be leaving the patriarch’s residence, their forms obscured by dark shadowy energy, which ironically made them stand out starkly in Isen’s vision.

His sixth sense roared to life. Isen stood, transfixed, overcome by the feeling of opportunity and danger after days of comparative silence.

Half in a daze, he shrugged the bow from his back and deposited it behind the tree. He pulled the mist around himself like a blanket, as he did when stalking monsters in the depths. He didn’t know why he needed to when others didn’t seem to have energy perception, but he followed his intuition. He sent energy to his legs, empowering them the normal way to swiftly navigate through the forest. Habit, instinct, and experience hunting on the way from Shevenar worked in concert so that he moved soundlessly.

Isen followed the cloaked duo to the clan’s towering white wall. Energy burst from their legs and they scaled the barrier, disappearing over the edge.

Isen sprinted after them. He activated shadow step as he reached the wall’s base, dashing halfway up its height. He grasped the black banner hanging from the top, pulling himself up. A small energy ball formed in his mouth and he faced downward, releasing it.

It was all just enough to bring him to the top of the wall. He landed in a crouch, his heart pumping. He maintained the energy veil around himself, cloaking himself in the mist.

I don’t have a sect pin, he realized, frowning. If he left without one, he’d supposedly trigger some kind of alarm. Maybe that’s what his energy cloaking would help with. He hesitated, unsure if he should really continue, but the sixth sense’s urging was hard to ignore.

Besides, he wanted to get out. He’d been stuck in the sect for days. And he was curious who the duo was and what their mission entailed. From their silhouettes, he suspected they might be Jorin and Kelsina.

If they discovered him, they wouldn’t do anything to him... probably.

Taking an extra second to obscure his own presence with the mist as best he could, he dropped over the side of the wall. He no longer had the other cultivators in his sights, but he was undeterred. He ran forward through the grass and flowers, trusting his steps to bring him where he needed to be. His path led under the shadow of the bridge that spanned from the primary level’s staircase to the seven sects. The only light guiding the way was the moon, suggesting that nobody normally traversed the path at night.

Moving as fast as he dared, he finally caught sight of the shadowed cultivators near the lofty staircase. They appeared to be discussing something, though their words were inaudible. Thirty seconds passed before they set off again.

They didn’t use the stairs, which were manned by a single guard at the top and lit by lights on either side.

Instead, they dropped over the edge, just like they’d done with the wall.

Isen looked on, stunned, unsure how he was supposed to follow them. The stairs were so tall, taking the sleeksteed a solid minute to traverse at a dash—he definitely wouldn’t survive the drop.

He didn’t think another tier two could survive it, either. There had to be some trick.

Every second he hesitated, they’d get further away. He ran to the place where they’d jumped and looked over the edge. He couldn’t see far enough downward to spot the elven duo, so he studied the sheer rock face instead. He noticed the mist pooling around regular grooves in the rock.

Handholds.

Without hesitation he lowered himself over the edge and climbed downward. The grooves were spaced ten feet apart and were only big enough for his fingertips. It would be impossible for even a tier one to make use of—Isen’s body was pushed to its limit as he repeatedly dropped down the cliff, fingers gliding across the wall and questing for the next handhold. With how small the handholds were, doing this blind, without his energy perception, would be suicide.

By the time he reached the final handholds, his fingers were numb, his upper body aching. There was no time to rest, though, as he dropped to the ground. He swiveled and ran off into the primary level, silently cursing himself for losing the Femera agents again.

Again, he was forced to rely on the sixth sense as he ran through the narrow streets. The area was relatively free of pedestrians, distant as it was from the level’s central districts. After a few turns, he jumped up onto an awning and bounded to the roofs, crouching low to avoid detection.

He blinked in astonishment at the sight of the elven duo, also crouching, on a nearby building.

The female silhouette signed something. Then they both leapt to the next structure and began dashing over the rooftops.

Isen followed, going as fast as he dared. It helped that since he was relying on his energy perception, and nobody else was on the roofs, he could see a trail where the cultivators had stirred the mist. Paired with his adept intuition, he was able to keep a large distance without worrying about losing them again.

Their destination became apparent as they approached the edge of the primary level. Another sprawling part of the city stretched out before them—the lower level.

He waited until they’d disappeared over the edge, then approached, peeking over the side. The drop down wasn’t as far as from the upper level to the primary level, but it was still potentially deadly. He looked for handholds but didn’t see any. He did notice two lingering trails of shadowy energy streaking down the cliff.

They’d used shadow step, or a variation of it, to race down the wall.

Isen didn’t feel confident doing the same maneuver. Given the distance, they must have chained several shadow steps together, or evolved the technique to take longer strides.

Obviously there were other ways to reach the lower level, but Isen didn’t know them, and he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to find the elven cultivators again if he took a circuitous detour, even with the sixth sense’s help.

Gritting his teeth, Isen dragged his nails across the cliff face. They cut through the rock without much resistance. Heart pounding, he lowered himself off the side. He hung from both hands, thinking.

He released one hand and held it behind him, away from the cliff. He formed an energy ball in his hand, channeling it. Rather than releasing it, he focused on venting the energy out, pushing himself into the wall. The force was comparable to a strong gust, but it was better than nothing.

Then, he descended, his left hand’s nails slowing his descent while his boots slid across the rock. He accelerated steadily, unable to fully control the descent. Right before he reached the bottom, he pushed off into a somersault and prepared to release his energy at the cliff’s base, angling himself up and out.

He had drilled with applying his energy to arrows all evening, and applied that same energy now to the ball, acting on instinct and intuition.

Not incorporeal, he thought. Not invisible. Silent.

The energy ball exploded. It wasn’t completely silent, but it was significantly muffled. Isen rolled onto a rooftop and took a moment to catch his breath. He flexed his left hand, inspecting his nails. They seemed fine, as pearly as ever.

Shaking his head, he continued his pursuit, his eyes filled with curiosity. He hadn’t imagined his first foray into the lower level would be during a rooftop chase.

It was the level where the unpinned lived, those who were low level cultivators and mages or completely mundane, without any magical power. This was where the humans were supposed to live.

In many ways, the lower level looked like the primary level. Its streets seemed clean, its buildings largely white, reflecting the pale moonlight. The streets glowed slightly, and there were light fixtures on most corners.

But the further Isen chased the shadowy duo, the more rundown the lower level became. Signs of wear were everywhere—cracks in the stone, graffiti on the white rock, even the occasional abandoned building with shattered windows. It was almost eerie how clean the environment was—it felt like there should be trash or other unclean signs of human existence, but the trash hounds were ubiquitous and thorough.

Most people were indoors, especially in the rundown parts, but Isen noticed a fair amount of activity in alleyways and at a night market he skirted around. Isen even noticed that some of the roofs were open and filled with people. At least one seemed to be a party, with young half elves and humans holding beverages and conversing, illuminated by different colored lanterns. There were even a few elves mixed into the crowd, their eyes noticeably reflective, but half elves seemed to make up the overwhelming majority.

It only took Isen a few more minutes to realize their ultimate destination. It seemed obvious, in retrospect.

The great river that roared through the canyon around the city and cascaded into the basin.

Toward the end of their journey, he swiped a dark shroud—for mourning the queen?—that had been hung up to dry on a line and wrapped it around his face. The fabric was thin and barely impeded his visual sight. It didn’t affect his energy perception at all. On a whim, he grabbed a dark tunic also on the line, one too large for him so that it practically hung like a dress, but at least it fit over his sect uniform. He rolled the sleeves as he continued his pursuit.

Soon, they left the last of the buildings behind, traversing a rugged stretch of slick rocks. Isen kept an even greater distance than before. When the duo finally stopped before the lake, he came just close enough to make out their motions in the mist.

Then, without warning, a dark form rose from the water. At first, there was just a serpentine tail fringed by sharp spikes. But a woman’s torso soon appeared, her skin blue and streaked by veins of white, almost like scars. Her eyes glowed white, and her arms were crossed beneath her unclothed chest, her fingers webbed and capped by thin, dark talons.

When she spoke, pointed canines flashed in the moonlight.