Witcher Warrior Scholar Spy

“And so we have the Spy,

Whose intuition breaks through all schemes.”

The library was stifling in a way it never had been before. Perhaps it was because Shen had been holed up in the stacks for the better part of a week in preparation for the end-of-semester exams. Or, it could have been the smell of decomposing papers getting to his head. It also could have been that today was a particularly horrendous day to be away from home, studying on the continent when the entirety of his homeland was celebrating one of his dearest friends.

Mara was being awarded the Sigil of Krohnic, the highest award a princess of Contraria could get. The entirety of the royal court was to be in attendance, including Shen’s family and the friends he’d left behind to study at Yuhaul’s university. Well, most of the friends he’d left behind. As far as he knew, Arkim was still off on one of his debaucherous excursions, and Kuala was exploring the continent. Arkim wasn’t the type to send updates of his adventures, simply swooping in at the exact moment he was needed and regaling everyone with tales of his conquests, as he fixed whatever problem had brought him home. Kuala was different. Shen constantly received packages from her travels, usually with a small stack of letters and whatever eccentric souvenirs she had found. Last he’d heard, she was trekking through Tayaran’s deserts.

Unfortunately, the thought brought him back to the book in his hand. Shen dragged his eyes back to the top of the page, running his fingers along the words as he read, forcing himself to throw away the thoughts of his homeland that were plaguing him. After attempting the passage twice, Shen dropped the textbook onto the table roughly. He took a deep breath and had to remind himself that he enjoyed history. That he paid to learn history. That the Tayaran civil wars were important and interesting. Even if, at the moment, it felt far more pressing to abandon his exams and rush to Contraria for Mara’s award ceremony. Shen sighed, picking up the textbook and restarting the page for the third time, praying that his focus wouldn’t stray further.

Yet again, his mind wandered. At that point, though, Shen was fed up with the act of studying. Typically, Shen settled in the library’s basement, where the passage of time was impossible to determine due to the windowless walls. Most students avoided the basement floors for the same reason Shen loved them. However, the main stairwell had collapsed just the night before, and, to Shen’s great consternation, the university had opted to close the entirety of the basement floors to students. Thus, he was forced to be able to see the difference in the sun’s light surrounding him. Which meant he was particularly aware that he had been at the library for a little over ten hours, and it was nearing dinner time. As if in acknowledgment of his realization, his stomach growled.

Shen decided that the Tayaran War of Two Kingdoms and One would still be there after he went to the dining hall. It would still be there after he ran back to his dorm room and took a nap. So, he packed up his bag, double-checking that everything had found its proper place, and made his way through the towering bookshelves. As he descended the steps out of the library, Shen resolved that he would make up for the time he spent wallowing in homesickness later that night.

Though, the very thought brought back Shen’s yearning to be home to celebrate with all those he held close to his heart. He cursed the distance he had put between himself and Contraria because, despite the announcement of Mara’s ceremony coming months prior, Shen could not spare the time for a cross-continental trip. Not in the middle of a semester and certainly not during the end of the semester. Shen’s stomach began to ache, with both hunger and regret, before he clamped down on his feelings.

There was no use lamenting his choices now, years after he made them. He was nearly finished with his program, with only another year before he received his Distinction. Then he could return home, to his parents, to the court. Honestly, Shen was looking forward to simply stepping back onto the land that made up the island nation of Contraria. To feeling the familiar pull of his Well strengthen with every moment he breathed in the air that Krohnic empowered. That had been the worst part of attending university on the continent. His attachment to his home had grown taught with distance. Looking forward gave Shen a sense of peace.

Having successfully brought up his mood, Shen found himself across campus, pulling open the door to the dining hall. He made quick work of piling his tray high with meat, beans, and rice. He eyed the greens at the counter but decided to leave them for another day. After a quick scan of the hall, he found a table toward the center of the room that was calling to him. As Shen lowered himself into the seat, he began adjusting his tray. Unrolling his cutlery from the napkin they were packed in, he gingerly placed them around his plate. His fork to the left, slightly tilted in, and his knife to the right, tilted just the same. His spoon was placed at the top, next to the rice bowl. Slowly, Shen folded his napkin into a pyramid-like structure, which he placed to the right of his plate next to his glass of water. He took a moment to say words of thanks without any specific Gods in mind.

Taking his first bite, Shen felt a prick in his heart. Briefly, he thought it was the pain of missing home. That his stomach ache from earlier had migrated to his heart and decided to attack the very core of his physicality. Then agony shot through his body. There was no lead-up, no slow progression of pain. There was simply suffering. Every nerve within him exploded at once, and Shen was unable to stop the spasm in his hand as he dropped his fork. The metal clattered angrily against the floor, but Shen was unable to notice the glances it had garnered. He was too busy gripping his shirt, pressing his palm into his heart, and digging his fingers into his skin. He swallowed the scream threatening to break free and forced air into his lungs.

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He sat there, hunched over his food, breathing heavily for several seconds before the pain began to dull. His overactive nerves settled into a lesser ache, but his chest grew tight—almost as if stone had encased his heart.

As Shen began to process what had just happened, thinking the worst of it over, another wave of pain washed over him. This time, it began at the edges of his mind, in a deeper realm of feeling than before. No longer was the pain based on his physical being. It was soul-deep. Shen’s vision went dark as the pain focused itself on his head. Suddenly, all the power contained within his body began oozing out of him. Shen could feel a breaking spreading through his soul, cracks he couldn’t see but could definitely feel, causing his metaphysical body to crumble. He was barely holding his mind together.

Another surge of pain rolled through him, and Shen had no control as his body jerked backward, causing both him and his chair to clatter to the ground. The sound brought even more eyes to him than before. When Shen didn’t immediately get up, the stares only grew in number. It was several long seconds before anyone moved. Shen was staring above him at empty air, eyes unfocused. Then, as someone nearby began to start toward him, Shen snapped up and forcefully rubbed his hands across his face several times before pressing his palms into his eyes.

After another moment, Shen scrambled up, his hands shaking as he grabbed the fallen chair and righted it.

His mind raced through all the possibilities.

Every reason for pain to radiate through his physical body as well as his metaphysical existence.

But he knew. He had been taught the lessons of the Four. There was no denying the reality—no use pretending that his world was not crumbling.

They were gone.

Everyone.

The first wave of pain, he knew, was the physical hit of his Well breaking. His connection to Krohnic evaporating into nothingness as the Well was sealed.

The second wave of pain was worse than the knowledge that his Well of magic was gone. It was the knowledge that Contraria had been taken as well. Sealed into Illustra.

Shen had never felt it before—the use of Illustra. But once, when Shen was still young, his mother had explained the mental anguish of your people disappearing behind the artifact. She told of how it was a loss so profound it could be felt across the realms. That every person who was tied to the Well of Krohnic would feel the loss, whether they were of Contrarian blood or not. And then she’d assured him he wouldn’t have to worry about such a thing in his lifetime. That the last Lightening had been mere decades before he was born.

Yet, here he was, with a broken Well, and a loss he could feel in his bones.

The Doom had returned.

Shen stood, staring at the mess before him. The jostled silverware, the spilled food, the barely straightened chair, and he got to work cleaning it up. He methodically righted the place setting and cleaned up the spilled food. Shen moved slowly, with intention.

By the time he was finished, the eyes that had focused on him had moved on to other things. Their focus stolen by casual chatter with their friends. Everything was fine. Shen could think. His racing mind had slowed enough for him to settle back into his seat. The last remnants of the observers left him, averting their gaze from his emotionless face.

Shen forced the numbness down. He had to eat. Sustenance. Yes. He would eat. And while he ate, he would think. He would understand. He would make a plan. As he went back to eating, to taking bites of food that felt like gravel on his tongue, something in him broke.

Slamming his arm across the table, he flung the contents away from him. Rice, beans, and meat decorated the floor, and the dining hall was silent but for the sound of the metal bowls landing roughly on the floor.

Every head in the canteen snapped to attention. Any who had ignored Shen’s collapse before now forced themselves to look his way. Because Shen was screaming. A wailing, angry thing. His words were hard to understand, but they were a painful sight to bear witness to. And when Shen stood and began stalking out of the dining hall, no one moved.

As he left, the other students could hear bits and pieces of his words. Some understood, some had gone through an agony much the same. Others didn’t, but they still flinched at the pain in Shen’s voice that grew deeper with every second that passed.

The last thing anyone could make out was, “Contraria can’t be gone. Not again! Not yet!”

One of the eavesdropping students jolted at the words, a chill spreading down her spine, for she understood. She heard the meaning Shen did not say—she did, after all, hail from the very same kingdom. She knew the stories, the tales that spanned the ages past. Her own ties to Contraria were weak, her Well shallow and diluted, and several generations separated her from the blood of the populace. It meant she had felt the pinching of the broken Well no more than a flipped nail or a stubbed toe. Sharp, but not lasting. Though, if the student were asked, she would be unable to say what exactly the pain meant.

Outside, Shen stalked across campus, his mind racing. It took him several long minutes before he stopped shouting, his voice growing hoarse and his throat stinging. He had flung around denials, grief-stricken yowls, even calling out the Doom. Once silence encased him, he let the thrum of his agitation fuel his mind.

He knew, then, that his time at the university was over.

There was no world in which he would sit for exams when his homeland needed him so desperately. No world in which he would sacrifice more time to Yuhaul when he could restore Contrarian lives.

Shen took a steadying breath as he stood within his dormitory.

“A list.” He sighed, leaning against the bare wall of his room for support. “Let’s start with a list.”

Shen needed a new Well. He needed funds, and food, and—he needed the others.

Kuala. The Warrior born to the Warrior.

Arkim. The Scholar born to the Witcher.

And, to complete them, the Witcher born to the Spy.

The runaway.

Olea.