Chapter Three
Siurad felt like a monster, a warm monster but monstrous no less. They headed north through the dense pine forest. The consensus was to stay off the main road. Just in case the bandit he let live returned.
Trudging through the darkness, it wasn't long before the scent of woodsmoke started to take over his senses.
A town Siurad, thought it was a perfect time to find their bearings. He stepped out of the woods and onto the path. A weathered wooden sign hung from rusted chains. Pine Haven: two miles ahead.
The two miles to Pine Haven felt longer than the marathon sessions Siurad used to pull on raid nights. The adrenaline had faded, leaving him with sore muscles, a pair of too-small boots that belonged to a dead man, and a cloak that smelled like a wet dog had rolled in a campfire.
He trudged along the dirt path, the lights of the town flickering ahead like a promised land.
"Okay," Siurad muttered, adjusting the itchy fur collar. "We need a game plan. We can't just walk in there announcing that I'm the Heir and you're the God of HOA Violations. I need a cover story."
'...HOA?' Obi’s voice pulsed, cold and approving. '...A COMMITTEE FOR ENFORCED AESTHETIC UNIFORMITY. AND PROPERTY VALUE MAINTENANCE. YES. THEY UNDERSTAND ORDER. I APPROVE.'
"Of course you do. Anyway, look at me." Siurad gestured to his stolen ensemble. "I'm wearing a dead guy's coat and a tank top, I'm carrying a rusted sword. I look like a bandit who got lost."
'...YOU LOOK LIKE A SCAVENGER,' Obi corrected. '...WHICH IS ACCURATE. TELL THEM YOU ARE A MERCENARY.'
"A mercenary?" Siurad snorted. "Obi, look at these arms. These are gym muscles. They’re for looking good in a tank top, not swinging a sword. If I get into a real fight, I’m going to pull a lat."
'...THEN DO NOT FIGHT. INTIMIDATE. YOU WERE A SECURITY OFFICER. USE THE GLARE.'
"It's called The Look," Siurad corrected. "And it works on drunk college kids trying to sneak a flask into a club. I don't know if it works on fantasy town guards."
'...SEMANTICS, TRY IT. AND STOP SLOUCHING. THE HEIR DOES NOT SLUMP.'
Siurad straightened his spine, rolling his shoulders back. "Fine. Mercenary. A mercenary named... Silas. No, that's too edgy. Bob? No. Siurad. I'll stick with Siurad. It’s weird enough to blend in."
As they got closer, the details of Pine Haven came into view. It wasn't exactly a metropolis. It was a cluster of wooden buildings huddled together in the dense Weeping Pines Forest. A weathered wooden sign hung from rusted chains, confirming their location. The town was surrounded by a wooden palisade that looked like it would fall over if a stiff breeze hit it.
'...INEFFICIENT,' Obi noted immediately. '...LOOK AT THAT FENCE. THE POSTS ARE UNEVEN. THE GATE SAGS. WHO DESIGNED THIS? A BEAVER?'
"It's rustic," Siurad defended, though he didn't know why. "It has charm. It's a small logging town."
'...IT HAS TERMITES. WE WILL PAVE IT.'
"We are not paving this town," Siurad hissed. "We are getting a burger and a bed. Do you sleep? Or do you just vibrate on my finger all night?"
'...I DO NOT REQUIRE SLEEP. I CONTEMPLATE GEOMETRY.'
"You count corners?"
'...I PLAN THE RESTRUCTURING OF THE AUTHORITY. AND YES. I COUNT CORNERS. THERE ARE NEVER ENOUGH.'
Siurad shook his head. "You're a riot, Obi. A real party animal."
They reached the gate. There was no guard in a booth, no ticket taker. Just a bored-looking man leaning on a spear, chewing on a piece of straw. He looked Siurad up and down, the mud, the blood-flecked cloak, the general air of exhaustion.
Siurad channeled his inner bouncer. He squared his shoulders, narrowed his eyes, and gave the man a nod that said, I belong here, and if you check my ID, it's going to be a hassle for both of us.
The guard blinked, spat out the straw, and shrugged. "Kitchen's closed at the inn. Don't cause trouble."
Siurad walked past him, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
"See?" Siurad whispered once they were inside. "The Look. Works every time."
'...HE WAS APATHETIC,' Obi countered. '...HE SAW A LARGE DIRTY MAN AND DECIDED PAPERWORK WAS NOT WORTH THE EFFORT. A LOGICAL CHOICE.'
Siurad scanned the muddy street. "Okay, genius. Where's the inn? You have cosmic awareness, right? The sign back there said something about a Boar's Den."
'...I SENSE YEAST,' Obi pulsed. '...AND DESPAIR. FOLLOW THE SMELL.'
"Yeast and despair. Sounds like my old apartment complex."
Siurad followed his nose, which mostly smelled woodsmoke and sour bodies, passing by a general goods store with a sign reading Limmel Exchange. He finally found a building with a sign swinging out front: The Boar's Den.
"Here we go," Siurad adjusted his stolen sword belt, which kept sliding down his hip. "Time to interact with the people. Don't say anything weird."
'...I AM THE VOICE OF ORDER. I AM NEVER WEIRD.'
"You're a talking ring that hates nature," Siurad muttered, pushing the door open. "You're the weirdest thing ever created."
‘...CREATED.’
Siurad felt what could be best described as irritation.
He ignored it.
Then he stepped inside. The warmth hit him instantly, smelling of ale and mildew. It was heaven. The tavern was small, populated mostly by local workers likely from the logging company.
'...THE FLOOR IS STICKY,' Obi observed immediately. '...BURN IT.'
"No burning," Siurad thought back firmly. "Just eating. Be cool."
He walked to the bar, trying to look like a hardened mercenary and not a guy who desperately missed his ergonomic gaming chair. Behind the counter stood an older woman with grey hair beginning to sprout from the roots. Her unyielding expression sent a silent message: she wasn't one to tolerate any foolishness.
"We made it," Siurad thought. "Phase one complete."
'...CONGRATULATIONS,' Obi droned. '...YOU WALKED. TRULY A FEAT FOR THE AGES. NOW ACQUIRE SUSTENANCE. YOUR STOMACH IS MAKING CHAOTIC NOISES.'
"It's called hunger, Obi. It's a biological flaw."
'...INDEED.'
Siurad leaned against the bar, ready to start his new life. Or at least, get a sandwich. "Hey," he said to the woman. "My name is Siurad, I'm new in town. And I have money."
'...SUBTLE,' Obi sighed in his mind. '...LIKE A BRICK.'
The woman stopped scrubbing a mug that looked like it had been dirty since the dawn of man. Her hands went still. She looked Siurad up and down, taking in the stolen, blood-flecked cloak, the crude swords at his hip, and his muddy boots that were currently ruining her floor.
"You're not from around here, are you?"
Siurad felt a jolt of surprise. A South Park scene immediately played in his head, and he mentally prepared for a crowd of locals to swarm out from the back, screaming, "THEY TOOK ER' JOBS!"
'...WHAT IS A JERB?' Obi asked, genuinely confused.
Before Siurad could facepalm at his own thoughts or explain meme culture to a cosmic entity, the woman added,
"The kitchen closes every night at 9:30, sir. It's well past that. All the locals know this. Breakfast starts at dawn."
She tapped the counter with a rag that smelled like old ale. "A room for the night will cost you 6 copper.”
Siurad fumbled with the bandit's pouch, his fingers stiff from the cold. He dumped a small pile of coins onto the sticky wood.
"Keep the change," he muttered, sliding a silver piece across. "Just... hot water. Please. I smell like a swamp."
The woman eyed the silver, then him. "The bath is a tub in the back. You haul your own water. Don't drown,” She paused for a moment before adding, “Name's Irma, don't start no trouble, and keep my floor clean."
Siurad gave the woman a thumbs up before making his way towards the bath.
He stared at the steaming tub of water. It looked like salvation.
Then, his eyes drifted to his right hand. To the black band of obsidian fused to his finger.
The realization hit him like a bucket of ice water.
"Wait," Siurad whispered, horrified. "You're stuck on me."
'...A FACT WE HAVE ESTABLISHED.'
"I'm about to get naked, Obi. Completely naked."
'...HYGIENE IS MANDATORY. PROCEED.'
"Yeah, but... can you see? Like... everything?"
'...I PERCEIVE MATTER. I SEE THE FLAWS IN YOUR CELLULAR REGENERATION.'
"That's not a no! Are you going to be watching me scrub my... areas?"
The ring pulsed with a cold, dry vibration that felt suspiciously like a gag reflex.
'...YOUR BIOLOGICAL FORM IS A MEAT SACK DRAPED OVER CALCIUM.'
'...IT IS AESTHETICALLY NULL. AND YOUR SYMMETRY IS LACKING.'
"Hey! My symmetry is just fine!"
'... BELOW AVERAGE, JUST WASH, VESSEL. I WILL STUDY THE TILE GROUT.'
"You better," Siurad muttered, stepping into the water. "Pervert ghost."
'...I MAY HAVE CHOSEN WRONG.'
An hour later, Siurad, feeling marginally more human after scrubbing off the tiny manbits of the bandit he’d exploded, descended into the common room of The Boar's Den.
Siurad looked less like a swamp creature and more like an exhausted traveler in his new attire: a pair of bandit’s trousers and a spare tunic from the satchel, though the latter was a bit snug across his chest.
The tavern was quiet, populated by a few tables of locals nursing their drinks. They looked like loggers, rough hands, smelling of sawdust and resin.
"Okay," Siurad thought, leaning against a wooden pillar that Obi had already designated as structurally unsound. "Phase two. Intel. We need to find the Authority. Or at least... where we are."
'...INTERROGATE THEM,' Obi commanded. '...DEMAND THE COORDINATES OF THE CITADEL.'
"I'm not demanding anything," Siurad thought back. "I'm going to work the room. Be charming. Blend in."
'...YOU ARE SIX FOOT FOUR. YOU DO NOT BLEND.'
Siurad ignored him and sauntered over to a table where three older men were playing cards. He put on his best friendly neighbor smile. It felt unnatural on his face.
"Evening, gentlemen," Siurad said, his voice booming slightly too loud in the quiet room. "Nice night for... cards."
The men stopped playing. They looked up at him. They looked at his arms. They looked at each other.
"It's raining," one of them said slowly.
"Right. Yes. Liquid sunshine," Siurad finger-gunned. He instantly regretted it. "Anyway, I'm just passing through. Wondering if you fellas knew anything about... local history?"
The loggers stared.
"History?"
"Yeah," Siurad leaned in, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You know. Old ruins. spooky castles. Specifically... huge cities made of black glass that ruled the world with an iron fist? Maybe a Citadel of Eternal Order? Ring any bells?"
The table went dead silent. A cricket chirped in the corner.
'...SMOOTH,' Obi droned. '...YOU SOUND LIKE A CULTIST.'
"I'm establishing context!" Siurad hissed internally.
"We chop wood, son," the oldest logger said, gripping his tankard. "We don't look for glass castles. Best you finish your drink and go to bed."
"Right. Wood. Trees. Nature," Siurad nodded vigorously. Love nature. Big fan. Well... good talk."
He backed away slowly, bumping into a chair and nearly knocking it over. He caught it, gave the room an awkward thumbs-up, and retreated to a dark corner.
'...THAT WAS PAINFUL,' Obi observed. '...I HAVE SEEN MOLLUSKS WITH BETTER SOCIAL SKILLS.'
"Shut up," Siurad groaned, putting his head in his hands. "I'll try again at breakfast. When they're less... judgey."
'...UNLIKELY.'
He blew out the candle and collapsed onto the bed.
Crunch.
The mattress didn't so much accept his weight as it did surrender to it. It was a sack of straw on a wooden frame, possessing the structural integrity of a damp crouton.
'...THIS SURFACE IS A CHIROPRACTIC DISASTER,' Obi observed immediately. '...YOUR SPINE IS CURVING IN SHAPES THAT OFFEND ME.'
"It's a bed, Obi. It beats the mud." Siurad shifted, trying to find a spot that didn't jab him in the kidney. "Go to sleep. Or... power down. Or whatever it is you do."
'...I DO NOT POWER DOWN. I OBSERVE, FOR EXAMPLE, I AM CURRENTLY OBSERVING THE ARACHNID.'
Siurad froze. Every muscle in his body went rigid.
"The... what?" he whispered, his voice pitching up an octave.
'...THE ARACHNID. IT IS BUILDING A WEB DIRECTLY ABOVE YOUR FACE. ITS GEOMETRY IS SUPERIOR TO YOURS.'
Siurad scrambled out of the bed so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet, backing into the far wall with a thud. He fumbled in the dark, his heart hammering against his ribs harder than it had during the fight with the bandits.
"Where is it?!" he hissed, frantically patting the table for a candle match. "Is it big? Is it one of those furry ones? Obi, I swear to god!"
'...IT IS SMALL. IT EATS MOSQUITOES. IT IS EFFICIENT. WHY ARE YOU VIBRATING?'
"Because spiders are the spawn of Satan, that's why!" Siurad finally got the candle lit. He thrust it toward the ceiling, scanning the rafters with wild eyes.
There it was. A small, harmless house spider spinning a web in the corner. To Siurad, it looked like a raid boss.
"Kill it," Siurad commanded, pointing a shaking finger. "Shadow Spike it. Anything. I don't care. Delete it."
'...NO.'
"What do you mean, no?!"
'...IT IS NON-HOSTILE AND WASTING COSMIC ENERGY ON A BUG IS BENEATH MY DIGNITY. GO TO BED, COWARD.'
Siurad glared at the spider. He glared at the ring. He dragged the heavy wooden bed frame two feet to the left, away from the drop zone.
"Fine," he muttered, climbing back onto the straw sack, keeping a wary eye on the corner. "But if that thing descends, I'm burning this tavern down."
He lay back, the adrenaline of the spider-encounter slowly fading, leaving behind the heavy, crushing weight of the day.
The silence of the room stretched out. The sounds of the tavern below, the muffled laughter, the clinking of mugs, drifted up through the floorboards. It felt normal. Mundane.
But the forest outside was still there. The cold mud was still there.
"Obi," Siurad whispered into the dark, his eyes still fixed on the ceiling corner.
'...YES, VESSEL?'
"Back in the woods... You said you wanted to fix the flaw. You talk a big game about order and chaos." Siurad rolled onto his back. "But really... what are you? And what happened to you?"
A cold, profound silence seemed to fall over the room, heavier than the night air outside. The entity's presence in Siurad's mind felt impossibly vast and ancient.
When it finally spoke, its mental voice was not a boom, but a cold, quiet pressure, like the deep ocean.
'...YOU ASK WHAT I AM? I AM THE ANSWER TO THE FLAW. I AM THE WILL THAT SEES A BROKEN, CHAOTIC WORLD AND DARES TO DESIGN A PERFECT ONE.'
The voice was resonant with a cold, cosmic certainty.
'...BEFORE THIS RING I WAS….'
The ring pulsed, a slow, cold throb against Siurad's knuckle.
'...I WATCHED THIS WORLD FOR TIME BEYOND COUNTING. I WATCHED IT WRITHE IN THE CHAOS IT SO LOVES WAR, PLAGUE, FAMINE, GRIEF. A CONSTANT, SCREAMING, ILLOGICAL CYCLE OF SUFFERING.'
'...I WATCHED RAIMI, THE ONLY ONE WHO COULD HEAR ME, DIE OF OLD AGE, AND I LEARNED OF A FLAW. THE MOST PAINFUL FLAW.'
Siurad could feel the entity's grief, hardened over millennia into a diamond-sharp rage.
'...I VOWED TO FIX IT. TO BUILD A NEW, PERFECT STRUCTURE. A WORLD WITHOUT CHAOS. A WORLD WITHOUT THAT FLAW. WE CREATED THE OBSIDIAN AUTHORITY.'
"And what happened to it?" Siurad asked, his voice barely a whisper.
There was a long pause. When Obi spoke again, the cold grief was gone, replaced by a chilling, absolute contempt.
'...IT WAS MURDERED. POISONED FROM WITHIN.'
'...I GAVE MY POWER TO TWO VESSELS, TO BE THE ARCHITECTS OF THIS PERFECT WORLD. XARA, MY HEART, WAS CONSUMED WITH RAGE, THE PERFECT AGENT OF CHAOS FOR ORDER. LYSANDER, MY MIND, WAS A COLD, PERFECT LOGIC TO BUILD THE STRUCTURE.'
Siurad sensed a sudden shift.
'...THEY WERE MY FAM…..INSTRUMENTS, BUT THE FLAW THE MORTAL FLAW ALWAYS FINDS A WAY. XARA, MY HEART, LET HER RAGE BE TEMPERED BY TIME SHE GREW OLD. SHE GREW WEAK. HER SOFTNESS, RETURNED. SHE BEGAN TO DOUBT THE MISSION.'
"And Lysander?"
'...MY MIND. MY ARCHITECT. HE WAS SO PERFECT, BUT HE WAS STILL MORTAL. STILL FLAWED. BROKEN BY THE VERY CHAOS WE SOUGHT TO CONTAIN.'
'...IN THEIR WEAKNESS, THE AUTHORITY, MY AUTHORITY, WAS AMBUSHED. THEY LET A TRAITOR INTO OUR MIDST. THEY FAILED. THEY WERE A FLAW IN MY DESIGN, AND THE ENTIRE STRUCTURE COLLAPSED.'
The entity’s voice was a blade of ice.
'...THEY ALLOWED ME TO BE TRAPPED IN THIS… THIS TRINKET. THE WORK OF CENTURIES, UNDONE BY THE WEAKNESS OF THE VERY MORTALS I TRIED TO SAVE.'
Obi’s presence flooded Siurad's mind, a wave of cold, righteous fury.
'...THEY ARE GONE. ALL OF THEM. THE AUTHORITY IS DUST. MY HEART IS ASH. MY MIND IS SILENT. ALL THAT REMAINS IS THE WILL. I AM THE WILL, VESSEL. AND YOU, YOU ARE THE HAND THAT WILL REBUILD MY DESIGN, FREE OF THE FLAWS OF THE PAST.'
Siurad lay there in the dark, the weight of this revelation pressing down on him. A betrayed god. A failed utopia. And he was now the only one left to pick up the pieces.
The silence returned, but this time, Siurad’s mind drifted away from the cosmic tragedy and settled on the mud.
He thought about the bandits.
He closed his eyes and saw the spike erupting from his palm. He heard the wet crunch of the man’s skull.
It had been... easy. Too easy.
Back home, as a bouncer, he’d broken up fights. He’d thrown punches. He’d seen blood. But he’d never erased someone.
Is it the ring? He wondered. Is it making me numb? Or... was I always capable of this?
He thought about the one he let go. The runner. Was that mercy? Or was it just a different kind of weakness?
His mind drifted further, past the forest, past the game screen. He thought about his apartment. The hum of the refrigerator. The rent that was due next week. His gym bag sitting by the door.
Is this real?
It felt real. The straw poking his back felt real. The throbbing in his hand felt real. But a part of him, the gamer part, was still waiting for the game over screen or the alarm clock.
Am I ever going back?
The ring pulsed again, interrupting his spiral. It wasn't a cold pulse this time. It felt... contemplative.
'...REGRET IS A LOOP, Obi stated, his voice lower, almost quiet. IT CONSUMES PROCESSING POWER WITHOUT YIELDING RESULTS.'
"I killed two people today, Obi," Siurad whispered.
'...YOU SURVIVED, Obi corrected. AND BECAUSE YOU SURVIVED, THE WORK CONTINUES.'
The ring vibrated, a sensation like a teacher rapping a ruler on a desk.
'...BUT YOUR TECHNIQUE WAS SLOPPY.'
"Excuse me?"
'...YOUR CONTROL OVER THE VOID IS REMEDIAL. YOU SCREAMED. YOU SLIPPED. YOU WASTED ENERGY.'
'...TOMORROW, Obi commanded, WE BEGIN CORRECTIONS. THERE IS MUCH TO LEARN. AND YOUR COMPETENCY LEVEL IS QUITE FRANKLY EMBARRASSING.'
Siurad let out a short, dry laugh in the dark. "Thanks, coach."
“Okay,” Siurad said, his voice shaking but resolute. “Okay, Obi. What do we do first?”
'...FIRST, WE FIND THE REMAINS OF THE OBSIDIAN AUTHORITY. LYSANDER, FOR ALL HIS FAILINGS, WAS A METICULOUS RECORD-KEEPER. HIS RESEARCH, MY RESEARCH MUST STILL EXIST.'
The entity’s will pressed into Siurad, a sudden, desperate urgency.
'...WE MUST FIND THAT KNOWLEDGE. IT IS THE KEY TO RESURRECTING THE AUTHORITY. IT IS THE ONLY WAY TO LEARN HOW I WAS BOUND SO I CAN BE UNBOUND.'
"Great," Siurad muttered, closing his eyes. "Treasure hunt. My favorite."
'...SLEEP, VESSEL. THE SPIDER IS FINISHED. IT IS A VERY NICE WEB.'
"Goodnight, Obi."
'...GOODNIGHT.'