CHAPTER 118
The Grey Watches
Haldrin adapted to his new form with unsettling speed. In his stance, I could see fragments of the Claim, a harsh refinement that smoothed hesitation out of him like a blade honed on bone. After that, the City of Ice stopped being tested. Even the crimson beasts that used to circle our borders learned to keep their distance.
While Haldrin held the City of Ice, the districts of New Araksiun sent their bravest to the trial that would determine who would take part in the run into the lower districts.
The Grey Hunt took many, but the number of riders continued to rise, their training growing fiercer as they adapted to fighting from horseback. Today, I was bringing another such rider to District 98.
“Don’t shoot! That’s Omen,” a guard called as we approached the ward.
This time, I made no effort to hide my presence. I wanted the guards to see me clearly, to understand at once that the one walking beside me, Rogara, did so under my authority.
Rogara was an orc, but not the sort described in our bestiaries. Her evolution had bent her shape closer to human form, a consequence of my influence. She still towered over most men, and her features carried the stamp of orc nature, but she was nothing like the Vadis breeds.
That difference made her unfit to remain among her own kind. And while the City of Ice had opened its gates to her, it was never meant to be her home. The threats that tested its walls were beasts far beyond what she could face in her current state as an onyx.
She rode a horse like the ones I made for the humans, but this one was Ciren’s work. He had changed my design for her, tried to account for what lived inside her. Still, if Rogara erupted into white flames, I doubted any frost vessel would endure it.
And yet… perhaps it would, if she managed to control the flow.
As Rogara rode ahead, I found myself circling the same thought again. What she carried was not flame. It had never been flame. In the same way, the sun was not truly a ball of fire, as I had believed when I first saw it.
To see the world as a God did was to watch half-truths collapse under their own weight. Illusions peeled away, leaving things as they truly were, truths that should have been obvious from the beginning, yet could only be accepted once they were impossible to deny.
Rogara noticed my gaze and shifted in the saddle. “Is something wrong, Master?” she asked, careful and a little stiff.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I replied. “I’m just thinking… have you ever considered the blessing you received? The source of your power?”
“It is a Khoris,” she said, immediate and sure. “Granted by the master. Fire to burn the master’s enemies.”
I raised my hand and let frost slip into the air. A thin shimmer followed my fingers, and the air grew colder. Flecks of ice formed and fell, ticking softly against the road. “Are you certain it came from me?” I asked.
Her brow tightened, and she looked puzzled. “Fire is the opposite of ice,” she said at last.
She had never asked where it truly came from. Maybe she held a faint memory of the sun, that immense sphere of white brilliance beyond the world, but even if she did, she kept it locked away.
The act of avoiding questioning itself was likely part of Sharn’s teachings in the oppressive ways to live under Sjakthar. Even now, on the surface, she spoke as if questioning was a sin.
“Indeed,” I said. “You could claim your blessing opposes my nature.” I let the thought hang, then corrected it. “But even that is not true.”
I spoke in the Language of the World, and the air around us seemed to listen. “Fog,” I commanded softly, “make yourself present. Gather to my hand.”
Calling the fog with the Language of the World always consumed immense will, but I saw no need to conserve it with the ward so close.
The fog gathered in my palm as if pulled by a hook sunk into reality. It thickened, layered upon itself, pressing closer until the usual warmth sharpened into pain. Another breath, and it ceased to feel like fog at all. It behaved like flame, and the heat turned vicious, a burning that surpassed common fire and made the nerves beneath my ice skin scream.
Rogara’s eyes widened, awe flooding her features. “Incredible,” she breathed. “Master wields both fire and ice?”
She missed the point entirely. “No, I do not,” I replied, then paused to think on how to explain it to her. “Whatever magic someone wields, they still touch mana. And mana is the fog.” I let the burning mass disperse, the air easing again. “But using it like this is pointless for me, a complete waste of will that will achieve little for what it costs.”
I repeated the words, trying to evoke the white flame again, to show her how that simple act had already depleted most of my will.
“But you are different. You received a blessing from the fog itself.” I continued my explanation. “The same force that illuminates the world. People call it fire because that is how it appears when fog condenses so tightly, behaving like flame… white flame.”
The true nature of the sun and the fog was that they were the same thing. A truth that felt forbidden to even know, yet as I spoke it aloud, the fog did not react.
Rogara stared ahead, lips moving slightly as if rehearsing the thought before daring to voice it. “So it is not fire,” she said slowly, “but the fog itself. Mana… in its most natural state?”
“Indeed,” I said. “And likely the most powerful blessing a mortal can carry.” I let my gaze rest on her. “Also, the most dangerous.”
“But why was it given to me?” she asked, her confidence shaken.
I paused, considering what to say. I suspected why it had been given to her, and I disliked the notion. Fortunately, as we approached, the guards interrupted our conversation before I had to answer.
“A monster at your side, Omen. Careful!” the guard screamed as he loosed an arrow straight at Rogara.
The arrow never touched her. It ignited midair, swallowed by white brilliance that ate wood and iron alike, and it fell as drifting dust at her horse’s feet.
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I looked from the guards—scarred, tense, already reaching for another arrow—to Rogara in the saddle, towering and silent, dust still drifting around her. “I believe it’s time we update the policy of firing first and asking later,” I then said.
***
Not long after we entered the ward, one of Tarin’s runners found me and told me to report to his office. Gustav had been called too, along with a few others. The fact that Tarin wanted an audience so quickly meant the guards had already filed a report, and the report had caused alarm.
The moment I stepped through the door, Tarin asked, “An orc?” He didn’t raise his voice, but the word came out sharp.
“Yes. An orc,” I told him.
Tarin’s eyes narrowed. “Inside the ward?”
“I made modifications to make the Obelisks accept her entrance,” I told him, meeting his unmoving stare.
Tarin let out a slow breath and rubbed his forehead once. “I’m not asking how,” he said. “I’m asking why.” He looked at me directly. “You understand what she is.”
“She’s civilized and under my care,” I replied. “As are many others.”
Gustav’s head turned slightly. “Others?”
“Yes, beings of ice. They’ll join us on the run once we reach District 3.” I paused. “However, she needs a new place to live.”
“And your first thought was to bring a beast into our ward?” Tarin asked. “Who’s to say she won’t start killing people out of nowhere?” Tarin lowered his voice, but it was clear my decision unsettled him, especially without warning.
I understood his concern. He had too many lives to protect. “As I said, she’s civilized and won’t attack anyone.” At that, we all looked down the window to the street below.
Below, near the entrance, Artemis and Rogara were sparring. Hands only. No weapons and no magic. Rogara kept her flame contained, and I could tell she was doing it deliberately.
A small circle had formed around them at a careful distance. Soldiers watched without intervening, ready to step in if it stopped being friendly.
No one spoke while they watched. When the silence finally turned back toward me, I corrected what I had said. “She won’t attack without a reason.”
Gustav seemed ready to say more, but since becoming a rider, he trusted me more than he once did, despite how many lives the trial I created had claimed.
“She’s strong. We’ll benefit from her if she becomes a chainrunner,” he said, addressing Tarin rather than me.
Tarin leaned back, hands on his head, thinking. Then he nodded once. “Fine.” His eyes moved from Gustav to me. “But she’s your responsibility. Both of you. If something happens, you answer for it.”
Below, the spar reached its end. Artemis went down hard and rolled to her side, a smear of blood on her mouth, though it wasn’t truly a loss. She fought without her artifact, and even with Rogara restraining her flames, the difference in strength alone was clear. After all, Rogara was onyx and Artemis merely human.
Artemis tried once more to rise quickly, pushing off with one hand, but Rogara stepped in and blocked the angle with her leg. Artemis clicked her tongue, more annoyed at her own mistake than at Rogara, then stopped and laughed once through her breath.
Rogara then offered her hand to Artemis. That one gesture shifted the mood of those around them; some of the unease was gone.
Artemis took the hand and stood, smirking as she wiped her mouth with her sleeve.
***
Rogara took up the mantle of chainrunner only days later. She proved her value on a run where they faced two onyx beasts along the way.
Casualties were expected. They often were when multiple onyx beasts appeared on the same run. But those two became ash in Rogara’s hands, so quickly that many doubted they were truly onyx.
After that, her place in the District was no longer a debate. She had earned a home in a world she hadn’t even known existed.
Months passed. More chainrunners succeeded in the trial, more Glacier Steeds were claimed, and the run to the lower districts drew closer.
My instincts disagreed with the growing optimism. The voices from the Grey insisted we were making a mistake. “Fools to the slaughter. Death comes quicker to those who don’t accept their fate,” they often said when no one was near enough to hear them.
Still, I had to agree with Gustav’s assessment. The riders represented some of the best humanity could offer. They had grown efficient at hunting, and even more so at returning, dragging back corpses and cores that once would have been abandoned as too heavy or too dangerous to recover.
Furthermore, the storage ring suited Gustav better than it ever would me, just as the other artifacts I had given away had. I did not need to hoard power, and it had been a long time since I relied on such tools.
Still, despite my instincts, I also wanted to see what waited in the lower districts. I wanted answers, and I wanted them badly enough to accept the risk.
Even with all my power and knowledge, I couldn’t find a way to extend the ward’s lifespan, and I didn’t know what would happen when the Great Ward vanished completely, nor where I could find an Obelisk connected to it.
In one of the last nights before we moved to District 99, Jharim found me and waited until I finished my work. The workshops were quiet, the district settling into that restless sleep that comes before major events.
“I know I promised you a weapon,” he said. “But I can’t forge anything that would matter in your hands.” He held out a small box. “So I made this instead.”
I knew what was inside before I opened it. Two rings, nested in cloth. I looked up at Jharim first, trying to understand the intent, then lowered my gaze and studied the runic inscriptions.
It wasn’t crude work. The gem was set cleanly, and as my will brushed it, it caught a thin sheen, reflecting light in a way that suggested it was drinking mana. That behavior implied linkage. After a few breaths, the pattern clicked in my mind: it resembled Lucious’s emergency communicators, though simplified to merely send a positive signal or none at all.
While it wasn’t on the level of Lucious’s work, it was clear Jharim had put effort into it. “It checks the heartbeat of the other ring’s wearer,” Jharim said. “Blue means it’s there. It’s steady. Red means…” He hesitated, then finished anyway. “Red means it’s not.”
It was a simple yes-or-no signal based on whether the other wearer still had a heartbeat. “That way, Meris won’t have to worry about you, and you won’t have to worry about her,” he finished.
I touched my chest and found no heartbeat there, no warmth either. The ring would need adjustments if it were to work with me, but it was a trivial matter I could solve without telling Jharim.
“Thank you,” I said. “This is precious. A very thoughtful gift.”
More than anything else, I knew Meris would cherish it, and that notion alone made the gift even more valuable.
“Don’t worry about it. Just make sure you bring everyone back safely,” he said.
“I can’t promise that, but I will try,” I replied.
“That’s good enough,” he said, and forced a small smile.
That same day, I gave Meris the matching ring. Then I kissed her once, longer than I intended, and left for District 99, the district closest to the lower ones, where the final preparations and the gathering would take place.
Within the week, riders from all over New Araksiun arrived there, more than two hundred of the best the chainrunners had.
Most of the supplies were sealed within the storage ring: medicine, tools, spare weapons, replacement saddles, and multiple redundancies of anything deemed essential for a run this long. Among them were many of the healing vials Meris had prepared specifically for what lay ahead.
Three heavy wagons formed the heart of the convoy, each carrying a paired set of cannons mounted low and secured for travel. Horses I had prepared for that burden pulled them forward, guided by drivers at the reins, while chainrunners rode within the wagons and alongside them.
Those assigned to the wagons were trained not only to defend the convoy, but to man and fire the cannons even while the wagons were in motion.
They all thought nothing could stop us, that this veteran run would be different than the one in the past that crippled the chainrunners, but the voices from the Grey never ceased when I was alone, often repeating that same statement, “Fools to the slaughter.”