Abolisher
12.

When Vendrik regained consciousness, he was back in the damp cell, arms shackled up.

Each inch of him was in agony—killing, piercing agony. Even breathing invited volleys of pain. They’d beaten him, he realized, after he’d fallen unconscious.

He tried lifting his head, but pain shot through his face, his head, as his skin—burned skin—pulled. He let out a muffled, painful grunt.

“How long … have I been … unconscious?” he croaked too low. He could barely move his lips—was fairly certain he was moving only half his mouth.

He’d sensed Maeren in the cell before he’d even fully gained consciousness.

As if droplets pulled out from a soaked cloth, the wraith took shape against the stone wall across from him. He could still only see her outline, disclosed by the dim light stretching from the hallway—but it was enough to reveal the scars on the naked skin of her hand. Very recent.

“Hello,” she whispered, as if unsure what to say.

The last time they’d spoken to each other was a year ago—when Ryle had revealed her part in baeselk attacks on Syrene Alpenstride.

“A few days,” she answered, just now grasping his question.

He’d never seen Mae at unease—she was always confident, always had a proud set to her jaw. She was the only one who’d withstood Felset’s torments better than even Azryle. Not because she was terrified of Queen Felset—which she was, weren’t they all?

But because there was nothing left in Maeren to break. She’d been broken for as long as Vendrik had known her—a lost spirit going along with her life. Broken before Lilith’s death, before she’d encountered the Queen of Cleystein. Though she was too proud to admit it, he knew.

Maeren was that cat who would bolt if made a sudden movement—a delicate feather that would crumple if held too tight.

There was no hope in her, no fight left.

Today, here, Maeren looked it. Broken, hopeless, abandoned. Her shoulders were slumped, there was no stubborn set to her jaw. She looked scrawny—as if she’d been starving for the whole year. The skin beneath her eyes had grown dark.

He supposed she’d once looked strong before because Maeren had had a tether to her stability.

Ryle.

Vendrik had always known she’d never been in love with his friend, not really. She’d thought she was, but it’d just been her useless attempts at convincing herself that she was not … beaten. She’d been trying to hope—that Ryle would budge someday. But even that hope … it’d just been an imagination she’d fabricated to get through her days.

Azryle had been her chain to that fantasy.

Azryle was now gone.

Leaving Maeren without her illusions.

Vendrik didn’t ask what the queen had done to her—he knew that was one of the questions that would send her skittering away. So he simply waited for her to speak.

She did after minutes. “How …” she whispered. “How does it … feel?” Her fingers moved across her own face to indicate his burns.

“Saqa,” he muttered. That small word sent pain firing across his face. He winced.

“You probably shouldn’t speak,” she said, and slid down against the wall. “Just nod or shake your head, alright?”

Pity pierced his chest when Maeren weakly hugged her legs to her chest. A girl—that’s what she looked. A scared girl she’d been when Queen Felset had found her. Vendrik saw it now—why Azryle had chosen to protect her against Felset, what he’d seen that had led him to build wards around Maeren’s mind to keep Felset out, and risk his own sanity. What he’d endured two extra years in the dungeons for.

“Do you hate me?” Maeren asked now.

Vendrik shook his head.

Mae only stared at him—stunned.

He’d been utterly furious with her once—when she’d denied her involvement with Azryle and let him bear two more years of torment in those dungeons. But hate was too strong a word.

“Do you know where Azryle is?”

No—Vendrik wouldn’t answer this, not even if he were melting in the voracious fires of Saqa. Maeren was like the easiest way to chat with Felset—feeding her information would mean informing the queen herself.

When Vendrik neither nodded nor shook his head, Maeren sighed. Understood. “Is Her Majesty right—are you really a Kaerion?”

He nodded reluctantly. “Why … are you here … Mae? I’m not … going to give … you—”

“I know.” Her brace tightened around her legs. “I’m not here to inquire. I just … I just wanted to talk.” She didn’t meet his gaze. As if it shamed her to say those words—as if she were admitting her vulnerability. “You’re the only person left in my life.”

Vendrik’s chest ached.

“She made me watch, you know. When they beat your unconscious body—weren’t gentle around the burns. They kicked your face, stood on your ribs until they heard the crack …” She shut her eyes tight, as if it physically ached her to think of it. “It didn’t stop there. She took a shard of glass from the pile and handed it to me.” Her voice grew thick. “She made me pierce the glass in your burned skin so the scars would be even more hideous, so I would look at you and see what I’ve done to you.”

You haven’t done this, he wanted to say. But the words didn’t come, suddenly each ache in this body had sharpened—he felt each kick they must have been bequeathed, each punch. After a silent moment, he dared ask, “How bad … is it?

She looked at him then. “Your hair’s completely gone. Half your face is burned—right down to your collarbone. The skin is still pink. She sent a healer once to heal the broken bones, but not the skin. Then commanded everyone to not send any other healer or else …” She trailed off. “She’s sent Ryle a letter, Rik. He would be here soon; you know he would—”

“She … doesn’t—”

Before he could even complete, Mae was shaking her head. “She does. She’s suddenly gleaned his precise whereabouts. He hasn’t been very thorough with hiding his location, he—” She swallowed. “She’s sent him your burned hair, and Ryle of all the people knows Felset wouldn’t lie about tormenting you.”

Vendrik’s heart grew agitated. But only for a second before it settled again.

Ryle wouldn’t come here, no—he didn’t care about Vendrik now that he was free of Felset, there was no thread of friendship binding them anymore. Felset was a fool if she thought Ryle would abandon his freedom—his Abys-damned freedom, the thing he’d craved like a dying man looking for breath to take in—and come for a friendship that hadn’t even been real to begin with.

Azryle wasn’t a fool. Well, not some times. And Vendrik deeply hoped this was one of those times.

Maeren asked too softly, “Why didn’t you use your fire to save yourself that burning?”

Vendrik went rigid.

“All it would have taken is—”

“I can’t.”

She stilled. “What?”

“Felset knows … that I’m one of … the Elite Kaerions. She only wants to … see my fire. Otsatyas know … what she’s planning … to do. I can’t let her … take it, Mae. It’s too—”

“Dangerous, yes I know. But Rik, you’re suffocating it. You know your fire is like an untamed beast, it would melt open any cage it’s put into. It’ll burn you from inside before bursting out—otsatyas know how it hasn’t already.”

“It won’t.”

She stared, waited.

“Before … I sent Ryle … away … I made him build … wards in my … mejest. I don’t have … any access … to it. The only way … I can get it … if someone made me … break the bounds … unconsciously.”

Mae looked stricken. “Holy Ablaze Kosas.” Then disbelief spread across her face, a disappointment. “What if you never meet him again, Rik—you gave away your fire like that—”

He shook his head. “I don’t ever … expect to meet him. But he’s … bound to Syrene … Alpenstride. My mejest is … needed to … destroy Drothiker. I do not … know if he’s found … her already. But if need be—”

“—he is allowed to have an access to your power to destroy the device completely.” She blinked. As if words had just sunk, “What do you mean he’s bound to Syrene?”

Vendrik swallowed. “His leash …”

Mae’s jaw dropped. “How?”

He didn’t answer—even he didn’t know how that’d happened. All Vendrik knew—could hope—was that Alpenstride would treat his friend better than that wretched queen had.

Maeren was still staring at him when—

“Ah.”

Vendrik stilled at the voice. Fear—abhorrent and vanquishing—ached his throat. He hoped Maeren would melt back into the wall to hide herself, thought she would—but all she did was lift to her feet and turn to the cell bars. Unfazed.

Just as Felset appeared on the other side.

Everything in Vendrik seemed go numb as the queen unbarred the cell, all the while having a serene expression on her face, and beckoned to Maeren. “Well done.”

Mae stepped out of the cell—her face devoid of any expression, shoulders squared as if she hadn’t just—

Realization seemed to have pulled Vendrik down in a vicious freezing sea.

Felset fingered Mae’s golden hair behind her ear. Almost lovingly; almost a motherly touch. “Go.”

Mae bowed, and left without so much as a glance in his direction. Her frail form disappeared in the dark as if swallowed by it. Vendrik felt anger brewing somewhere deep within him.

“I should have known,” mused Felset, turning to Vendrik. “You humans are so utterly driven by sentiments.” She tilted her head in that predatory movement. “But it is not Azryle I truly seek, Vendrik, you should know.”

He did know. She sought Azryle, yes, but only to have a lost asset back. Not because she had any particular use of him. Not the way she sought after Syrene Alpenstride and the Kaerions. And if she truly had Azryle’s location—then Alpenstride’s …

Shit. Shit. Shit—

“Come,” she said.

And as she did, Vendrik’s arms fell to his sides as shackles disappeared from his wrists—his whole weight was dumped on his legs, having him brutally slam to his knees; pain lanced up his legs. Everything hurt—each movement invited a ruthless tremor.

“Stand.”

As a good dog, he did. Not because she’d seized any control over his mind, but simply because his very bones were hardened to submitting to that tone, the pure command in it.

He’d long since forgotten how to fight it.

Felset was waiting with a careful patience outside the cell—still wide open for him to step through.

Fight to run or not, fight to run or not—

“You could try,” she stated. “But even you know it would be useless, especially with your power warded.”

She had a point, but—

“Come.”

Then Vendrik was walking, his weak legs buckling. He thought she would attack him, more suffering waiting—braced himself for it. But she only led him outside the dungeons. The queen walked a step ahead of him—it would be so easy, he thought, to grab a metal nearby and drive it through her back.

Maybe not as easy as his slacked mind suggested, knew this was the Enchanted Queen after all. Still, the thought was tempting.

His eyes burned at the onslaught of light as they stepped outside a … a cave, and into a vast garden—grass stretched as far as his eyes could see—encircled by an army of trees. Cleysteinian soldiers were spread across the area.

“Have you heard the story of Aegestan and Rukrasit?” Felset asked as she continued walking.

Vendrik hesitated. And stepped forward.

The world rippled around him.

Vendrik’s feet halted. It felt as if he’d stepped into a different world. Everything looked too … bright and sparkling. The soldiers were now smiling while they remained vigilant of the surroundings, chatting. A few had kids they were spending time with. They looked to him and saluted dutifully.

The queen ahead of him turned. “Everything good, Favamst?” He looked to her, and drunk in her beautiful face—the usual serene smile that always brightened his world. “Is it the wounds?” she asked, bronze eyes roving over him with a concern he’d never quite grown used to.

Vendrik looked down at himself. “What … wounds?” Everything felt perfectly fine. His usual armor was clean and shining in the sunlight, his sword a comfortable weight at his side. There was no wound on him. He chuckled. “Are you sure you’re alright, Your Majesty?”

She laughed. And it seemed to have reverberated in the environs. But it faded soon as she turned—he didn’t fail to notice the sadness that came over her eyes. “You didn’t answer my question.” She continued walking. He followed—as he always did.

Aegestan and Rukrasit.

Vaguely, the words rang. But …

“It’s alright,” she whispered. “You can say you haven’t heard them.”

“Aren’t they … names of different worlds?”

“They are.” She heaved out a sigh that strangely made Vendrik want to reach out to her. “Aegestan used to be a happy world. Full of pretty things. It was … right out of myths and folktales, a few might say. But then something happened which caused the balance between the worlds to shift—the space between them vanished and balance was no more; a darkness swept across countless worlds as they merged together into one.”

“Rukrasit,” he mused.

“Right.”

“What happened?”

“Three sisters opened a portal.”

As if felt his shock, his queen whipped her head around to look at him, and gave him a rueful smile. “Not that they were related by blood—where I come from, there are no blood relations. But the three women were close enough and loved each other enough that the universe began mistaking them for sisters. Opening the portal killed two of them. The third one … she became a target.” Her Majesty continued walking. “She was very powerful—so powerful that even the universe cowered from her. It hadn’t been arduous for her to take control of Rukrasit. All the beings were terrified of her—and so they answered to her. But … there was still Darkness in her world—a plague that was spreading among her people and turning them into atrocious, horrendous beasts.

“She had to do something to save her people—to save the ones that could be saved. It was driving her insane—she’d lost her sisters, and she refused to lose all her people too. After all, it was all her fault—she was the one who had opened the portal with a selfish wish.

“In the end, she collected her eternal, eradicating power and forged a device. It was so beautiful, and so utterly precious to her. Precious than a child is to the mother. It glowed—like a bright beacon in her hand. One star in that dark night. It was first light she’d seen after a literal eternity. She named it Drighrem, it means Moonstone. Drighrem became her weapon—she used it to contact other worlds, ask for help. But no one answered. Not a single one. She knew they were all getting signals—all listening.

“And then, one day, an answer came. From your world, this world—a world placed atop all the others. It had been the King of Hemvae—Grinon Alpenstride. He’d used a different power to send signals—a power full of light and hope. It’d reminded the third sister of her own world—of Aegestan. But Grinon Alpenstride had sent a refusal to aid.”

“That couldn’t have gone right,” Vendrik said.

“No. It didn’t. But she didn’t give up just yet. She sent signals round the clock, begged them. But Grinon Alpenstride ignored and refused. All the hope and light died out from her, watching her people lose their mind, lose themselves to the unconceivable horrors, until all that was left was fury and a crave for vengeance. She sent one last message.

“A death promise. Chaos and violence and war reigned after that.”

“What happened?”

“She opened another portal. There were no other worlds beneath Rukrasit—Darkness was already everywhere. There was nothing to lose. And so, she waged war. Grinon Alpenstride had already prepared for it. He’d collected an army of hemvae—an army of light against the dark.”

Vendrik sucked in a breath. “The Jagged Battle.”

Sunlight shifted in Queen Felset’s bronze hair as she nodded. “Things didn’t go right there either. One moment, Rukrasit was winning the battle and the next … the King of Hemvae somehow summoned his otsatyas.” She spat the word with disdain and naked hatred. “All five helped him gain control of Drighrem, and he shoved her army out of his world.”

“This must have left the third sister …”

“Powerless? Weak? Empty?” His queen scoffed. “It did. When she returned to her world, she had neither her full power nor her people. They all turned against her. But they weren’t aware that she was indeed almost all out of her power—so she continued playing the queen, and made them fear her. But secretly, she was the one terrified. Terror like a human could never face had seeped in to her bones like water in clothes. She was a fragile body playing a ruler amidst monsters. Until …”

Vendrik waited.

“Until her brother arrived.”

“Brother?” he echoed.

“He was the reason it’d all started. A curse—in the end, he’d indeed acted like one. He called her out in front of her people. Called her a traitor—an imposter. Called her weak and unfit to rule. He’d been waiting—for her to fall utterly weak to gain control. He’d been assessing when no one else was looking. The funny part is, it wasn’t even the plague making him turn against her. It was his vivid wish to rule. It broke her—this one betrayal she couldn’t bear. She couldn’t fight anymore. So she didn’t.

“Not even when he left her for the beasts to feed on. But she’d come so far, she still couldn’t stand looking at her people like this. Helpless as she felt. So she proposed a bargain. She could still open a portal—that had to come with something. So she told her brother that she would go to Lavestia—that’s what they call this world. Lavestia, like a cruel woman. She told him she would come here, and she would find Grinon Alpenstride, and clutch Drighrem back. Then she would open a portal wide enough for all their people to migrate here. In exchange for peace. She’d be left alone for as long as she lived, she wouldn’t be harmed or played with. She’d bargained, once again, for freedom.

“He’d contemplated. Maybe she would try to seize control after she’s got Drighrem, maybe she would kill him. But then he simply accepted—as if those were mere threats. He’d said if she failed, he would find a way to use Drighrem against her and fill all the Darkness in her—he would make her suffer like that.”

For moments, Vendrik didn’t speak, waited for his queen to conclude the tale and divulge how the sister had succeeded. But Queen Felset paused walking and turned to him. “How did you like that one?”

Vendrik flinched. “That’s it?” He sounded like a child to his own ears, eager for a happy ending.

The queen chuckled, and then shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” she echoed, incredulous. “It’s snowing. I’m cold.”

Confusion spread in him as he gazed up, and felt a cold drop on his cheek. It was snowing …

“Show-off.” Felset seemed so utterly happy—he’d never seen her like this. It made all the confusion in him decline, and he found himself smiling. “Not all of us have fire to warm ourselves. Can’t you be a kind man and light up a ball to warm me?”

He blinked. Something vaguely tickled at the back of his mind—trying to crawl into his mind. His fire …

“Favamst.”

His attention flicked to her.

“Bring your fire.”

Vendrik brought forward his hand. “I …”

“Is something wrong?”

He stared at his palm—the lines on it suddenly blurry. “I … I can’t.”

“Bullshit. It’s your fire. Of course you can.”

No, he indistinctly heard someone protest. No.

“Try harder,” Her Majesty pressed.

Favamst.

“I’m trying.”

Favamst.

“I’m trying,” he insisted, trying to block out all the sounds, as he reached inside himself.

Favamst, no.

He looked to his queen. But she hadn’t spoken …

Don’t.

He recognized the voice—would recognize it even if he were walking the torments of Saqa. Even if he were trapped in the depths of his mind.

But something—something was batting Lilith’s voice away, as one might an irritating fly. Something was pushing it away.

“Is something wrong?” Queen Felset angled her head, an innocent look on her face. “Call your fire, Vendrik.”

“Everything is …”

Favamst.

“Everything is fine. I …”

His heart was hammering—head pounding.

This woman had me killed, Lilith’s voice fought in and out of focus. You can’t let her kill all the innocents. No, Favamst, you can fight this. You always have.

“I’m cold, Vendrik.”

Save your friend, my fire-heart.

“No.” Vendrik pressed his palms to his ears, blocking out the assault of voices. “No, get out!” he shouted. “Get out of my head!”

The queen gave him a pitiful look. “Oh, Favamst.” Her hand came to cup his cheek tentatively. His arms fell to his sides. “When I found you, you reminded me so much of him,” she said. “Not when he was cruel, but when he’d been a kid in need for protection.”

Just that quickly, her face turned cold—so ruthless that Vendrik felt frozen in place.

Then the world around him rippled again.

It dimmed—an illusion fading. Everything around him seemed to die. The snow faded to a sunlit garden—soldiers went back to an emotionless state. There were no trees around the area, but a wall of rocks encircling it, rising up, up, up—

Pain came in a nauseating wave in his entire body and Vendrik was pushed to his knees. His face—his face where she touched … his burned skin … White came across his sight as she dug her nails, and Vendrik screamed.

No sound came out.

“Silence, now, Vendrik,” she crooned tenderly. Then her voice steered cold. “Let’s get a few things clear: I’m going to find Syrene Alpenstride. I’ll cross any limits to find salvation for my people. I will bring them home. Even if I have to bring that dark plague here. You can hide your mejest all you want, that’s not going to stop me. This world’s doom is already written. Syrene Alpenstride is the written doom. All I’m doing is trying to keep this world for my people.

“Now is not the question of whether to destroy this world—it’s who does it. And I’d rather it be me.”

She dug her nails deeper. Vendrik’s breaths came short and shallow.

“When Prince Azryle gets here, you better hope it’s not your pieces he finds.”

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