Leon was no stranger to white fire; he’d used it quite extensively before his skill in offensive magic outclassed it. The white fire that now illuminated the healer’s bay, however, bore little resemblance to what he’d used so long ago, aside from the superficial resemblance. This was a tool that healed, not a weapon that destroyed.
The white fire was conjured by Ryonos, who stood at the head of Clear’s bed. The tau was as yet unconscious, but Leon thought that may have been for the best since Ryonos’s white fire, once it left his fingers, coiled around Clear’s head and sank beneath the surface, mostly through the holes that the nails had left. The fire burned gently, roiling slowly and giving off no sparks; it was peaceful and gentle, and when Ryonos cut it off, Clear was left looking like he was merely sleeping rather than unconscious. A quick inspection revealed that he’d been completely healed, at least physically.
“That’s all I can do,” Ryonos said apologetically. “The state of his mind I cannot yet judge, but his body has been repaired to the best of my ability. The torment inflicted upon him must have been extensive. If what you told me is true and all he did was look for a way to get in contact with us—”
“It was,” Leon immediately interjected, affronted even by the insinuation of dishonesty.
“As you say,” Ryonos continued without missing a beat. “He must have run across quite the ill-natured Lord to have suffered such treatment.”
“Deianira,” Serana said with a scowl. “I saw one of her handmaidens in the keep where this man was being held.”
The three of them were the only ones in the healer’s bay, so there wasn’t much need to hold back in their words. The rest of the dragons were waiting close by, and while Leon doubted Ryonos would conceal anything told to him unless specifically told in confidence, he still loosened his tongue a bit.
“It’s the latest in a string of unfortunate events I’ve run into since leaving Artorion,” Leon said. “Iaivi Fortress was assaulted, apparently by the bearers of an Inherited Bloodline. What little evidence they left behind indicates that their targets were Khosrow cultists. When I visited Khosrow’s Fane, I saved two Lords from execution at the hands of a fanatical group of Khosrow followers, which nearly broke out into violence. Now this: Clear is an Ascended Beast, and while I can’t say for certain yet, I wouldn’t be surprised if this fit that pattern.”
“That is a concerning pattern,” Ryonos stated. “I can’t say I’ve noticed a similar pattern of violence out in the planes, but Khosrow’s Law has found no purchase on Arushae, nor out in any planes held in the claws of the seven Clans. Khosrow ‘cultists’ you say? If there is such a cult, they stay far away from the lands shaded by dragon’s wings.”
“Mm,” Leon hummed. “There’s also the matter of the nails.” He produced the paper copies of the nails he’d made before throwing them back at Anushirawan. There, the deceptively simple enchantments were inscribed clearly. “Each one was slightly different, but they each bore a rune that I’ve seen used several times. Each time, the rune was used in a way that… did something to my blood.”
“What kind of ‘something’?” asked Ryonos with deepening concern.
“It… My mind went foggy, and I lost control of the power in my blood. The very first time I encountered such a rune, it had been carved into the head of a beast—possibly one of human origin—whose roar knocked my mind into my soul realm. Basileus Triyr used something similar on me during our duel on Voidshore, but I recovered quickly."
Leon reached into his soul realm again, retrieving an inscribed copy of the runes that he’d found not only on the forehead of the Wailing Dirge but also of the creature stalking the floating islands around Kavad’s Lance and that Triyr had conjured during their duel.
Leaning in to examine what Leon was showing, Ryonos frowned. “I don’t recognize any of this.”
“Neither do I,” Serana said.
“The Wailing Dirge’s roar affected those of my vassals who bear Inherited Bloodlines, too,” Leon further explained.
“And that one was ‘of human origin’?” Ryonos inquired.
“There was some circumstantial evidence that it may have been someone who bore an Inherited Bloodline,” Leon said. “Same with a second creature I encountered not long afterward. These runes… I believe they interact somehow with the power passed down to us by our Ancestors. Much like my own transformation enchantment, only less benign. It makes me wonder if someone’s developing some kind of weapon to use against us, and with what feels to me like increasing violence against, or at least involving, those of us with such bloodlines…”
“If they challenge us, they’ll die,” Serana said with a vicious smirk, black fire curling around her fingers.
“We do have great power,” Ryonos whispered. “But my dear sister… that may be the very problem these runes were created to counter.”
“If someone can summon one of these runes,” Leon said, “and throws our magic out of control… how are we going to defend ourselves?”
“It worries me that these are associated with those who venerate Khosrow,” Ryonos said, his eyes returning to Leon’s diagrams. “Khosrow was no friend to any beast, Ascended or Divine. Humanity has always resented us for our lineage, envious of the power we wield.”
“They should be,” Serana insisted proudly. “Who can look upon a dragon and not be envious?”
“Such envy invites conflict,” Ryonos countered.
“Give them all the tools they want,” Serana spat. “It won’t matter. To challenge a dragon is to challenge death itself; a futile and pointless exercise. We will always get what we want. The Lords in the Nexus and the greater universe should be thanking whatever gods they worship that we do not desire universal dominance. If we did, it would be ours.”
A frown to match Ryonos’s spread across Leon’s face. “I’m sure the Primal Gods and Devils thought much the same. Now they’re dead or locked away.” Ryonos gave Leon a strange look but didn’t comment on his statement. Serana, meanwhile, scowled and bowed her head slightly in acknowledgment.
Silence hammered their ears more loudly than battle drums; none of them had immediate answers or solutions to this particular problem. After several long seconds, Leon finally broke that silence.
“Speaking of death, I had some questions about Heartwood Trees.”
“Yes, Jennifyr said something to that effect, didn’t she?” Ryonos said. “Something about your father?”
Leon nodded grimly, his mood falling as it always did when Artorias was brought up. Serana’s mood, too, visibly fell, and she went deathly quiet.
“After his death,” Leon explained, “I buried him with a golden Heartwood seed in his chest. He wanted—” His breath caught, and he cleared his throat to try and cover it up. Thankfully, neither Ryonos nor Serana called him on it. “He wanted to be buried according to ancient legend. It was… I did my best.”
Ryonos laid a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. “You are asking,” he said quietly, “if your father might return from Death’s Kingdom?”
‘Yes,’ Leon wanted to say, but his mouth wouldn’t form the words. It seemed so childish to him, a desire that flew in the face of reality. Death was death; there was no coming back from it.
Except there was, and it involved the very same funerary rites that Leon had performed for his father—or so it seemed.
“There are many Heartwood Trees back on my home plane,” Leon said plainly. “There is no evidence that anyone has ever used one to come back.”
“The cases I’m aware of,” Ryonos offered with a bitter smile, “while verified, are not specific regarding the magic involved. Heartwood Trees, while rare in an absolute sense, are still quite abundant on an individual scale. Thousands have hoped for a second chance, either for themselves or their loved ones, and interred themselves with a seed in their chests. Magnificent trees have sprouted all over the universe, but if any but a very select few have returned from the other side of an Aesii, then I have not heard of them. None have come back since the Primal Age, as far as I know, and several White Dragons in ages past who have studied this very thing have speculated that it might have been some kind of power used by the Primal Gods or Devils, and that such power is long lost today.”
A distant look crossed Leon’s face as he thought of the Divine Graveyard. There were Primal Gods and Devils who yet lived, if chained by the Grave Wardens… and one who had escaped and was yet unaccounted for…
He stifled a sigh and asked, “Does the color of the seed matter?”
“Color?” Serana inquired, surprise inundating her tone. “Heartwood seeds are exclusively gold, aren’t they?”
“They are,” Ryonos confirmed, his eyes locking onto Leon and narrowing with curiosity. “Unless you know otherwise, Leon?”
Again, Leon reached into his soul realm, his desire to keep it a secret dying quickly in the face of possible answers, and produced the wooden box he stored the black Heartwood seed in.
The box had weathered over the centuries, but more than Leon had expected now that he saw it in the light. The edges had smoothed out, and cracks in the lid had formed. It also came with a slight musty smell that indicated the wood might have started to rot—a surprising feat given it was stored in his soul realm, an environment where everything save what he’d brought in was made of magic and mist.
Leon hadn’t enchanted the box, having not thought it necessary, but now that he held it in his hands, his thirteenth-tier senses told him so much more than he’d been able to ascertain the last time he’d laid his eyes upon it.
An aura, cold and gentle, crept through the cracks in the box. The box was dry as a bone, but holding it, it almost felt wet, a sensation he thought merely some kind of illusion until he flexed his fingers and caused the wood to crumble like it had spent the past two centuries soaking in a pond.
“Shit!” he cried as he used his elementless magic to pull a nearby table over and lay the ruined box upon it.
“What is… that…?” Ryonos whispered as more of the aura leaked through the further-ruined box. His features contorted with distaste as the aura slid over them like the rising tide: slowly and gently.
Leon shivered, being closest to the box and thus the first to be fully submerged in this aura. It sank beneath his skin, leeching through the surface of his body like water through cotton. Even when he summoned his silver-blue lightning, it lanced through that aura ineffectually, doing little to bring warmth back to his body.
“It… wasn’t this intense the last time I took it out,” Leon said with a grimace. The aura wasn’t so much uncomfortable as it was just… unnatural. Gentle and cool, but his skin crawled wherever the aura touched. “Though, it’s been centuries since then…”
Ryonos, still scowling, took a step forward, then flipped open the box’s lid, exposing the black seed for all of them to see.
Or rather, for them to not see, at least not immediately, as the entire interior of the box had turned completely black, and the stench of must magnified greatly. Ryonos staggered back, his face contorting further with disgust. Leon had more tolerance for it, as did Serana apparently, who joined him by the table, and together, they peered into the stinking box and saw the seed sitting in the exact center of the box. A small divot had formed beneath it, as if the surface of the seed was acidic and ate through part of it, keeping it relatively secure within.
“You’ve… you had this in your soul realm…?” Serana whispered. “This feels… It reminds me of an Aesii I once stumbled across. The same… poison. I couldn’t… Leon! My boy, why would you transport this thing like that?!”
“It didn’t seem as… dangerous? As dangerous back then…”
“You had it in your soul realm for hundreds of years?!” Ryonos exclaimed. “Leon, my nephew, this seed is almost as afflicted with death as your lightning!”
Leon frowned again, his golden eyes landing on the Heartwood seed, sitting so innocently in the ruined box. Its aura was permeating the healer’s bay, and while his instinct was to pull it back into his soul realm, he instead cautiously held up a hand and let a single bolt of black lightning arc around his fingers.
The aura emitted by the seed immediately cooled until even the post-Apotheosis mages staring at it started to shiver. Frost spread across the table as the seed seemed to drink in the death lightning and strengthen its aura.
Alarmed, Ryonos quickly shut the box and surrounded it with white fire, suppressing most of the aura, though some of it still slipped through.
“That thing is… it should not be!” he insisted.
Leon didn’t share his opinion, but he didn’t immediately vocally disagree. He felt… something in the Heartwood seed just before Ryonos shut the box. It resonated with him, drinking in his power and tuning itself to him in some way he couldn’t put into words. On some level, it disturbed him to have something that Ryonos was associating with death echoing his power, but on a deeper level, the chill sank into Leon’s core and comforted him, relaxing him, and then dissipating into his blood, filling his body with energy…
Leon reached through the fire and pulled the box back into his soul realm.
“Leon!” Serana cried out in alarm as Ryonos hurriedly dissipated his fire.
“You shouldn’t hold that thing in your soul realm!” the White Dragon insisted.
“Throw it out, now!” Serana demanded.
“It’s fine,” Leon said, the words feeling right. The seed went right back to where it had sat for hundreds of years. Its aura seemed dampened there, or… or it simply merged with his own power until they became one. “It’s… it’s not bad. Not for me.”
“It is death!” Ryonos insisted. “I don’t know where you got that thing, Leon, but that is the single most dangerous thing I have ever laid eyes on! I would expect to find it at the end of an Aesii—or at the beginning of one! Not so casually stored in someone’s soul realm!”
“So…” Leon murmured with a slight smile, “how does this thing, suffused with death, factor into resurrection?”
Serana and Ryonos were both struck silent, giving Leon an opportunity to conjure a single bolt of lightning, the distinctive ozone smell banishing the rest of the box’s musty stench now that it was back in his soul realm, and erasing the last trace that he’d brought the seed out at all.
‘Going to need a new box,’ he quietly thought. ‘First thing when getting back to Artorion. And maybe get Nestor or someone else to look at the damn thing…’
“Resurrection…?” a weak voice quavered. “I… hope you’re not talking… about me…?”
Leon’s eyes widened in shock as he, Serana, and Ryonos all turned in unison toward Clear, whose dark red eyes had opened and gleamed with presence of mind.
“Clear!” Leon exclaimed as the black seed was temporarily forgotten. “You’re back!”
“Where… did I… go?” the tau sputtered as he did his best to sit up, though his body betrayed him quickly.
“How are you feeling?” Ryonos asked as he joined Leon at Clear’s side, sparing Leon only a brief look that promised the discussion about the black seed was far from over. He laid a hand on Clear’s arm, and Leon detected a few small white sparks passing between them.
“Like I’ve… crawled from a grave…” Clear gasped.
“Not too far from the truth,” Ryonos said, grinning mischievously. “Do you know where you are?”
Clear looked around. “Storm Herald?”
“Yes, that’s good,” Ryonos replied. “How about the last thing you remember?”
Clear sucked in a breath, going silent for one of the longest seconds of Leon’s life. Finally, he answered simply, “I remember…” His red eyes sought out Leon’s, a wordless question shining from within.
He’d missed so much, and to him, Ryonos was a stranger, and Serana was a woman he’d seen once from the memory slate—something he might not even realize quite yet. He wanted to know if speaking in front of them was all right.
Leon nodded and laid a hand on his other arm, squeezing it comfortingly.
“I remember,” Clear repeated. “I was looking for… the dragons…”
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