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B2 Chapter 28: Fearshaper of puppets
🕑 Added 2025-05-20 23:58:07 +0000 UTC“You honour him. You always have, you know?”
Silas flinched in momentary surprise as Caledon Brimstone strode out of the shadows of the workshop. He had been so engrossed in his work that the arrival of his friend and lord had gone unnoticed.
For a moment, Silas felt tempted to stand at attention at his arrival. In the span of two weeks, he could tell that Caledon, about five years younger than him, had aged indescribably.
Grief, did that to you.
Ashamed, Silas hurried to cover his tribute to the Highlord with a sheet of dark brown tarp. His eyes flickered as they caught onto the bodies hanging by silver threads from the ceiling. Blood dripped idly from the darkest recesses of the basement’s high roof, drops that only he could see.
The product of his Fear of puppets.
He watched as Caledon pushed away the tarp with a resolute shake of his head. Then, he lightly tapped his friend’s hand.
The slightest of cuts and grazes marred Silas’ pale hands. Before he could fall into a bow to greet Brimstone’s newest Highlord, Caledon caught him by the shoulder.
“I don’t need a butler, Silas. I need a friend. A brother.”
Silas let out a long sigh, and momentarily, the bodies hanging by silver thread flickered out of existence. A brief moment of serenity, as he was finally joined with someone who knew him and understood him. Most of all, there was no one better who understood his grief.
Silas took a step back to regard him.
The marks of youth had faded, and before him was a Fearshaper that walked in Trepidation. Silas knew, better than most elves, that the descent through one’s Fear was no small feat. Confronting the object of your nightmares and hallucinations that taunted you, exploiting your greatest weaknesses in ways you could not even begin to imagine.
He looked to his tribute, as the facsimile of Highlord Berevan smiled viscerally at him.
Caledon neared the height of his father, and he had long overshot Silas in height. He bore Berevan’s stocky build, but his eyes shone with an intelligence and a desire to learn that overshadowed his father’s. That was not to say, that it was not present in Berevan, however.
“If it’s a friend you need, then it’s a friend you’ll receive.”
Caledon sat next to him, in comfortable silence as he continued to carve.
“You were a Fearshaper this whole time, then?”
Silas smiled softly.
“I’m surprised I manage to keep that secret as long as I did, to tell you the truth. When you discovered my workshop, you should have seen him.”
They exchanged a grin.
“Berevan was shitting his pants. He thought it was only a matter of time before you got to the bottom of it all.”
Caledon shook his head.
“Honestly, I’m disappointed in myself. It was right before my very eyes. I glimpsed your puppets-“
Caledon gestured to the tribute to Berevan he was working on.
“Your true puppets, when I descended in Anhedonia. During the first step in the realm, acknowledgement, when we revisited what triggered our Fears. That was how I realised the ‘Marta’ and ‘Blaze’ that appeared in that inn were your puppets.”
The young lord raised an eyebrow, and Silas smiled anticipating his question. It was curious how so much could change when your life was destroyed around you, yet in the most incredulous ways, so much remained the same.
“You never told me, how did you trigger your Fear?”
“A toyshop, much like this one. In Anhedonia.”
Caledon’s eyes widened.
The Archcity of Fear?
“Mother and father doted on my sister, you know. They wanted to buy her a doll and dragged me along despite my protests.”
Silas smirked.
“My sister walked away with a pretty doll, and me, with a Fear of puppets.”
“What a gift to receive.”
Their laughter was subdued, but genuine.
“I suppose that not every triggering of one’s Fear is shrouded in meaning, then?”
Silas shook his head, his hands beginning to pick up pace as he settled back into the routine. They were a blur, as he called his Fear into reality.
[Dexterity of the woodmantis]
An invocation he had obtained in Trepidation, at the Highlord’s behest. Berevan had guided his descent, bringing him the creatures he needed, supplied by Solastra himself, as he aided Silas’ descent.
He had been curious as to how his Fear had resonated with such an invocation - prior to meeting Highlady Solastra Flora, that was. That terrifying woman was a wealth of knowledge.
After she explained Trepidation to him, he almost wished he could carve the invocation out of his Fearcore.
The better he built his puppets, the better they could torment him.
Such a simple invocation, so powerful in his hands, but even more so in his Fear’s.
Introducing a whole knew dimension of terror.
“The triggering of my Fear certainly wasn’t surrounded by meaning. One moment I was admiring the craftsmanship of a simple wooden puppet, and the next it was following me around.”
Silas grunted as Caledon laughed.
“That would have been a sight. You’re usually so unflappable, I can’t even picture it.”
“You get better with lots of practice. As for my awakening as a Fearshaper… I awakened in the same temple as you.”
Caledon’s eyes widened.
“Anhedonia wasn’t abandoned, then. It fell to the Rampage.”
Silas nodded, inviting Caledon to continue.
“You must have been… a survivor of the Rampage. You made it to Brimstone.”
Silas let out a sigh.
“I was already a Fearshaper when your father rescued me. He saw my potential and he nurtured me, keeping me away from prying eyes. Besides, my Fear lends itself to subtlety.”
“Your family…”
The sorrow in Silas’ smile told Caledon all he needed to know.
“But enough about me…”
Caledon’s gaze shifted, losing the mirth that it possessed a moment ago. Silas pushed aside his momentary feeling of guilt at the sight of it, and he pushed on.
“We watched you, as you descended. Initially, when I told the Highlady of your Fear of comfort, she believed me. But as she watched you, she came to a different conclusion. She said you were a Fearshaper of corruption.”
“You’ve been speaking to the Highlady?”
Silas flinched at the young lord’s words, averting his gaze. In an instant, the melancholy, albeit calm atmosphere ended. Caledon’s eyes narrowed.
Of course she recognised my Fear. She just explained to us, that one of her closest confidants, Highlord Saravagan Dreamer was a Fearshaper of corruption as well. She would have known the signs.
Silas pushed down the dread, welling in his gut.
“Of course I spoke to her, Caledon. What else was I supposed to do when we’re in the heart of her Dreadwood? She was right, wasn’t she?”
Silas paused.
“How… did your Fear awaken? What did you see in acknowledgement?”
Caledon’s words were heavy as they emerged.
“Mother.”
A tingle ran down the butler’s spine at the utterance of the word. Silas called his Fear.
An invocation born from his Delirium.
[Mask of the puppeteer]
His face betrayed not a hint of his emotion. All his friend would see, would be what Silas deigned that he would. The side to him, that he wished for Caledon to glimpse.
His resolve, which would comfort the lord.
“Mother was the cause of it. She changed, when she journeyed to the Archcity of Dreams. You must recall it.”
Silas nodded.
“Of course. Your father… he became warier of her. He suspected that Highlord Saravagan Dreamer twisted her, to keep Berevan in check.”
“YOU NEVER TOLD ME!”
Silas’ [Mask of the puppeteer] shook in the wake of Caledon’s outpouring of wrath and anger.
Silas watched, as the bodies, in the darkest recesses of the workshop’s ceiling began to reveal themselves.
His mother and father, their eyes bloody, their jaws held together by silver wire that pierced through their cheeks, slunk downwards.
“There was nothing any of us could do, Caledon.”
“You don’t understand! He sent grandfather, Valeric Brimstone to the Archcity of Fear, and I used it to descend. I could have done something, Silas! Helped her!”
Caledon’s shoulders sunk, as he was sure that Sakar had sent missives ahead of them to the Dreadwood, explaining the events. Caledon reiterated them nonetheless.
Silas watched as the young lord’s Phobia appeared in his hands in a flash of golden flame, and lengthened into a gleaming golden blade.
Caledon’s voice fell deathly quiet.
“Saravagan Dreamer was just as responsible for the death of father as Vetrian Revenant was. If only father had told me sooner, nurtured me, as he did you, perhaps I could have snapped mother out of it!”
“Had you done so, the Brimstone would have been razed to the ground.”
Silas closed his eyes, as his sister’s face drew closer to his, slinking down on the silver wire. The wooden surface of her skin grew closer, the candlelight dancing in its sheen.
Held within her eyes, the silent accusation of his family. He pressed on, as his [mask of the puppeteer] was only reinforced by the Alarum that sprung from his Fearcore.
It held, withstanding blows in his composure that would have shattered him.
Silas’ voice fell to a whisper.
“Did you think your father was unaware of the true nature of your Fear? Despite your curiosity around Fearshaping he gave you nothing. Do you not remember? You grew so frustrated.”
Silas gently set down his tribute, the wooden face of Berevan that he carved.
“He didn’t tell anyone about your Fear, not even me. I could not have deceived you, for so long, Caledon.”
The [mask of the puppeteer] of the puppeteer trembled. Silas tried to hold back tears.
“He knew, that if he nurtured you, it would have spelt Brimstone’s doom because Saravagan would have descended upon your house with the Fearshapers in his web, and burned it to the ground. Believing that your father was harbouring you as a weapon against him. A Fearshaper of corruption to oppose him.”
He turned away from Caledon, as his invocation finally gave out, his [mask of the puppeteer] crumbling.
“You’ve already glimpsed the power of Dreadwalkers. Not even Flora’s Knights stand at the heights of Dread, and Saravagan has multiple at his beck and call, though not all of them.”
“FEARDAMN it all, Silas.”
Caledon’s shoulders shrunk, as his bellow echoed in the empty darkness.
Empty only for him.
Silas watched as Silvena, his sister, extended her jaw, falling to the floor, suspended on silver strings marred by her blood. Her maw yawned before him, threatening to envelop him. To draw him into the whispers of Insanity that originated from its depths, only intensifying after Trepidation.
Then he recoiled, as a golden blade severed his sister’s head.
Silas watched in wide eyes, as Caledon stood at the ready, his eyes calmly scanning the surroundings.
“What in Insanity was that-“
“A hallucination of my sister, Caledon. Silvena. It’s nothing to worry about-”
“Nothing to worry about?”
Just as quickly as Caledon had shouted at him, his friend’s eyes already shone with concern. Silas granted him a small smile, as much as it was for Caledon as it was for himself.
And you say that there’s nothing of Viveria in you. So angry at me, yet so concerned.
“In Delirium, your nightmares can appear before you, and others. I’m surprised… you were capable of seeing it. Not everyone is equally as perceptive.”
Silence eventually fell between them. Caledon sat heavily.
“Feardamn it all. I’m… I’m sorry. If only father would have told me. Forgive me for my outburst, Silas.”
Caledon continued to speak.
“I’m tired of all the lies, the deception. Brimstone, aiding the Revenants in the Rampage. This game of Insanity to erase Fearshaping, and all memory of it.”
Caledon’s blade of golden flames disintegrated into wisps.
“The worst of it all, is that I can understand why father agreed to it. I can’t imagine anything more he would have hated than noble family’s vying for control, at the expense of all other elves.”
Silas faced away from his charge.
“Now, he’s dead for his efforts. With mother corrupted by the very man that killed him.”
Silas’ face fell as wrath filled his friend’s gaze once more.
“Where is she?”
“Your mother is under Flora’s watch. She is being kept where she will not harm anyone, or herself.”
“You left her to Solastra?”
“Caledon. I don’t think you understand.”
Silas gestured towards his tribute.
“The moment we walked into her Dreadwood, all of our lives were in her very hands. I had Viveria to care for. Marta, Pov and Blaze too. Your mother is… isolated. Kept away from the others, so she can be of no danger to them. In her private garden.”
Caledon’s expressions seemed to flicker through a host of emotions. After the span of a few minutes, he finally sighed.
“I’m sorry, old friend. My anger… it got away from me.”
“No… I do not deserve your forgiveness.”
Finally, Caledon shook his head and rose, this time, without anger or grief.
“Silas, I have already seen one friend fall prey to vengeance. I will not burn myself out to leave you, Viveria and even mother to fend for yourselves. In pursuit of a pointless revenge.”
His gaze sharpened.
“The only thing I can do is to descend. Either through my own Fearshaping or the Fearshaping of the Highlord of Dreams, all of this will be made right.”
“You intend…”
Caledon nodded resolve burning softly in his hazel eyes. Then, he paused, the brief determination on his face wavering as he shuddered.
“I received an invocation in my descent from Anhedonia to Trepidation. [Corrupt]. The essence of my Fearshaping. Perhaps… I’ll be able to break mother free from the Highlord of Dreams’ grip upon her, without having to descend further. If that fails…”
Caledon’s eyes burned with his determination, carrying within them, the flames of his Phobia, even in its absence.
“I will descend, and grow powerful enough to free her from his corruption of my own two hands. If not, I will see to it that Saravagan Dreamer does, even if I have to knock down the walls of the Archcity of Dreams to do so. I will appeal to the Highlady for help… but she has her own agenda.”
Silas’ shoulders sagged, as Caledon finally gave him a true smile.
One filled with his determination.
Then, Caledon let out a soft laugh.
Silas sighed.
So, that was the path his friend and Highlord had chosen. To descend, and embrace his Fear of corruption to cure his mother. To convince the Highlord of Dreams to release her from his web of corruption.
When it would be so easy to pursue revenge. To be consumed by it.
For a moment, all was still and quiet. Lamplight flickered in the depths of Vendrome’s basement.
Then, they heard echoes of children’s laughter. Sounds of joy and happiness radiating from the Dreadwalker’s shop of little miracles.
A small reminder, that there was a world beyond their troubles and goals.
Finally, a sliver of mirth returned to Caledon’s face, that had been lost in the heat of their discussion.
I’m proud of him.
The simple ability to smile, to look beyond himself in the moment where he was consumed with grief and hatred spoke to how much the young lord had grown. It was a difficult thing to look past yourself, even at the best of times.
That he would abandon the temptations of revenge, in order to build himself up to achieve his goals with his own hands, was admirable.
---
Caledon watched, as Silas turned away once more in the silence that hung over them. He had come to understand the gravity, and true weight of Silas’ loyalty to the Brimstone family.
Berevan had been equally as culpable for the rampage, as Vetrian and Solastra, orchestrating the suppression of Fearshaping.
For Silas to push past the feelings of hatred that must have doubtlessly emerged… he must have agreed with Berevan’s vision.
So much so, that his father had trusted him with the truth of it all.
He must be worried about me. That’s enough wallowing for now.
“There’s someone I want to introduce you to.”
When Silas turned to face him, Caledon grinned at the familiar, calm expression painted on his butler’s face.
That’s more like it.
“Meet Zel. He’s my guide.”
In a flash of gold, a floating eyeball appeared, bearing draconic wings. As Zel fixed Silas with his gaze, Caledon watched as the man’s eyes widened, taking an involuntary step back. Then he looked to the ceiling in wonder.
Silas’ hallucinations are terrifying… just what does he see up there?
The eyeball paused for a moment, watching Silas. Before it eventually ended the silence.
“It’s a miracle to see you still living. I would have ended myself if I was ever relegated to the fate of being this dunce’s butler.
“Finally! Someone FUN! All this depressing talk is making me want to string myself up!”
“Tremello…”
Caledon gaped, as a puppet appeared on the table before him. He watched in abject horror as it kicked Silas’ tribute to his father, the head he had so painstakingly carved onto the ground.
Tremello, Silas’ guide was the polar opposite of his calm, disciplined friend.
The wooden puppet reached up to his waist. His body seemed to be carved from ashwood, bearing the same shade of white that coloured the trees filling the Emberwoods. He wore a short brown coat, and turned gaping black eyes towards Caledon. He could see strings of silver trailing from his limbs, leading into the darkness above them.
“I’d rather drop dead than hear any more dreary talk from the two of you!”
Caledon gaped as Silas buried his face in his hands, and his guide proceeded to mock him.
“I’m Caledon Brimstone! My life is suffering, wahhhhhhh.”
“You’re annoying as the hells, but you recognise the truth as you see it, puppet.”
Caledon was rapidly growing grateful for the guide he had received. A grumpy old guide that called him a dunce, he could deal with.
If he was cursed with a guide like Tremello, he might have let Insanity take him.
“Enough with you.”
He watched as Tremello disappeared in a haze of splinters. Caledon stared at Silas.
“You… made him explode?”
“Don’t get any wise ideas, Dunce. I doubt you would have much trouble, seeing as wisdom is something you struggle with.”
His butler grinned at him.
“If only that was possible. I think you just bored him to the point where he decided to listen to me.”
Caledon shook his head.
Then, in the corner of their eyes, the carving of his father’s face, which now lay on the floor-
Shifted.
They stared, as it turned.
Is something…
“Caledon… you asked me why I spoke to Highlady Solastra?”
Silas’ eyes seemed to darken, in defeat.
“This is why.”
Caledon watched in horror, as a black rose began to sprout from a crack running through the carving’s eye, blooming as it grew.
The tribute began to crack, as the familiar black rose, lined in gold, burgeoned in size.
Holding a message.
“There isn’t any escape, if she wishes to speak to you.”
Caledon crouched, to grip the parchment.
You have been cordially invited to dine with Highlady Solastra Flora. Should you wish to persist in your descent, return to her court.
---
Silas watched, as Caledon left the basement, at the heed of the Highlady of Life. He went to speak to her, to see his mother. To assess whether the invocations he had gained so far, would assist in breaking the corruption he spoke of.
Caledon’s guide, Zel, followed him languidly in the air.
Then, the eyeball turned to face him.
Meeting Silas’ gaze, one final time.
For the second time, Silas stared into the depths of Caledon’s guide, born of corruption.
The very first time that he had, he watched as the denizens of his Fear retreated in its wake, the bodies hanging from the dark ceiling of the workshop disappearing into shadow.
Now, Silas shivered.
Watching, as Zel heralded the approach of his Fear just as easily as he had dispelled it.
---
