Thank you to my beta reader and editor, GlassThreads!
Chul
My hands were heavy on my knees as I sat in the position of the lotus, focusing on gathering and cycling my energy. Through the stomach, up along the mana veins, and back to the mana core. Cycle, purify, condense, repeat. Cycle, purify, condense, repeat.
My fingers twitched. I could not bear witness to the great gray chamber, yet I knew it lay beyond my closed eyes. The fire in my blood coiled, muddying my meditation, reminding me over and over and over again of the verity of my capture and cage.
"Circe Milview had the blood of the djinn in her veins," my brother's specter said, his voice like the rustling of autumn leaves. "She was able to channel my powers, if in a limited sense. Her experience and djinn blood split the light of my insight like a crystal. She only got a few shades, twisted and refracted, but it was still aether that she manipulated."
I made a great effort to try and relax, to attempt to keep my shoulders loose and my breathing even. Such were the methods the Hearth had always taught me. The methods of my Father's people in their connection with the aether of the world told me I needed to settle my blood. To ask questions and empty my mind.
But this I could not do. My thoughts returned to my mother, barely found again. I thought of her burns and her pain. I thought of the loss of my flock, the cowardly Indraths striking their unprotected flanks.
I had been powerless. The might of my Mother and the wisdom of my Father should have been with me, yet nothing I could do changed anything at all. I felt the drive to escape this place. The surety that I would.
But my heart still pulsed painfully, torn in two. I ground my teeth, forcing my muscles to untense once more.
"Seris was able to call on my powers, too," Toren's haunting specter whispered, heard only by me. "She could not project them, I don't think. She did not have a drop of water within her to split the light. Just like with Tessia, I was only able to heal her and grant her heartfire. But therein is the difference, Chul."
"I am of the phoenix and the djinn," I muttered, feeling my fire pulse. "I can do all. I am no mere water droplet, but the entire ocean."
The world was silent for a few heartbeats. "That's not really what I mean—" Then Toren sighed, sounding greatly troubled. "You know what? Yeah. You're the entire damn ocean," he muttered. Truly, it seemed as if the ocean was not within me, but atop his ghostly shoulders. "Insight is specific to each person. If that's what works, that's what works. But I've always envisioned it as a call. A voice thrown to the wind, so you need to call out to my soul. With your ocean."
Call to his soul, I thought, my brows furrowing. This, I must do. But I am no wielder of sound magic. Unlike him, I do not take the greatness of music and make it my own.
Petulance welled from my core as I continued the process of cycling. The wounds along my body ached as they always did. I had always been able to ignore them, for they were marks of my folly and sin. But in this pivotal moment, I struggled to push away the measly nature of physical agonies.
I must simply make the call, I told myself once more, gritting my teeth. I could almost sense my brother's soul as it lingered at my side. Yet no matter how much I thrashed inside, pushing and pulling at the mana, I gained no connection with the aether.
It was the same, as it always had been. My heartfire did not react to my thunderous demands.
"I am doing something in error!" I muttered, struggling to stay in my meditative state. When I was a child, I had never been able to sit quietly and listen to the lessons of the greats. I needed to move, to punch and kick and throw. The only outlet that had ever granted me respite was the honing of my body and form. "Shall I shout instead, brother? Would that not be a call enough? This is not wor—"
"It won't work if you don't try," Toren snapped. "I know this is possible. I can sense heartfire through you, though it is incredibly muted. That alone proves to me that you have what it takes. You should be able to wield aether as I do."
I opened my eyes, my fists clenched over my knees. Toren sat in a mirrored position across from me. The light radiating from his spectral form made my eyes squint as I adjusted to it. The sharpness in his eyes made me wince, my fire inside wavering.
The wounds on my chest ached. They seemed so shallow until I saw those eyes again. Then each mark seemed to stretch deep into my flesh. Words of weeks past rose from the depths of my mind, unbidden and unwanted. "Fixed? How will you fix it, Chul?Will you kneel before the dwarves and beg for forgiveness? Before the families of all those you've killed? Will you offer your throat for them to slit in vengeance?"
I flinched, cursing my cowardice as I failed to meet those eyes. I am not a craven coward. I am not a coward.
"The members of our flock said that I might never brush against the fire of my heart," I said quietly. I ran a hand through my hair, imagining the red parting beneath the pads of each great digit. "The time of my Sculpting should have drawn nigh, yet I have not set down a single step. I cannot wield the aether of our family."
They are still my flock, the Asclepius, I asserted inside. Though the Brand of the Banished burned hot on my neck, it did not change the truth. I was still the blood of Aurora Asclepius and Andravhor Alae-kal. I would see them protected.
Toren considered me for a moment, the mists pulling at him. It was difficult to distinguish in the darkness, but I was certain that whenever his ghost appeared, the world lost some more of its color.
"I'm sorry for snapping at you, Chul," he finally said, his clenched expression finding momentary peace. It made me think of a great woodsman setting down his axe, no longer swinging his arms against a mighty charwood. "My temper is… short. But what I mean to say is that you can channel my heartfire, or wield your own for yourself. My insight came from understanding intent. It's what led to my music and everything else."
My expression collapsed like a great bridge that saw too much strain. I peered down at my meaty fingers, observing the hard-won calluses and leathery expertise of a warrior's hand. "I cannot strum a harp, and my voice is not one for the great ballads," I muttered. Our mother had been the greatest of singers, but she was here no longer. She knew of music. I did not. "My hands are untrained in the art, and I cannot hear the tones as our Mother did."
Perhaps if I had been born with the gift of song, I might have found my heartfire yet, I thought, glaring at my fingers. Melancholy seeped through my soul. Was not my mother able to teach my brother because of it?
"That's not what I meant, either," Toren said quietly, his ever-flowing hair slowing slightly in the Unseen breeze. "My path to aether isn't your path. There's a way for you: you just need to find what it is. Don't doubt that. Especially when it feels like you should." He shook his head, his sunlit eyes dimming. "We can try again later. We'll get this eventually, but there are other things we can do in the meantime."
I blinked, my melancholy drifting away. A grin returned to my features as I recalled what was to come next. The sun did not rise within this prison, but that would not stop me from going about the routine I had long ago set. "That is true!" I boomed, hopping to my feet. The cavern rumbled slightly as my voice traveled through it. "Morning ablutions are a must!"
Toren shook his head, chortling lightly. "Yeah. Just be quiet about me, please. Vajrakor thinks you've gone mad, but the moment he sees past his arrogance, he might rub two brain cells together and realize that I'm still here."
The smile adorning my features dimmed only slightly as the truth of my circumstances seeped closer to my mind, like the darkness of the Hoshwater clawing at my resolve.
"I will be more quiet," I said in a hushed whisper. "Leave this to me, brother!"
Toren closed his eyes, exhaling a deep breath. "Jesus Christ."
I blinked in confusion, then leaned forward to speak in a quieter tone. My eyes darted to the side, noting the moping titan in the corner as he scribbled something on the ground. He would not overhear my words. "Who is this 'Jesus Christ' you speak of? Some great Alacryan hero of old? You must tell me!"
It occurred to me belatedly that I knew very little of my brother's culture. Our mother had told me some of Toren's trials and tribulations and all he had worked to do amidst the hellscape of the continent the Vritra ruled with an iron fist. I could imagine a great ballad of the Asclepius recounting his journeys through the Great Work of my father's people. The tales of his symphonies of freedom and unity amidst a world of tyranny and shattered hopes were something from the Ancient Stories.
The ghost's face creased like crumpled paper. The burns across his soul seemed to stand out more in that moment. "It's nobody, just… do what you were going to do. You're right that keeping your strength up is necessary for what's to come. I'm going to go back to exploring what's beyond the stone."
His shade vanished abruptly, taking the shadows, mists, and dimming ambiance with him. Yet, strangely, I felt as if the light was… darker now, as he left me without an answer.
I was alone again. Alone in the razor-sharp edges of this Indrath prison.
Those shadows tried to infest my mind. I felt them there, wanting to imbue me with melancholy once more, but I did not let the misery keep hold of my thoughts any longer. All that brought me pain and sorrow would be made right. My brother would bring our Mother back from the Beyond, as it always should have been, and we would rescue our clan from the jaws of the treacherous Indraths.
My morning routine awaited.
I shifted, going to the tips of my toes and my hands as I prepared to go about the first steps of my morning routine. Handstand pushups first to condition my push muscles, then something to isolate my chest instead of the arms. After I performed my workout, I would see to my martial forms.
But as I pushed myself onto my hands, balancing perfectly like a bird roosting over a precipice, I felt the ache in my wounds once again. Blood seeped across my rags, dripping to the stones below in a too-red flow. The only ounce of color in this entire zone, a simple red.
My joy diminished further as the wounds reminded me of my sins. No longer did a smile grace my face, but a mask of determination. I refused to channel my mana, allowing my physique only what was unempowered.
One rep. Two. Three, four, five. On and on I went, feeling the slight burn in my muscles. Blood and sweat danced together, seeping through my clothing and staining the ground. But as my muscles burned, the raging fire inside found fuel. I was not combusting inside any longer, no: I was in control once more. My heartbeat rose, that great sound in my chest telling me all I needed to know.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. The rhythm continued on, guiding me like an arrow seeking a target. Move my arms, move my body, move my heart. The pulse beneath my palms, the strain of my body, the flow of my blood… all of it felt so real. It always had felt real.
How can one meditate when the body's vigors show them what it is to be alive? I thought, gritting my teeth as I pushed out another rep. They all speak of contemplation and thought, but they cannot see the wonder of every repetition!
Resolve that might have otherwise faltered found its hold once more as I went through the motions.
"That's the most foolish thing I've seen you do yet," a voice drawled lazily from the outer world. "Do you truly think your physical training will do anything? I don't know how your mind works specifically, but I can assure you that the aetheric wall you keep slamming your face into won't just give way if your muscles are bigger. Though, considering how broken your head is already with how you talk to yourself…"
I let myself lean backward, falling to my feet once more. I felt dirty, stained by dust and sweat and blood. But no longer did the thoughts of failure have any hold on my mind.
My gaze focused on the Languisher, hunched like a sack of potatoes in the corner. He watched me behind a curtain of greasy hair, his gaze assuming and judgmental.
I knew this one's type. There were so many like him in the Hearth. So many that thought it better to never try for fear of failure. He wore his pomp and arrogance about his bony frame like a cloak, thinking it would banish the chill of reality.
"You open your mouth to speak, Languisher, and all that exits is rotten bile," I muttered, frowning down at the crumpled mess of an asura. "I keep my body strong for the trials that will come after my escape."
The titan squinted, looking me up and down. "The average asura needs a caloric intake of half a thousand calories a day to sustain their bodies," he muttered, looking at my muscled frame. "For proper hypertrophy, that number is even higher, with copious amounts of protein for muscle synthesis. And you haven't eaten in weeks."
The titan adjusted himself slightly, groaning in annoyance as something in his spindly joints popped. "Did the Asclepius teach you basic anatomy in their Hearth? Surely they must have." The Languisher eyed me critically, looking me up and down with an unsettling curiosity. "Or were you the subject of some sort of experimental steroids? That would explain a lot about… everything. Tell me, what were they made of—"
"Preposterous," I scoffed. I flexed a single arm, baring the great muscle for the Languisher to see. "I am natural in my great physique. Your envy cannot sully my accomplishments. Your inability to put meat on your bones will not halt my progress."
Then a thought struck me. I pushed through my routine for the sake of not just my body, but my mind as well. The Languisher had once been a great crafter of the titans, Wren Kain the Fourth. His fire had gone out when he had been placed in this tomb. If he had not endeavored to hold off the despair, I could understand why he was now a pathetic sack of flesh.
I looked at the titan's body with a critical eye. The stories Mother always told me portrayed the titans as a tall and powerful race, capable of hefting mountains on their backs and forging works of wonder with their miraculous hammers. But this man did not have the musculature of a forgesmith.
"I understand now!" I announced, realizing what must be done. I pointed a finger at the stringy titan, a smile pulling at my face. "I have decided. You shall join me henceforth every morning. You will build muscle and curl many weights. I shall make a titan of you!"
"You are missing the point, fool," Wren said, leaning forward. The stubble across his chin seemed darker, the shadows under his eyes unfathomable. "Everything you do only hastens your demise. I'm not going to partake in an inefficient and harmful exercise routine just because some upjumped child said it would work to 'put some meat on my bones.' "
There was hardly any mana in the air, no easy way for this titan to project his intent. But I knew I had made some sort of mistake as he glared up at me, his lips curled into a sneer. "Agrona took my Sacred Fire, and Vajrakor knew that. The flames of the Labyrinthines were the only thing that made it possible to tame acclorite—the only thing that makes it possible to break our prison bars. It was the only thing that would have given us a chance of getting out of this place."
I slowly crossed my arms, frowning down at the lump of a titan. "My Mother never faltered within the dungeons of Taegrin Caelum," I sneered. "For millennia, she languished without hope of escape. And after only a few weeks, you submit yourself to despair?"
"Your mother is dead, Chul Asclepius," Wren shot back, finally rising to his feet. The suddenness of it surprised me, and the words strung even more. "I brought her corpse from the depths of that hell. And then the lesser who carted her ghost around like a balloon is dead, too. Which means it didn't have a point, and neither did her dea—"
I gripped the measly titan's collar, then pulled us so we were barely a breath away. "You will not speak ill of my Mother, Languisher," I growled lowly. "She spoke of you fondly. The Craftsman Who Tried to Sing. I heard tales of you before bed every night, alongside every other legend and story of Epheotus. It is that memory that compels me onward."
It had always been what had compelled me. Chasing after that fire, yearning for it, understanding it… If my Mother lived, I'd vowed to find her. If she were dead, I vowed to avenge her. Such was the way of things.
"And my mother may be dead, Worker of Wonders," I said in a low whisper, "but we are not without recourse. There is a plan that we have concocted that will rescue us from this place."
My eyes darted about. I saw no watchers of the Indraths, but I decided safety was necessary before I said the next sentence. Toren did not tell me much of his plans, though I asked profusely. But he did say that Wren Kain the Fourth would be "instrumental" in our escape. That meant he needed to understand.
Toren had impressed upon me the necessity of keeping his existence a secret, so I would convey the truth as subtly as possible.
"You have seen me talk to myself, yes? That means I am truly mad. I am lost to the depths of insanity, for I am… haunted. Very, very haunted." I paused, listening to the flow of the Hoshwater. Feeling the heartbeat in my chest. Sensing the lingering mana in the air. I peered at the archway of the Infinite Staircase. "I see ghosts everywhere."
Wren's eyes slowly widened, his jaw going a bit slack. I worried then that I may have broken him. Such a reaction was typical among those struck upside the head. Worriedly, I laid my hands on his slim shoulders. "Perhaps I was not clear. I am haunted. Ghosts f—"
"Quiet, you oaf!" he snapped. "Do you have any idea how much of an idiot you are? I get it."
I nodded sharply. "That is good!" I declared. "So now you see that you have been wrong, and now shall join us in our quest! It is good that you recognize that you have been in error! Such is the path to truth!"
I laughed aloud, boisterous and true. I wrapped the stringy titan in a hug, overcome with emotion. The small titan wheezed slightly as I held him.
"Put me down, you imbecile," he croaked, slightly overwhelmed. He coughed in disgust. "You're ruining my clothes with your filth."
"It is no trouble, Worker of Wonders!" I said, setting the small titan down. "Now I must complete the next step!"
I turned around, scanning the ground for… There. A dull pickaxe leaned against a distant wall, ready for use. The hateful Indraths had clearly left it to rust and decay, if only to hamper my task. A simple handle of beleaguered oak stretched like a gnarled throat to a head of exhausted iron, covered in red rust and stains of something redder yet.
I marched over to the waiting pickaxe, picking it up and testing its heft. I gave it a few practice swings, testing its balance.
Not as great as Suncrusher, I thought with a frown, missing my mighty weapon. It is not weighted as it should be, but it will have to do.
I worked through a few of my martial forms using the pickaxe, shifting my legs and exhaling with every feigned strike. The dull edge absorbed the light as I maintained my skill.
I rolled my shoulders when I was done, feeling well and truly prepared for what was to come. "See, Worker of Wonders?" I boasted, turning to look at what was once the Languisher. Now, Wren Kain stared at me with a frown reserved for the greatest of oddities. "We shall work through our forms every morning together! I shall show you what it means to strike with the force of a mountain!"
"I'm not going to participate in useless pedantry," he snapped back, still yet blind to the truth of the world. "Now, what are you going to do?"
I hefted the pickaxe onto my shoulder, feeling the sweat and blood seeping through my rags. My muscles burned, the workout still fresh in my bones, but I was not yet done. I marched over to the walls, inspecting one of the jutting edges of deep gray crystal.
"This acclorite," I muttered, clenching my hands on the pickaxe and feeling the rough wood beneath my hands. "It is what the Indraths demand for sustenance, yes?"
"Yes, that much is obvious. But you can't let a single drop of your blood or sweat reach the crystal," he said, inching closer. He kept his beady eyes locked on the rock, as if it were a shintcat waiting to pounce. "It'll erupt and tear you apart from the inside. I'd have to step around your corpse every time I needed to take a piss."
I narrowed my eyes at the crystal, judging the angles. I suspected I was beginning to understand Toren's plans. I let the pickaxe down from my shoulder, preparing to swing. Mana flowed along my limbs, my weakened core breathing energy through my muscles. "Very well, Worker."
I swung my instrument, aiming for the base of the crystal. I expected it to indent, for the wrought iron to sink in deep like an axe into wood. The spire would splinter, then fall, and I could claim my prize.
Instead, the tip of my pickaxe rebounded off the sleek surface, sending reverberating tremors through my arm. The metal groaned in pain, the shaft of the tool creaking. There was no blemish at all across the sleek surface of the jutting crystal.
I frowned down at my tool, commanding my muscles to cease trembling from the reverberations. "Strange," I muttered, glaring back at the crystal. "You will not relent before me? So be it!"
I swung my pickaxe again, driving it into the crystal's base. Once more, there was no change, just rebounding pain. Just the mocking reflection of my baffled face in the spire. "It will not break!"
"Acclorite's different from most crystals," Wren muttered from behind me, still staring strangely at the wall. "You can't just beat it and expect it to shatter, oaf. These specific crystals have traces of earth mana ingrained deep inside. You'd need to imbue yourself with more mana to shatter them."
"Earth magic?" I said aloud, not understanding. "But there is no mana here to absorb! How could it have such properties?"
"You think we're the first sods tossed down into this place?" Wren muttered, scratching at his scraggly hair. "You think all this acclorite came from nowhere? No. This what's left of the idiots who let the crystal take them."
I stepped backward from the acclorite, suddenly very wary. "You say that these were once… people? How could one do something so cruel?"
"Don't let it cut you," Wren repeated from somewhere behind me. "And here. This one should break when you hit it at this point specifically."
I turned, staring with uncertainty at another crystal that the Worker pointed to. The sweat on my palms suddenly felt far, far more slick, my grip less sure. "These are… people?"
"Were people," Wren snapped, staring at me through dark eyes. "Do you want to get out of here or not? You need this crystal for something, right? This one's made of wind. Probably a Sylph managed to get herself impaled or something, but that just makes it easier."
I trundled over to the crystal, staring down at it uncertainly. When I stared, I could not see the lines of a person, limbs, eyes, or anything else. But as I looked at what was once a person, I felt trepidation deep in my mana core. "I… do not wish to do this anymore," I said quietly, feeling a craven child. Visions of a breaking cavern hummed at the back of my mind. "This is a person."
Wren crossed his arms, then began to tap his foot. Tap tap tap. "Whatever. I gave you my help. If you are going to talk all about hope and taking action and everything, then just ignore what I have to say, then I guess it never mattered at all."
I flinched at the titan's caustic words. He sniffed, then stalked away, muttering to himself about lesser tendencies.
I'd vowed that I would not hurt another innocent life in the wake of my sins in Burim, where I had consigned countless souls to a fiery death of brimstone and false justice. But as I stared at these corpses of sharpened crystal, I…
My vision of the world flickered, darkened, and then the Unseen blanketed all once more. Toren's burned shade stared at the same crystal as I, his nose pinched in disgust. When he turned to look at me, I could not bear to stare back, craven as I was.
He seemed to sense my thoughts, his eyes narrowing as he saw me tense with reluctance.
"You fear hurting more people, Chul," he said somberly.
"But this is not the same. The Indraths have placed us here to suffer and to harvest the suffering of others. You are going to swing that pickaxe, and you will not blame yourself for whatever shatters. Because it was the Indraths who forced your hand; who ensured there was no other way."
"My conscience says this is wrong," I said quietly. "To harvest the corpses of the long gone in any way… I do not wish to break anything more."
The children in the Hearth had always mocked me for everything that broke beneath my hands. Brushes for painting, instruments for music, quills for writing? They did not survive my warrior's grip. I was destined to only break things, just as I had in Burim.
I did not look at my brother, but I heard his steps as he approached. Hesitantly, a hand laid itself over my shoulder, squeezing slightly. "I… I killed men who did not deserve to die, Chul. Two of them who only wished to protect their homes."
I blinked past my growing tears, looking at Toren's ghost with surprise.
"Skarn and Hornfels Earthborn," he said quietly, staring at the crystal. "They were twins. Brothers, only wanting to keep the imperialistic Alacryans away from their shores. And I judged that they were worth less than my goals. That they were worthy sacrifices.
"My conscience and my goals disagreed, and I still regret what happened that day. I regret it, but I cannot change it." Toren then tilted his head, in the way Mother always had. "And, Chul… I have ventured outside this prison cell. As I've developed my plans, I've delved into the cells of many others. Nearly all are empty, their prisoners having long since become part of the background. But a few… There are a few asura who have become withered, mindless husks, broken by this wretched prison.
"When we escape this place, those few that are left—living only as corpses, like Greahd—they'll die. Many might deserve it. Many might not. But my plan means that plenty will die that would have otherwise lived, if only as empty, mindless shells. I am going to consign many to death who are simply victims of circumstance, but I am left with no other choice."
My hands tightened on the pickaxe in my hands, my shoulders shaking for a moment. "I see, brother," I said quietly. "Will it stop hurting?"
"It gets easier to stand," Toren replied after a moment. "With time. But it will never stop hurting, and I can't stop that. I'm… sorry. I can only be here, and I know it isn't enough."
I stepped forward, feeling guilt and sorrow both as I stared down at the crystal that had once been another being. I raised my tool like an executioner's deadly axe, staring down at one that was already dead.
Would their families hate me for this? I wondered as I forced mana along my limbs. Would they look at me with blame and despair, decrying me as heathen and wrong?
I brought the pickaxe down. Crystal shattered like a measly life.
Would they say that Chul can only break things, that his strength and power is only good for destruction and pain?
Another swing of the pickaxe. More shattering acclorite. More crumbling bodies beneath the fire.
Would their sons miss their mothers? Would their brothers blame me? Would they say he shames his Mother? Shames his Father?
Crash. Crash. Crash. I moved like a mindless machine, guided by an anguished fire inside. I heaved like a miner from the olden days, breaking stone as it barred my way.
I hardly realized that my heartbeat had risen, thumping with an unknown energy. I hardly recognized that—through breaking the barrier before me, beating it bloody and tearing it down—I had found what I needed to send that call.
I felt Toren's presence now, closer as I swung. Like a second heartbeat guiding my own through the destruction, I could finally feel the heartfire along my limbs. I could feel the birthright of my people.
My brother's heartfire flowed through me, washing away countless wounds. Even the unhealing tears that I had taken as penance washed away, leaving only scars, before those, too, vanished. I could not hear him speak, but I felt his emotions. Not forgiveness… Not yet. But understanding, even through my sadness. A kindred emotion that neither of us should have known in a better world: to cast our innocence away by a forced hand.
I thought of my earlier assertion. I was no mere water droplet, but the entire ocean. Such was my might and power. Even as I felt my brother's hand on my shoulder, commiserating and guiding me through my grief, it still hurt.
But it would have hurt so much more without him. When I swung, his arms were my guide, his hand guiding mine when I felt weak. He held me as much as he could, keeping me strong.