Chương 206: Chapter 280 - Renewal

Mirian stood for a time, rehearsing the words the Unmoored had told her. She summoned her spellbook and wrote down several notes about the encounter, then let her fingers brush against the crystal window. Gradually, she let her fingers move to the device with the temporal anchors. Fifty slots, she counted. Most were empty. Several were occupied, which meant, if she understood the Unmoored correctly, someone in some timeline had died within a few months of their loop's start.

Perhaps a Prophet scouring the Labyrinth for a Vault. She reached out to touch one of the anchors, but then she was back where she was a half a second ago, finger still too far too touch. She tried again, and time distorted again. Protected by causality, she remembered the Unmoored saying. She still had so many questions. But that was the nature of things, wasn't it? Some questions would have to remain unanswered. She yearned to understand the truths of the universe, but she desired agency over fate far more.

She traced her fingers across the walls. The texture felt electric. Intricate beyond belief, she thought. She spent a few more hours studying the room, studying the anchor device, and studying the strange arcane sphere in the center of the moon. She mulled over theories of different forces and fields, trying to understand, at least conceptually, how such sustained energy was possible. After a time, she wandered the halls again, marveling at the great machinery of the Gods. At last, she returned to the surface.

Exhaustion settled into her bones. Perhaps it was the air becoming stale. Perhaps it was her lack of sleep. Perhaps it was the depletion of her aura. She thought of her anchor, soon to be resting safely in the depths of Luamin. Then she had a realization. The Unmoored said temporal anchors of one of the other Prophets in this era would be manipulable. That includes Scebur. When Jherica was incapacitated by curses, they died within a few days due to dehydration and organ failure.

None of the temporal anchors that returned are manipulatable. That was troubling. Either Scebur had escaped his curse and hid—possible, but unlikely—or someone was lying. She sighed. Perhaps she couldn't blame the Prophet responsible. She hadn't exactly been forthcoming either. Should she be surprised someone else had lied? She would have to come to peace with imperfect trust. There would always be a threat, a lie, a mystery, an incomplete understanding.

All she could do was strive to create the best future she could. Still, perhaps it was finally time to share some truths she'd kept hidden. One step at a time, time and time again. As she sat in front of the mountain-sized structure on Luamin, looking out at the circle of Enteria, she began to consider her long term plans. Then, just before sleep took her, she closed her eyes and tapped her temporal anchor.

She found Ibrahim the next cycle in Rambalda, shortly after she'd linked the Gates. He was in a meeting with several men and women, marking areas on a map, but when he saw Mirian, he instantly dismissed them.

"If you're here about the logistics holdups, you already know the problem I'm running into. It's very easy to get Rambalda to fight Baracuel. Getting them to support Baracuel is not so easy. I'm experimenting with faster permutations of events." Mirian shook her head.

"It's not that," she said, and pulled out a gray focus and placed it on the table. It was set in an orichalcum bracer, the kind he liked to wear. Ibrahim gave it a skeptical glance.

"I have one already," he said, gesturing to his own jeweled bracer.

"You saw the eight celestial bindings on Divir. If you don't know the ninth one, I can teach it to you. That focus has been prepared with relicarium. Bind it to you, and it will travel with your soul when you reset." Ibrahim stared at the focus. A little piece of a God, just sitting there on the table. Mirian watched his face. First, there was the realization of what that meant. He was too far from any celestial focus to save his wife at the start of the cycle. Now, he could. Next was the anger.

He met her eyes briefly and she saw it burning there. He was a smart man, and he'd seen the other Prophets reacting to the bindings scrawled on the Mausoleum's walls. He understood they'd been hiding this from him. Mirian included. Then, he looked away, and the anger turned inward. Mirian saw that in the way the surface-currents of his soul twisted. He was a fool. If the others had found this, he could have too. His own rigidity and confidence had undermined him. He'd let himself be deceived.

Despair and regret followed, the rapids of a great river after storm, washing away all other emotions, carving through the banks that tried to contain it. All this time, he must have been thinking. All this time, I could have been with her. His wife. His other half. His love. Her death at the start of the cycles had twisted him into a creature of sorrow-fueled rage, and he'd spilled blood relentlessly for years. He'd screamed defiance at the Ominian Themself. And then—joy.

Mixed with grief, mixed with regret, but there—the new sun peeking through the fading storm. He was a stoic man, but even the hardest armor could be crushed. Ibrahim took the focus in his hand, arm trembling, and then fell to his knees and wept.

"Thank you," he whispered. Mirian put her hand on his shoulder and let her own tears flow too.

"I should have… I should have done it sooner. I was too caught up in my own fears. The fear of betrayal. The fear of my power being taken from me. I'm sorry." For a time, they stayed like that. Ibrahim's body was wracked with tremors, his face soaked with tears. Finally he stood and faced Mirian. His eyes shone, both with tears and the power of the soul behind them.

"I… will try to find it in myself. I will… I will try to forgive you. Not yet. Not yet." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

"But thank you." That night, he finished binding the focus, beneath the watchful gaze of the Luamin moon.

When she made it back to Torrviol, she spent some time wandering the streets. A deep melancholy filled her as her fingers brushed the old walls of buildings, as her eyes swept up and down the familiar streets. Here, she'd ambushed an Akanan squad before moving to the underground. There, she'd tracked one of the spies back through his route. There, she'd walked to the grove with Song Jei and taken her first steps into true mastery of the arcane. It had been a simpler time then.

She'd focused on what she could control. One battle. One town. Her little sanctuary in a world that was spiraling into madness. Focus on what you can control, she told herself. She had time. She had her plan. She would see it through. Each of the Prophets had seen terrible things. Step by step, they would synchronize. Ibrahim's rage would cool. Liuan's scheming would calm. Gabriel's skepticism could be tempered. Xecatl's paranoia could be assuaged.

"Mirian?" The fog of her thoughts parted, and she turned to see a shorter woman standing there in the street, staring at her. The look of fear she had didn't suit her. She usually looked so haughty. Mirian blinked, trying to place her.

"I know your face," she whispered.

"I knew your name. Funny, it's been so long. There's… so much to remember now. It slips away like the wind, some days." If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. The young woman started trembling.

"So it's… it's true. But you… you don't remember me?" Mirian had a faint recollection, but it was all jumbled together with arcane formulae, runic patterns, family names, and endless trivia about logistics. The woman fled. Mirian stood there, sorting through people and places. Yes, there it was… that girl had been passionate about fighting in the battle of Torrviol. She'd helped out with the spies at one point. She had poor emotional intelligence.

"Valen," she finally said. She thought of Grandpa Irabi. Awe and fear can only do so much. But if they are to love me, they must see that I know them. She could whittle away at some of the logistics issues this cycle. Tweak some variables. See what effect small actions could have. But this cycle, she needed to focus on something else.

In a little apartment overlooking Torrviol Lake, Mirian sat with a small group of former classmates and one knight. Nicolus's place with seven people was quite cramped, but the heat engine was on and the room was vibrant with conversation as winter snows drifted down outside. Mirian had just finished telling them of some of her adventures, and everyone was both digesting that and Nurea's excellent cooking.

Nicolus sat back in his chair picking at his teeth while a disapproving Nurea stood by despite Mirian's cajoling that she should sit.

"I should have made her wear a fancy dress," he said with a sigh. Nurea snorted and shook her head.

"Impossible to teach that boy etiquette."

"The dinner was fantastic," said Lily, politely nodding at Nurea. She still looked nervous every time she looked at Mirian, but she was starting to calm. Valen kept glaring at Selesia. Selesia kept ignoring her. Xipuatl was scratching his head.

"I still can't… I mean… you're actually developing a unified theory of magic," he said.

"And you talked to Ceiba Yan and Empress Xecatl. And… disguised yourself as a man for, like, multiple months. Wasn't that… weird?" Nicolus waggled his eyebrows.

"Funny that last one stuck in your brain, and not, say, killing a myrvite titan." To Mirian he said, "He wants to see it."

"I do n—holy boughs," he swore in Tlaxa. Mirian could shift faster than Professor Marva by now. Xipuatl blushed, and Nicolus burst out laughing. Valen's jaw dropped, but she quickly closed it when she noticed Selesia had joined Nicolus in laughing, but at her. Mirian smiled and shifted back. It was strange returning to that old world of banter and drama. There was a strange nostalgia to it.

Later in the evening, Nicolus convinced Selesia and Xipuatl to try some of his smuggled alcohol, waving about one of Nurea's alchemical hangover cures as a guarantee. Lily hadn't needed any convincing, while Valen didn't partake. However, alcohol wasn't at all necessary for Valen to go wild, and she finally had warmed up to Selesia. Put together, Lily and Valen were an entire rumor mill, and Nicolus was enjoying the endless gossip they were spinning.

They were all happily chatting—or perhaps arguing, it was hard to tell—and Mirian took a moment to leave them to go lean against the snow-covered balcony with Nurea. The knight's jaw had been clenched most of the night while Mirian told her tale. Nicolus wasn't bothered in the slightest by all the times he'd died. Nurea was. Mirian let out a long breath, then used a bit of magic to shape the vapor cloud into a tree.

"You're worried about him. Every time," she said.

"I suppose I must be as transparent as glass to you," Nurea said bitterly.

"When this first started, I understood Nicolus's perspective. It was closest to my own. Now, I understand yours." Nurea was silent. The soft snowfall had muffled most of the sounds in Torrviol, so the night was quiet, aside from the laughter and banter coming from inside. They could hear the occasional cry of a cockatrice coming from the Myrvite Studies Building. Finally, she said, "It's easy to forget, looking at you, that you're older than I am now. They have a hard time seeing it too." Mirian nodded.

"When this all began, I made a promise. To you and to Nicolus. I'll still do my best to keep it." She put a gentle hand on Nurea's arm. Nurea's breath caught, and Mirian could sense her soul churning underneath.

"I… I don't like being powerless."

"I know," Mirian said softly.

"But focus on what you can control." She closed her eyes and nodded. Snowflakes continued to drift down across Torrviol. Mirian knew the exact hour they'd stop, but for a while, she pretended like she didn't, and this blanket of beautiful white might last forever.

Mirian had dinner with her cadre of professors the next night. The night after that, another group of students. One afternoon she found Daith, her old partner from the first Combat Magic classes she'd taken, and talked with him about his sister, the one who'd gotten herself stuck in the Pure Blade and, without intervention, would help assassinate the Lord Governor of Palendurio and burn down the Akanan Embassy. He was a surprisingly mature young man, she realized.

They talked about the financial circumstances that had trapped his sister into the decision. They talked about the Pure Blade's effect on politics in Palendurio.

"I… I think she must have thought she had more time. She was just going to be part of them for a bit, then move on to something else, you know? She's… she's not a bad person," Daith said. He kept alternating between staring off into the distance and looking at the wand on his belt. The wands his sister made, she remembered. When she cut apart the Pure Blade, she cut apart Betella too. How many of them are cruel, and how many trapped by circumstance? she considered.

At the end of their conversation, Daith said, "Wait! Uh… I overheard… there's a rumor going around that you're an archmage now. Uh… myr ratings are… I've always found them interesting. How high is yours now? If you don't mind me asking." Mirian just gave a gentle laugh.

As a favor to Lily, Mirian made a quick trip to Frostland's Gate. A simple letter delivered at the start of the cycle could save Beatrice and her research team from their gristly fate in the Labyrinth, but getting them to come to Torrviol would take more direct intervention. The last time she'd visited was to pick up a few Elder relics from the Vault for Equinox, but she'd skipped dealing with the group.

When she landed in Frostland's Gate, she found the research group in the inn they usually met at, arguing over notes. Beatrice stared at her as soon as she entered.

"I don't… Mirian?"

"Hello Beatrice. And hello—" Mirian held up a finger.

"Hold on. Don't tell me. There's a lot of things crammed in my memory. C-something and Grim. No—Grimald! And… dammit, I know you study myrvite biology at Great Cairn Academy and are part of the Westfellow Syndicate, but the name isn't coming."

"Cediri," Cediri said, suddenly grimacing.

"You're part of a syndicate!?" Beatrice exclaimed.

"Did I not send that in this letter? Oh well. Anyways, how's Frostland's Gate? Has the myrvite stampede happened yet or does that happen later? It is the 19th, right?" Beatrice gave her a strange look.

"The letter said… uh… yes. That's in two days. Did you not send…?"

"Listen, I've sent that letter dozens of times across the years. I can't be expected to remember exactly what I wrote each time." The door burst open as two guards entered. One of them saw her and immediately started pointing.

"You! You better have a permit for that levitation spell. Otherwise—!" It took a few minutes for Mirian to settle them down. Eclipse was quite the effective permit. By then the whole inn was staring at them, so she asked if they wanted to join the conversation and started levitating tables together. Offering to buy food and drinks for everyone lightened the mood considerably. A few stories later, and the conversation had spread out and people seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Gods, I really forgot how to navigate this place, she realized. But there's a bunch of highly qualified arcanists here. And we need to evacuate them all anyways. The myrvite stampede that happened in the month of Solem was only the first of many. By the fifth month of the loop, the town would be completely overrun as greater myrvites like ice carnipedes pushed south. Mirian kept most of her stories confined to what she'd done in the village.

When she was describing some of the past exploits, one of the artificers said, "Wait… um, Sacred One? Wow, feels a bit weird to call someone that. There's an issue we've been having, and something you said made me wonder if you knew anything about it. There's an experimental spell engine we've been working on. But the strangest thing happened at the start of the month. There's a titanium alloy we're using for the lower Senfar Conversion Relay… but it went missing. Just… gone. No sign of tampering.

Thieves, we thought, but there're not really thieves in Frostland's Gate. Uh… you mentioned in your story we helped you with some project. But…?" The man didn't seem to know how to finish the question. Cediri chimed in.

"Wait—I had something go missing too! A stash of mantic sacs and an ice wyrm skull. Just vanished!" Mirian bit her lip.

"Ah. Right. Yes, I'm afraid that was me. Apologies." She'd used those things to make her first soulbound focus. That got her thinking, though. The spell engine those artificers were working on would never work. Cediri would never get back his stash of illicit myrvite parts. That gave her an idea for another way she could use relicarium… a way that might fix an entirely different set of problems she was having.

She chatted a bit longer, then also gave everyone a rundown on how to deal with the myrvite stampede and by what day they would need to evacuate the village. Then, after she'd paid for the meal, she said, "Would anyone like a lift back to Torrviol with me and Beatrice?" So it was that she ended up levitating ten people along with her. Beatrice swore loudly when she first lifted them all up, but after the initial shock, most of them were enjoying the view.

After all, the Littenords, covered in pristine white, were beautiful this time of year. As she flew, listening to the gasps and excited shouts, her mind was still working on her grand plan. She had a few new ideas for that.