Discordant Note | TBATE

Chapter 80: The Survivors

Sevren seemed entirely unsurprised by the haggard state of the mage. "Don't worry," he said calmingly, "My friend here has a sound barrier erected around us. The undead can't hear us."

I collected myself swiftly. To demonstrate Sevren's words, I brought my foot down hard on the concrete. The stone cracked, but no sound was allowed to exit. My spell held onto each vibration like a greedy miser keeps his coins.

The man's insistent shushing halted. His hand slowly lowered, relief and another emotion I couldn't discern warring across his face. He worked his jaw, which was covered in a patchy beard. "What do you want?" he said, the hand holding his axe clenching tighter.

Sevren replied evenly, undeterred by the mage's increased tension. "We want to get out of this zone," he said. "To that end, we'd like to talk with you. About working together."

The mage narrowed his eyes suspiciously, shifting from side to side. "Why should we listen to you?" he said. His voice was gravelly from disuse, an almost painful rasp clawing its way from his throat.

"My name is Sevren of Highblood Denoir," the white-haired striker said, nodding his head in a brief show of respect. He shifted a hand into his jacket, then retrieved something and held it in front of him. The insignia of Highblood Denoir radiated back in solid gold. "On my the honor of my Blood," he stated seriously. "Know that we mean you no harm."

The man's eyes widened slightly, no doubt taken aback by the name uttered. The Denoirs were powerful. Their house was essentially the Rothschilds of Alacrya. Few families could match them in any Dominion.

But then the man shrunk backward. Sevren's words seemed to have the opposite effect. Instead of taking reassurance in his status, as I'd expected, he shifted like prey in front of a predator.

I wondered briefly what he had experienced here. Ascenders who made it to convergence zones were among the greatest. This man must have once been a powerful, confident fighter. What had turned him into a shifting, paranoid shell?

You did, that dark part of myself acknowledged. He wouldn't be here if not for you.

"We have food," I blurted out. Sevren looked at me uncertainly, while the axe-wielding mage... his eyes lit up with hunger. I recognized that look.

And I'd prepared for it. I withdrew a single bag of rice. It was easily twenty pounds, but with my mana-enhanced strength, I didn't even feel the weight. Without further adieu, I grabbed the bag with my telekinesis rune. The rice floated slowly toward the mage, keeping low to the ground so as not to startle him.

I saw the conflict of hunger and anxiety in the man's stiff posture. When I let the bag drop in front of his door, he eyed it critically.

"That's all we have on us," I said. I wouldn't make the same mistake I did in East Fiachra all those months ago when I'd nearly been attacked by men looking for a lifetime fix of blithe. I wouldn't let myself be a viable target. "If you're willing to hear us out, we can get you more easily. But only if you listen."

That seemed to be the last nail in the man's self-restraint. He lashed a hand out to the rice, snatching it up in a spindly claw. He looked from the bag to me and Sevren, then back to the bag.

"Fine," he said. "Just... keep to yourself inside. You better keep your promise, Denoir."

The man turned around, sparing us one glance as he clutched the rice to his chest. Sevren and I moved to follow after a beat.

"This is worse than I expected," Sevren said quietly. I made sure only I was able to hear his words, the sound drifting to me alone. "This man is a shell. If his entire team is in a similar state, they'll be a hindrance rather than a help."