Chapter Twentyfive
Siurad awoke to the sharp pop of a burning log and the heavy scent of woodsmoke mingled with roasting game.
His eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the gloom. The canopy above was a suffocating weave of black leaves, blotting out the stars.
A face hovered over him. Alexander. The priest was peering down with an intensity usually reserved for ancient texts, but as Siurad focused, the tight knot of anxiety on Alexander’s face unraveled.
“He's awake,” Alexander announced, the tension leaving his shoulders in a long, shuddering sigh. He turned his head toward the fire. “The patient has returned.”
Yona sat by the flames, tearing into a roasted rabbit leg. She didn't eat politely; she stripped the meat from the bone with sharp, efficient jerks of her head.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, Shepherd,” she mumbled around a mouthful, tossing a clean bone into the fire.
Siurad tried to sit up. His ribs screamed it was a strange sensation, the consuming warmth, and bruising ache of magical reconstruction. It felt as if his insides had been stitched together with a hot wire.
“How long?” Siurad rasped. His throat felt like he’d swallowed a handful of sand.
'...ENTIRELY TOO LONG.'
The Ring pulsed against his finger. The vibration was steady, lacking Obi’s usual stinging disdain. It felt almost... relieved.
“A few hours. Give or take,” Yona said. She stood up, wiping grease from her mouth with the back of her hand. She grabbed a skewer of dripping meat from the fire and walked over.
She thrust it toward his face, the tip of the skewer inches from his nose.
“Eat. Now. You burned through your mana pool and half your blood volume. You need fuel, not questions.”
Siurad took the skewer with a shaking hand. The smell of the fat made his stomach roar. He took a bite, the hot meat grounding him, before looking around. They were in a small hollow beneath the twisted roots of a massive oak, shielded on three sides by earth and wood.
“Are we still in the same spot?” Siurad asked, squinting. To his tired eyes, every shadow looked like a monster, every tree identical.
“No,” Yona said, her voice deadpan. “We had to drag your big ass to safety. You are unsurprisingly heavy for dead weight.”
“I concur,” Alexander chimed in, massaging his shoulder with a grimace. He adjusted his glasses, which were now held together by a strip of cloth. “It was a most terrible experience. Between the plate armor and the sheer density of your muscle mass, I believe I have developed a hernia. You are not built for portability, Siurad.”
"Okay, so what's the plan?" Siurad grunted, forcing the words through a dry throat. "Have we heard anything? Any direction we should be moving?"
Yona looked up from the fire, her left eye twitching with visible irritation. "You nearly died, Shepherd. You are currently held together by prayer and good intentions, and you’re already starting with the great work talk?"
The ring on Siurad’s finger pulsed, a cold vibration against his knuckle.
'...THEY DO NOT UNDERSTANG HAVING PURPOSE.'
"Shut it, Obi," Yona snapped, not even looking at the hand.
Obi ignored her, the pulsing rhythm slowing to a lecture. '...A DAMAGED VESSEL CAN NOT WORK EFFICIENTLY YOU MUST REST.'
"See?" Yona gestured with a rabbit bone. "Even the jewelry agrees. No more work talk. We take a few days to recalibrate, then we figure out the weirdos."
"Cultists," Alexander corrected, holding his broken spectacles up to the firelight to inspect the fracture. "They are cultists, Yona. Precision matters."
"Sitting around here doesn't seem like the best idea," Siurad argued, shifting his weight. A sharp bolt of agony shot up his flank, stealing his breath. "What if more bears show up?"
"If more Ursaurus show up, we're screwed, Shepherd. Dead and buried," Yona said, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "So don't worry about the bears. Just rest."
Siurad tried to argue, but his body rebelled. The pain was too much he slumped back against the earth, staring up at the suffocating weave of black leaves. His eyelids felt like lead weights. He decided he would close them, just for a heartbeat.
When he finally opened his eyes he was greeted by blinding light.
Morning sun pierced the canopy in jagged spears. The forest was loudly, obnoxiously alive with the chirp of insects and birds, a stark contrast to the thudding ache in Siurad’s ribs.
He turned his head to find Alexander hovering uncomfortably close. The priest was staring down at him with the intensity of an undertaker waiting for a client.
"Ah, you’re awake," Alexander said, blinking rapidly. "How do you feel?"
"I’m fine, Alex," Siurad lied, wincing as he tried to sit up. "Just... stiff."
"Stiff. Yes. Well, I believe enough time has passed for your spiritual pathway to settle. Another round of healing is in order. I would like your permission to commence the liturgy."
Siurad rubbed his face, looking around the empty hollow. "Where’s Yona? And what difference would another round make? You already stitched me up."
A genuine look of bafflement crossed Alexander’s face. He lowered his hands. "Siurad... do you actually not know how divine healing works?"
“I assume you wave your hands, the light shines, and I stop bleeding,” Siurad grunted, rubbing the grit from his eyes.
Alexander sighed, taking off his broken glasses to polish them on his robe. “That is the children's book version. The reality is a matter of thermal dynamics and structural integrity.”
He pointed a thin finger at Siurad’s chest.
“I have reconstructed your bones using mana as a scaffold, holding the pieces in place like a mold. But your body must provide the raw material to fill that mold. I am forcing your cells to divide and knit together a thousand times faster than nature intended.”
Alexander leaned in, his voice dropping gravely.
“That acceleration creates friction, Siurad. Heat. Waste. Right now, your blood is saturated with magical residue. If I were to cast another major reconstruction spell before your system cools down and filters the toxicity, I wouldn't be healing you.”
Siurad frowned, looking down at his hands. They did feel hot, feverish. “What would happen?”
“You would cook,” Alexander said simply. “From the inside out. Your marrow would boil, and your heart would seize. So, we wait. We let the scaffold hold while the heat dissipates. You are not just injured, my friend; you are currently a volatile vessel.”
Siurad let out a long breath, gingerly touching his side. The deep ache made more sense now. The pain wasn't just from a bruise; it was the aftermath of a biological fire.
“Fine,” Siurad grunted, dropping his hand. “Let the vessel cool. But check the scaffold. If Yona comes back and I’m still flat on my back, she’ll never let me hear the end of it.”
"I believe you do not have to worry about Miss Moeru," Alexander said, his tone reassuring though he kept glancing at the tree line. "She is currently scouting ahead for any signs of the cultists. If anyone can slip by unseen, it is her."
Siurad sat up, wincing as his ribs protested. A cold sense of vulnerability washed over him. He felt exposed without the rogue’s eyes watching the perimeter.
"Without Yona, we would both be bear food right now," Siurad muttered, staring at his calloused palms. He flexed his fingers, looking for a spark that wasn't there. "Obi... I thought the well would be deeper. It didn't seem to help much against the Ursaurus."
The ring vibrated instantly, a jagged rhythm against his bone.
'...THE PROCESS IS SLOW BECAUSE YOU ARE INEFFICIENT.'
The pulsing continued, sharp and mocking.
'...WASTEFUL, REMEDIAL AND...'
"Okay, okay! I get it!" Siurad growled, cutting off the telepathic lecture. "I'm still bad at magic. Fine. But it felt different before. It felt denser when we were fighting Guil."
'...RESONANCE,' Obi stated simply.
"Resonance?" Siurad threw his hands up. "Where was this resonance with the murder-bears?!"
Alexander watched in silence as the large warrior screamed at his own hand. After a long, awkward pause, the priest cleared his throat.
"If I may interject into this... domestic dispute," Alexander said delicately. "I do not believe you lack capacity, Siurad. When I was stitching you back together, I could feel the depth of your reservoir. It is vast, but you lack the plumbing to channel it."
Alexander leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing behind his broken frames.
"However... I do have a few questions regarding the composition of your mana. It did not feel... standard."
"Plumbing?" Siurad asked, looking at his veins as if expecting to see copper pipes. "I’m not a sink, Alexander."
"No, you are a pressure vessel," Alexander corrected, shifting into his lecture mode. He picked up a twig and drew a crude circle in the ash, then a thin, jagged line coming out of it.
"Think of your mana pool…the well as you call it, as a massive lake. It is deep. Terrifyingly deep. But your channels, the metaphysical pathways that carry that power from your core to your fingertips, are currently the size of a straw."
Alexander stabbed the twig into the thin line he’d drawn.
"When you fought the Ursaurus, you tried to force an ocean through that straw. High pressure. Low output. The friction creates heat, which is why it hurts. You can widen these channels over time, through meditation, precise usage, and mental conditioning. You must stretch the straw into a pipe. That is the work of years."
The ring on Siurad's finger vibrated violently, a sharp, buzzing irritation against his knuckle.
'...YEARS FOR A MORTAL.' Obi’s voice echoed in Siurad’s mind, dripping with disdain. '...INSTANTS FOR US. YOU SHEPHERD, ARE CLUMSY AND THE RODENTS WERE BENEATH ME.'
Siurad grimaced, rubbing his temple. "He says it takes years for mortals, but he could do it instantly. And he’s calling the bears rodents again."
Alexander stared blankly at the vibrating ring, then back at Siurad.
"If the artifact views them as rodents, that explains the discrepancy," Alexander noted, drawing a second, thicker line around the first one. "This is where resonance likely comes in. It would seem it is a bypass mechanism."
"Bypass?" Siurad asked.
"When you fought the Paladin, Guil, you viewed him as a threat. The Ring viewed him as a worthy challenge. Your emotions and the artifact's intent were perfectly aligned."
Alexander tapped the thick line.
"When you possess resonance, the Ring takes the burden. It reinforces your channels. It acts as a pump, forcing the ocean through the straw without bursting it. It grants you greater access to the well."
"But against the bears..." Siurad started, looking at the ring.
"You were fighting for survival," Alexander reasoned. "But the Ring was bored. It felt no glory in killing beasts. You were pushing, and it was sleeping. You were left relying solely on your own, undeveloped channels."
Siurad stared at the drawing in the ash. It made annoying sense. He had the potential for power, the resonance, but without it, he was just a man with a very heavy sword and narrow pipes.
"So I have two choices," Siurad grunted. "Spend years meditating to widen the pipes... or convince the jewelry that my life is actually exciting."
"Ideally, you do both," Alexander said, tossing the twig into the fire. "But that brings me to my second point. The composition."
Alexander’s expression grew serious. He leaned in, lowering his voice even though they were alone.
"Siurad, when I touched your mana to knit your bones... it didn't feel like normal arcane energy. Normal mana is like water or light. Yours felt... heavy. Like liquid iron. And it was cold. It actively fought against my Light."
He looked at Siurad over the rim of his broken glasses.
"What exactly is the Obsidian Authority? Because whatever lives in your blood... I am not sure it belongs in a living human."
“Okay,” Siurad started, leaning forward and poking the fire with a stick. “So, you know how Yona and I can communicate with the Ring? Well, there’s a little more to the story than just magic jewelry.”
Alexander nodded slowly, his hands resting on his knees. He looked like a student waiting for a lecture.
“First off,” Siurad said, hesitating. “I’m not from here. I don’t mean I’m not from the Lava Bays or Rekalia. I mean… I’m an import. Different planet. Different reality. Dimension? You get what I’m saying?”
Alexander stopped breathing for a second. He blinked, but didn't interrupt.
“Obi,” Siurad gestured to the obsidian band, “is an entity. A demon, a god, a cosmic construct… I’m not really sure, honestly.”
'…YOUR MORTAL LABELS ARE REDUCTIVE,' Obi pulsed. The vibration hummed in the air, deep enough that Alexander flinched.
'…I AM THAT WHICH REMAINS, THE FINAL STILLNESS…. RESONANCE HAS A COST HEIR, IT WOULD NOT BE WISE TO USE IT INDISCRIMINATELY.'
“He says mortal titles are beneath him, and something about resonance having a cost,” Siurad translated with a shrug. “Anyway, he brought me here. He was bound to this ring a long time ago. Something about a betrayal. He wants me to rebuild the Authority and free him from the cage.”
Alexander took off his glasses. He began cleaning them on his robe, his movements frantic and jerky.
“And,” Siurad added, “as you’ve probably guessed, he is connected to the Void. Or maybe he is the Void. He’s explained it in math terms, but hell if it makes sense to me. I just hold the sword.”
Siurad stopped. He waited.
Alexander put his glasses back on. He looked at Siurad, then at the Ring, then at the dark, volcanic sky above them.
“You are…” Alexander whispered, his voice trembling. “You are an extra-planar traveler carrying a sealed deity on your finger, tasked with resurrecting a fallen empire.”
“Basically,” Siurad nodded.
Alexander let out a long, high-pitched noise that might have been a laugh or a sob.
“I was worried you were a heretic,” Alexander said, burying his face in his hands. “But no. You are a cosmic anomaly. That is…something much… worse.”
“Bingo,” Siurad said, shooting finger guns at the confused priest.
Alexander blinked, staring at the strange hand gesture.
“Also,” Siurad continued, pointing a thumb over his shoulder, “Yona is a Kitsune. Just thought I’d lay it all out on the line.”
Alexander’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He just nodded weakly.
“And... since you’re a priest,” Siurad said, his voice dropping, losing its playful edge. “I don’t know how it works here compared to where I’m from, but I’ve gotta tell you, man... I have been sinning.”
Siurad looked down at his hands, the hands that could summon spikes of solid shadow.
“I’ve killed men. A lot of men. And the weird part? It’s strangely not bothering me. It feels... efficient. Except for two.” Siurad rubbed his temples. “Sometimes I dream about them… really one of them. We saved some kids from slavery, but things got... complicated.”
'…SAVE YOUR DRAMATIC SPEECHES,' Obi pulsed, the vibration sharp and dismissive. '…REMORSE IS A WASTE OF PROCESSING POWER.'
Alexander didn’t speak immediately. He sat on a rock, rocking slowly back and forth, clutching his holy symbol. He looked at Siurad, really looked at him. He saw a man who admitted to slaughter, but he also remembered the man who had saved a village of strangers.
“Look, Siurad,” Alexander said finally, his voice trembling but firm. “When we first met, you asked me to be your anchor.”
He stood up, brushing the ash from his white robes.
“If what you say is true, then you are walking a knife’s edge. It is my duty, by the teachings of the Whitespire, to make sure you do not fall.” He adjusted his glasses. “I will not let you stray too far from the light. Even if I have to drag you.”
'…MORE MORAL GRANDSTANDING,' Obi droned. '…INEFFICIENT.'
“Shut up, Obi,” Siurad muttered.
A shadow detached itself from the darkness nearby. Yona appeared, seemingly out of thin air, looking between the traumatized priest and the melancholy warlord.
“What did I miss?” she asked, popping a piece of dried fruit into her mouth.
“I told him,” Siurad sighed. “About me. About Obi. And that you’re a Kitsune.”
Yona froze mid-chew. She looked at Alexander, her eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.
“Oh,” she said flatly. “Great. Now we have to kill him.”
Siurad froze. “What?”
Alexander let out a squeak of pure terror, pressing his back against the rock wall.
Yona held the stare for three long, agonizing seconds. Then, she smirked, dropping the illusion entirely her tails flicking behind her.
“Relax. I’m joking, Saint. We would have had to tell you sooner or later anyway. Carrying your dead body out of here would be a hassle.”
Siurad and Alexander both let out a long, collective sigh of relief.
'…THE OPTION SHOULD REMAIN UNDER CONSIDERATION,' Obi noted coldly.
“Shut up, Obi!” Siurad and Yona snapped in unison.
Alexander wiped sweat from his forehead. “What... what did the ring say?”
Siurad looked at the terrified priest, then down at the ring. He forced a small, tired grin.
“He says he’s glad we got it all out in the open.”
“Well I found them,” Yona announced.
Siurad looked up from where he was testing the range of motion in his shoulder. “How many?”
“Twelve. Maybe fifteen,” Yona said, grabbing a water skin and taking a long pull. “They’re dug into a cave system about two miles east. They’ve got patrols, wards, and... things that aren't quite alive standing guard. A direct assault is doable, but messy. We’d burn resources we don't have.”
“So, we need to sneak in?,” Siurad asked.
“We need a distraction,” Yona corrected, a wicked grin spreading across her face. She pointed a clawed finger at Alexander.
Alexander froze, a piece of hardtack halfway to his mouth. “Why are you pointing at me?”
“You,” Yona declared, “are the offering.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Plan P for priest,” Yona explained, pacing back and forth like she was outlining a heist. “We walk right up to the front door. We tell them we’re prospective candidates, mercenaries looking to expand our dark horizons. And to prove we’re serious, we brought a gift.”
She gestured to Alexander’s pristine white robes.
“A juicy, holy, Whitespire priest. Wrapped up with a bow.”
Alexander choked on his hardtack. “That is... that is the single worst idea I have ever heard! You cannot be serious. They are cultists, Yona! Do you know what they do to priests? They don't just kill us; they recycle us!”
'…EXCELLENT,' Obi pulsed, the ring flashing with a dark, approving light. '…DECEPTION IS THIS CASE IS ACCEPTABLE. EFFICIENT. THE PRIEST HAS HIGH VALUE AS BAIT.'
“See? Obi loves it,” Yona said.
“That is not an endorsement!” Alexander squeaked.
Siurad rubbed his chin, looking at the terrified healer. “It’s risky. If they decide to accept the offering immediately... Alex is toast.”
“They won’t,” Yona dismissed. “They’re archivists, right? Bureaucrats of the dead? They’ll want to process him first. Interrogate him. That buys us time to get inside, find the archives, and then break him out before they start peeling.”
“Peeling!?” Alexander shrieked.
She looked at Siurad. “But for this to work, you can’t be Siurad the Shepherd. You need to be... well, you.”
“Me?”
“You need to be Tiny,” she said. “Big. Dumb. Scary. You don’t talk. You don’t strategize. You just loom. If they ask you a question, you grunt. I’ll do the talking. I’m the face; you’re the muscle. Can you handle being a mute brute for an hour?”
Siurad stood up, drawing his black steel sword. He rolled his shoulders, let his jaw go slack, and stared blankly at a rock. He summoned that specific, empty-headed heaviness he used back in the village.
“Hnn,” Siurad grunted, scratching his stomach with the flat of the blade.
“Perfect,” Yona nodded. “That is the face of a man with zero thoughts and a lot of violence.”
She turned to Alexander, who was currently hyperventilating.
“Relax, Saint. We won’t let them actually eat you. Probably.” She tossed him a length of rope. “Now, be a dear and tie your hands behind your back. We have an interview to catch.”
Alexander looked at the rope, then at Siurad, who was currently inspecting a bug on his armor, and finally at the sky.
“I am going to die,” Alexander whispered. “I am going to die in a volcano, betrayed by a fox and a silent giant.”
'…DEATH IS UNLIKELY,' Obi reassured him. '…SUFFERING IS GUARANTEED.'
“That helps, Obi,” Siurad muttered under his breath, breaking character for a split second. “That really helps.”