“That was the closest thing we have to an ally?” Mason asked incredulously as Leornal looked back and forth down a row of houses on the outskirts of town.

“It’s your face, my young friend. You’re very ugly. I find looking at you even makes me angry sometimes, and I have to remember that you must suffer enough when you remember what you look like.”

The rain seemed to make it hard for the Darkest Night to see, even as it did Mason. Leornal cast extra mana about with several thrusts of his hands, but finally he found what he was looking for and marched Mason through the mud and up to a door.

Unceremoniously, they barged through the entrance and Leornal immediately turned and barred the door with a chair before looking around. Satisfied, he spotted a fireplace, and pulled some wood into it and then cast a spell which ignited it. Mason envied that rune, but was scared to even attempt to learn another at this point.

“It’s my soul, isn’t it? Can you guys do that?” Mason asked vaguely, “Can you see souls?”

“No, of course not,” Leornal laughed. Then he pondered it for a second and went, “Well, not quite. Your soul affects your mana, and since soul arts change your soul, they leave a distinct impression on your mana aura. Especially yours. Not everyone can see these details, but to someone with a well-trained mana sight, it’s extremely clear that you have a very diseased soul. And that’s saying nothing of the very terrifying look of the mana in your staff.”

“Why are you just explaining this now?” Mason moaned, plopping down on the wooden chair against the door.

“You should be grateful that it’s easy to forget how much of an idiot you actually are.”

“I can’t tell if you Marrans are all just complete assholes, or completely xenophobic.”

Leornal laughed again, and began taking off his soaking clothes and hanging them on an iron bar above the fireplace. “Well I’d like to think we have a great deal of both among our ranks. Torysen can be very lovely to people who haven’t consumed her dead brother’s soul. Leenel too, she’s exceptionally…” Leornal grinned, “kind.”

Mason had a hard time wrapping his mind around the thought that a crotchety old archer like Leornal could have a romantic interest, so instead he also began stripping off his wet clothes and was grateful when Leornal passed him a large garment that was somewhere between a onesie and a robe. It was fluffy, whatever it was, and though he felt like he looked ridiculous, he imagined that viewing the world in purely mana-sight would give him a different sense of aesthetics.

He considered the fact that Leornal was just messing with him by giving him an unusual outfit, but he dismissed the thought as irrelevant.

That mana sight would present a different perspective on the world seemed true enough. When he thought back to what he had seen of the city, and of this small house he was in. There was blood dried on the floor and some of the furniture, and a table was upturned and broken, but even still it wasn’t hard to get an idea of what it would look like in its best shape.

It was a fairly normal home, albeit small. Most objects in it were fairly utilitarian and looked crudely hand-carved. There was a tapestry hung on one wall with only a little blood on it, and it looked like simple woven plant fibers until Mason switched on mana sight to see the decorative embellishments it carried. Rather than a rune, this one seemed to be more of a patterned design. He could make out that the mana was ordered differently in places, but from hearing the embellishments described, he knew he was missing a great deal of the depth of the image, as well as the distinguishing color. It was a bit like having poor eyesight and color blindness, and trying to appreciate a painting at a distance.

Resolving to use mana sight as often as possible, Mason continued to look around, averting his eyes whenever his glance came over Leornal. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Leornal changing- the archer was already dressed and warming by the fire- he just couldn’t look at Leornal without going half blind. A quick glance at his own skin proved that his mana was far dimmer.

Without announcing his intent, Leornal passed from the main room into a second one, and Mason peeked in to see him sitting upright on a bed as if he were meditating. As unwound as he felt, Mason was far too hesitant to be that alone with his thoughts, so he instead turned his attention to tidying up the house.

The family must have been eating when they were attacked, because there was food on the floor, but thankfully Mason was able to find a crude broom to sweep it up with. He dumped it into a bin that might have been a washbasin and then began breaking down the remains of the table.

Once those remains were piled up neatly in the basin as well, Mason continued to dig through the place. There were more garments in the wardrobe- underwear, thin leather jerkins, cloth shirts and pants, and other predictable staples. But Mason was most excited to find that the kitchen was still full of food. He nibbled at a bunch of vegetables, and when he found that most of them were pretty edible, he ended up finding a jar of oil and frying himself a small stir-fry over the fireplace.

It lacked flavor, but he could always learn from Clearsay how to make more interesting dishes later.

Eventually, Mason ran out of activities to occupy himself in that small building, and Leornal still hadn’t come out of the room. He sat on a padded bench in one corner of the room and decided to try tracing out his rune again. Warm as he was from the comfortable garment he was wearing and the fire, and tired from walking in the rain, so it didn’t take long for his mental resistance to wear down.

“It was a good idea for them to involve Leenel now,” Mowrytal said in his stoic and imposing voice. “She’s a strong fighter. Possibly the only council member who truly understands the threats of The Trials. When we first arrived, she and I would spar for rounds, deep into the night.”

Mason smashed his face into his palm, despite being nothing but the representation of his identity within his own soul, “Not you too?”

Mowry smiled slowly, a look Mason hadn’t seen from him before. “If I had to claim one reason I don’t hate you for bringing my soul into this place, it would be that I did not live a life of many regrets.”

“Well good on you for your sexual exploits, but what am I supposed to do at this council meeting? Clearly everyone is going to hate me on sight for breaking some cardinal rule of your entire culture. Do I even stand a chance?”

The silence dragged out until it was uncomfortable before Mowrytal spoke back up, “I had a controversial relationship with the law myself when I was alive.”

“Weren’t you a cop?” Mason asked skeptically, wondering if he had seriously misunderstood that memory he had seen.

“A few suggested that my actions were more aligned with those of a vigilante, and I had a reputation for digging into things that were meant to be overlooked.” There wasn’t a trace of guilt or shame on his expression.

Geralt appeared as if stepping through a doorway of light. “I couldn’t help but overhear that you were completely screwed once again, Boy.”

Mason took a deep breath and closed his eyes before they could roll. He would have to be more selective about the next soul he absorbed. Possibly someone with a good resume, known to do charity, always spoke kindly, had the ability to level mountains with a word. Or someone who didn’t seem out to sabotage him or themselves at every turn, at least.

“Relax. You’re awfully worked up to be talking to a bunch of bureaucrats. Just tell them that if they threaten you, the full force of the Biord and the humans will rain down upon them, and they’ll be besieged from the north and the south and starved of their mana until they’re nothing but shrivelled corpses. It won’t win you any friends, but fear is a much more powerful motivator when you’re trying to get your way, anyhow,” Geralt droned, somehow already reclining on a summoned couch.

“Though he is a bit more ruthless than I am, his idea isn’t entirely off base,” Mowry followed up. “You have bargaining power, and they don’t have to like you. They simply need to realize that they must work with you. Just try not to let them realize that you’re basically inept at spellcraft and only a barely passable fighter.”

“You two are no help at all.”

“I can’t believe we are even entertaining this discussion! The laws are clear. Any Marran caught studying or performing any of the soul arts shall be summarily executed. We can befriend these Beird ourselves, and we shall deal with the rest of the humans as necessary once we’ve established a stronghold in the Biarad city! There’s no need to deal with a Demon!” the heavyset, dark-skinned man spat as he talked, and breathed heavily as he moved.

“Councilman Manlen, need I remind you that Captain Torysen’s report specifically indicates that this human, Mason Nevels, is the only representative the Biord would allow to address us?” Councilwoman Leenel argued, having been briefed thoroughly by the Roving Band and Shaywise beforehand. “If all they ask in return for opening their city and its resources to us is that we help them defend it and attempt an alliance with Ambassador Mason and his people, this is an offer we must seriously consider!”

“If they allow themselves to be represented by a demon, then I think we owe it to the sanctity of New Marra to wipe them out as well. Torysen’s report also indicated that they were weak both strategically and in combat. And if these humans,” Manlen spat the word, “all have this propensity to the dark arts, I do not see why we would ever broker an arrangement with them.”

Leenel got up from her seat and walked off of the high-ledge where the five council members sat, walking confidently to Mason and offering him her hand. He took it, and she pulled him to his feet before she turned back to Manlen. Torysen, Leornal, and Shaywise all stood behind Mason as well- a choreographed move Leenel had insisted they be prepared to use.

“I have here three witnesses who will attest to his character. One is the sister of a victim of his soul arts, our very respected Torysen. Another is her most gifted archer, whose life was saved multiple times by Mason.

“And finally there is Shaywise, who was a respected healer even before The Trials, and who claims that even when her family accidentally attacked him and left him in agony for an entire day and night, he acted dignified and gracefully. He even put his own life at stake to protect her son from a serious threat!”

Leenel turned to the three of them, “Are you all three willing to attest to the veracity of these accounts before the council?”

“We attest,” they said in unison.

From where he stood, Mason never noticed the many glances to a grizzled old woman far back in the chamber. She was burdened by heavy furs and the weight of her years. But now, as many times before throughout the whole trial, she received many glances. To some, she would mutter and shake her head, and others, a faint smile would curl her lips, and she’d nod.

Manlen growled as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “How do we know that this isn’t all his plan? A demon could hide his true powers from us in hopes of claiming all our lives to power his schemes.”

Before Leenel could speak, he turned to Mason who had sat quietly this whole time, but felt his irritation bubbling the whole time. Even with his friends willing to speak up for him, this man who likely couldn’t stand to bear his own weight, let alone stand against Mason in a fight, was going to try to cast judgment on Mason for just trying to survive?

“Tell us, human, and say it clearly before the council and our people. Do you regret your actions? Soul magic is forbidden among our people. It corrupts the user and destroys the sanctity of life. Yet you walk into our city without a second thought, reeking of one of our own people’s souls, and others beyond that.”

Demon’s eyes glinted, and he looked confidently right in the eye of councilman Manlen. He was an old grizzled thing, someone who had clearly been important before the Trials, and now clung to that role as his only security. His skin hung loosely on his face and his arms, and the deep set wrinkles spoke of many years of frowning, much like he was now.

“No,” he stated, letting the word hang in the air. Murmurs rose, and the sagging frown turned into a grimace. Right as the man began to shift to speak, Demon continued. “All power comes with a price, and in a civilized world, that price is often too high.

“Would we risk the stability of peace by allowing people to develop tremendous strength, enough that they can threaten the status quo? Of course not, a government would topple if it allowed its people to grow that strong.

“But look around! This is not a peaceful world. Your people struggle to survive both from fear of the Corrosi and stray monsters, as well as plain and simple mana starvation. Growing strong is not a choice here, it is essential. Fear or hate me if you must, but I want to grow strong because I want to help. I want to see your people, my people, and even the Biord continue to survive in these Trials.”

The murmuring only intensified as people discussed these almost heretical statements.

Another council member leaned forward, “What you say goes against everything our council has tried to maintain. Would you have us turn to deviants and murderers just so that a few would survive?”

“No!” Demon replied, louder this time than his first denial. “I would have you make concessions for the necessities of a very different life. Get rid of your laws which do nothing to strengthen you, and remind your people that there are very real dangers outside of your city walls. Petty crime, fighting over pride or romance or greed- those are all suicidal ideas.

“I took Mowrytal’s soul off of his corpse, because it was the only source of power I had when I was starving and alone and scared. Now he sits inside of me, strengthening me, teaching me, and helping me learn what it means to fight in the Trials. The other soul, a Maledite named Geralt, was a terrible man. He murdered without a second thought, but now his power serves me, and I have used it to fight alongside one of your very own Roving Bands.

“Are you going to tell me I’m a criminal?” Mason asked, suddenly smaller with a fearful kindness in his face, looking around slowly at the audience, as well as the council. “Are you going to prevent me from helping you, when hundreds if not thousands of my people are going to appear in this land, every bit as scared and desperate as I was?”