Raiten: Present Day

  It takes two hours before Sorina finally comes back, with a sullen Umbrahorn in tow. My body had gone stiff from immobility—but when she arrives, I gain some hope. Which is then quickly lost when she ignores all my queries in favor of packing up the camp. She struggles to move. To pick things up. I try to help, but she just glares at me and I’m forced to pack up my own things.

  We proceed at a slow pace for the rest of the day. Sorina’s legs are weak. She’s still sick. When I ask her about it, she stays quiet. When I suggest we should rest, Sorina just keeps walking.

  “She’s not even willing to look at me?” I murmur.

  “Not such a nice feeling, is it—” Umbrahorn begins, but I turn around to glare at him.

  “Don’t you dare.”

  He shrinks back.

  We continue along in our journey—our hateful party of three—and when the half moon rises over the land and drenches the sky in a cold wash of ethereal light, Sorina finally stops walking. She almost collapses onto a log, panting heavily.

  I go hunting again. I need space. Time to think.

  My own fatigue lingers—from days of half sleep and dream training; days of pushing myself to move faster and finally reach Takemeadow. For what? To cure a dead Dandy? It's been too long. There’s no way she’s still alive.

  What will Erot do to me?

  Will he hate me as well? Or will he ignore me, like Sorina is doing?

  Just another person who shuts me out of their life.

  What does it matter? None of these people are worth your time. Think about what you have lost. Think about what you have given for them. And for what?

  I shake my head, then smack it a few times for good measure. Not a good trail of thought to walk down. Self-blame is better than lashing out.

  Because, at the end of the day, who made the decisions? Who fought like a bitter dog?

  Who got Kiren killed?

  When I catch a rabbit today, I’m extra cruel.

  It doesn’t help.

  …

  Sleep doesn’t come easy. I’m afraid, I realize. Afraid of how the dreams will be, now that Thraevirula’s time limit is up. Hypna promised the attacks would be probing at first. Yet, I don’t really know what that entails.

  After all, Thraevirula never outright invaded my mind—at least not maliciously in the past. She was always trying to recruit me. But now? I shudder at the thought and coil into myself. I can control a fight. I can battle a 1000 plagued without fear because then, I at least know the outcome. Physical pain is a familiar friend.

  Mental anguish is a bitter prospect.

  The darkness lingers. Fireflies blink yellow and green by our camp. The cold wind blows with cruel intent, casting frigid tendrils upon my skin.

  A sound breaches the tranquility. A huff. The thud of metal on wood.

  Heavy breathing.

  I move slowly, peering over my shoulder to see Sorina. Her back is turned to me and she’s busy wailing into a tree with her blade. Or trying to, at least. Her grip is awkward. Loose. With only three fingers, she doesn’t have enough handle on her dagger to actually generate power. Even though her form and technique is technically masterful, she moves sluggishly due to the sickness.

  Sweat drips down her face.

  After hitting the tree again—only for the blade to slip out of her fingers—she collapses to her knees.

  And slowly, I realize that those droplets aren’t sweat.

  I feel such shame.

  Sorina sobs quietly to herself, hugging her body and curling up. I’ve only seen her tears once before—but even then, they didn’t flow freely like this.

  I want to get up. To comfort her.

  But what would I even say? I don’t understand how this feels. I could never—my limbs just grow back when they’re severed.

  Is that also why she hates me now?

  I shake my head and try tearing my eyes away, but she hicks, coughing into the night like a dying calf.

  Who has words for… for this?

  All I can do is wait. Sorina eventually crawls away to her cot and coils into it, hiding her face. She still hasn’t noticed my gaze thankfully.

  My former friend falls asleep quickly. But the chill of the night disrupts her breathing.

  We only have one blanket between us.

  Quietly, I stand up and drape that brown, worn cloth upon her. When she still shivers, I begrudgingly take off my coat and shudder away back to my own cot.

  I don’t care about the wind.

  I’m sure Thraevirula has worse plans for me than a drop in temperature.

  I close my eyes, hug my shoulders, and wait for slumber.

  …

  The dream begins normally enough. In the void of my own mind, only, without Hypna to guide me.

  Rather than stare off in anticipation, I busy myself with the knitting. I am progressing. Sweaters come easily now. Aether constructs are no longer some foreign magicks, but rather, something I can attain. If only I continue to strive for them.

  The beginnings of an idea form in my brain—wrung from memories of my long battle with Thraevirula in the dream realm. Before those ideas can take full shape, however, the red-haired witch begins her gauntlet of torment.

  It starts off with me watching Kiren die. Again. And again. The same memory on repeat—the same feeling of helplessness.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Him reaching out, fingers tracing blood across my cheek.

  I can’t close my eyes to it, no matter how hard I try.

  After maybe the 50th showing, the scene changes. Now I’m occupying my younger body, pinned against the judgement rink, watching the Elders execute my mother.

  Now I’m watching Masaru beat my mother.

  Then, it's Afrasiyab humiliating me.

  Baroth taunting me.

  Kai—fucking Kai—and his own evil tortures.

  I can take this. These are just memories. They can’t do anything to you—you relive them enough already.

  However, as much as I tell myself that, one by one, as the scenes begin to pile up, I start losing myself in them.

  Always helpless.

  Always worthless.

  As if they aren’t enough, physical pains are wrought as well. Worms climbing into my eyes, drilling through my ear drums. Giant spiders trap me in webs. Bats nip at me. Locusts swarm. Flies feast.

  In a particularly cruel invention of Thraevirula’s vast imagination, she has Daichi throw me in the same pit that he threw the Angel of Verdan in. Then the villagers of Clan Adachi throw their trash at me. Their fucking excrement. And the bells press in, crushing me. Finally, I see a glimpse of Thraevirula, standing amongst the Adachi men above the pit. She looks down at me with some measure of disgust and also a fair mix of pity. The witch opens her mouth and presses a hand into it, pulling out a centipede.

  She tosses it into the pit. The many-legged creature climbs over me, over my broken limbs and rotting body.

  And finally, I give the witch what she has no doubt yearned for:

  My screams.

  …

  “Raiten!” Umbrahorn says, shaking me awake. I open my eyes to find saliva dripping over my hand—I’m biting into it. To hold back my cries.

  I wipe the spit away and get up slowly. The sun beams down. The crickets chirp.

  Umbrahorn tilts his head at me. “Are you alright? You’re sweating like you're in the hells.”

  I slow my breathing and close my eyes.

  Then, I look at Sorina. She’s staring at me for once, but as soon as our gazes meet, she looks away, focusing on packing her things.

  “Raiten?”

  I move past the shark. “Let’s go.”

  I have to keep moving forward, no matter what.

  And get out of Thraevirula’s range as soon as possible.

  …

  The next night, when I see Hypna instead of Thraevirula, I can’t help but lash out.

  “That was what you called probing?!?” I yell. She’s sitting crosslegged, face neutral.

  “I’m doing my best, Raiten. I’m not allowing her to actually ruin your mind. She could directly edit or remove your memories, turning you into some crazed lunatic. But, I’m preventing her from doing that.”

  “Yet you can’t prevent this?”

  “She’s trying to break you. Thraevirula knows she can’t directly access your mind, so she’s just flooding you with images and physical pains. You have to endure—”

  “For how long?”

  Hypna’s mouth makes a thin line. “I don’t know. Tonight for example, I’m able to be here because she’s preparing for tomorrow night. Maybe the attacks will come in bursts.”

  I groan, make a ball of Aether, and chuck out as far as I can into the void. That helps with the anger a bit.

  “What am I supposed to do Hypna? Avoid sleep?”

  “You shouldn’t do that—didn’t you get attacked by plagued today? More will be coming. You have to get some rest.”

  “This isn’t rest.”

  She throws up her hands. “What do you want me to tell you Raiten? That everything’s going to be alright?” I stop pacing. The witch sighs. “It's a horrible ordeal—I know. You just have to get through it. You just have to survive.”

  Well I’m tired of just surviving.

  A fearful thought occurs to me. “Can she attack Sorina like this?” I don’t know if my former friend could survive such mental tortures—especially with her current state of mind.

  Thankfully, Hypna shakes her head. “It's not worth it for Thraevirula to try. She’s able to attack you so well only because she knows you so well. To infiltrate a mind and take full account of a person’s fears, memories, and being—it’s a lengthy process, Raiten. Thraevirula had the entirety of the briars to see that out with you. She’d much rather focus her attacks on breaking you, instead of trying to fracture her attention by setting up a siege on Sorina’s mind.”

  “But what if she does?”

  Hypna tosses up her hands. “I’ll defend you both. I can extend my protections to someone of close proximity. But she won’t, I promise you. Now, are we done wasting time?”

  I want to ask her more. To have more assurances against my fears.

  Instead I just sit down. Make a few sweaters. Hypna watches my progress and nods to herself.

  “Good. Now we can move on to something more complex.”

  “When will I break through the second stage?”

  She puts a finger to her chin and hums. “It shouldn’t take long. You’re practicing day and night now. So… maybe give it a few more constructs?”

  I nod, staring at the Aether threads. I can feel their energy. The whims of it. How to shape the threads into something greater—of more meaningful purpose.

  The dream battle comes to mind once more, and this time, I’m able to extract a query from all the madness.

  “Hypna. How do I make… limbs of Aether?”

  …

  Three more days pass. They feel like an eternity.

  My legs shake in the morning from sheer exhaustion. But I push forward, trailing after Sorina. She’s getting better at least—moving with more grace. I’m getting worse.

  The plagued attack us again. She resorts to using wind magicks and I act as a human shield. It's Umbrahorn who does most of the killing, thankfully. If things get too dire, I’d probably be forced to use an amulet.

  Only two left.

  I have to save them.

  So during the day, we walk. Whenever we stop to make camp, I sequester myself away to hunt and, at the same time, practice forming fingers of Aether. It's tough. Much tougher than sweaters. It requires an actual sense of human anatomy, which I lack. Bone structure is what Hypna teaches at night—when she’s available at least.

  When Thraevirula is not ruining my sanity with her torture.

  Each night it's something new.

  Something worse.

  I have to bite down hard on bundled up clothes before going to sleep every night, lest I wake up the others. Sorina doesn’t have to know. I don’t want her feeling bad for me—she’s dealing with enough already.

  Sorina tries training in the night again. It's become part of her routine. But, she’s made no progress. Each time, she ends the night by crawling away to her cot in frustration.

  Tonight, I make my way over to slumbering, shuddering form, and I carefully drape the blanket over her. Then, before going back to sleep, I hesitate in front of her body. I kneel down. Gently, I pry her clenched hand open, watching for her eyes to flutter open. They don’t—only furrowing as I splay her left hand out. With a deep breath, I begin weaving together a finger. One will be my max at this stage of Aether, according to Hypna. But if I can just finish this one thing, then maybe I can ascend to the second stage.

  Of course, that’s not the real reason for all of this.

  I smile as the tendrils of blue begin forming into the outline of a finger. Joints. Phalanges. And the toughest part—the metacarpal. It takes an hour. My fingers move slowly, so as to not wake her. At one point in time, Sorina’s breath catches. Yet, she slowly resumes her steady, slumbering rhythm. Unfortunately, my fingers stop moving, my concentration falters, and the construct fizzles out. I bite back the urge to curse myself to hell and back. I had it.

  But, even Hypna said I likely wouldn’t be able to make the finger on the first go. I’m missing some of the anatomy and the requisite Aether.

  Still, it would’ve been nice to wake up in the morning and see Sorina smiling. Happy. Having retrieved one part of what she has lost.

  Maybe, I think it’ll make up for my own suffering.

  With a slow-building dread, I make my way back to the cot.

  And wonder what part of me I will lose tonight.