Mason sat across from Torysen in a small chamber that undoubtedly was used for interrogations. It housed only a small table and two chairs, as well as heavy chains and an exceptionally sturdy iron door. And although Torysen had come to Mason asking for his help, the imposing expression on her face made him feel as if he were the one being interrogated.

“Let me start by making it clear that I approve of your decisions and actions over the past several days with few reservations,” Torysen stated. Mason waited for the ‘but’. “Unfortunately, too many of my people have been unable to see the value in the Darkest Night, or the more extreme measures of training the populace to defend themselves.”

He could tell how uncomfortable she was even without listening to her unnecessarily painstaking speech. And there was no reason to be telling him this alone, in this uncomfortable room, unless something directly involved him. Was he about to be excommunicated? That would go against everything Bazy had demanded. “Are you here just to tell me that the Marrans are against this alliance?”

“Well,” she delayed, “by all reports, the alliance itself has received mixed approval. The basic deal is fair. Your role in all of this-” Mason braced himself for the bombshell, “-has been a heavy inciting factor though. Many still accuse you of unfounded crimes, and it appears likely that if you left the secure quarters of the castle that you would be at constant risk of violence.”

Well that didn’t sound so bad. Even as that thought crossed his mind Mason smiled. His threshold for “bad” had changed a great deal since he landed in The Trials. At least, it didn’t sound any worse than he had expected. “I basically knew that already, Captain. I’m nobody’s favorite and many people’s monster-in-the-night. But you’ve never expressed too much concern for my well-being before, so I can’t imagine that’s why you’re here.”

The Captain sat up straighter at that, “I do too care about your well-being, Mason. You’ve done… well, since I’ve met you. And you are a member of my band. I offer you the same loy-”

“Torysen what are you really here for?” Mason cut her off.

She silenced at once, and looked contemplative. “I fear violence among our people. Already disputes are growing beyond what can be easily contained, and without someone like Lady Sorynel around there is no singular pressure great enough to convince the people that a rebellion would be foolish. Each person believes they can get their own way if they’re simply forceful enough about it.”

“I’m not sure what you think I can do about that. I’m training as hard as I can, Torysen, but I’m nowhere close to as powerful as Sorynel.”

“That’s not what I am here for. I wanted to speak to someone. Someone who I have often turned to in the past for his wisdom and guidance.”

That made no sense. Torysen had never looked to Mason for… Mowrytal. She was asking to speak to Mowrytal. The captain saw the look of recognition on Mason’s face and a sliver of hope crossed through her.

Then Mason nodded, “I think I can make that happen for you. It’s the least I can do considering… well, everything. Give me a minute.”

Without hesitation, he sunk deep into himself and contacted Mowry. The Marran protested as usual, You should not hand us this power! But even his protestations felt halfhearted. He knew who sat before Mason, and wouldn’t he be willing to take risks to speak to his sister again?

A moment later, energy pooled within Mason and then began to roll out of him. His mana signature began to fluctuate unlike his glamour had ever accomplished before, and then it began to condense again, solidifying into a more normal state.

“Mowrytal?” she asked, hopeful and nervous all at once.

But she was suspicious by the aura she saw in front of her, and Mason’s glamoured body spoke only a few words, “You killed me.”

Torysen’s eyes narrowed and she stiffened. If it was who she thought it was, and she was in danger, could she retaliate without harming Mason? She urged herself to remain calm and stated blandly, “Geralt.”

Geralt leaned back, using his own prowess to enhance Mason’s glamour until it was crystal clear who sat before Torysen. “Do you have nothing to say for yourself? You must realize that we are mortal enemies.”

The captain’s mind spun as it tried to figure out what he was after. She had feared this as a possibility, but confronted with the danger in reality it somehow seemed even less likely. Geralt had nothing to gain from threatening her, so she worked from that as a premise. “I didn’t even know who you were when I fought you. I only knew that one of my people was in danger, and we both know the conclusion of that fight was not my doing.”

“No, it wasn’t, was it?” Geralt mused, leaning forward and standing. He concealed a smile as the captain tensed further, but he paced behind his chair slowly and was careful not to step any closer to her. “It was Mason’s. Or should I say,” he reached behind him and pulled the staff off of Mason’s back. Held in front of him, he could see the deep complexity of its construction. The mana wound throughout it not in merely simple runes, but in deeply layered channels which pushed mana to transform back and forth into higher, more refined forms. It was clear at a glance that the staff was powerful, and it had been both his king’s staff and his undoing.

Now, in a way, it was his.

Geralt turned his attention back from the staff to the nervous looking Torysen. She was a tall woman, and large with strength. Even with the subtle differences that marked her as not of his race, Geralt could appreciate her as attractive just as he could respect her as an opponent. “You did not win that fight fairly, but I do not feel I could have taken a victory against you for granted. Either way, you are one of the strongest allies of young Mason and I worry that you are not nearly as strong as you must be.”

“Are you offering to train me now?” Torysen scoffed, her nerves making her reckless. She felt in control with her sword in hand and sweat on her face, but this room was small and Geralt-in-Mason made for an unusual opponent. If he struck at her, she didn’t know what would happen next.

“I’m offering my assistance to a fellow warrior. Mason cannot die, I think we both realize that. But if what you’ve said to him today is true, he needs a more powerful defender than you.” Geralt turned his chair around and sat so he could lean over the back. It was meant to be a casual gesture, but his size and the intensity of his aura made him look both awkward and imposing.

“What are you actually proposing?”

“There is a sealed treasury that our Biord friend will have kept a secret from you. Even she does not know what items King Arlon and I stored in there, but I will let you know and I will also give you the pattern to unlock that seal on a condition.”

The conversation lulled as Geralt waited for Torysen to take the bait and ask what was in there. She didn’t.

The Maledite sighed, “There is both an enchanted set of armor and a greatsword which I believe you contain the requisite amount of mana and strength to use. Equipped with these, you will be a much more competent guardian for Mason, and thus much more useful to my plans.” He shifted uncomfortably, “It appears your brother is unhappy about my interfering with his time to speak to you. Neither he nor Mason quite trust me with control of the main body, as if I’m capable of doing much in this state anyways.”

Torysen also didn’t look to trust his intentions, “Why lead me to this equipment? And why weren’t you wearing it yourself during our fight?”

“I simply did not believe I needed to wear it before I realized you had joined the battle and by that point it was too late for me to retrieve it. And as I’ve said now multiple times, it suits me to keep Mason alive and for the present that means you. I am arming him in other ways for the future.” Geralt grimaced as something tangled with him from within, “Fine, I’m passing the connection to your brother. Do be warned that there may be consequences from this soul-swapping that you did not intend.”

She watched the same display she had witnessed earlier as control passed from one soul to another within Mason. This time, when the mana began to solidify, there was no doubt in her mind that it was her brother, Mowrytal, that sat before her.

Before she could even identify the intention she had wrapped his hands in her own, letting Mason’s glamour fool her into thinking that they were Mowry’s hands. Her brother looked down at their hands sadly, then looked back at Torysen with the same expression full of regret.

“It has been a while, Tory,” he whispered.

She looked up at him, feeling younger than she had since well before The Trials. Though she spoke stiffly and uncomfortably to Mason, her voice came out innocently fluid now and she got right to the heart of her worries, “I don’t know what to do, Mowrytal. It looks like it’s going to come to war among our people, and that’s assuming the Corrosi aren’t coming for us this very minute. I need your-”

“I’m sorry I left you all alone,” Mowry apologized, his mind awash in memories that he had viewed all too recently within Mason’s soul.

“Mowrytal, you were trying to- you wanted the same thing I’m trying to accomplish now.”

He shook his head, “That was an excuse. I made the same excuse when I got in trouble back home, and then I repeated my mistake as soon as I got ahold of Sorynel’s source runes here. I know what you believe, the stories people must have told about me. But I didn’t run off to find salvation for our people. I was trying to become a hero, a legend. I just wanted to fight in The Trials.”

Torysen pressed her lips together, “Mowry, no. I know you got carried away but you…”

“Sister, stop. No. When I felt my soul being pulled from my bones, I thought it was hell itself ripping me apart for abandoning you and everyone else. When I started to gather my wits and realized what was truly happening, my first thought was that I was getting another chance. I began to shape Mason’s soul to my own ends, but then I saw you, stronger than I ever managed to become, fighting a monster and winning. I was humiliated.”

She had pulled back from him then, but still held his hand. What he was saying made sense given everything she knew, no matter how she tried to make it not. But that wasn’t her brother. He was a hero. He had always been there for her. He’d saved her life early on in The Trials, and she’d in turn dedicated her own to trying to find him.

“Do you know what it is like being trapped between a weak child who would battle a Titan to protect an alien he barely knows, and a merciless killer that still feels more loyalty than you’ve ever had in your life?” Mowry asked, his vision blurred as he tried to separate himself from his words. “You’ve always looked up to me, Tory, but when did anyone ever follow me the way your band follows you?”

“I made a mistake asking Mason to do this,” Torysen said, feeling more panicked than she had talking to Geralt. “Something went wrong. Release the connection. Bring Mason back.”

He looked sideways at her, “Do you know what potential lurks in this human body? It’s so malleable. With that staff, and a branch of the Tree of Memory already exposed… Sorynel gave him all of her secrets, too. Did he tell you? I doubt he did.”

Torysen stood, letting Mowry’s hands fall flat against the table. “Let him go, Mowrytal. I don’t think you can handle this right now. We’ll talk… we’ll talk again. Another time. Not like this. You’ve said enough.”

Mowry twitched, or maybe shivered. But he pushed back against his chair and the wooden legs squeaked along the stone. In his disorientation, that sound drew all of his attention and Torysen struck him as hard as she could.

“I’m sorry, Mowrytal,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry, Mason.”