Chapter Text
Unbound
Renathal turned yet another rocky outcropping to find more lava that was being worked over by the mawsworn smiths, each going back to their anvil and working tirelessly to infuse pure white anima into their weapons.
“Are you sure we can’t just go home, Master? We don’t even know what this soul looks like. He could already be inside an axe or something for all we know,” Remornia whined, tapping the side of the lava pool and being rewarded with a popping bubble of molten rock for her trouble.
“We… I have to know if he’s truly dead, Remornia. The mawsworn would leave him where he fell if it were true, and we haven’t come across a single nightborne in our excursion.”
“Plenty of bodies are charred beyond the norm, he could have been one of those,” she suggested, hovering ahead of him while he crested the hill and peered out over the river of arriving souls, “I know it wouldn’t do much for Sanoleth, but she does already believe him to be gone. We needn’t even say anything.”
“I can’t leave without knowing,” he reaffirmed, jumping down onto the gravel and heading toward the Tremaculum where most souls were usually transported into Torghast, “Even should he be in the tower, I must know.”
“There was a time you didn’t care about such things.”
“And there was a time you were quiet.”
“Well! Consider me rattled, Master,” she giggled a little, stopping at the end of the bridge and he almost walked straight into her.
It took barely a frown before his ears pricked up to the sound of a sickening squelching noise, looking around to find it was coming from a series of large, shadowy octopus tentacles suckered to a knight that was being throttled to death, dents just visible in its armour while it struggled to break free until another crunch came and it was slammed hard into the ground, the tentacles letting go and it remained motionless in the ensuing crater. As powerful as Renathal was, the display left him slightly unnerved as an elf walked out from behind one of the rocks, starting to search its body with heaving breaths and black ashes falling from its arms. He blinked, then squinted at the mortal, taking in its surprisingly formal appearance.
A dirtied white shirt clung to its chest with a myriad of cuts, scars and bruises all along its shimmering dark blue skin, shoes that belonged more to a dress party than the horrors of the Maw clinging to the broken soles for dear life and ripped black trousers that stopped just above his ankles. The glowing blue eyes darted over the body in his search, but the long, blue-black hair caught his attention the most and a wave of strange relief washed over him when their head suddenly twisted in his direction. This elf had her face. The structure was exactly the same, right down to the shape of his nose and slightly tapered chin though he sported a small beard that Renathal wasn’t certain if it was meant to be there or just growth from the length of time inside the Maw. The arms burst into shadow and formed out into the tentacles from before as they got to their feet, though when the Prince threw his arms up and Remornia quickly secreted herself onto his back they paused and tilted their head with suspicion in their squinted eyes.
“Who are you?”
“That depends. Are you Den?”
Their eyes widened and jaw dropped open for a moment before his expression to genuine confusion. “How do you know me? Most of the Venthyr here have been trying to kill me.”
“It’s a long story, but I know your sister, Sanoleth. She’s been looking for you.”
He dared to move a little closer, hands still raised but the nightborne returned his arms to normal with a small sigh.
“You better be right, if either of us find out you’re not you won’t like the response,” he warned, shuffling to their meet with clear exhaustion through his stance.
“Noted. Water?” Renathal freed a skin from his belt and offered it out to the immediate grasping hand of the elf who looked like he’d been handed the holy grail.
He wasted no time in drinking as much of it down as he could, having to stop to cough up what he could only assume was ash before the beating of wings reached their ears and he looked up to find a darkened kyrian diving toward them.
“Crap,” the nightborne started, but Renathal had waved his hand without thinking and Remornia already went to meet them in the air.
They apparently weren’t expecting her, crashing head-first into the waiting blade and falling limp as she twisted around with enough force to throw the body away into another nearby lava pit.
“Huh… I wish San had a sword that could do that,” the elf observed as she came back to his side again.
“Perhaps one day, if she wanted it,” he replied without thinking, “As for right now, I think she would appreciate someone recognisable in her corner.”
“Why, what happened?” Den immediately turned to him with a worried frown, “She’s not hurt, is she?”
“Not last I saw, merely… she is having a difficult time figuring out what she wants rather than what she feels is expected of her,” he tried to explain.
“Ah, the wants of her heart versus her head,” the elf nodded knowingly, stopping at Renathal’s raised eyebrow, “It’s an argument she has a lot with herself. Probably my fault for always making her pick between the hard decisions. Is she at least safe?”
“I… am uncertain,” he replied wearily, “She has friends where she is, but I do not think the one that commands them has her best interests at heart. Will you return with us?”
“Of course! Though I think I drank all of this,” he wiggled the waterskin that jiggled far too much for anything to be left.
“Not to worry, we can sort you out in Revendreth,” the Prince cracked a small smile and took it back, “This way, try not to attack anything.”
“Why? Aren’t we trying to kill them anymore?” Den looked at him in bewilderment and joined his pace.
“It’s complicated, but they’ll leave you alone in our presence,” he swallowed dryly, “Please just trust me for now.”
“... fine,” he agreed begrudgingly, “As long as San is safe.”
“That tends to change as quickly as the wind,” Renathal snorted.
“Sounds about right.”
“She has always been like this?” he dared to ask as they made their way back up the hillside.
“Yeah, she can’t leave people in need to their own devices. Always pulling us about to the next ‘grand cause’,” Den used his fingers to emphasise with a roll of his eyes that made him snicker, “She makes friends every time she helps people out, I remember there was a Kul Tiran one time that wanted to stab us until we went and found his toolbox had stolen by a bunch of elementals, then it turned into a drinking contest and suddenly we have an open invitation whenever we want to join them for dinner. I don’t know what it is about her, but I like when she picks the difficult causes.”
“Why?”
“They’re more exciting,” he grinned, flashing his sharp, white teeth, “Tell me you have an impossible cause going? I bet she couldn’t resist.”
“It is most certainly impossible,” he sighed, “in many different ways. I find myself wondering if it’s worth the price I decided to pay.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“She is… very good at prying open long-closed doors.”
The nightborne seemed to take the hint, scowling as they passed the forges and none of the smiths even bothered looking up from their grisly work. That suited him just fine, retracing their steps toward the platform that allowed him and Remornia through to the Maw and back without resistance. He started to wonder if Denathrius would have sent Sanoleth to aid against his assault in the Banewood, hoping that Draven would be able to keep Chelra to heel with her bloodthirst against the other Harvesters. As much as he admired her loyalty, it was fairly difficult to keep her in check when it came to her anger against each of them for siding with Denathrius even after his initial defeat. They carried on through the acrid smoke as he rubbed his collarbone and couldn’t help trying to take in more details of the nightborne, the soot stained across his skin trying its best to hide the shimmering tattoos that seemed to be different from the ones that Sanoleth wore, noting the further toward his hands the ones on his arm became a darker purple.
“Can I ask about the…”
“Tentacles?”
“Yes.”
Den shrugged lightly, flexing his hand where dark ash began to fall and then burst open into finger-sized tendrils that wiggled and writhed between one another. “I’m not very good with weapons, but magic I can use quite easily. San’s basically the opposite, but she can use a lot of very intensive ones for short bursts of time. One of the temples we went to when helping some blood elves find some stuff their family lost a long time ago had this… totally sketchy tome that I ‘borrowed’ and it taught me how to do this, alongside a few other things.”
“With no regard for what it might involve with your soul?” Renathal smirked, but to his surprise the nightborne just shrugged.
“A soul is a small price to pay for the extra protection when you’re fighting dragons, demons, undead, old gods, aberrations and the like. There’s only so many times you can watch your sister ignore profusely bleeding wounds before you want to take her health into your own hands.”
An ancient memory floated between the rest at those words. He and the Fearstalker fighting an enemy that was blurred by the haze of time, fighting one after the other with spears and swords clashing against Remornia and each spell forced them back in his fury. The other Harvester’s arm was a blur when she cut down every foe in all her glory, Dread sucking in all the anima of her fallen foes and adding to the haste of each successive strike. They were fighting over… the Accuser. Holding her bleeding arm while the Curator was making swift movements to patch her up enough to move away from the front line and their enemies kept trying to open a gap enough to finish her, but they refused to allow it.
“Hey, you alright? Or just dozing off in all this heat?” the lick of amusement in Den’s echoey voice popped the memory and it drifted away again, leaving him with an odd, heavy feeling that clung to his chest.
“I… understand how you felt. But perhaps the heat isn’t helping either,” he conceded.
“Do we have far to go?”
“No, just along this ridge,” Renathal indicated around the corner of the stretch of rock they were walking across, the edge of the Maw pouring down into black clouds underneath them.
He seemed eager to leave, or see his sister again, finding the energy to sprint ahead of him while the Prince shook his head bemusedly and started after him. Rounding the corner he found the nightborne taking in the dark, metallic platform that was surrounded by the Jailer’s signature spikes leaning inward, apparently a sight he was used to by now while he poked at the edges with little care. Remornia went to hover over the raised dais in the middle dutifully, waiting for him to start casting while he beckoned the nightborne closer and he was curious enough to follow.
“This may be slightly unpleasant, I’m hoping I know where Sanoleth has gone and will try to take us there directly,” he explained, gathering anima around the three of them while Remornia’s blade began to glow her signature reddy-black and he felt a light touch on his arm by way of precaution.
The plume of red-grey-black anima expelled from him was sucked into the dais, entangling his vision to Remornia as she waited for the portal to open and shot inside without hesitation, the darkness giving way to gloomy light when they arrived back in Revendreth’s sky above the castle and she changed course toward Dredhollow. Even from so far away Renathal could see an odd number of stoneborn in the sky above the Banewood, a sickening cold taking hold while he urged her on faster and she seemed to take the hint. The whistling of her blade through the wind attracted a lot of attention when then they arrived over the edge of the forest and stoneborn stopped their assaults long enough to salute her on her way past and he finally spotted what Remornia had been aiming at inside the hamlet, the cold exploding into true fear as he watched the Fearstalker shaking Sanoleth’s body while trying to use her cloak to stem bleeding near her neck. Remornia had barely stopped when the Harvester jumped to her feet with blade in hand to meet them, forcing himself and Den to be manifested instantly while he looked down at her in horror.
“San!” her brother squeezed past him and ran quickly to her side, ignoring the blade to his neck in favour of checking her over.
Renathal tried to keep himself together despite the rage boiling through him, letting his eyes scan the situation before he did something he’d regret more than letting her stay in Sinfall around the Sire. A stoneborn crumbled on the ground near to the Fearstalker, face lying away with an arm missing and cracks emanating from the armour over their chest, but the bladed tail let him know that Chelra’s hubris had finally bitten off more than it could chew against her opponent. On the other side General Draven stood frozen with a surprised expression and poleaxe raised as if to parry a blow, two swords he recognised as Sanoleth’s buried in the grass in front of him. Neither scenario made any sense on how she’d been hurt, twisting round to observe Dredhollow instead and noticing that a lot of the stoneborn were still fighting the hopebreakers instead of hovering and giving him their undivided attention. The few houses had been almost utterly destroyed with their roofs crumbled in and walls shattered to the bare limbs that held them up, sighing with disappointment before letting out a sharp whistle. The stoneborn stopped immediately and looked up, the ones still fighting disarming their opponents or jumping back into the air to cease their actions and look back toward him.
“Back to the castle, all of you.”
“My Prince?” one of them started to question but the withering glare was enough for them to clam up and start the trek back toward the looming gargoyle in the distance, swiftly followed by all of the others.
The remaining hopebreakers just stared as he turned back around and channelled anima back into the motionless General, his stoney fingers starting to flex with a low growl escaping his throat when he started gaining his lifeforce back. Wings tried to beat a couple of time as his arms started to move along with the twisting of the rest of his body and after a moment he snapped back to his usually alert state, looking around to try and stock of the new situation he found himself in until his eyes landed on the two nightborne and the colour drained back out of his face.
“Would you like to tell me about how you both disobeyed my order, General?” Renathal somehow managed to ask in a restrained voice.
“... I cannot, my liege. She drained me of anima herself, and seemed perfectly able-bodied at the time. Anything that came after, I do not know,” he answered, though at least he had the decency to seem pained about it.
“One of your assassin stoneborn threw a dagger at a temporal spell she was casting,” the Fearstalker answered, her blade back to pointing at him instead of Den who seemed in the midst of his own spell, “When I destroyed Chelra, the spell dropped and the dagger flew into her throat.”
“... She’s not gone, is she?” Renathal swallowed dryly as Den laid both his hands over her wound and shook his head without answering.
The three of them watched him work, the venthyr being put slightly on edge when Light erupted out of his hands and down into Sanoleth’s skin, almost blindingly yellow that shone up through her blue-purple and he frowned as he saw some of the spiralling tattoos along her shoulder and neck start to turn the same colour. He couldn’t bring himself to breathe, worrying over the fact that, once again, she’d been hurt through his actions. Even if she did live through it, her heart wouldn’t let him back in again and the thought crushed what little hope remained that she might still be swayed to his side. A small breeze picked up around them, the Fearstalker’s eyes flicking over to him in his spiralling state where he could only look despondently at the floor while every option he thought he had went up in smoke throughout his mind and lef-
“Ow!”
He rubbed his forehead and looked incredulously at the Fearstalker, rubbing over the fingers she’d used to flick him with while shaking her head slightly.
“Do you think she’d want you to fall to pieces after all the effort you went through for who I’ll assume is her brother?” she asked, face set to mild annoyance, “We don’t know who she’s going to blame, so there’s no point in beating yourself up. The most you can do is swear to be better, if that’s even possible for someone like you.”
“Of course it is,” he replied sullenly, “But I’ve already hurt her too much… and why do you care? Doesn’t the Sire want her as far away from me as possible?”
“He does, but obviously she doesn’t agree. I’m not here to be a referee of emotions, Renathal, but I’m also not blind enough to believe that any of us are going to be able to stave off whatever you two have going forever. She doesn’t fear you anymore, so my power is useless.”
“She… doesn’t?”
“No. And I don’t think this will knock her back into it somehow. After all, you weren’t here, and now you’ve brought something with you that is undeniable proof she’s gotten under your skin ,” the Harvester started poking around his sides with a wide grin while he danced to try and avoid them, those tickling digits taking far too much pleasure in his noises of distress.
“Ah! What are you talking about? ” he quickly swatted her away, but the grin on her face wasn’t to be dislodged.
“Oh come now, you think the Countess was the only one to notice? You literally went and sat on a bridge to give her an apple. You’re head over heels and you don’t want to admit it,” the Harvester wiggled a finger in his face as he scoffed and quickly turned away.
“You have no idea what you’re saying. Will you get a hold of yourself?” Renathal jerked away from those questing hands again.
“Absolutely not. Besides, we need to discuss where she’s going. I’m assuming the brother thinks you’re her guardian or along similar lines, and I highly doubt being around Denathrius is good for either of them at the moment. It should be somewhere… neutral,” the Fearstalker suggested.
“You just mean not Sinfall or the castle, don’t you?”
“Yes. I was thinking perhaps Darkhaven, I trust Mihaela to be able to look after them, and everyone will have access to her while she recovers… if you can stand the thought.”
“I’m certain I’ll find a way to get over it,” he rolled his eyes, glancing back toward Sanoleth where Den was ordering General Draven around with Sanoleth limp in his arms, chest rising and dropping slowly so he could breathe a sigh of relief.
“Good. Best you give him an order, or he might feel inclined to take my head a little early. I should… clean this mess,” the long sigh as she looked around cut surprisingly deep into his chest, taking one last look around before clapping a hand to her shoulder and making his way toward the two.
The General straightened up at his approach, drawing Den’s attention for a moment while continuing to fuss over his sister and grumbling to himself.
“Darkhaven, General.”
“My liege?” Draven raised an eyebrow but when he didn’t correct it the General inclined his head, “Very well. And what of your other… friend?”
“Denoreth,” the nightborne replied, “I’m going too, wherever it is. She still needs some care, and I can wait for a bit.”
“Very well,” the Prince quickly silenced the stoneborn’s protests, “I will take us, then.”
He gathered his anima again, Remornia flying down from where she’d been investigating the village’s damage to his back as he let it go and they were pulled out into Darkhaven. The statue of Denathrius still stood as the centerpoint, the Sinposium overlooking the crypt and remaining houses of those envious enough to look upon Castle Nathria high above and know it was night unreachable for them. Or so Denathrius had told them, Renathal found he didn’t care that much so long as they were working on something useful. Mihaela was already speaking to someone in the doorway of the Sinposium, both quietting and looking toward them with wide eyes as he began to approach and the extra venthyr apparently realised he wasn’t need and scuttled away as renathal felt oddly embarrassed when he stopped in front of her.
“Mistress Mihaela… I find myself in need of your assistance.”
“So I see,” she pointedly stared between him, Draven, Sanoleth and Denoreth who shrugged with a wry smirk, “I take it these mortals are your guests, my Prince?”
“They are. If you can accommodate them, the royal vault can cover their expenses.”
Mihaela’s eyes grew even wider at that, the neutral demeanour finally cracking into worry as she sighed and shook her head before waving them inside. He allowed Denoreth in front of him and Draven brought up the rear, letting her lead them deeper inside the Sinposium along a few corridors until two doors were open next to each other leading into identical rooms. They shuffled for the General to lead her in, having to lean down and hug his wings close to his hulking body to fit through the tight squeeze with Renathal and the others close behind. A long, polished oak table sat in the middle of the room surrounded by green-cushioned chairs, a fireplace at the bottom and the bed pushed against the wall at the top, freshly laundered in crisp linens with overhead sconces lining every wall to project light through the dark, windowless room. Draven took the opportunity to lay Sanoleth out on the bed while Denoreth went back to her side, helping find a good position to keep her in so she could rest without much pain, or so he guessed.
“Should anyone need anything, we can bring it down,” Mihaela carefully punctured the tense silence, “If I may be so bold, my Prince, I believe this will not go unnoticed. The people know she is the Maw Walker, and it is also well known how your… temperament against those who challenge your rule tends to end.”
“... I find that I cannot bring myself to care,” he answered, not moving his eyes from Sanoleth’s sleeping form, “Just this once, the people can say whatever they wish, so long as she wakes whole. I am forced to learn many lessons of late that I once held close and I find that I cannot hold onto my anger for long. Only sorrow and fleeting hope that those mistakes may not cost me as dear as once they did. We already lost everything to my belief that I knew best and now I find that my resentment against the Sire is something more than merely believing I made a better ruler than he. I find myself hoping that he doesn’t come here to seal her away, only to be ponied out to garner my attention and little else. Even the thought of such fills me with a different kind of anger and though I know none of you here could stop him if he wished it, I keep the foolish hope that she might tell him ‘no’ just once.”
There was no filter on the words spilling out of his mouth, only knowing that it was some small part of everything that had been stored in his mind the past few days. Regret coloured his memories now, but the feeling it was too late couldn’t be shaken. He was the Dark Prince, agent of the Jailer, wielder of the bloodthirsty Remornia and Commander over the stoneborn armies. The Fearstalker had shown a little of her old self to torment him with feelings she shouldn’t know about, and the Countess seemed to be biding her time with Sanoleth, though what they spoke of remained a mystery. What about the Accuser and the Curator? They were her friends, weren’t they? What would they think? Would they leave her behind? There was nothing to pull him out of such thoughts this time, another forgotten feeling welling up through his chest and threatening to break through his eyes while he shook his head in a futile attempt to clear it.
“Why don’t I get you some tea?” Mihaela asked in a tender voice, “I believe you have a lot of thinking to do, my Prince. And while I cannot stop the Sire from taking her away, I know how to talk people into doing something foolish, don’t I?”
His mouth twitched into a smirk as she patted his arm and left back down the corridor, heels clicking softly while he tried to hold onto reality and looked over Denoreth doing everything he could to test and heal pieces of the scar on her chest. A brother, caring for his sister in spite of his own wounds and needs. That old memory started to surface again through the fog in his mind, pushing it aside and giving some small strength back to him as he went to sit down at the table and Remornia balanced herself next to him against the oak. Renathal closed his eyes and took a long, steadying breath while Draven came to join him, the chair squeaking under the strain of his weight and he could feel the waves of guilt and self-loathing coming from his old friend.
“I’m not mad at you, Draven. Well, perhaps a little, but it seems Chelra and another stoneborn are at fault,” he tried to reassure him in a calm tone.
“I understand, my liege, but it is still a failure on my part that I did not make it clear enough that she should not be harmed. Though this other nightborne is well versed in mortal healing, he is already starting to flag, but won’t rest until he’s certain she’s fine. Like you used to,” he huffed, throwing the statement into the air without much thought but it cut even deeper through his fog.
“... General?”
“Yes?”
“How would you take it if I said I think we’re on the wrong side?”
“I’d say it was about time.”
Renathal frowned and opened his eyes to look up at the stoneborn’s face who only had a single raised eyebrow and slight smirk. “What?”
“It is as the Fearstalker said. ‘You literally went and sat on a bridge to give her an apple’. I believe it obvious to everyone except you that what started as a plan to separate her from the Sire has become a little more than that,” Draven chuckled to himself, “There is also something I have been meaning to speak to you about for some time now.”
“Such as?”
“Do you not think that you were taken under the Jailer’s wing a little… too easily? That he told you what you wanted to hear, and repeated what you so often told yourself?” he tried to keep his thoughts plotted out, but once he started it all spilled at once, “You said such things to Denathrius and myself that you told us in confidence, then came to me later spouting the exact things with validation that someone else seemed to understand when he didn’t. The Curator ‘plotting’ against you with the Accuser was her voicing similar concerns, though I doubt she remembers them now. The Fearstalker dragged you out to the Banewood so much because you spent all your other time around that sigil listening to whatever whispers the Jailer wanted to feed you. Doesn’t it seem a little too convenient that the moment the Sire is distracted with anima becoming scarce, you and Remornia are suddenly more than a match for him? Forgive me for being so blunt, but frankly, you should not have won that fight on equal footing. So why did you? Because the Jailer wanted you to.”
Because you’re the one easier to manipulate.
Renathal fished out the Mark from his overcoat and laid it flat on the table between them, the eyes that usually burst dark smoke in a cloud now barely more than trickle over tarnished silver and its power seemed almost pathetic compared to earlier in the day when he’d chosen to throw it aside for her. Perhaps it, too, could sense his waning loyalty, draining the Jailer’s will away from him in response to the decision he was on the verge of overturning. A cup of dark, swirling tea was placed next to him fiddling with it, followed by three more for each of the occupants and some fresh sandwiches that were quickly devoured by Denoreth before going back to his task.
“Do remember you need to rest as well, dear. I’m certain she’ll still be there after a nap,” Mihaela chided him.
“Yes mother ,” the response came and Renathal had to suck in his lip to keep from laughing.
“Carry on like that and there’ll be no supper before bed,” she replied without missing a beat while Draven chuckled to himself.
“Hah! I’m gonna like it here, I can already tell,” Denoreth snickered and went to search a singed pouch on his belt for a moment, “I’m almost done with what I can do anyway, whatever it was had a nasty poison that’ll keep her down for a day or so, but I’ve gotten through the worst of it. She’ll be fine by tomorrow evening probably, she should still rest though if any of you get to her before I do.”
“So you’ll tell her to rest, but not yourself?” Renathal raised an eyebrow as he pulled out a roll of bandages.
“What can I say, we’re as bad as each other.”
“I know the sentiment,” the Prince shook his head softly and went back to the Mark, noticing Draven was looking at him with deep concern.
The metal was much cooler to the touch than it had been, almost bitingly cold against the pads of his fingers the more he rolled it between his hands. Some part of his loyalty still tried to push him away from the thought of throwing it into the air and having Remornia cleave it in twain for the agony to be over, but the majority of it had already given itself over and only asked a single question: Denathrius had been the one to start all of this, so why had the Jailer wanted him to take over the operation? He hated the fact there was an answer. He also hated the suspicion it raised.
“General?”
“Yes, my liege?”
“I think it’s past time we paid the Tithelord a visit.”