Welcome to [i]Anathema[/i], an [i]A Mage Reborn[/i] side story!

Content warning for gore (severed body parts, to be precise). It will be described briefly in a passage close to the side story's start.

Would you like to censor this section?
*choice
    #Yes
        *set censor true
        The passage will be censored. Thank you, and please enjoy the story!
    #No
        The passage will not be censored. Thank you, and please enjoy the story!

*page_break
Shadows move across Arvanand, deadly-silent as they unfurl and plunge deep into the soil of nations. Like dusk falling over distant mountains, it looms and grows and creeps ever forward, an engulfing black sky bereaved of its stars. All across the land, the lord and the farmer alike feel its shockwaves roiling underfoot, watch as the world they know shift slowly but surely out of its axis.

In the kingdom of knights, a nobleman shivers as he receives news of his brother-in-law's passing. The former earl was a lifelong knight, wielded a blade better at sixty-five than most soldiers in the king's employ. And yet he is found dead in his own training grounds, silver armor donned and grip still tight around his blade—a puncture in his heart the only mark his murderer left behind.

(Another border lord found dead. How long until he is next?)

In the city of merchants, there is a disruption in the flow of trade, like ripples across still water. Rare herbs and magicked minerals, purchased at record prices and smuggled out in the dead of night—never again to see the light of day. Merchant-princes and trade guilds alike pour their resources without measure in search of the phantom buyer, and always to no avail.

(Who wields the wealth of kings, and slips away like a gutter thief?)

In the Grand Duke's domain, the honored nobles are plunged into a whirlwind of hearsay and scandal. Even the most informed, the spymasters and the lords, have nothing to say of the specter that hangs over their court—they know not the hand which has sealed their doom, or to whom their venom should be leveled. The most they ever perceive is the aftermath: their plans laid bare and torn askew, like tattered sails in an unforgiving storm—cruel and methodical, in a way that can only be intentional.

(But when the whole of the Duchy has been thrown into chaos, who is it that stands to benefit?)

*page_break

Only the enlightened so much as thinks of the spires of Isha's Seat, glimmering like pearls even in supposed disrepair. A realm of ancient magic and pillaged knowledge, with hidden secrets as black as its grudge. Those who survived encounters with its envoys number few and far between—and what they know, they never speak of, for fear of the violent repercussions.

(But it haunts their dreams still, the triad of masked mages who held their lives within their palms. What human should have the power of gods at their behest? Who is there to blame for provoking their wrath?)

A mage with hair spun from raging flames, upon whose orders tempests erupt.

A purveyor of life and death, who wields blade and strange healing both with equal mastery.

And perhaps most terrifying of all: tamer of the demon snake, whose speartip glints like the flash of dawn before the night sky falls upon their foes.

What name do their allies whisper, when their guard is lowered and the masks cast aside?

*choice
     #Falco
        *set gfalco "male"
        *set fhe "he"
        *set fhim "him"
        *set fhis "his"
        *set ftheirs "his"
        *set fhes "he's"
        *set fvar 1
        *set falco "Falco"
        *goto falcocross
     #Flyss
        A/N. Due to stylistic choices made for this side story, selecting she/her pronouns for Flyss will result in some potentially confusing paragraphs (courtesy of the heavy involvement of another character using the same set of pronouns). Would you like to use they/them pronouns for Flyss instead?
        *choice
            #Yes, use they/them pronouns.
                *set gfalco "female"
                *set fhe "they"
                *set fhim "them"
                *set fhis "their"
                *set ftheirs "theirs"
                *set fhes "they're"
                *set fvar 2
                *set falco "Flyss"
                They/them pronouns will be used for Flyss.
                *page_break
                *goto falcocross
            #No, use she/her pronouns.
                *set gfalco "female"
                *set fhe "she"
                *set fhim "her"
                *set fhis "her"
                *set ftheirs "hers"
                *set fhes "she's"
                *set fvar 2
                *set falco "Flyss"
                She/her pronouns will be used for Flyss.
                *goto falcocross

*label falcocross
The world crescendoes to its climax, poised for a transformation fit to shake the doors of heaven.

But before the execution pyre flickered to life, before the king is slaughtered and his subjects scattered to the four winds, a lone @{fvar boy|girl} sat still, chained to ${fhis} holding cell. Recesses of ${fhis} pilfered mana clung onto cobwebs and cobblestones, ${fhis} arms bleeding and limp at ${fhis} side. Still ${fhis} eyes carried the glint of an inexhaustible fire, a fierceness promising of vengeance yet to be exacted.

This is ${fhis} story.
*page_break
"You look pathetic."

The woman's steps echo through the dungeon as she saunters forward, languid and deliberate. The @{fvar boy|girl} watches her with open disdain, the sting of her insult prickling against ${fhis} wounded pride. A smile blooms across the woman's face as ${fhe} snarls, ${fhis} bindings tightening and screaming in protest as ${fhe} rebels against them.

$!{fhe} could break through them, had ${fhe} not been beaten and starved. As it stands, it serves little function beyond mere posture—a defanged wolf baring the last of its teeth.

"You still have some fight in you, at least," she drawls, the red of her eyes gleaming with wicked interest. "Not a bad trait. We may find a use for you yet."

"Get away from me," the @{fvar boy|girl} hisses, the last of ${fhis} mana leaping in arcs around ${fhim}. "Filthy [i]ercei[/i]—you will never break me. Never. I'd sooner die on my feet than on my knees."

The woman answers ${fhim} with a laugh, high and hollow. "[i]Ercei?[/i] Me? I've never felt so insulted in my life."

A burst of pitch-black mana erupts from her fingertips, then, and the @{fvar boy|girl} watches slack-jawed as a cavity forms in the fabric of space itself. Ancient magic, [i]arcana[/i]—the kind they had been trying to invoke in ${fhim}.

An Arcadian, then. But why would she consort with—?

The woman huffs a sigh at ${fhis} confusion, lightly amused, and lets the rift expand. The @{fvar boy|girl} feels the weight of its power hang in the air around ${fhim}, wicked and cold, until it tears itself open and empties its contents onto the dungeon floor.

*if (censor)
    A corpse, stiff as frostbite, its visage twisted in abject horror. $!{fhe} recoils at the sight and feels ${fhis} back slam against the wall.
*else
    A finger, a limb, a severed head. A visage frozen in abject horror—${fhe} recoils at the sight and feels ${fhis} back slam against the wall.
    
"What have you—?"
    
"Scared of a little [i]ercei[/i] blood? You're all talk, it seems."

The woman steps over the corpse, and the @{fvar boy|girl} sinks back into the wall, flinching when ${fhe} hears the sound of heels digging into flesh. "I killed your captors for you," she giggles as she leans down, tapping her fingers lightly against the @{fvar boy|girl}'s jaw. "Shouldn't you show a little gratitude?"
    
The younger whips ${fhis} head around then, searching the woman's face for signs of deceit. "That was—? Then you're not one of their—"
    
"No, I'm not with this rabble," she laughs, whipping strands of black hair over her shoulder. "I've been saddled with the task of raiding this cesspool, to question these fools on their masters—though they remained stubbornly tight-lipped, right up until the end. But you," she says, trailing her fingers across the @{fvar boy|girl}'s lips, "You happen to be a prize worth the hassle."

"What will you do with me?" ${fhe} asks, low and horrified. $!{fhis} former wardens may have been cruel in their methods, but they at least had the grace to look ashamed as they set the runes ablaze. If ${fhe} is to be at the mercy of this—this [i]witch[/i]—who knows what lengths she will go to, to awaken ${fhis} dormant powers?

The woman grunts in response. "Come now, there's no need for such…apprehension. Nowhere I take you could be worse than this unimaginative torture chamber, could it?"

"You didn't answer the question."

The woman smiles at the protest, as if in approval. "Arcadia," she says at length, and the @{fvar boy|girl} feels ${fhis} eyes widen of their own accord. "What remains of it, anyway. You'll be allowed to nurture your talents there, serve a grand cause that will see the oppression of our kind erased."

"You're mad. Arcadia is long gone."

"Come with me, then, and see for yourself," she says airily. "It does me no benefits to lie about this. You would be more useful to me as an associate, rather than a prisoner. Why, we could even be @{fvar siblings|sisters}, you and I!"

The @{fvar boy|girl} bites down upon ${fhis} lip, making no effort to hide ${fhis} contemptuous grimace. @{fvar [i]Siblings[/i]|[i]Sisters[/i]}, with this witch?

She takes note of ${fhis} expression and laughs. "Or we could be tense allies who hate one another, if you'd like," she muses. "But I think you'll find our goals quite agreeable all the same."

The @{fvar boy|girl} holds the pair of blood-red eyes with ${fhis} own. "Say your Arcadia is real, and I agree to help you out," ${fhe} says. "What's in it for me?"

"Freedom," she replies easily, her smile a gleaming knife-slit in the dungeon's low light. She weaves a spell circle with mana the color of dusk, lets it spiral into runes and lay down upon ${fhis} bindings. The @{fvar boy|girl} watches them melt away like spring snow, apprehensive and—riveted.

"Freedom," she repeats, her hand held out to ${fhim}, a siren call to a world unknown. "Vengeance."

$!{fhe} takes it.
*page_break
You've seen one arcana ritual, you've seen them all.

[i]Nothing changes but the setting[/i], ${fhe} thinks scornfully, feeling a fresh wave of pain rippling through ${fhis} body. Arcadia had been a true marvel, at first sight—an island in the sky, affixed there by lost magic and the sheer willpower of a people oppressed. Naively, ${fhe} had allowed ${fhim}self to hope that things would be different here, that ${fhis} luck would change for the better.

What a fool ${fhe} turned out to be.

The priestess stands her ground in front of ${fhim}, the sky-blue of her mana circling around ${fhim} like wolves. They carve runes onto the stone floor, gleaming bright in the darkened room, and with each pulse the @{fvar boy|girl} feels ${fhis} consciousness waning.

"Hold strong," ${fhis} rescuer says, black hair whipping back from the force of the priestess's mana. "You can get through this."

$!{fhe} almost scoffs at the encouragement, but there is heat in ${fhis} lungs and tears and ${fhis} eyes and it is all ${fhe} could do to keep ${fhim}self lucid. $!{fhe} would have taken those words as condescension, were the circumstances different. As it stands, it is they are the only thing keeping ${fhim} afloat, and so ${fhe} hangs onto it like a lifeline.

"It's almost over. Breathe."

Just as the words leave her mouth, the @{fvar boy|girl} feels the skin of ${fhis} back roil and sear. Pain shoots up ${fhis} spine and spreads through ${fhis} whole body. $!{fhe} feels something pierce through ${fhis} back, then, warm flesh, cold scales, mana ${fhe} could not contain—and screams a scream not even ${fhe} could hear.

*page_break

$!{fhe} winds up calling her [i]raeger[/i], in the end.

$!{fhe} is told that it's the Arcadian word for [i]mentor[/i]—and for all that ${fhe} has ${fhis} misgivings about the raven-haired arcanist, ${fhe} cannot deny that she deserves the title.

The @{fvar boy|girl} wasn't sure what to expect when ${fhe} had made the first contact with Raegusa, ${fhis} phantasma. $!{fhe} recalls being relieved that the World-Eater had been agreeable—courteous, even—but the fact remains that ${fhe} is a novice mage with scarcely any experience handling anything more than the odd Boomerang Gale. To wield the power of gods is a monumental task, and the burden it places on ${fhis} body feels as heavy as the executioner's blade.

The ordeal continues still, but it is a wonder that ${fhe} had even gotten this far.

It had been ${fhis} rescuer who guided ${fhim} out of those first, dark days. She cajoled and scolded in turns, the carrot and the stick seamlessly exchanged—and she had done it so effectively that the @{fvar boy|girl} finds ${fhim}self convinced that ${fhe} is far from her first pupil.

Kindness and strength in equal measure. The @{fvar boy|girl} sees this essence reflected in her now, in this woman standing before ${fhim}. Arms crossed in front of her chest, her feet planted solidly on the ground.

"Raegusa's powers are at their limits. Hang on just a little longer," the black-haired mage urges, her stance impossibly firm despite the waves of violent mana radiating from the @{fvar boy|girl}'s body. "Remember what you're fighting for."

[i]Freedom[/i], she had said that day, and for all that the word had been sweetly offered, ${fhe} can still clearly recall the iron underneath. Confection atop the dagger. [i]Vengeance.[/i]

$!{fhe} feels a mana duct rupture, the breath stolen from his lungs. $!{fhe} holds on.

*page_break

"You're a fast learner. I'm pleased."

"There's no need for flattery, [i]raeger[/i]. I know I've still got a long way to go."

"Ever the cynic. You're quite boring, you know."

"Is there a point to this conversation?"

"Perhaps. I just think you're ready for it."

"What?"

"Your jailors—I've found out who they worked for."

"…I see. Then I'll go—"

"[i]We[/i] will go. I'm the only one who can, you see—the [i]ashai[/i] has no space for entertaining our little vendettas in her grand design, and so you won't be able to count on backup from Arcadia. Luckily for you, I never did like her rules very much."

A pause as ${fhe} considers the woman's words. "But she knows where we are at all times, doesn't she? How would we get past her?"

A smile, a flick of the hand, and a rift appears beside the woman. "Watch and learn."

*page_break

It takes no time at all for the whole effort to go south.

It had been ${fhis} fault, in the end, because of course it was. Despite all the training ${fhe}'s been given, the hours of work ${fhis} [i]raeger[/i] put in to fine-tune ${fhis} powers and perfect ${fhis} strength, ${fhe} still manages to screw it up.

Adding salt to the wound is the fact that ${fhis} opponents are fighters far below ${fhis} power level, foes ${fhe} should have been able to squash without so much as batting an eye. But their meager talents are offset by polish and professionalism—they move with the gait of trained assassins, watch ${fhis} form with eagle eyes for the slightest gaffe they can exploit.

They find it. For all that ${fhe} had wielded Raegusa's powers seamlessly in the training grounds, beaten nearly every fighter in Nightsaber with just two weeks of training under ${fhis} belt—nothing could have prepared ${fhim} for the real thing. The groan of skulls under ${fhis} serpent's fangs, the heady scent of blood in the air—all ${fhis} senses are on overload, and bile is quickly rising at the back of ${fhis} throat.

$!{fhis} opponents spot ${fhis} moment of weakness—a hesitant step, ${fhis} serpent rearing backwards rather than leaping for the kill—and they pounce. A storm of knives and searing thaum, digging into ${fhis} flesh, ${fhis} body thrown around the room like a ragdoll. $!{fhe} is certain ${fhe} has met ${fhis} end then, stares up at ${fhis} killer with wan horror as she brings her knife down.

She never gets the chance. A rift opens in space that swallows her whole—one of many, the @{fvar boy|girl} registers as ${fhe} looks about the room. The portals groan and creak like unstable stools, the pitch-black mana surrounding them trembling, yarnstrings at the edge of breaking. Still ${fhis} [i]raeger's[/i] spells rage on, swallowing her enemies whole even as her mana screeches in protest. Ten portals altogether in the room, and together they burst out of existence like a bubble popping.

The woman sinks to the floor, pale as death. The @{fvar boy|girl} is running towards her before ${fhe} could register the act, arms reached out to cradle her form, apologies already at the tip of ${fhis} tongue.

"Don't apologize," the black-haired mage preempts with a laugh. "This is nothing you should be concerned about."

"You're mad. This is [i]mana exhaustion, raeger[/i]. We have to get you out of here."

"I've survived worse," she counters, and privately the @{fvar boy|girl} wonders at the stability of her voice, the confidence with which she's making her lofty claim. "Besides, we haven't even gotten to the main event yet. "

She pushes herself up, then, ignoring the @{fvar boy|girl} startled protests, and walks with trembling steps to the other side of the room. A man is lying there, sprawled out and face-down on the floor, and as she drags him up by the collar his features twist into an expression of horror.

"Get up. Your little bodyguards are all gone now—you'll have to answer to my friend here, for what you've done to ${fhim}," she says, her eyes gleaming with wicked glee. She turns to face the @{fvar boy|girl}, presenting the man to ${fhim} like a gift. "Well then, ${falco}. Will you do the honors?"

"Please," the man manages, his voice barely a whisper. "S-spare me."

The @{fvar boy|girl} thrusts ${fhis} spear forward, almost merciful in ${fhis} precision. $!{fhis} adversary—[i]victim[/i]—lets out one last groan as the iron tip pierces ${fhis} heart, and then his body falls into perfect stillness.

The woman lets him fall out of her grip, dusts her hands together in a show of false bravado. $!{fhe} notes the slack in her stance, the way her eyes are drooping from exhaustion. Still that lopsided smile, always so self-assured—never a moment of weakness shown, even when she has every right to show it.

"Well then. I guess it's time for us to go back, hm? I hope you've had your fill."

$!{fhe} nods in affirmation, unsure if the woman will pick up on ${fhis} utter lack of conviction. Vengeance was all ${fhe} had to look forward to—so why is it that it leaves a taste bitter rather than sweet?
*page_break

"—it is a shame, but it's nothing I can't fix given enough time."

The [i]ashai[/i] turns her back on the woman, opting instead to gaze out of her office window. She cuts an impressive figure against the daylight, elegant and imposing, even through the crack in the door from where the @{fvar boy|girl} is watching.

It feels ridiculous, to listen in on the conversation when the [i]ashai[/i] must be perfectly aware of ${fhis} presence. What is it that had summoned ${fhim} here? Guilt? Curiosity?

These days, ${fhe} can scarcely tell apart ${fhis} feelings anymore. The only thing ${fhe} can be certain of is the sneer the [i]ashai[/i] has thrown in ${fhis} direction—and ${fhe} hears the admonishment as clearly as if it had been put to words.

[i]Look what your vengeance has wrought. My best asset, now barely able to fight.[/i]

$!{fhe} feels like ${fhe} could wither under the accusation's weight, but shamelessly, stubbornly, ${fhe} still presses ${fhis} ear against the door.

"Desert the Sienan plan, Mireil," the [i]ashai[/i] says at last, imperious. "The risks have always been high with that gambit of yours, but with your abilities compromised, your demise would be all but certain. Besides, there are better methods we can employ to achieve the same end. It would be best for you to curb your…enthusiasm."

"As you wish, [i]ashai[/i]," the woman replies sweetly. The @{fvar boy|girl} is no mind reader, not in the way the priestess is—and even ${fhe} can hear the falsehood in her tone.

For her part, the priestess has naught to offer but a weary sigh. "I suppose there's nothing I can do to persuade you otherwise?"

"You know how long I've worked on this plan."

"A fallacious way of thinking, to place value on sacrifices already made," she chides, through palpable resignation. "Do as you wish, Mireil. You may go."

The black-haired mage curtsies low at the dismissal and makes for the door. The @{fvar boy|girl} is already on the other side of the hall before she fully turns around, ${fhis} steps quick and quiet as ${fhe} escapes, ${fhis} heart still thundering in ${fhis} chest.

*page_break

The @{fvar boy|girl} goes to meet ${fhis} mentor, on the day of her departure. The Seat's spires stand tall and imposing against the light of the setting sun, and it is all the @{fvar boy|girl} could do to stare at the crooked shadows they cast on the ground.

$!{fhe} still can't shake the feeling that for all her confidence, ${fhis} mentor is marching to her death.

And it will have been ${fhis} fault.

"You really shouldn't go, you know," ${fhe} tries. "There's no reason for you to take such a big risk."

"What's this? Suddenly lost your faith in me, have you?" The woman laughs, high and hollow—still the same as when ${fhe} had heard it that first day. "You've seen my capabilities for yourself, haven't you, [i]raeji[/i]? It will be no issue for me to handle—"

"I know your mana ducts are compromised," ${fhe} blurts out, not looking at ${fhis} mentor's face. "This is a suicide mission you're embarking on, and you know it."

The woman narrows her eyes, looks at ${fhim} with genuine ire. "You little eavesdropper."

"I hadn't meant to—it doesn't matter anyway," ${fhe} says, trembling with frustration. "You'll achieve nothing going to Sienan like this. Just do as the [i]ashai[/i] told you. [i]Stay.[/i]"

The woman's lips quirk up—one part amusement, one part chagrin. "I will not. This plan has been years in the making, and I've prepared for every possible eventuality. My…condition is little more than a bump in the road."

[i]Just as my screw-up was[/i], the @{fvar boy|girl} thinks lucidly. [i]And look where it landed you.[/i]

"None of this concerns you, anyway," she finishes, flat and impartial, though the @{fvar boy|girl} feels the sting of the words all the more for it. "I won't entertain anything further on this, [i]raeji[/i]. My mind is made up."

"Why? Why would you throw your life away like this, when you could—"

"You should know better than anyone else," she says, cutting him off. Her voice is low and gentle, despite it all—the curve of her smile almost melancholic.

*page_break "We are kindred spirits, after all."

$!{fhe} had suspected as much, though it is of no comfort for ${fhim} to hear. $!{fhis} [i]raeger[/i] always spoke of vengeance like an old friend, something she carried with her every night to bed. $!{fhe} had seen its presence in the turns of her phrase, the curve of her sneer as ${fhe} brought ${fhis} captors to justice.

She is not a sentimental woman, though the @{fvar boy|girl} had allowed ${fhim}self to believe ${fhe} was the exception. Because what value would she see in a mage still wet behind the ears, when she is strong enough to bring an army to its knees? Why risk life and limb for ${fhim}, when letting ${fhim} die would have left her none the worse?

The answer is clear as the night is dark, though it still pains ${fhim} to acknowledge. $!{fhis} mentor yearned for vengeance the way the night yearned for the sun—and what kindness the woman had offered to ${fhim} had never been for [i]${fhim}[/i].

(The protege's grudge has been satisfied now, and so ends the woman's little project. Why would she stay for ${fhim}, when true vengeance is within her grasp?)

"Be a good @{fvar boy|girl}, will you?" she says after a while, the humor returning to her voice. $!{fhe} wishes she would be more earnest on the whole affair—the fact that she is staring death in the maw and marching to it all the same. "The training grounds, on the day of my return. I won't hold anything back then."

The woman turns to face the portal, her cape fluttering behind her from the autumn wind. $!{fhe} feels something thick and awful forming in ${fhis} throat, the taste of it too much like farewell—and it takes everything in ${fhim} not to say it out loud.

In several years' time, ${fhis} mentor will return as a hero or a corpse, a victor or a victim of her own ambitions. But here, now, she is a woman scorned by the hand of fate, bearer of a grudge so vicious that it forces her to stake her life. $!{fhe} watches her retreating back and wonders how tired ${fhis} mentor must be, to carry such a weighty load.

[i]Freedom,[/i] ${fhe} thinks to ${fhim}self, the mantra repeated like a prayer. [i]Vengeance.[/i]

*page_break

$!{fhe} lets her go.

*page_break

This is the end of [i]Anathema[/i]. Thank you for playing!

*ending
