Alive, after all.
Liron stood in front of a mirror, watching his reflection. Yesterday was nothing but a blur to him. He had raged against Adenius accompanying them, but seeing no chance to win, he had given up. After this, Angin had promised him to heal him properly. After that, nothing. Exhaustion must have knocked him out. He had awoken in a room. Clean and minimalistic, his place to stay had a sublimity to it. Where Kupferrang and all highborn quarters presented their wealth through adornments, this room proved the architect's trained eye through less. The green patterns, the same as the Janloons had on their uniform, the wooden floor, and the few pieces of furniture. Never too much. Liron's Magic might have allowed him to tear all asunder in an explosion, but it paled compared to a precise, perfectly executed hau.
Liron rubbed his chin. Years separated him from a beard, but the first hairs had shown themselves. Despite it all, they had won. Liron had impeded Adenius from grinding them down, had defeated a Wrathling by combining his fencing, his Magic, and his wit, as well as stopping the Sinners. On his own, he had stood no chance against Trisa, and in the battle he had contributed little until the end, lunging himself off the bureau's roof with the assassin. The one thing he was always good at. Dragging someone down with him.
Liron slapped himself, plunging his face into a washbasin filled with cold water. No, his victory was impressive. He had done his part and survived it all thanks to himself. Proof that he had worth. Otherwise, he wouldn't have bested Adenius or the Wrathling. Otherwise, he wouldn't have killed Trisa.
The assassin's face haunted him still. Her dead eyes, dull yet the hate in them sharp. Her broken body, enwrapped in her strings, was forever embraced by them. Even in death.
A hole opened up in Liron's chest, swallowing up all previous sensation, leaving behind a void. Her hate for him was justified. She had good reason to seek revenge. Liron had killed Amor. He had left him no other choice, but this was cold solace for the ones mourning. Someone had come after him for vengeance. Liron never thought highly of himself, but he hadn't imagined that he would be hated like this.
And Amor was one of the only ones he had killed with his own hands. How many people would thirst for his blood? How many loved ones had died when the visions had started? How many more because of the Resistance causing havoc in the Empire and in Sannara? One hundred thousand. The entire population of Kupferrang had died because of him. Liron could still see the dead children, trampled and shattered. Would it have been better if he had let his sister die? Or should he have let Lance take him? Rivers of blood and an ocean of crimson.
Comforting thoughts. Liron rubbed his face dry with a towel. As Trisa's body emerged in his mind, there was something beside the void, taking shape, threatening to fill it.
Pride. He did feel pride having killed her. Not in the murder itself, but in the achievement of it. A Fran assassin, a Mage trained for years. He had proven his worth. A shame it was achieved through killing, but his sense of purpose and confidence refused to wither because of that. No, this part of him had tasted the salvation it had sought for years. It starved for more, wanting to fight and kill stronger enemies, ascending in power. Angin had told him that Liron had the potential to rise to Xeras' level. He needed Everon to accomplish this, and the dragon had yet to speak to him again. But this also had no effect on the new rhythm in the beat of his heart. He would climb this mountain, claiming the summit for himself. There, he would escape the name Ravenspawn and earn the respect he was owed. And the ones that would deny him still wouldn't do so for long.
Another comforting thought, recognizing the taint in one's soul. But there was light in the dark.
While Trisa's death had brought him some pride, his sister's rescue was the true accomplishment. This feeling was brighter and kinder. Basking in its warmth, Liron wondered whether this was what the sun's embrace would feel like. The shadows cast upon him quivered in the light, withdrawing to the depth they had spawned from. There they would wait. They had not yielded and never would. Their time to strike would come again, but not today. As of today, Liron would finally talk to Emma again.
…
"Nah, she's still sleeping," Angin said.
"Oh," Liron said, his momentum dying an awkward death. "That… well, fuck."
Liron had walked out of his room, finding himself in a corridor, a few more rooms adjacent to his. As with his place of stay, it showed the same sublime reluctance to indulge in anything unnecessary, spoiling the eyes in thoughtful beauty. The floor was crafted from dark brown wood, the walls were a beige that calmed the mind, and the green stripes Liron recognized as a symbol of the Janloon. He had heard his master's familiar crafting, following them down the corridor. In an open space, perfect for a dozen people to meet and socialize, he had found the Alchemist tinkering at a table the Janloons must have set up for him.
He had taken as much Nanium with him as he could, using it to repair or create new gear. "Take a seat," Angin told him. "You've been through the ringer. Don't push yourself too much."
Liron did as he was told, pulling a chair next to the Alchemist. He felt fine, but he did carry an exhaustion with him, yearning to rest.
Angin stopped with his work, examining his student. "Well, you look good for someone that shouldn't. How's your arm and body feeling? Anything off?"
Liron moved his left hand, having returned to normal. How much of his previous body was lost? "I… I feel good. No pain. No… strangeness. Just… a bit tired."
"That's good. I might be able to restructure your body, but I can't control its processes forever. The more you tinker with it, the more you run the risk for… mistakes. You were in horrible condition, Liron. I had to do a lot. So, should you notice anything, you tell me.
Liron nodded.
Angin worked on a blast rod, molding the Nanium to enhance his weapon. "I didn't alter your sense of pain. It's still numbed, but if you like, I can take it altogether. You might know now why I got rid of it."
Liron pondered the idea. Even dampened, the agony of the battles, in particular what Trisa had put him through, had left an impression on him. Future battles would become even bloodier, new heights of agony awaiting him.
"No," Liron said. "I'd like to keep it the way it is."
Angin frowned. "Can I ask why?"
"It… I want to keep parts of my old self. I thank you from the bottom o' my heart, Angin, but losin' parts of my body and havin' them replaced is… well, I want some pieces to stay the same. And the threat o' pain will keep me sharp."
"Oh, unlike me?"
"O' course. Who wants to end up like you? You're as dumb as you are ugly."
Angin barked a laugh. "You little shit. Perhaps I should have taken your tongue. Would have made the world a great service."
"No, only to the assholes that deserve a harsh truth or two."
"Yeah, I guess so," Angin said.
A shadow darkened his features, thoughts he had pressed aside for the last days. They claimed their right to speak. "Listen, Liron, we might have escaped Kupferrang, but we are not safe yet. Far from it. Sannara won't be an easy ride. In particular with Adenius. But once you're with the Resistance, you will find yourself in good company. They will keep you…"
"Me?" Liron asked. "You're meanin' us, right? You're comin' with me… right?"
Angin didn't respond. Liron's throat tightened up, dry as the desert they were heading for. "Angin… couldn't you come with me? I… I know I fucked up, and it's right that you're mad with me, but…"
"I'm not mad with you, Liron. It's all good…"
"Then why are you leavin'?"
Angin worked his jaw, hammering his finger on his blasting rod, avoiding Liron's look. "I said nothing of that sort. But yeah, perhaps I will have to go on another mission. We're the Resistance, Liron. Not some fucking pub community who play friends with one another. We have a goal, and we won't achieve it if we sit on our asses and do nothing."
"I… I understand this…"
"Do you? Then why are you asking these stupid questions? Think for a second. Solia's tits, you are a rebel, Liron, not some fucking shovel boy anymore. There are bigger things than your…"
Angin clenched his hands into fists, closing his eyes. He took a moment to calm himself, turning to Liron. "Apologies, Liron. I… that was not right for me to say. I… of course I will…"
The Alchemist ran a hand through his hair, bringing chaos to his perfect symphony. He recognized his mistake immediately after. "Fuck!" he snapped, slamming his fist onto the table.
Liron flinched, taking a step back. He would rather face Trisa alone than watch Angin bury his face in his hands. The storm raging inside his master humbled Liron. He had thought himself high and mighty, but he was reminded that after all, he was a boy of fourteen years. One who could not lose any remaining family member.
Angin let out a breath, his eyes heavy with bags. Had he slept at all last night? The Alchemist had shouldered much of the responsibility these last days. They had worn him down, and he lacked the energy to hide the cracks anymore.
Liron had never guessed. Before he could say anything, Angin turned to him. "You know what, let's take a tour. Let me show you Janloo. It's one of the greatest sights Ekon has to offer. What do you say?"
Angin's smile appeared sincere, but Liron knew better now. He wished he could move past it, convince his master to be honest with whatever troubled him. But he was still only a boy of fourteen years.
"Y… yeah… that sounds great."