Redemption Arc

Lucian sat on a log and drained his boots of water. His socks sat just beside him, soaking wet. Everyone else was taking time to account for the wounded… and the dead. Even his triumph came with some undeniable facts—people had died. That seemed to bother Lucian most of anyone. What bothered all the rest of them? It was Lucian himself.

When he’d arrived back to the bandit camp, soaking wet, they were all watching him. Rowan greeted him with acclaim, while Helen checked him for injuries. All of the others wore their obvious bewilderment on their faces. It was like they’d seen Satan save a cat from being hit by a car. There was the veneer of greed—he had, after all, gone to claim a blessing—but from their perspective, Lucian’s actions had probably seemed utterly crazy.

It was almost like I was really Lucian Villamar, he reflected. Madly running into battle despite all odds against me. It could’ve been a scene straight out of War of Four.

There was one person, though, who was looking at him particularly pointedly: Miriam.

He couldn’t exactly blame her for that. She’d been the one who he’d asked to brew all of those alchemical concoctions. Everything she made was almost perfect for this battle. If he was her, alarm bells would be ringing in his head. He had to make sure to have a proper conversation with her before she reported him or something like that. Hopefully he’d earned enough goodwill to keep her silent.

I know the future, Miriam, he rehearsed in his head. I’m a soothsayer. I have dreams about what’s going to happen.

He assumed her natural response. Why didn’t you tell anyone?

Well, see, Miriam… he continued the conversation. I’m an asshole who likes to see people die. Real big monster. Just love people dying for my personal gain.

Lucian sighed, scratching the top of his head. He honestly didn’t have the best plan for getting out of this one. He wasn’t a natural liar, he was discovering, but being honest might endanger them both. And he couldn’t tell the whole truth—he’d be restricted, no doubt. Even if he weren’t, why would she believe him?

“Hey.”

Lucian looked up to see who’d spoken. “Miriam! I was just…” he trailed off, not wanting to say, ‘just thinking about you.’ “You want to sit?” he gestured, where his wet socks were drying. He picked them up.

She tapped her prosthesis. “It’s a pain for me to sit with this thing.” She looked down at him. Lucian waited for some sort of cutting question, but instead she said, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, all healed,” Lucian confirmed.

“And other than that?” she asked quietly.

Lucian looked up at her. She didn’t seem like someone who was interrogating him, but rather someone who was just concerned for his wellbeing.

“That was… pretty rough,” he admitted.

“Look on the bright side. No one will know if you wet yourself in that fight,” she said dryly.

Lucian chuckled. “I might not even know.”

He put back on his socks, followed by his boots. Miriam offered him a hand to stand, and he took it. Maybe he’d been wrong about things. Maybe she’d just chalk it up as a coincidence.

“It’s a good thing you had me make thirty Lightning Callers right before this,” Miriam said dryly. “Things could’ve gone quite poorly, otherwise. What are the odds you’d have me make thirty items perfectly suited for this battlefield?”

Lucian scratched his cheek. In a game, preparedness wasn’t something that the NPCS would question. If the player prepared for the future, they’d never question if he was a prophet, or a demon collaborator. They’d just go along with things gladly. But these were real people, and he couldn’t pull a fast one with them.

“We should have a conversation when we get back,” Lucian said.

Miriam gazed at him with an expression that seemed to be debating her options.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll make time for it.”

Lucian nodded, and then Miriam started to walk away.

Nice. Handed off the problem to future me, he thought jokingly. He could already hear future Lucian cursing old Lucian out regarding this unsolvable problem.

“Everyone!” Rowan called out. “Boat’s come. Let’s get out of here!”

***

Denzel watched Lucian as the boat headed back toward Verne. The man was sitting there with distant eyes clearly lost in thought about something else. He couldn’t forget Lucian’s performance in the fight. Everyone’s assessment was unanimous: he’d acted with unparalleled bravery. Most everyone here hated him, but they couldn’t deny that assessment.

Denzel couldn’t help but envy that.

A few weeks ago, Chancellor Metterand had come to Denzel claiming that Duke Cyril Villamar was considering others to inherit his dukedom. Since then, that notion had consumed his mind. The dukedom was precisely what he needed to combat his elder brother, the crown prince. Upon Prince Algard’s accession to the imperium…

Myself, my mother, all our household… we could be wiped out to the last. Algard would happily see us all dead.

The Duchy of Villamar could provide Denzel with sufficient clout to resist even an emperor. It was utterly imperative, then, that he conduct himself with great ambition and dignity in the Collegium to earn that honor. Better yet, it came at the expense of Lucian, who Denzel had spent much of his life cleaning up after.

But when he remembered Lucian, alone, amidst that tide of mermen… Denzel wondered if he truly deserved the duchy at all.

Deserve or not, I need it, Denzel thought. I have to do everything possible to ensure my family’s security.

He needed to redouble his training.

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

***

When news of the attack on the student ambassadors spread, it proved prime kindling for the tensions that had been building to explode into a fire. Several narratives took shape all at once, each designed to advance a position certain people already had.

The Concord—the supposed seat of peaceful settlement—was a microcosm of those contrasting perspectives.

“That dam existed within the confines of the Confederation of the Veen,” Metterand said, half-shouting. “It was clearly a hostile attack orchestrated against the Student Ambassadors!”

Chancellor Turke, father of Isran Dumane, had newly arrived as representative of the Confederation. Turke looked like an older version of his son. He said levelly, “The Confederation maintains that this was a freak incident, the causes of which aren’t entirely clear. The flood likely awakened monsters that resided in the confluence.”

Metterand looked enraged, but Marissa Goldhain spoke first. “So you admit that this incident resulted because of negligence in Confederation engineering?”

Marissa was a gray-haired woman with cold brown eyes. She was the grandmother of Ruth Goldhain, and matriarch of the Goldhain family.

“I admitted nothing of the sort!” Turke protested. “We don’t yet know why this dam collapsed.”

“Then you admit that it’s possible rogue actors were able to demolish a crucial piece of engineering within the Confederation?” Marissa pressed ruthlessly, her voice and tone taut. “Either outcome demonstrates a severe failure of Confederation oversight which warrants adjudication by this Concord.”

“Or worse yet— it may have been a direct attack,” Metterand reiterated. “Either way, the Confederation must be properly punished.”

“Chancellors,” Sibylle Vantz spoke quietly. She was a red-haired woman who, though robust in figure, still bore the signs of infirmity after her injury. Her green eyes scanned all three of them. “I was there for the attack on this Concord. The demon present was a monster of unparalleled power. There is no doubt in my mind that this was a coordinated attack by demons for the very purpose of sowing the dissent you now indulge.”

Metterand crossed his arms. “That’s a very convenient way of dismissing any and all criticism.”

Sibylle looked at him. “You saw it too, Metterand. You must’ve. That thing was no ordinary demon. It was a prelude to something grander.”

He shook his head. “I have little memory of the attack. But even if that was true, it doesn’t take away from the fact that the Confederation must receive proper censure for its failure to protect vital arteries of trade in the Lurund River. The river is international water, and…”

The bickering continued. Sibylle sighed deeply, laying her head back against the chair. The other two chancellors had been summoned here for the purpose of drafting the Treaty of Verne once again. Yet now, not hours after meeting, they’d descended into perpetual bickering.

She’d never felt so powerless.

***

After the long boat voyage back, the Student Ambassadors had been taken to a hospital, where their wounds were checked. They were evaluated for any lingering poisons or disease the monsters might’ve transmitted. After, they were given a private room in the hospital to wait for a debriefing. Eventually, the school’s dean had come along.

“All of you handled yourselves excellently,” Dean Mortimer said, looking between them all. “Had there been even one casualty among you…” he put his hand to his forehead, then shook it gravely. “I cannot imagine the fallout. This alone is bad enough, but it could’ve been far worse.”

“What exactly was that, dean?” Rowan asked. “Do you have any information at all? Was this a deliberate attack? An accident?”

“We simply don’t know,” the dean explained, staring Rowan in the eyes. “It could be that there was a failure in the dam, and the flooding caused those monsters to appear. It could be that it was…”

“On purpose?” Rowan finished. “How could you let something like this happen?”

“Rest assured, this will be figured out,” the dean insisted.

Isran called out, “Not the first time I’ve heard that from you. And where are we on the Concord attack? Nowhere, right?”

Dean Mortimer held his hands up. “We’re sparing every resource we can looking into these attacks. For now, I’d like each of you to remember that you are the leaders of your generation, and keep a brave face.” He adjusted his suit slightly. “Now… I have other matters to attend to.”

Some people protested as the dean left, but he didn’t heed any of them and then shut the door behind him.

“I’m starting to think he’s not very good at this,” Ruth said.

Rowan looked back at them. “How do you manage an entire continent’s expectations?”

“He keeps telling us to lead,” Denzel said. “Then shields us from any information.”

“Perhaps because he has none,” Isran posited, leaning up against the wall relaxedly.

Rowan paced around the room, massaging his face with one hand as he thought about something. “I think… I think that we should take matters into our own hands.”

“Take the school over? I like your thinking,” Isran said jovially. “Small problem—that old man could crush our skull with his hand. Maybe once we’re near graduation, we can circle back.”

“If we make it that long,” Ruth said.

Rowan held his hands out. “No, no. Not talking about coups. The investigation,” he said. “So far, we haven’t heard any answers. Why can’t we get those answers ourselves? Why can’t we figure out what’s happening on our lonesome?”

The room went silent. Lucian looked at their faces, judging them all while keeping silent. Rowan was lucky in some way—not a single one of the Student Ambassadors had ties to demons. Main character luck was nice.

“I think it’s clear to all of us that something big is going down,” Rowan said. “It’s a bit novel, maybe, but I think we can make something happen. Us, not them. Why do we need to follow along with what they’re doing when they keep making mistakes?”

“You’re speaking some sense,” Isran admitted.

Rowan explained, “Each of us have access to our own individual nexuses of power. I’d say it’s long overdue we rely on some of those connections to stop walking around with blindfolds on. I’ll talk to my father, alongside some of the people I know in the city. The rest of you? I want you to try and figure out what’s happening.”

“Your father’s just a fire mage, no?” Ruth asked. “No doubting his skill, but…”

Rowan held a finger up. “My father is an expert in demonology. He knows more about demons than any single living person. How better to know how to kill them? If this is as many fear—a conspiracy by demons—no one can put us on the track better. And if it isn’t, maybe each of you can illuminate things, and we can bring a solution before the Concord. Good?”

Rowan looked between everyone, and once they gave confirmation, clapped once.

“Alright. We’ll meet tomorrow right after the Collegium closes at the Crossing Pub. Alright?” He proposed, looking between all. “See you then.”

***

Lucian stood outside as the others all left, reflecting on the day’s events. As he stood there, Miriam walked up to him.

“Hey,” she said, staring at him. “I think I’ve found a major lead. He’s a tall human with gray hair, yellow eyes, and a penchant for wasting his time helping cripples.”

“Yeah? Who?” Lucian asked, looking over. “Because I don’t waste my time.”

Miriam stared at him with a smile, but said nothing.

“Meet me at the library in three hours,” Lucian said.

She looked minutely annoyed. “What? I’m exhausted, and it’s nearly nightfall.”

“You won’t sleep anyway,” he guessed. “I want to prepare some visual aids. Some things are easier to show than to tell,” Lucian explained.

At least, he hoped that was the case. Elsewise, he might be encountering some problems real soon.