Icarus Awakens

Fate meant something different depending on who you asked. It could be a script, written before the beginning of time in indelible ink. The intersection of random factors and free will. The intent of the Octyrrum itself. Silora’s answer was closer to the truth than average. This wasn’t through any special insight into the inner workings of the world but a linguistic trick. Fate, to Silora Thelonas, was her class.

Rather than give her greater control of her life, all the class had done was imprison her. The unfortunate truth was the class was as rare as it was useful, and she had been youthfully naive when she’d awakened her gifts. Despite the consequences of that day, Silora smiled at the memory. The old Torch Cleric who’d identified her had almost moved onto the next, only to trip over himself in a delayed reaction. “Fate!” he’d repeated in surprise. She was a Fate, and the only one residing in the region of Aughal.

Silora looked out of the Spire window and sighed. It had been a long night, and the morning would be just as taxing. It wasn’t her powers that told her that, but the increasingly shrill tone of her ‘assistant’ Rait. “Out of mana?!” the human asked incredulously. He was thin but stood at almost twice Silora’s height. The difference was due more to racial average than anything else and was something she had found intimidating at first. Now it all blended into the indignant indifference she regarded the man and those he represented. “No, the mineral caravan is reaching the rustland stretch in two hours, there is Lord Elegan’s, uhm, request, and several appointments for a reading this afternoon!”

She looked at him indifferently and replied, “If all of that is so important, get me a mana potion.” She winced as the headache, previously ignorable, spiked. Silora was at the point where she could go without sleep, loss of mana notwithstanding, but that didn’t mean her body had to like it. “And a normal drink too. Something with alcohol, but not the first thing you’d find in a tavern.”

Rait stammered for a second before catching on something comprehensible. “How am I supposed to get that!?”

“Request it from the city. Or, cancel today’s contracts,” Silora said with a shrug. She held Rait’s gaze and smiled when he fell silent. There’s my mouse, she thought. That was the crux of the matter, the contracts that was. Silora was ‘employed’ by the city of Aughal, and nominally this was a very lucrative position. Rising from a ward of the city to its sole Fate should have been the gateway to an easy life. Unfortunately, the deal offered to her when her class was discovered hid deadly poison with its sweetness. Forgiveness of any debts accrued by her raising? Tutelage by city instructors who, while not of her class, could help orient her to her powers? Silora couldn’t remember exactly what she’d said, but it was something along the lines of ‘where do I sign?’

Then, when she was fully trained, the costs of the arrangement were fully realized. Silora was contracted with the city, which in layman’s terms meant she was paid a fraction of what her services were worth and had little, if any control over the work sent her way. This left her no room to do anything but work on their behalf. It also meant the city valued the completion of her contracts far more than she did, and this was the sole source of leverage she had.

Pushing that button too much was dangerous. At any point, the city could use it as grounds for breach of contract, though they would never use the option, not unless they truly wished to dismiss her. What happened last night was important, worth resetting the timer on her ability to fluster the shrew of a man spluttering again.

“I can’t just-”

“I’m out of mana, Rait. What do you want me to do?”

“You-”

“Ugh, and with this headache it’s so hard to focus. I couldn’t use my powers even if I had mana.” She added a challenging lilt at the end. There was no point in making what she was doing anything but obvious. This was a game both had played many times over the years, obedient service punctuated by the occasional refusal and an accompanying demand. Rait must have been managing her better than the Council expected for his position to survive these bargainings.

That being said, the human preferred to keep a sheen of legitimacy over such negotiations and didn’t directly address the implicit threats. “A mana potion can be obtained, but a drink?” He glanced over to a cupboard Silora had repurposed as a wine cabinet. One of the spoils from a previous ‘request’.

“Not from there. Something different.” Something that will keep you out of my fins for a few minutes. Silora had privacy, of course. Her ‘prison’ was a moderately well furnished set of rooms midway up Aughal’s Sun Spire. Rait only bothered her during business hours, and the front door locked from the inside. Regardless, any chance to reduce her exposure to the man was one she’d take.

“What?!”

“Oooh,” she trilled as she thought for a second. Summer was winding down, though most produce, and its byproducts, would be in good supply. Too rare a request would be rejected out of hand though. Another moment passed as she sighed again. No perfect choice was coming to mind. “Oh, something with frostberries. Maybe the chill will settle this.”

Rait looked at her as if she’d just pardoned him for some capital offense. “That’s all you wa- I mean, I’ll be right back!” He stopped himself from asking and took the win. Retreating, he reached for a hand mirror that hung at his waist and flicked the glass. Instead of shattering, the material glowed to reveal a woman’s face. “This is Rait, I need a level four mana potion delivered to-”

Silora sank back into the cushioned chair as she breathed. She did have a headache, no matter how much Rait thought she was faking. The mana potion would help more than whatever frostberry concoction Rait found. She regretted nothing about what she’d requested, though. As she sat in the lounge, Silora gazed at her reflection and frowned. It was all too obvious she hadn’t gotten any sleep. Her skin was rough, suffering from neglect and exposure to arid air. The Focus Chamber was far from the restorative luxury her bed was. That separation was important though, since it was impossible to rest while her powers were amplified.

The dryness was getting to her. She reached for a jar of unguent and began applying it to the worst spots. It was a half-measure but soothed the upset areas of blue skin. The exact species of monster that had been Grafted to create Silora’s species was unknown, but it had been aquatic if nothing else. Adaptation to land was one of the supposed gifts of the process, though that did not mean she was comfortable without at least some time each day spent submerged.

Aughal’s climate more than anything else irritated her. Shavi lived perfectly normal lives in regions where the moisture in the air was less precious than gold. She had it better than most with her quarters, her tinctures, and the minor enchantment on her robes. Still, other shavi in the area could leave without risking reprisal, the region not bothering to restrict their travel. Not worth the effort, unless one of them was a Fate.

Silora took a bottle out of the cupboard and poured herself half a glass, deciding a little of the usual wouldn’t hurt while she waited for Rait. The drink was strong enough that it would provide almost no excess moisture, but that wasn’t the point. Libation in hand, she made her way through a runed door and into the Focus Chamber.

This room had to be one of the most magical of the Spire. Credit where credit was due, Aughal hadn’t skimped on Silora’s office. Though that was only in their self interest. Runes flared to life as she entered, her hand tracing across the first few out of habit. The room drew its energy from a complex network of mana built into the very stone of the tower making it very reliable, and very expensive even with the Spire pulling most of the weight. A kingly sum would be needed to build this room anywhere else. That system itself wasn’t solely to benefit Silora; other rooms in the Spire made use of the free energy as well. Even its defenses, which weren’t often needed. The Shroud was chief among them, a barrier that would resist both siege and attempts by thieves to climb through the otherwise open windows.

The shavi Fate played a part in the city’s defenses as well. One of her many duties was assessing threats to the city, mortal and monster alike. The start of every day saw her using Regional Log, which tracked certain events in the region like high level monster spawns or the appearance of someone with a rare class. The rest of the day could be made up of anything. Scrying, fortune telling, real fortune telling, remote assistance in dangerous hunts, and the occasional parading of her by the city elites. Most was done here, in a dome-like room of concentrated power that enhanced several of her powers far beyond their normal limits. Near the center were several lavish couches, though these weren’t for her.

The Fate’s place was in the very center where what looked like a vertical bed stood. Silora finished the last sip of the average wine and placed it on one of the tables meant for guests. She wouldn’t have anyone here until the afternoon, no point in keeping this space tidy. Rait would take care of it. With her back to the standing furniture, she fell and felt it adjust to her presence. Her throne, as others did not call it, tilted back slightly to capture her and unlocked. It would now freely rotate, easily manipulated by Silora’s Magnesis feature.

She hadn’t been entirely truthful with Rait. She had a sliver of mana remaining, enough for a brief use of Farsight. She needed to know and needed to use this chamber before Rait returned and asked what she was up to. Nominally she was free to use this space outside of business hours so long as it didn’t interfere with her normal duties, which last night’s activities had. Best not to push matters. Second best was not to get caught doing it.

Reaching out to the Focus bound to her, Silora closed her eyes and cast herself out into the world. As her senses raced out from the Spire and the rest of Aughal, she deftly rotated her body to guide the vision east. Going so far made for very inaccurate readings unless she had something to guide her, which she did now. The idle curiosity with which she’d scanned the Thormundz region, after hearing of some ill rumors, finally paid off when she found someone out of all the empty space. The problem was the amplification. It cast her sight past its normal limits, which did make Farsight reach distant regions faster but with more difficulty. There was a brief distortion when her vision hit the boundary between regions, accompanied by a dip in her remaining mana. Adjusting to this chamber had been a pain due to the vertigo, though that had been overcome. That was back when Silora was still ambitious, still trusting. Poor, stupid Silora. Should have run when you had the chance.

There. A Fate, or any class with remote viewing powers, could more reliably see someone or somewhere they were familiar with. Not having visited the Thormundz region it had taken Silora some time to find anything worth tracking, which had turned out to be a young man trapped deep in a mountain range. It had been an accident, Silora not turning her gaze fast enough to avert colliding with the rock. As she was trying to pull herself back to Aughal, she’d slowed down right as it had happened. She’d found the young human with a kind of power those who led regions actively hunted for. Limited, in its current state, but even now its owner would have no shortage of bids on his service. That kind of discovery was influence in its own way, but Silora had an entirely different reason to desperately track the man’s progress.

When she’d revisited that young man with burning curiosity, she’d witnessed the fight against the dragon. Helped, even, when Moment of Fate indicated a particularly decisive point where she could intervene. Casting a level four spell like that over long distance had done the most damage to her mana. Then, she’d heard the dragon speak. That had shaken her to the point of withdrawing from the vision, robbing her of sleep and her daily mana restoration. Casting herself out now was a risk given what she’d claimed. Rait could be back soon, but she had to know what had happened. Was the man still alive? Were any of them? Did… Ah, there. Her vision slowed as she neared her target, indicating at least there was something left to see. A camp. He rests. Chest moving, so alive.

With practiced precision, Silora dissected the image. Farsight had a decent mana cost that increased as time went on. The importance of efficiency was highly stressed by her ‘employers’, meaning she had to become very adept at reading situations quickly. There were many survivors, though who exactly she couldn’t tell beyond a short radius around her target. Had they killed the dragon? That would set Silora at ease, but there was no carcass nearby nor trophy to indicate they’d triumphed over it.

No matter. He was alive. Silora pulled back before fully exhausting her mana. She opened her eyes and froze when she saw who was standing there. Mark, a name for a man more familiar to the dead than the living. Silora’s work as a Fate brought her in touch with many who could afford what the city charged, and this Assassin was among their number. Anyone with the appropriate powers could take the profession, though Mark himself bore the rare class that walked with the pace of death. Slow, confident, and unyielding.

“Silora. I was led to believe you were out of mana.” He brought a potion into view of the paralyzed Fate and idly sloshed the liquid. “Odd to find you here, then.” The man spoke so calmly, like there wasn’t blood dripping from one of the daggers at his belt.

Blood?! Silora realized with a shock. She didn’t think he’d cut her, but, but no, it wasn’t blood but wine. A bottle was visibly broken in the room before, one of the finer ones. Destroyed to make a point by one who knew she couldn’t protest. “I-”

“I don’t care about whatever game it is you’re playing Silora,” Mark said with a tired voice. “I just know that without this, your life gets very difficult.” In seconds the point of the wine-stained dagger was against the flask containing the potion. “Lord Fredreick. Find him, and it’s yours.” A small crack formed in the glass as slight force was applied by the dagger. “Lie to me and this’ll be the least you need to worry about.”

Lord Fredreick. One of the city’s elites, worthy enough of the title given his position on the Council. Worthy enough that if someone were inclined to eliminate him, Mark would be hired for the job. “T-this is a test,” she said shakily. “I won’t b-betray Aughal.”

“Silora,” Mark chuckled coldly. “The right answer at the wrong time. Now, I’ll be honest. Killing you? Easy. Hiding my presence here would be more difficult, the city would bring out specialists to investigate your death. Far more than they would for the murder of a courier, if they’d even suspect anything more than a simple disappearance.” He looked down at the potion and smiled.

Oh. Silora hadn’t thought to ask how Mark had appeared with the potion meant for her.

“But, well, if the price is right? I just want a peek, Silora. Then you get your potion, and you get to forget about me.” Faster than she could see, the knife was away from the bottle and into a hidden sheath. “It’s not a hard choice is it?”

“B-but I’ll know you d-did it.”

“Silora,” the false humor dropped from Mark’s voice, replaced by dark introspection. “That is a good point.” Then the smile was back. “I don’t care what you know. What they throw at me after I kill Rodreick would make anything before now a wrist slap. Fuck, they may even let the Ironrush Ravager run loose, though most of them want him dead. Point is, they’ll figure out it was me some way or another, but I’d prefer that to be after the kill.”

“How do I know you won’t just kill me when-”

“Don’t!” Mark shouted, a dagger back in his hand, as Silora shifted in place. “Heh, best to stay still for now. Less of a chance you’ll get hurt. The truth is, despite how vain and narcissistic you get, you do good work. And besides, those qualities make for far easier targets. It would be bad business to overly purge them from the world, don’t you think?” The question was rhetorical, though Mark still paused for effect. “Anyway, you should get on that request of mine. Unless you want your poor assistant to stumble onto me here and face the consequences?”

Silora honestly considered taking the Assassin up on the offer before deciding against it. Some form of maiming she’d accept, a broken leg for example that would sideline Rait for a good amount of time. But death? She wouldn’t go that far. “Just his location, or do you need to know anything else?”

“That’s my girl!” Mark clapped his hands in approval and spoke with exaggerated glee. “Location, although if you can find out anything else I would appreciate it.”

Not wasting any more time, Silora went about her business. The focusing chamber didn’t just enhance the range of her powers. When she didn’t need the distance, she could instead use it as a way to reduce the mana consumption of her abilities. The councilmember was no doubt in Aughal proper, and Silora’s office was placed near the center of the city to envelop it within the normal range of her powers as well as provide her the benefits of the Spoke. Though her eyes were closed, she sensed the Assassin ready a weapon in case she was doing anything other than what she was asked.

Silora had met the man known as Lord Fredreick. She’d met most of those with the means to afford her services. Some came to her solely for the novelty of seeing a Fate, or a shavi in the desert, thoughtless of the consequences of doing so. In that way the Assassin’s haste and coming here made sense. He must have been given the contract on short notice. She was the best option to find the target quickly, and Silora had to admit she was easy to intimidate with how weak her level disparity made her. She knew all of this because she’d assisted in this kind of work before, back when Aughal had had its own Assassin instead of this terrifying level six drifter.

She searched with her senses throughout the city, drawn to the unique signature that was the combination of Lord Fredreick’s face and name. There were other things she could use to guide Farsight, though these were the most convenient. She found him. Oh. Oh, that’s why Mark’s here now. Disgusting. Looking around while keeping what was happening in the center of the vision out of her mind, she noted entrances, absence of weapons in the room, and estimated the height of the ceiling from the view from the windows. Considering what kinds of people lived in Aughal, this was an important clue.

“Well?” Mark asked evenly.

Silora took a deep breath and tried to match his tone. “Rose Spire, on one of the middle floors. Low twenties is my best guess.”

“Sounds like the pleasure house.”

“Yes.”

“I see.” Mark grinned again, with a predatory nature. Silora saw this as she opened her eyes and thought him more monster than a man. “That explains the rush. By all accounts the man has an endurance below five, and without those pesky robes this will be a breeze. Good work.” Placing the potion down on a table, Mark turned to leave without another word.

“No weapons,” Silora said, making Mark pause midstep. “Just two people, one door, four windows most of which face the south.”

He didn’t turn, but he did reply. “You didn’t have to tell me that. But that might reduce the collateral damage. Oh, yes, I did forget to mention that, as this is my last job here, I’ve decided to cut loose a little.” A sense of death hung over Silora for a few seconds, and then it faded as Mark’s shoulders dropped slightly. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t send any warnings. If my contract is spoiled, then I’ll know who to blame. You don’t want me to be angry with you, do you Silora?”

“I-I wouldn’t.”

“Good.” With that, the man left, leaving not even an impression on the carpet.

All thoughts of the business in the Thormundz were driven from her mind as Silora lay in her harness, replaying the events and wondering what had changed the Assassin’s mind. Assuming that the last implicit threat was real and not another fakeout meant to intimidate her into silence. Rait found her like this, carrying a larger shard of the broken wine bottle along with an intact one containing blue liquid. “Silora? What are you doing?”

“What?”

Rait steeled himself, and asked, “Why haven’t you taken the potion yet?” He looked around, “And where’s Kevin? I asked him to wait. Did something happen with the wine cabinet?”

Silora blinked, eyelids flashing laterally as her mind was brought back to the present. “I didn’t notice,” she lied. “I was preparing for today and fell asleep.”

“Your eyes were open?”

“Shavi sleep with their eyes open, didn’t you know that?” Silora put the edge back into her voice in a false show of strength. “Honestly for how long we’ve worked together, I thought you would learn something about my species.”

“Right. Your drink?”

“I, I’m fine. I’ll just take the potion now.”

“You don’t have a headache anymore?” Rait asked with a put upon tone.

“No, no I think that little nap solved things.” She really didn’t have a headache anymore. Mark had scared it out of her. “The potion, please.”

“You aren’t going to, ugh.” Rait sighed and uncorked the bottle himself, seeing the faint crack but not commenting on it. Handing it to Silora, he also took notice of the wine stains on the carpet within the Focus chamber. Again, Rait didn’t comment. It was a conditioned trait to not say anything that could upset the Fate unless she pushed too far. She was hiding something, but as long as she did her job Rait would get paid. “Mineral convoy is about an hour away, so we’ll need to get started on assessing the routes for possible Mirage activity.”

The flask in Silora’s hands was large, the bottom chamber twice the size of a fist, and she lifted her fourth finger to indicate she hadn’t finished imbibing it. After she did, the Fate bent to place it on the floor and then leaned back into the harness. “Marker number?”

“27,” Rait said with surprise at the lack of resistance.

“You’ll need to fetch the map. I’ll get started.”

“Right, Fate.” Rait shook his head as he went to retrieve one of the maps stored in a locked cabinet in the sitting room. Silora had been some trouble in the morning, but now she was nearly friendly. Or as close as she got to that. Maybe today would be a good day after all.

…

Deep in the Thormundz mountains, beyond where the settlement wave had pierced into the region, Mavar Helioc stroked his chin. He was in his office, that word straining to accommodate the truth of the matter. If it would take a king to build Silora’s chambers, the resources of an empire would struggle to arrange these. Mavar was the head of this collective of the Illustrious and had had many years to refine this room. Beyond managing all those under him, and providing direction through his eternal insights, he was also responsible for maintaining the defenses.

The control points for several were arrayed as crystalline structures within the large open room. It would give someone from Earth the impression of a spaceship’s command deck rather than an office. As Mavar couldn’t make that analogy he stuck with the simpler description. One bank of the almost monitors was for remote viewing. Contrasted to the scrying pool they had observed Murdon’s flight from, these worked based on markers covertly placed amongst the mortals in key positions. The keep of Roost’s Peak had one, and the invisible sensor had been spared from the dragonfire.

“It’s returning from hibernation,” Mavar said to himself. He was not as giddily fervent as Rorshawd had been upon finding the god, instead impartially acknowledging the fact.

No one else was here, no one ever came here unless they had important business. Mavar had been alive long enough to see generations die and would have been lonesome already, but this isolation did not bother him. He had his vision and his eternal hatred to keep him company.

“Another variance. This is too soon.” The sensors were superior to simple remote viewing, collecting information based on all seven senses rather than just sight. The effect was powerful enough to illuminate the distant presence that had accompanied him. “A Fate. Too soon as well. But-” The image magnified. He sighed in relief. “Good. Good. Just a Fate. From a bordering region, likely. My Foresight hadn’t-” Mavar didn’t finish most of his sentences when he was deep in thought. One listening in would think the man was scatterbrained. The truth was his mind was moving too fast for his mouth to keep up.

Sometime later, he moved from the panels to a stair-like table that held gemstones in small bowls. There were no labels as each was different enough and Mavar didn’t need to write things down to remember them. He didn’t need to do anything to remember details. He picked up one that would contact the collective’s main scout and spoke shortly through it. “I require a progress report on Heldren Storm’s faction, and the Tyrant’s position, if you can locate them without being discovered. Lastly, someone confirm the Artificer still possesses what I left for him.” He waited for no reply, trusting his orders were clear enough. After the Arcanist had been severely chastised for allowing one of their scout golems to be spotted, he was sure they were taking more care.

Mavar was about to return to a cross-legged position in the center of a glowing runic circle when a gemstone on his hip chimed. Only a few had stones bound to the one he carried, and even fewer should contact him without notice. “This is the Prime,” he answered curtly.

“Master Helioc, I am so sorry for disturbing you.”

“Sasha Veltrex. You best have a good reason for doing so,” he intoned ominously.

“Of course! Master, I don’t know how it happened. I would have missed it had I not done an extra check. I’m sorry!” She apologized again, somehow intuiting his impatience. “Have you run a Regional Log today?”

“Not yet. Should I?”

“Yes! You need to see this for yourself.”

Mavar moved over to one of the semi-translucent constructs, this one enchanted to reproduce the effects of certain powers. Extreme-level work all things considered, but there’d been time enough to have it done. After activating one a multi-colored, timestamped list ran across the screen at extreme speed. His eyes didn’t need to move to follow the words since his mind was enough to scan the blurs and commit the words to memory. “I’m not seeing anything out of the ordinary here,” Mavar was about to say, before one of the earliest events of the day appeared. “That design is restricted. What have you done!?”

“It wasn’t me Prime! I swear, I checked. We didn’t spawn this. It happened right after the last of the godbound left the fort city.”

Mavar flicked his wrists, the multi-colored robe coming into being around him. “For your sake it better not have been any under you. You have none to pray to if this is your error.” A three-dimensional image was displayed in the space taken up by the construct, rotating slowly. It was faintly reminiscent of a squid, dyed blue with red coloration along rectangular trenches. He cut the connection in his stone, musing to himself. “How. How!?” Can it truly access our designs, even those we abandoned long ago?

His eyes flicked back to the construct responsible for Foresight. For a very brief moment he was tempted, but the power was proving more and more misleading. Too dangerous. He went to another gemstone on the array. “Send a covert team to the mountain pass and search the lake for monsters. Kill anything aquatic there but do not engage the dragon! Do. Not. Kill. The. Dragon,” he repeated slowly.

Removing that block, at this point, would throw everything into abject chaos. The godbound confronting the dragon was important, but if this old monster was in play? It could kill them all.