The Weight of Legacy

It took long enough for the branch against which he abutted to give way with a resounding crack, sending bark chips in multiple directions. The passage was narrow enough for most of it to bounce harmlessly against the rocky walls, but a previously unseen nest of amphiteres scattered into a slithering mosaic, only parting when Kristian’s mismatched sabatons touched down.

“Sky father,” Kristian cursed, the phrase a relic from yestertime—though Zayden’s translation spell left much to be desired, as neither Kristian nor any of the others ever figured out what it meant.

The reminder, even if of his own making, irked him into flaring his Presence. It came as naturally as breathing, the two Rootless Classes sitting on his hollow core all but a parting gift from his dear friend. The once liberator of this part of the cave system may have been gone, but the sector remained firmly in human hands under Kristian’s care, even if the Crown paid their nameless backlands little heed.

A smattering of rustled leaves shimmered in the low light, the same sea-green glow of the starry rocks above mirrored in them for a split second.

All things considered, the tremors his landing caused were no worse a ruckus than the amphiteres’ conniption. The monsterlings clearly remained incensed, but even creatures as underdeveloped as them took his unassailable Presence as warning. Only due to the likelihood of any action’s discovery was Kristian staying his hand.

Kristian summoned the obit and allowed time to pass, watching the sparks that danced on its surface, subtle enough that his limited Perception struggled to pick them up. He understood the tingling in his palm to be caused by the mana it channeled—something beyond his capacity to comprehend—but the sensation that rushed through his body never stopped being disquieting, even with this having become his oldest daily ritual.