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Chapter 75. Resolve
🕑 Added 2020-08-18 15:31:00 +0000 UTCIan awoke with a start, his eyes watering. Fuck.
He stood up and banged his head against the wall, yelping and subsequently growling in frustration. Why was everything so ridiculously complicated? All he wanted to do was sleep a bit longer, and here he was, reeling from meeting what appeared to be an ascendant in a dream.
He tried to open his eyes, but the barest movement of his eyelids was excruciating.
At least he could see where he was going with his vitality vision, but discerning something like the current time was impossible without his actual sight.
“Everything’s fine,” he muttered under his breath as he scrambled to wash up and put on a pair of clothes. “Just have a duel...maybe starting now...” Though what does it even matter if I’m going to die in a few months.
He was fairly certain he set his alarm after the start of the opening ceremony. Depending on how long he slept past his alarm, he could be running late.
Part of him wanted to completely blow off the match and go off on his own to ruminate on everything he’d heard from Achemiss. The other part of him recognized that missing his first duel would be an excellent way to garner unwanted attention.
He stumbled out the door and into the open-air hallway, praying that he’d put on his SPU uniform correctly without relying on his eyesight. The light of the sun shone through his eyelids, a comfortable warmth that seemed to highlight just how unnatural the burning sensation in his eyes was.
This “gift” better not turn out to be a curse, Ian thought as he walked down the hall, stepping with purpose. The SPU delegation was supposed to meet in the atrium on the rooftop for a brief post-opening-ceremony breakfast. Nobody was present, indicating that he was either earlier than he thought, or late.
Euryphel would have sent someone to fetch me if I was truly running behind, Ian figured, taking a seat in one of the rooftop’s molded plastic chairs. Thankfully, he only needed to wait a minute before others began to show up. He didn’t recognize anyone at first, unable to discern anything but the white energy of their vitality, though noted that they seemed to have also skipped the opening ceremony.
Euryphel entered onto the roof, flanked by the other duelists: Diana and Guardian Lanhui. Shivin’i trailed behind them, his eyes scanning the surroundings. The man wasn’t here to compete; rather, he’d been brought along explicitly for his Beginning augury and political acumen.
Ian could see Euryphel’s forehead crease into a frown, the prince’s vitality outlining his shifting skin. Euryphel didn’t ask any questions out loud, but Ian figured the prince had already inquired after his eyes in a Regret scenario. Lanhui and Shivin’i also seemed to be inspecting him carefully, the two men’s Beginning affinities likely trying to make sense of why Ian’s eyes were closed.
Euryphel reached down for a small pastry in a basket lining one of the standing rooftop tables. “Take what you need to eat, then we can head to the staging ground.”
—
The four duelists waited within a wide room, its walls arching to form a cleaved cylinder. One face of the cylinder interfaced directly with the outside, filled only by a retractable window, while the rest of the structure consisted of concrete. The space had a thin, black leather couch and a few patterned cloth chairs.
Lanhui’s eyes darted between Euryphel, Diana, and Ian. “Can you please provide more information on what’s wrong with your eyes?” he asked. “I’m at my wit’s end trying to find something that makes sense.”
Euryphel shook his head. “Not here.”
Diana crossed her arms. “Are you going to lose now that you can’t see?” she asked.
“I can see everything I need to,” Ian replied.
Ian’s match was the first of the entire day. As a mysterious newcomer with supposedly excellent combat potential, Ian wasn’t surprised he had been seeded highly. His opponent was a pure Mountain affinity practitioner, and interestingly enough, not an elementalist.
Urstes had warned him that non-elementalists with primary elemental affinities often had odd and unique fighting strategies. The SPU delegation actually had very little information about this particular practitioner on account of her rather low ranking.
Ian walked over to the glass pane that would open onto the arena once the announcer finished his spiel about the role of the Fassari Summit’s tournament in maintaining lasting peace. Ian recognized the propaganda for what it was: The world wasn’t some peaceful place where nations coexisted in harmony. At best, states existed in a sort of equilibrium with one another, buoyed by economic and political motivations.
Euryphel walked over to his right, leaning in to whisper in Ian’s ear. “Don’t open your eyes.”
Ian fought a chill coming over him. Was it a curse after all?
The prince sighed lightly. “Just not here, at least. Can you hide them for now?”
“Easily.” Suddenly, a stream of bone fragments emerged from deep pockets sewn into the space under Ian’s capulet and around his legs. They formed a network of three layers around him, Death energy linking the glowing bones. Some of the shards snaked out to adorn his duelist robe. In particular, he now wore a pair of intricate gloves...and a striking mask that traced the outlines of his face, contouring his nose and cheekbones. It almost looked as though it was made of layered lace, fitting his face snugly without adding too much depth. Ian filled each eye hole with a single soul gem. They were large, though less dense, so they shone a bright violet.
“How do I look?”
Euryphel cleared this throat. “You look like a decemancer.”
Ian chuckled. “I suppose so.”
“I don’t know much about your opponent, but she’s an Iritas,” Shivin’i called out.
Ian frowned. “Don’t tell me she’s related to Iritas Industries?”
Shivin’i didn’t reply; Ian could guess the prince was rolling his eyes.
Of course she’s related to Iritas Industries, Ian sighed. Iritas developed all sorts of military glossware like custom skin suits and tactical headgear. Just as glosSwords were banned by the tournament, Ian figured that their top-of-the-line tech was probably off-limits. Still, from what Ian understood after studying up on the tournament, almost everything else was allowed.
“Are you looking ahead at the match?” Ian asked Euryphel.
The prince shook his head. “There’s an array around the audience area that restricts Regret affinity. I can only look a few seconds into the future because of it.”
Ian figured that the restriction seemed reasonable. While people outside the audience could still use their Regret affinity to look ahead, it wouldn’t be as disruptive as a bunch of Regret practitioners in the stands reacting to the fight seconds ahead of time.
A short while later, the clear pane separating the duelists from the arena collapsed downward. Ian gave everyone a small wave, then proceeded forward onto the dirt floor.
The stadium was a wash of white bodies suspended above a lifeless ground floor. The crowd was already in a frenzy before his arrival, celebrating not just the start of his match, but the start of the tournament itself.
“Our first two competitors are both making their debut appearances this morning, representing two rising powers from the middle bracket. First is Ziu Iritas of Breath, a stunning martial artist who blends her Mountain practice with glossware and ferocious discipline.”
A martial artist? If she was a close combatant, the match would be anticlimactic.
“Facing her is the mysterious dark horse of the tournament, Julian Dunai–the Skai’aren. Very little is known of him other than that he suddenly appeared less than a year ago and wields his decemantic power with enough skill to rival the greatest masters.”
They really know nothing about me, do they? Ian mused.
His opponent, Ziu Iritas, was a silhouette of white on the other side of the stadium. The two of them turned to the audience, bowed, and waited for the signal to begin.
“Let the match...commence!”
Iritas immediately whipped around and began to bound forward, her movements lithe and her steps light, traversing several feet in each step, the earth seeming to spring her forward like a weak trampoline. Ian lifted himself off the ground, wary of any kinds of attacks that might shoot out of the earth. Iritas wasn’t an elementalist, and wouldn’t have the kind of control someone like Urstes would over shaping earth, but Ian wasn’t going to take the risk.
He whipped himself toward her, gliding through the air like a spirit of death, the soul gems covering his eyes seemingly otherworldly. It only took a moment before she was in his range. He tried to lock her bones in place, only to find that she resisted, moving her legs enough to slam one foot backward.
The earth seemed to swallow her whole, but Ian could sense her underground. She was still in his range, but she seemed to be using the earth to move her limbs deliberately, forcing herself to complete a set of motions. He was honestly impressed at how she’d taken his attack in stride.
Perhaps she had a warning about who she’d be facing, he reasoned. If she’s from a prominent family and representing Breath, they could have acquired intelligence on my capabilities.
In that case, she had to know she’d lose, but the tournament wasn’t single-elimination. Ian didn’t feel particularly bad about destroying her in the first match.
He tested his control over her bones by slamming her upward, only to find that the earth seemed to turn almost to soft liquid. She glided away from Ian and erupted from the ground in a shower of dirt that seemed to become a fine, brown mist.
She’s out of my range, Ian thought. Before he could react the duelist’s hand shot out, and Ian immediately felt his limbs stiffen, as if his skin had been encased in an exterior shell.
Whatever tech she’s using is channeling her energy, he mused.
Ian flew forward, but Iritas plunged into the earth again, going far beneath the surface to evade his grasp. Ian touched down on the ground. While his opponent was safe underground, she would need to reemerge in order to attack him.
He didn’t have to wait long: A hand shot out of the earth, grabbing his ankle. Ian immediately felt the practitioner’s energy encase his body, though this time the effect was stronger by tenfold.
It didn’t matter. Controlling his body like a puppet, Ian flung himself sideways, uprooting Iritas from her position. Once she was in the air, the duel was over: There was no earth for her to escape into. Ian noticed that the set of armor around her body seemed to both try and force her limbs to move and disrupt his bone lock, but the armor was unable to overcome Ian’s overwhelming power. He could sense Iritas gritting her teeth, but she stopped struggling.
The announcer floated above them, gliding on a small hovergloss disc. “Match! The winner is the Skai’aren!”
The crowd once more burst into a frenzy. Ian wondered if they saw anything that happened when Iritas burrowed underground. If not, they’d probably only seen the practitioner dash forward, duck into the earth twice before going limp. Not a particularly exciting display.
Ian wondered if some less-observant audience members would even suspect that Iritas had thrown the match.
—
Ian wouldn’t be having his second match until the next day. He could stick around to see the other duels, but he needed some time to think about what he’d seen in the dream. The waiting room had already been cleared for the next duelist, so Ian left through a passage that went under the stands.
He figured that Euryphel would prefer him to stay at the grounds of the summit, but Ian was determined to find somewhere more normal: a place free of irritating intrigue and practitioner posturing.
I suppose I can pull a Jeremy. The rescued elementalist had gotten around Menocht Bay alright while relying on vitality vision and a pair of sunglasses.
Ian first returned to his room and stripped out of his SPU regalia. He moved bones from a pocket on his uniform into a large satchel, slinging it across his shoulder. He placed two soul gems into his jean pockets and headed out the door once he determined that nobody was nearby. After turning back once for a pair of sunglasses, he proceeded onward, avoiding people until he eventually made his way out of the compound.
He decided to message Euryphel so the prince wouldn’t worry. He tried to open his eyes, but after a moment of searing pain, resigned himself to going off of muscle memory. At the very least, he could see his glossY, even if he couldn’t read anything on its screen. He knew the swipe sequence to open the messaging application, and was fairly certain the most recent conversation was with the first prince.
He did his best attempt at blindly typing, “I’m going out for a bit. I’ll be fine. Let you know if anything is wrong” and then set off for the city. After walking for a few minutes, he found it impossible to evade other people: He’d finally arrived at the public terminal, the drop off point where Grand Tournée attendees could seek admission into the stadium. Since the tournament had only just begun, Ian was able to easily grab a spot on a return hovergloss into Fassar.
When Ian arrived at the public gloss terminal in Fassar City, he lost himself in the crush of white bodies, the density of vitality around him refreshing after spending so much of his time in Ichormai’s relatively empty halls.
“Did you see the recording? It looks like he cheated.”
Ian’s ears perked up.
“The supposed dark horse of the entire Grand Tournée, huh? I guess we’ll need to wait to see what he can do.”
Ian couldn’t see who was speaking, but he decided to walk a bit slower through the terminal.
“Too bad the decemancer hid his face. There’s nothing about him online, either; I wonder what he looks like.”
It’s true; the mask covered the upper half of my face, while gems covered my eyes. Ian hadn’t been intentionally trying to increase the air of mystery...it just happened that way.
He picked up the pace again, wandering outside the terminal and traversing a few city blocks before ending up inside of a noodle shop.
“Hello?”
Ian turned to face a hostess. “Hi.”
“Would you like a table?”
Ian nodded. “That would be perfect.”
He sat down and nursed a glass of water, his mind blank. A new hostess returned a few minutes later to take his order. He looked down at the menu, staring at the dull grey glow of the paper.
“What do you recommend?” he asked.
She placed a finger to her lip. “The classic noodle is pretty popular.”
“One of those.”
You need to open your eyes, he chided himself. What are you afraid of? The pain was excruciating, but Ian was no stranger to agony. The pain was only a convenient excuse: If he wanted to, he knew that he could’ve opened his eyes.
Perhaps it was because he didn’t want Achemiss’ gift. Upon waking, he wanted to believe the dream was just a figment of his imagination...but his burning eyes prevented such casual denial.
Ian knew he would be a moron not to recognize Achemiss’ vision as truth. According to the ascendant, he was on track to fail, to die...and doom the people around him. Supposedly, Achemiss’ gift would help him to both survive and even assassinate the descendant.
Then why was he still so reluctant? Ian removed his sunglasses and buried his face in his palms. What have you been doing these past few weeks? he wondered. You’ve been playing at royal retainer, trying to pretend that the past few years were all a bad dream.
His thoughts gravitated to Achemiss’ somewhat cryptic statement about the Infinity Loop. He seemed to suggest that the people in the loop were real, of all things. Ian couldn’t understand how that was possible: they weren’t people. They didn’t have real bodies, and were created as part of a simulation.
But Achemiss had seemed so gleefully certain that it wasn’t so simple. As Ian thought about it, the sinking feeling in his stomach intensified. His mind recalled the visceral vision of the necromancer killing the Dark practitioner to make a vessel. The woman had been stripped of her simulated body, transplanted and defiled. But did that mean that her relocated soul was no longer her, no longer human?
And more fundamentally, were the people in the loop truly ensouled?
Ian took in a deep breath. I’ve been playing at concealment rather than playing to win. Clearly, that was a path that would lead to ruin. If I don’t take every advantage available, I won’t stand a chance.
He removed his palms from his face and clenched his fists. With iron resolve, his eyes flew open.
