Kanin Fyre: Chapter 23 - New Contact

Aquenno shadows us as Fyre leads the way up to some tower called the Loft. I know Noli used wyverns to send a letter to her wife when we first got stuck in Trenevalt’s spell, and I do often see the small lizards flitting over the rooftops in cities, but I’ve never used one for mail myself. 

Winding our way up the spire, I can tell we’ve nearly reached the top when the chirps of wyverns grow from a faint chittering to a symphony of excited chatter. We step out into a tall, tapering room where every inch of the walls are taken up by either windows or nest compartments—and wyverns, of course. Dozens and dozens of wyverns. 

A young man is crouched on the opposite side of the room, head halfway buried in a wall enclosures as he tries to coax one of the dragon-like lizards out of its box. I can’t see much of him beneath the silver-grey cloak covering his back. “Now come on, Bituin, don’t be like that. You know you don’t get the grubs unless you let me put the harness on, first. Hey! No bite. Cheeky little…” 

A visible shiver ripples down his back, and he abruptly tries to stand, smacking his head on the shelf. He swears, ducking his head out of the nest, and rubs his head as he whips around to face us. 

Sandro, pretty obviously, is an elf. He has a light brown complexion and black hair, the latter of which looks very weird to me for a moment before I realize it’s only because his hair is short, and I’m used to seeing just about every depiction of elves back on Earth with long hair. 

His attention snaps to me, Ink already having long since locked onto him. That magnetic draw is there, as it has been with every other remnant, but it’s not nearly as strong as it was with our encounter with Fyre’s remnant. Even so, we can feel his remnant stir. 

Sandro jumps back with a yelp—despite there being nowhere to go—as his cloak snaps around him, blowing straight toward us. It’s a bizarre sight, like a wind has abruptly whipped through the room but only touched his cape. Ink figures it out a split second before I do; the cloak is his remnant. 

Ink leaps out from beneath my coat, its void spearing across the room. In a panic, I try to stop it or redirect its attack—but it wasn’t aiming for Sandro. Ink stabs a dozen lines of void into the cape, knocking it back and pinning it to the wall behind him. Sandro cries out, and the cape thrashes desperately beneath Ink’s attack, trying to pull away.

“Don’t kill us!” Sandro begs.

Mirzayael and Zyneth both dash forward, as Fyre calls, “Wait!” 

“It’s alright!” I cry, dreading another showdown between those two. I raise my hands. “It’s over—everyone calm down.”

To their merit, everyone does. When nothing else comes of Ink’s attack save pinning the cloak to the wall, Mirzayael and Zyneth both back off. Sandro is shaking like a leaf, however, which I do feel a bit bad about. Can’t blame the guy, what with a dozen lances of shadow speared all around him. 

Aquenno, who hadn’t even reacted to the near-battle between supernatural entities, casts an impassive glance my way. “You should probably get that remnant of yours under control.”

Shut up, Aquenno. 

Ink, let it go, I think. The cape is still struggling under Ink’s grasp, but it’s obvious the difference in power isn’t even close. It can’t hurt us. 

Ink knows this. As if we could be threatened by something so inferior! It is simply teaching this remnant its place.

Even so, the ever-present instinct of wanting to consume this other remnant is stronger with them in such close proximity. The urge is tempting. This one’s influence is so small, after all. If Ink absorbed it, it wouldn’t change its personality that much, would it?

Ink, I warn.

It’s with some reluctance, and no small amount of effort, that Ink finally pulls away. The void seeps back beneath my coat like shadows waning before the sun. 

Sandro’s cape immediately engulfs the man, swaddling him up like a baby in a blanket. 

“Er, sorry,” I say while Sandro nearly falls over as he struggles to untangle himself. “That probably wasn’t the best of introductions.” 

“N-no, it’s okay,” Sandro says, grappling with the cape. He peels a corner off of his face. “That was the Shroud’s fault. I’m sorry. It’s very jumpy and was just trying to protect me. Um, thanks for stopping it.” 

“Yeah, don’t mention it,” I say awkwardly. The man is still shivering, his expression squeezed into some semblance of a friendly smile, but the fear is still obvious underneath. 

His gaze darts between Fyre and me. “Um, I’m Sandro, if Fyre hasn’t said. I… I guess you’re like us?”

“I’m also from Earth,” I say, weighing how much I want to admit to him now. “You can call me Kay.” 

“Oh—Okay. Hah. Kay. Like, OK. That’s—that’s funny, right?” Sandro appears to be babbling a little as he continues to ineffectively fight off the cloak. It’s a little embarrassing, actually. His initial reaction to Ink was completely reasonable, but the fact that he still seems to be on the edge of a panic attack strikes me as odd.

[You have been subjected to an Emotional Radiance spell.]

A feeling of peace descends on me. It’s distinctly artificial, even without Echo’s warning. I want to feel alarmed, but the instinct is smothered by the need to relax. Zyneth’s blades are in hand in an instant, though even he appears calm as he surveys the room. 

[Spell Expired.]

“Sorry.” Fyre smiles guiltily. “I should have warned you all. I’m afraid the spell affects all individuals within an area—myself included.”

Sandro lets out a relieved sigh. “Thanks, Fyre.” His cloak has stopped struggling, and it lets him finish unwrapping it from his body. When Sandro straightens back up, it’s with a taller, more confident posture than he had before, and his grateful smile looks genuine. Zyneth resheathes his knives.

Ink is very annoyed. Unlike me, who recognized the feeling as invasive and artificial, Ink hadn’t realized anything was wrong until the spell lifted. Probably because “emotional regulation” is still a foreign concept to it. It doesn’t even notice when it’s pressing its feelings onto me. 

We weren’t the target, I assure it. And in the future, maybe you’ll be willing to listen to me a bit more when I have insight you don’t. 

Ink just grumbles. 

Now that everyone is settled down a little, Fyre takes a minute to go over introductions and explain a bit about my nature to Sandro, saving me the inevitable game of 20 Questions that otherwise would have followed. He takes it all in stride—I guess getting teleported to a different world and obtaining a sentient cape sort of erodes your ability to be skeptical of other magicky things. 

While she’s explaining, I take the opportunity to Check him. 

[Name: Sandro]

[Species: Elf]

[Class: Spellsword]

[Level: 29]

[HP: 120/120]

[Mana: 160/160]

[Role: Dragon Slayer]

How the heck did this guy manage to get to the same level as me in half the time? I’m getting a little grumpy at how high all these other Travelers’ levels are. At least I’ve got about four times his mana, so there’s that.

That Role sure is interesting, though. I think about Ollie. “Dragon Slayer, huh?” 

“Oh, yeah.” Sandro rubs the back of his neck with a guilty smile. “Not great, right? But Fyre helped me make it work.” He gestures to the wyverns all around him. 

“...By slaying wyverns?” Zyneth asks, skeptical. 

Sandro looks appalled. “No! Okay, that was the original plan. But I found out that training them works, too!” 

“It’s a linguistic twist on the specific wording of his Role,” Fyre explains. “We’ve all had to find ways to work around the constraints of our Role Requirements.” 

So did I, though I don’t think saying, “I escaped my Role Requirements by killing the guy who it was tied to,” would do me any favors at this moment. 

“And that’s why you’ve become the Wyvern Master?” I surmise. 

“Yeah!” He pulls what looks like a dead beetle out of a pouch at his waist and holds the bug up. “Mayumi,” he calls. A blue and green wyvern immediately launches from a nest above us and spirals down to Sandro, landing on his arm. It’s about the size of a housecat, and its tail curls around him for stability as it snatches the bug out of his fingers and crunches into the treat. 

Sandro beams with obvious pride. “Pretty cool, right?” 

Fyre’s words once again echo through my head. “You didn’t condemn anyone. You gave us a second chance at life.” For the first time when I think of all the other Lost Souls, a faint, comforting warmth flickers to life in my soul.

“So that cape of yours is a remnant?” I ask, Checking it as I do. “It’s more… tangible than I was expecting.” 

[Shuddering Shroud: This powerful and ancient artifact is dedicated to the protection of its wearer, enhancing their agility and evasiveness. It is even capable of acting independently from its wearer in order to ensure their safety.]

Sounds accurately named. Interestingly, Echo’s description doesn’t include the word “remnant.” 

“Yeah, I guess,” Sandro says, absently touching the clasp of his cape. “I didn’t know it was called that until Fyre told me. I guess there’s a lot of sentient objects like it? Wish mine was a little less anxious, though.” He laughs weakly, before his expression turns into a thoughtful frown. “Yours felt different, though.” 

Ink objects the way people are referring to it as my remnant, as if I own it. 

“Ink is more magic than substance,” I explain, ignoring its grumbling. “Its essence got mixed together with pure void arcana, I think. To be honest, before today, I thought all remnants were that way.”

Anika had seemed similar; a body overwhelmed by a fire-based remnant. Though, now that I Check Fyre and Sandro again, I realize they don’t have a stat comparable to my Void stat, or Anika’s Inferno. That’s weird.

“I noticed that as well,” Fyre says. “Like Sandro, my remnant also has a physical form.”

“It does?” I look her over, but Ink and I still can’t sense her remnant on her.

She smiles. “I don’t carry it on me—it’s in a secure location.”

That surprises me. Even Ink can’t get more than a few hundred feet away from my Core. But no wonder we couldn’t sense it on her when it first attacked. “How are you able to move so far away from it?” I wonder.

She tips her head curiously. “I can move as far away from the Dungeon Core as I please. I may have a Pact with it, but it’s ultimately tied to this city. In fact, its influence over the Fortress is a big reason this city has been able to thrive as it has.”

Pact? Is that just a term Fyre is using for her connection to her remnant, or something more concrete? It’s starting to sound like her and Sandro’s relationships with their remnants operate differently from mine.

At least now we know why we couldn’t initially figure out where her remnant’s attack was coming from: it felt like it had been all around us, because it had.

Ink decides we should use our patrol tonight to determine this ‘secure location’ where her remnant is being held.

We will not be doing that, I tell it.

I glance toward Aquenno. “I don’t suppose you’d like to fill us in on any of this?”

His mouth thins. “I am not at liberty to say.”

Excuse me while I roll my metaphorical eyes. “If Blair wants to help us live with these remnants and help prevent others from murdering each other, then it would sure be great to know more about what we’re dealing with.”

The champion doesn’t respond. 

“What are remnants?” I press. “Why are the gods so worried about them?” 

Aquenno only narrows his eyes at me. I don’t know why I expected anything else.

“So.” Sandro clears his throat as the tense stare-down stretches. “Fyre said you wanted to send a letter?”

I guess it will take more than that to get information out of Aquenno. All of these are questions Echo won’t answer for me either. What are the gods hiding?

“Yeah,” I say, deciding to let it go for now. I turn to Sandro. “My friend is in Valenia. Is that a problem?” 

He shakes his head. “No problem. Actually, we just reached Valenia West yesterday. You’re lucky—their mail system is way more efficient than Dunmora. All those telepads. Just let me know where you need it sent and my wyverns will take it to the nearest city, and it will get transferred from there.”

I remove some paper and a charcoal nib from my bag and head over to a desk overflowing with twine and sealing wax to quickly jot down my message to Noli. 

“Are you already working with cities?” Zyneth asks as I write. The room is still a bit tense, but I appreciate Zyneth attempting to diffuse it. “I hadn’t heard about this at all.” 

“We’ve only been here for a little over a month,” Fyre says. “Right now, we’re not particularly advertising our city’s relocation to the Drifting Isles—we think it would be best to get a bit more settled first before we open the floodgates. And since we’re mostly obscured by the Isle’s clouds, it can be easy to pass overhead undetected, when we want to. That said, we’ve established good relations with a few cities in Dunmora, mostly because it’s where our initial contact took place. We have traded with a couple cities in Valenia as well, and plan to slowly expand our partnerships with likeminded cities in the future.” 

“Likeminded cities?” Zyneth asks. 

Mirzayael chuckles. “Fyre has a specific dream for how she’d like to see the Fortress develop.” 

“Not that I think we particularly have much control over that,” Fyre hurriedly adds. “It’s the citizens who are driving our development and how we interact with the rest of the world.”

“...But?” Zyneth prompts after Fyre goes silent. 

“But, I would love for this to become a hub of knowledge,” Fyre says, blushing even as she grows more animated. “Where anyone could come to learn and share. Can you imagine the potential? A traveling World Library. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” 

I finish up Noli’s letter and pass it off to Sandro, along with our old inn’s address. “Sounds great,” I say to Fyre. “The world could use a new and improved Athenaeum.” 

She tips her head. “What’s that?” 

“Er, don’t worry about it.” I quickly change the subject. “Well, I’m all done here. Thanks for helping out. It was nice to meet you, Sandro.” 

“You, too!” he says, rolling my letter up and inserting it into a tube fixed to a wyvern’s harness. “See you around!”

Before we depart, Fyre reminds us to add each other as Contacts in the System; Aquenno doesn’t react to this suggestion. It’s hard to get a read on the guy. But now I’ve got four contacts in my list: Blair, Fyre, Ollie, and Sandro.

As we descend from the Loft, it occurs to me I never spoke with Sandro about my real origin—or, more accurately, his origin. Fyre had left that part out of her introductions, probably to let me broach the subject at my own pace. I should talk to him about that at some point. But with so many other people here now… maybe I’ll come back later. Alone. 

The night wraps up and everyone retires to their quarters. There’s still much I wish to speak with Fyre about, but with Aquenno following us, I don’t dare suggest anything that would make him suspicious. Fyre hugs me and Zyneth goodnight—I guess she’s a hugger—and then leaves us to turn in herself. 

As Zyneth and I head inside our new abode, I wonder if I could covertly follow Fyre back to the palace. I could remove my core and send that, my translator, and some of my void after her, while leaving my body here in an attempt to trick Aquenno, but that would also leave Zyneth out of the loop. 

I’m still weighing my options when Zyneth signals to catch my attention. 

“Fyre spoke to me,” he signs, tapping his temple. Oh! Clever. I guess she’s not a hugger after all—or at least, took advantage of it to pass on a message, since she couldn’t covertly do the same with me. 

“What did she say?” I ask, also signing. I don’t know if Aquenno can hear us from this distance, like his god, but better safe than sorry. 

“Tonight, she will…” He pauses as he tries to recall the word. “...find? Bring us.” 

“Retrieve?” I offer. 

He nods. “When it’s safe, she will retrieve us.” 

“Alright. Thanks for the heads up.” I guess there’s nothing to do but wait, then. 

Ink, however, is becoming more and more disgruntled. This isn’t going to be like the airships, is it? It spent so much time there cooped up without anything to do or anywhere to go. It doesn’t like sitting around. I promised to let it explore during the nights, remember?

I remember, I tell it. And we can still do our nightly patrols. We’re in the Drifting Isles, after all. There’s plenty of wilderness just outside the city walls. 

That cheers Ink right up. Oh, yes. Perhaps we can even find those griffons we have unfinished business with to prove we are the dominant predator. 

Or we could not, I say. We could always leave them alone. 

Why would we want to do that?

But for tonight, I add, ignoring its last question, let’s wait until we can speak with Fyre. I want to warn her that you might be prowling around, too, so no one in the city thinks we’re a monster and attacks us.

But we are a monster, Ink objects. 

I don’t even have the energy to argue. The point is to avoid getting attacked.

Ink isn’t pleased about the arrangement, but it agrees to wait until Fyre retrieves us. It’s easy to get frustrated with its selfishness, but I have to remind myself that even just a few months ago Ink wouldn’t have agreed to exercise such patience and compromise like this. It’s good to see it changing.

Then again, less than twelve months ago, I also couldn’t have imagined willingly splitting my time and autonomy with the predator. I guess change goes both ways. 

Another Letter

Hey Noli,

Zyneth and I are doing well. Great, actually. 

We didn’t stick around to see the whole Tournament, I’m sure you’ll be relieved to hear. Instead, I found the mage we were looking for, and he helped me develop some of my abilities. 

But most exciting, I found someone else like me. Three someones, even! I think you’d like them. You’d also like the city we’re in. If you want to visit, I think Zyneth and I will be here for a while. There’s so much I want to talk with them about. So far things have gone… I don’t know. Good? Better than I expected, really. I’m almost waiting for the other shoe to drop. (Is that a phrase here?)

Anyway, sorry for keeping things vague, but I can tell you more in person. If you and Rezira decide to visit, Attiru should be able to provide you a map—it’s the location of our last adventure, believe it or not. 

Hope you’re well.

-K

P.S. Ink wants you to visit