Chapter 44 - Convalescence [Part 1]

  "The Nex (Neural-Interface Exosuits) derive their name from the neural core that translates human thought into mechanical motion, seamlessly binding intention to cybernetic strength. Humanity discovered swiftly, and often painfully, that the Nex demands conformity; deviation from the familiar shape of our own bodies invites confusion and eventually madness, a flaw especially apparent in early experimental designs. Further constraints arise not only from the natural limits of human anatomy but from the interface itself, whose reliance on rapid neural connectivity renders remote operation impossible. The Nex suits stand as towering reflections of ourselves, varying from human scale up to eight meters, the upper bound set by the artificial nerve fiber bundles. These mechanized suits have since become indispensable, integrated seamlessly into industry, rescue operations, construction, exploration, and inevitably, warfare."

  - Rebirth of Man & Machine: A Primer for Nex Pilots.

  It took considerable effort and a surprising amount of patience to flush the Dust from Finleigh’s body. The arduous process required constant vigilance, a painstaking task that Seraphina had chosen to oversee personally. Who could have guessed that the human body was capable of releasing such an unsettling variety of liquids and substances? Truthfully, it was an ordeal the young noblewoman was eager never to repeat.

  To ensure that each tedious act of care was optimized to her benefit, Seraphina meticulously timed her visits, only tending to Haze when the bard was lucid enough to perceive her actions. Anything otherwise would have been nothing short of wasted effort.

  All this she managed while carefully balancing her demanding school schedule and her numerous entrepreneurial endeavors. The carefully calibrated grain prices set by Bottleworth’s Confectioneries remained just above average, a deliberate act of generosity contrasting sharply with the ruthless profiteering of her competitors. This clever manipulation positioned the Bottleworth brand almost synonymously with charity and benevolence among Meridian's citizenry.

  Yet, merely earning their gratitude was insufficient. Seraphina required tangible power, unquestioned and decisive. To achieve such power, subtlety and ruthlessness were equally necessary. A handful of rival grain traders soon met unfortunate ends, their sudden demise ostensibly caused by disgruntled citizens tired of exploitation.

  Of course, through paid proxies and agents, Seraphina ensured her hand was invisible in these incidents. There might be rumors, but rumors were difficult to prove when all of the evidence was destroyed, or in this case, eaten by a certain Hydra. Now, the young blonde wielded nearly absolute control over Meridian’s primary food source.

  If she could replicate this cunning strategy throughout Aranthia, she would soon hold a veritable stranglehold over the entire region's grain supply. Starvation, after all, could be a more formidable weapon than a thousand siege engines. It was not that she wanted such drastic measures to become necessary; rather, she found comfort in the knowledge that she had contingencies in place should circumstances demand it.

  It was always best to be prepared.

  Unfortunately, not all of her meticulously planned schemes unfolded smoothly. The adventuring party she had hired to capture a Unicorn had mysteriously failed to report back to the guild. Seraphina harbored a strong suspicion they had become hopelessly lost or met some grim fate. Unicorns were very aggressive, very dangerous, and surprisingly, omnivorous. Disappointed, she noted that she would need a stern word with Eloise regarding the reliability of her father’s recommended mercenaries.

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  It was approaching the hour when Haze would stir from her sleep. Strategically administered doses of sleeping drugs kept the bard placid throughout the day, allowing Seraphina to manage her with efficiency. Tackling the physical addiction had been relatively straightforward, almost trivial, compared to confronting the deeper, insidious psychological craving the Dust created.

  The Dust itself was an extremely potent drug. The substance granted its users vivid, immersive, lucid dreams that surpassed even the greatest joys of real life. Reality could never match the seductive power of living in a perfected fantasy. This promise of a blissful escape made Dust addicts particularly dangerous, as they would do nearly anything to acquire more of the substance, abandoning all sense of pride or dignity. After all, who could care for a mundane reality when dreams offered the fulfillment of every hidden desire and secret fancy?

  That love lost? Conjured from thin air. That dream of being the best? No problem. It was a miracle drug, wholly and intoxicating, and therein lay its most treacherous trap. For the briefest of moments, Seraphina found herself questioning, just for a half a heartbeat, her alliance with those responsible for its importation into Aranthia.

  She shook her head. Seraphina de Sariens did not second-guess herself.

  Aware that Haze would soon stir, Seraphina carefully arranged her features into an expression of practiced kindness. Following her mother’s advice, she intended to drown the bard’s resistance beneath an overwhelming tide of “kindness.” The young girl unlocked the heavy door and, with a gentle, reassuring smile plastered on her face, entered the white-washed room carrying a tray filled with fresh, wet towels. This she set by the bedside and clapped her hands.

  Seconds later, a mousy servant girl delivered a bowl of piping hot vegetable soup. It was all for show, of course, well, at least mostly, Seraphina most certainly did not do half-measures when it came to self-interest.

  The Bard was a pitiable sight indeed, skin pale and clammy, fiery ginger hair frayed and tangled beyond recognition. Gone was the luster and lively spirit that had once defined the talented performer. Yet, despite her wretched condition, Haze still found the strength for a weak, faltering smile, more habitual reflex than a genuine welcome.

  “Good morning to you, Haze,” Seraphina greeted warmly, her tone deliberately soothing as she ignored the bard's incoherent mumbles.

  Occasionally, Seraphina had attempted to treat Haze using her healing magic, yet these efforts had proved disappointingly ineffective. The bard’s ailment was mostly psychological, not physical, and therefore beyond the scope of mere magical intervention. Worse still, Seraphina had begun to feel troubling aftereffects from her frequent use of healing spells. Only recently had she barely managed to stop herself from granting Miriam an unearned day off—something she would never normally entertain.

  The realization that magic could gradually erode one's identity and personality unsettled her deeply. Indeed, it was akin to a virus that slowly, methodically replaced parts of the host. She found herself reflecting on the philosophical puzzle of the Ship of Theseus. Just as a ship gradually replaced plank by plank, eventually becoming entirely new, so too was her very self, her essence, being subtly overwritten.

  She wondered grimly, if piece by piece she were replaced by magic, would she still remain Seraphina? Would she even notice when the last authentic fragment of herself vanished? Or would she simply wake one morning as something entirely different, unrecognizable yet believing herself unchanged?

  Shaking off these unsettling thoughts, Seraphina reminded herself of the practical utility of her spells. Heal was invaluable, nearly doubling her effective Health in combat and preserving the flawless porcelain quality of her skin. She had seen enough callused, rough hands among women adventurers to recoil at the mere thought of allowing herself such coarse imperfections.