Chương 203: Chapter 61: The Hand That Wields You

It was then that Cassian spoke. And when he did, everyone fell silent. Even Valerian's low and persistent laughter was extinguished, stifled by the sudden stillness. Cassian the White, the Madness, the permanent advisor. His voice was not melodious like Lysareth's, nor harsh like Vaelathor's. It was clear, precise, and laden with an authority that came from a deeper place than any royal title. —Lady Marchioness —he began, bowing his head slightly toward Selena— And all the colors present.

I have two things to say, as the only advisor and resonant of the court with a permanent position. The first of them is… He raised a thin, pale finger, pointing at her. —It is about you, Emerald. —Everyone present, including the King on his throne, slightly leaned their attention in— She is, among all of us, the one who possesses the greatest innate perception of the Void. Perhaps not right now, and not in all its aspects… but she can feel my creature.

He paused, and Selena noticed, with spine-chilling clarity, an almost imperceptible tremor in the hand Cassian had resting on his knee. A minuscule tic that betrayed a monumental internal tension. —She is not a child. She is not a novice. Not only that… she was the only one who came out alive from the Dungeon of Eternal Life, being back then barely a resonant aware of the spoken echo. There where the sacrifice of Magnor the Purified, the previous Ivory color…

—His voice had no change, but he sighed noticeably— Led him to lose his life in the most horrible way, she survived. And not by luck. He let the weight of that statement, of that intimate knowledge of an event Selena believed buried, settle in the stone room. Many looked at her, though others did not, others saw her just the same. —Now, if I may be permitted —continued Cassian, regaining his flat tone— I will explain to the Marchioness what we truly do here. Without moral attachment.

Without visions skewed by hatred of the external or love for one's own. Not even with the resentful pride of a tool that believes itself to be a philosopher. —Madman, you are always too formal —intervened Elowise, the Sky Blue. Her voice was strangely soft, almost a whisper, but it possessed a quality that filled the entire space, as if echoing on a frequency that ears did not fully catch. —I have never fully trusted your judgment. A madman is free, yes… but is he conscious? What's more, after your pact…

the one that stripped you of greed and, they say, your happiest memory… are you not yourself the greatest war tool of the State? A sword that forgot why it cuts and therefore cuts with perfect and terrible efficiency. Cassian ignored her completely, as if her words were the buzzing of an insect in another room. His gaze, lucid and ruthlessly focused, never strayed from Selena. —First of all, we are a group of resonants created by Eliud Volgthar in his final years.

The first and last form of organized arcane institution in the world. Curiously, although he named and trained at least twenty resonants upon founding the kingdom, he never took an arcane name for himself. The legends, the songs, official history gave him many: the Immortal, the Blessed of Aelthra, the Divine King, the Sword and the Fire, the Healer of the World, the Mind of Reality, the Lord of All, the Slayer of the Misunderstood… among so many others.

But no one, in his time, saw his essence with the clarity with which today… you, Isabella of Solendra, have seen it. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. He made a deliberate pause, allowing Selena to feel the weight of that connection, of that lineage not of blood, but of raw perception. —Our mission —he declared, and each word was a nail hammered into the coffin of any romantic illusion— is to understand the echo, isolate it, and control it.

Because when it gets out of control… His gaze turned icy as it rested back on Selena, then he looked at the others, who lowered their heads a little, except Valerian, who smiled. —It is like what happened in Ashkharum with a resonant who mixed two paths, it can leave disasters upon the land, corrupting it in a minimal but lethal way. But when an imagined resonant like Eliud dies… he leaves a rift in the very fabric of reality. And that wound we call dungeons.

We, the resonants of the Coven, have a duty to keep that at bay. —He leaned forward a little, and the light from the stained glass fell on his face, accentuating the shadows beneath his eyes— But we do not do it for society. Not for the peasant who sows his field, nor for the merchant who sells his cloth. We do it for secrets. To recover the powerful artifacts that those rifts generate before they fall into the wrong hands. To avoid, above all, that knowledge of the truth gets out of control among the population.

So that they do not know that there are no benevolent deities protecting them, that magic is called echo and is not a divine gift but a force from another dimension, which is corrupting, fearful, and feeds on life itself. He took a breath, a dry sound from his deep inhalation. Many of the colors sighed at the White's explanation, but the man resumed his speech. —That is why we also seek ancient information that mentions it. We erase it. We control it. And we murder.

—He said the word without inflection, like someone saying "we water" or "we prune"— Anyone we consider a danger to that secret, whether through knowledge or through power. Finally, he set his eyes on Selena with an intensity that was almost physical, a transfer of responsibility and guilt. —We are all of that, Emerald. Guardians, jailers, murderers, thieves of truths, and archivists of horrors. Whether you accept it or not, from this moment on you are part of that. Your green robe is not a mantle of honor.

It is the cloth with which an instrument is wrapped, and the kingdom, in its deepest darkness, is the hand that wields you. Zofriel, the man of dark skin and eyes burning like desert embers, took the floor. His voice was less deep than the average tone of the men, but it possessed a resonant and warm quality. —Cassian is right in what we are, Isabella the Emerald —he said, nodding with a calm that contrasted with the fire in his gaze— But the how and the where… that varies.

Each of us has our own means, our unique connections, our theater of operations. He made a wide gesture, his fingers pointing at each one, encompassing the entire circle. —With the exception of Valerian and Isolde, of course. They, although they are masters and older members of the Coven, after the Monarch, control information from within. The university, the apprentices, the flow of new resonants… it is a completely different territory from ours.

—His gaze swept across the others, one by one— My influence is on the northern border, with Khelganor. Vaelathor operates in southern Sandstrohm. Together with Olyndra in Veridia and Bravonir in Theosyra, we are… those of the borders. Those who deal with what seeps through, what seethes beyond the walls of the kingdom. The rest… He pointed with his chin at Lysareth, Galdreic, Thromaric, Elowise, Alessandra.

—They take care of other parts: forbidden libraries, theft or espionage organizations that have already detected anomalies, or… —His gaze rested on Galdreic, the Gleaming— They are custodians of cursed dungeons that have not been able to be purged. After all, not all are controlled by stable structures, like the one Eliud created for the Dungeon of Eternal Life. He sighed, a heavy sound with the dust of distant roads. —In short, we are that. A network of contained anomalies, which in turn contains other anomalies.

And by the way… —he added, looking back at Cassian— I believe our white advisor has not yet told you a fundamental part of your new status, Initiate. —That is true —nodded Cassian, unfazed by the interruption— An Initiate has the right to be a member of the Coven, to know its secrets. But she holds no executive power nor command responsibilities. Only when you reach the rank of Expert Arcane Resonant will you be able to form your own subsidiary organization, your network of influence. Until then…

you are useful, but without direct influence in the world. You are a sheathed weapon, which will only be unsheathed for missions that the Coven deems necessary.