Witcher Warrior Scholar Spy

“There once was a Spy,

Who knew others better than he knew himself.

It was such that he forgot

The multitudes one could contain.”

Shen thought it would be worse. Truly. To be unable to speak should have been the end of him. It should have left him debilitated. And maybe it would have, in another time.

But his home was ripped from reality, his friends were headed to meet him, and his people needed his Inheritance more than Shen needed his tongue. So, after Xolo took a piece of him, Shen stood up. He let the taste of ash fill his mouth, he let a cry of frustration escape, then he cleaned himself off, and went about his life.

For Shen was the Spy. And what was better for a Spy than to be unassuming? To be taken for a fool or a weakling? To be underestimated in everything he did? No. Xolo had given Shen a blessing of power. A connection to his Well, yes, but also a path to add to his workings.

Shen had quickly begun crafting personas that would fit his new capabilities. He added a boy born with a deformity, no older than eleven. He created a man, mute and with a cane, who hobbled when he walked. He built an elderly woman, who screamed when she tried to speak, unintelligible swears no one could decipher. Shen knew he was more than any one thing, even without his voice.

As he made his way out of Listaire, Shen slipped seamlessly into a caravan headed through the Wistra Plains to Bayquest. He would tag along until they reached the plains and then separate, their memory of him burning to ash as his presence ceased to exist.

Within a day, Shen began forming several blue birds. They flew off in the cardinal directions. He gave them a single goal: to collect the sights of Yuhaul. Gather memories of conversations—snippets of time. He had an idea of how to use the birds, and this was integral to regaining a way to communicate that wasn’t dependent on the person Shen was talking to being literate.

Lying back behind a crate, Shen closed his eyes and felt within himself. The burning pain of Xolo’s Well was so different. Krohnic had felt like ever-changing fractals searing his mana-body, but Xolo was a never-ending inferno. It was the sensation of illness oozing from his palms. It was the cleansing fires wiping his fever out of existence. Krohnic’s Well was one of consistency, of building a world in a time that had once and would always exist. Xolo’s Well was one of contradiction. It was both destruction and creation. It was elemental and ideological both.

Shen had to shift his thoughts to align with his new Well of power; he had to alter the way he viewed time and magic and everything in between. Otherwise, his workings would fizzle. He knew it would be so.

Deciding to start small, Shen began with a simple working. Something to bring warmth in the cold night. Something to bring light in the dark. Shen allowed his veins to warm up, to produce the heat he needed for a flame. As sparks darted from his fingertips, his body began sweating from the overwarmth his Well was searing into his memory.

Then, the wagon jostled and the working broke. The sparks faded, and the chill of night seeped back into the wagon.

Shen was all the happier for it.

With a sigh, Shen let the darkness consume him. Sleep would likely evade him, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try, anyway. He was still a week's time away from the Wistra Plains.

As he tried to relax, his mind began to whirl with thoughts. Shen was not a man fit for an elemental Well. He was a ‘concept’ man. It was what all of his previous workings had been based on—the concept of time passing, not the reality of it. Thus, he would have to focus on the other aspect of his new Well: illness. Plague.

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But how can he stretch such a destructive concept to be useful and not overly powerful? He needed finesse, not overwhelming strength—that was what Kuala was for.

Twitching his nose, Shen ran through what would benefit him most. In the end, he knew the most distasteful option would be the best fit. Shen needed to make the mind more malleable; he needed to have his new Well work with his Inheritance, not against it. Thus, the only true option was an illness of the mind, not the body.

It intrigued Shen how most who were connected to the Well of Xolo never reaffirmed their faith. Never plead for a deeper connection to the God of Fire and Plague. Without going through the communion and sacrifice, they would be forever limited in the workings they could perform. Usually, it would be a single style of working rather than the breadth of options one could receive from reconnecting to the Well as an adult. That was the reason Shen was confident he can mold the Well to his needs, after all.

Giving up his tongue was nothing compared to how he can stretch the power of the Well of Xolo. One was only limited by their imagination when it comes to a Well of power born from sacrifice.

Shen didn’t believe there was such a thing as a useless Well—though he was hard pressed to call any Well as useful as Krohnic’s.

Limbs, emotions, memories, they are all fair game in Reconnection, Shen mused to himself as he drifted off to sleep. In a way, it was fortunate Xolo took his tongue and not his ability to manipulate human nature. That Xolo took something physical rather than metaphysical was a boon greater than any other. Gods were known to casually sever limbs, steal memories, seal emotions away, or even alter the way a mind works. Power, everyone knew, was dangerous. And so was the process of receiving it. It was why so few people reconnected to a Well that they were born to.

Each of the Four had reaffirmed their dedication to Krohnic young—younger than was usually allowed. They had barely been ten years old when they were brought before their God and shown the threads of time. Krohnic had pulled at their futures, had unraveled the tapestry of their lives, had seen and shown and snipped what he wanted. Shen, Kuala, Arkim, and Olea had nearly broken apart with the force of it all.

That, Shen thought, was the moment their fates were sealed. It was the moment he saw Olea striding out of the temple, a furrow on her brow and tear-stained cheeks. Her eyes were hardly dry when Shen had called out to her. Had demanded to know what she’d seen—what had affected her so when Shen himself could hardly remember the visions Krohnic gave them.

The vicious grin that broke across Olea’s face had haunted Shen for months afterward.

But not nearly as much as what she had said.

“I saw that some things will never change.”

That was the day, Shen mused. That was the day she really decided to leave. It was the moment Contraria became a prison.

He wanted so desperately to know where she was, to know she was alive. But, like all the other times he contemplated mastering his Inheritance and sending a bird after her, fear took hold of him. His heart thundered in his chest.

What if she sees the bird and runs from it? What if, even now, she refused to be found?

Despite the cold night, sweat beaded down his back at the very thought that Olea would choose her grudge against Babel over their people. It’s a horrendous thing to think she’d sacrifice Contraria just to stay hidden. Just to dig her head in the sand and forget Babel existed.

Though, if Shen were being honest, his fear was not of the answer—because he knew the answer. He knew what Olea would choose. He knew, if she could stay hidden from the three of them, she would leave Contraria to rot.

But there is time to convince her. Time before we need to head to the grotto. Time before we must face the Doom head-on.

Shen tried to convince himself that the future was still unknown. Without Krohnic to guide fate, it could take a different path.

That was how days passed. Even as the rolling hills of Yuhaul gave way to the sandy dunes of Tayaran, Shen did not let his will slip. He did not allow himself to lighten the load on his shoulders. He did not pause his theorizing and testing of his new Well. No matter the heinous nature of a working that corrupted the mind. The insidious way such a power could destroy a person—or a people—if his workings were ever shared.

He did not pause until the Wistra Plains were on the horizon.