Chapter 290: Together, Erandur

Ewan tried his best not to let himself be overcome by shock; he told himself that it was only pain, and that pain was only temporary. His flesh began to reconstitute slowly, blood and muscles and skin forming from nothing.

No, not nothing. From the [Little Guardian’s Totem] - and, now, partly under his own power. He could feel the growing mana-enhancement, a simmering beneath his skin bright enough to glow.

A single day. A single day, and unimaginable pain alongside it, and an entire army was changed. One by one, baptized in null-water and born anew. It was unimaginable. It was inconceivable. It was…

“Beautiful,” Ewan muttered, watching the newest bit of flesh reconstitute from the old. It, like every time before, seemed to take on a miniscule portion of the Little Guardian’s light. He felt stronger.

Better.

The Wind Core of his home would have been a small price to pay for this ability alone. What did possessing the core really give them, to measure up to something like this? A few trinkets made from its power, and - as Ewan had already seen when the mines’ guard had attacked - often abused by the undeserving.

But this, he realized, is different. It doesn’t have to be hoarded. We can all have this. We can all earn this.

His mind raced, thinking about how many problems would be solved if only the entirety of Erandur could be reforged the same. There would be no need to suffer illness, no need to hide from the darkness, or to run from monsters.

Yet, even these were problems that Elara’s Little Guardian had already solved. There was no need to reforge the flesh when magical healing already kept one healthy as can be. There was no need to brave the darkness when the fruits of the world existed within arms reach. There was no need to capitulate to threats when a living forest would come to one’s defense.

It was an odd feeling, to witness something so miraculous and find it to be so unnecessary.

Still, Ewan wasn’t alone in wanting it despite that.

Kel and Corinne, both getting on in age and full of spite, had even beaten him to the punch. Ewan’s heart had leapt into his throat when he’d seen the almost ancient Corinne wobble forward, absolutely sure that the pain of the null-water would send her to an early death. Only knowing that she carried a [Little Guardian’s Totem] at all times held him back.

That, and respect for her decision. She understood the frailty of her body more than anybody else. She knew the risk she was taking.

And if there was anything he’d learned about Corinne in the short amount of time he’d known her, it was that she was a force of nature. The kind of person that wasn’t worn down by the passing years, only tempered.

Sharpened.

It was only her failing body that held her back - so she replaced it with something better. The wrinkles were still there, all of the signs of age that she’d earned over a longer lifetime than most, but they didn’t mean so much anymore.

Kel, like Corinne before him, came out of his transformation greater than before. The cantankerous old man, already looking like a scarred and retired warrior before reforging his flesh, became a walking font of power - all bulging muscles and brimming vitality.

In the end, of all the people forced to cross the null-water, only a few hesitated. The ones who, born in the White Towers and insulated from the dangers of the world, had only come along in order to witness the truth of the mines. Ewan appreciated that they had come, because their word would be helpful in convincing the people of his home to throw off the chains they had bound themselves in.

Virtun, and the deal that was struck with them, was unimportant.

The Little Guardian was here now.

Geral’s shoulders ached.

It wasn’t anything new, but it was notable nonetheless. He brought the pickaxe back down again, striking at the stone around the xenlite vein, doing his best to bring it forth. Around him, the other prisoners did the same, the sound of metal against stone ringing out like an unending bell. There’d never been so many of them working the same tunnels at once before; usually, the guards kept them separated.

There was only so much work that could be done in a single area at a time. Now, with all of the guards and the prisoners in a single space, it felt a little hard to breathe.

At least he couldn’t hear that infernal hissing anymore. Either whatever was doing it had stopped, destroyed by the flooding null-water, or they’d moved too far away for the sound to reach.

At the entrance to the tunnel, in the direction from which they’d fled, other prisoners were being forced to lug broken bits of stone - castoffs from the ongoing mining - and pack it down into a defensive wall. They were watched over by stone-faced guards, but Geral could tell that the roughhewn men were disconcerted. He’d been around them often enough by now to see a little behind the facade.

It was sad to say, but if they hadn’t been nervous, they would have been much more aggressive. Instead, they simply stood watch, eyes occasionally flicking past the growing wall and into the empty tunnel. The knowledge of what kind of creatures were coming must have disseminated; whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

It simply couldn’t be. Geral still remembered the word that had been used.

Undying.

If it weren’t for the sheer unlikelihood of anything or anybody making their way past such a large flood of null-water, he was sure that the guards would have been even more tense. There would be no concern about forcing as many prisoners as possible to continue to work on the xenlite quota, even as others were forced to collect stones and form defenses.

Xenlite was important to the guards, but it wasn’t worth their lives. Not in a direct trade, at least.

Geral swung his pickaxe one final time, depleting the vein with a huff of exertion. Sweat cooled on his brow, and he raised a tired hand to wipe it away. He took more time to rest than he normally would, knowing that the guards…

…wouldn’t be paying attention at all, he realized. They were all looking past the impromptu barrier, their stony facades crumbling. Geral wasn’t alone in taking advantage of the opportunity for rest; most of the other prisoners did so with him. What else could they do? Run? They were linked together by chains, and it would only take catching a single runaway to send them all toppling to the floor.

It had been tried before, and the only thing that came swifter than punishment was the capture itself.

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And that was ignoring the other danger; the only place the tunnel behind them led was to the place that dangerous-looking woman in black armor had gone - and even the guards were clearly afraid of her.

Then, from somewhere beyond the half-finished wall of rubble, there came a sound. Footsteps, one after another after another.

The guards reacted instantly.

“Positions!” Ilian barked, the glow of mana already accumulating around his windspear. His fellow guards were quick to follow, in lockstep with the man who’d taken control over the group in their actual leader’sabsence. “Get those prisoners back from the barricade!”

The prisoners didn’t need to be told twice. They stumbled backwards as the guards rushed forward, forming a solid series of lines behind the barrier of stones. The air itself began to stir as each activated the mana-enhancements of their armor, dust skittering across the ground as the increasing mana usage brightened the tunnel.

The footsteps came closer.

“Skies above, not again…” The guard who’d escaped to give warning before trembled, visibly terrified. “I-i-it’s the demons. They made it through.”

“Jorr!” Ilian barked again. “If you can’t hold yourself steady, do us all a favor and keep watch of the prisoners. Get a hold of yourself.”

“Yes, sir!”

Unable to help himself, Geral worked to peer past the shoulders of the assembled guardsmen, even as Jorr stepped out of the crowd to take watch. Geral somewhat regretted not taking the opportunity of distraction to brain one of the men with his pickaxe, but it was only a passing thought.

It had long since been made clear that attacking one of the guards meant a beating for everyone involved - and then for one of the captive children, too. They made everyone watch. It had only happened once, and then never again.

If anyone tried to do anything out of line, the other prisoners - especially the parents among them - would bring it to a stop.

Geral finally managed to get a glimpse of what was coming, and it set his heart racing. One by one, shapes spilled into existence at the end of the tunnel. Humans, but…different. His eyes focused on a particularly large individual; the figure’s flesh glowed faintly in the darkness, veins ever-so-gently illuminated by the soft light of mana. A large portion of his clothes were all but destroyed, dissolved away as if by acid. And in his hand, he dragged a spear.

Behind him came more. Dozens, and then scores. Men and women alike, each of their bodies faintly aglow with the light of mana, and in large enough numbers that he couldn’t see past them to check where they ended.

There, walking amongst the strange horde, he saw her.

Grandmother Corinne, Geral thought, dumbstruck. The old woman looked…different. Before, there were days when Geral thought a simple fall would be the end of her. Now, she was moving with the surety of a woman thirty years her junior, a knife in hand and a scowl on her lips.

Her eyes found his almost instantly, as if stretching past the gathered defenders to lock onto the only thing that mattered.

“Geral,” he saw her breathe. The relief on her face made his heart hurt and, for a second, neither of them moved - and then Geral surged forward before he could stop himself, chains clattering loudly against the stone floor. He didn’t get far, the metal links that connected him to one prisoner and then the next pulling taut.

“Back!” Jorr shouted, leveling his windspear toward Geral’s chest. He hardly noticed him, still focused on the last remaining member of his family, all the way across the tunnel. Grandmother Corinne’s expression flattened, becoming something dangerous.

It wasn’t long before Geral started noticing a few other people he knew, each similarly changed. He wasn’t alone in that; other prisoners started to call out names, recognizing family members and friends. A few more guards wordlessly peeled off from the backlines of the defending group, turning to aim their windspears at the clamoring prisoners. Meanwhile, those at the front—

—thrust.

The air shrieked, dozens of wind-born spears travelling through the air and into the approaching horde. Yet again that day, Geral’s heart ceased to beat. Blood misted into the air. The horde staggered.

It healed, shrugging off the blow, and stepped forward again.

Undying.

As blood misted in the air, Corinne’s heart stood steady. She stepped forward, remembering words spoken not so long ago, at the start of this all. A truth told by a man in shining armor, backlit by the fires of destruction and loss.

We are of Orken, the man said. We were not born among your towers, nor as one of your people. We are not of Erandur. But even so, each and every one of us can recognize the great injustice that exists in the towers of this city. And no, I do not mean what happened here today - though that is surely one of the greatest injustices imaginable.

Her eyes remained locked on her grandson, locked in chains and trapped behind a mass of armored men. The wind itself tried to make her look away, but Corinne was a woman who had weathered the ages with stoic determination.

A little blood was nothing.

Because what happened here today is a symptom of a much larger disease. It is a disease that festers within the heart of Erandur itself, spreading its corruption like a plague, and poisoning the minds of those who wield power over others - of those who think that, because they have that power, they are somehowbetter.

The men sneered from behind their stone wall and magical plate, hiding their fear behind a facade of superiority. It was a superiority that Corinne had once believed in.

It was one she believed in no longer.

She took another step.

Your people were taken because of this disease.And, rest assured, we will take them back.

Corinne’s hand tightened around her dagger, stumbling as another lance of wind caught her in the leg. It was nothing to the pain of the null-water - and, a few moments later, it was nothing at all.

But that is not all that must be done. As I said, we are of Orken. We are not of Erandur. And maybe that is why it’s so obvious to us that something is wrong here. Because thisshould not happen. You are of Erandur. You were born among its towers, as one of its people. So, tell me, why are you so divided?”

Corinne reached out an arm, pulling a neighbor up from his own stumble. The man, whose name she didn’t even know, from a tower she’d never even visited, breathed out a word of thanks. She would have to fix that later.

Neighbors should know each other’s stories.

I have heard stories, in my little time here. Each tower can only hold so many; the excess is pushed out, left to the fringes, to smaller and weaker - newer - towers. You, that excess, have become the defending line of your people. Those who, when monsters arrive, are the first to be attacked and the first to defend. But, inevitably, you do so alone.”

Corinne did what she could to block the wind for those that came behind her, while those behind her did the same for those behind them. As always, she failed. The wind did what it willed. Fluid bubbled in her lungs, down her throat, and in her mouth.

Blood dripped from her lips.

It is only now, after this travesty - this tragedy - that I realize the truth. The people of Erandur say that they are of Erandur, but they do not believe it. Not truly. If they did, something like this could never happen. Would be unthinkable. But, in the minds of the people who did this…you are not theirs - instead, you are simply there. A wall for any monsters to break themselves against, and to break in turn. Nothing more, nothing less.

Corinne walked as a wall, shielding those behind her from the evils of the world. The wind broke against her.

Her wall would never break. It was stronger than stone, more than metal. It was her very will to continue on, bound only by the punishment she was willing to receive to reach her goal.

It was eternal.

Yet, now you have become even less than that. Captives. Little more than meat, to be taken when they find themselves hungry. Bodies to labor when they themselves will not.

Corinne had known hunger, but not like theirs; never an emptiness that would seek to fill itself with the freedom of another, that would take her brilliant grandson and place a collar around his neck.

Geral had known hunger; he was thinner, his face devoid of the little bit of fat that had made him look so much like her dear Matthew.

Corrine took another step.

You are of Erandur. But Erandur has proven that it does not exist. Not really. But it could. If you join us, if you aid us in convincing the others, we could make it so. Food, so that none may find themselves in poverty, starved for the lack of it. Healing, so that disease and injury find no root to spread. Groves, grown like roads, linking each of your towers together - that the idea of division becomes unthinkable, because there is none.

Corinne stepped forward once more, moving as one with the people of her scattered city, a single part of a greater whole.

Together, united in purpose, they reached the wall.

But before that, there is a disease that has long since festered. And it must be purged.