Legacy

The Past

"The continent of Sepshia holds six countries and twenty protectorates, surrounded by the infamous Sinkline. The nation of Vandia holds the south, bordered by the nation of Simmerest to the west and the free lands of Astern to the east. Above these three minor nations are the three great nations of Perchnest, Roothome, and Mawfang. All twenty protectorates are under the banner of the smallest and most enigmatic nation, Mawfang. Not much is known about Mawfang, save that it is home of the leatherbacks and the Labyrinth." -excerpt from Trechior's History, Volume II

Rax was impressed.

Wick's first reaction to everything was a mix of anger and confusion. At least, that's what it looked like on the surface. But Rax knew better. Even though he'd only known Wick for a few days, Rax understood that the boy's reaction was only a facade. It was too much the way a child his age would react.

The boy was only minutes away from bleeding out internally and his first response was to manipulate others into thinking he was completely weak, to allow the adults to slip information in front of a child like so many had done before. Rax had no problem with it because after seeing the glass amulet on the boy's neck, he wanted to tell Wick everything about the four great powers, their legacies, fate...everything.

Rax was tired of living in the shadows. The day had been a bad one. First, Obadiah hadn't shown up from the wormhole. Then the forceknights came. Rax lost nearly all of his men. It was good the children were safe.

He put his hand on the white bone mask. Berrma touched his wrist gently, asking, "Are you sure?"

Rax nodded in response, ignoring the quickly sobering Wick. "Yes. The pain is manageable for a certain time, and we'll need my Sight to handle what is coming for our escape."

"We could leave now," Berrma urged. "We don't have to waste time with this boy. I could carry you out of here, quick as a blur."

"No," Rax responded firmly. "The boy is all that matters. If I can pass it on to him, I don't have to carry this burden anymore. Maybe we can..."

He trailed off. Berrma's hand left his touch, and she looked away. The unspoken words between them all these years were just that. If Wick had both the legacy and the tenacity to survive the curse of fate, then Rax would finally speak his true desires out loud.

First, Rax needed to make sure he could pass on his legacy safely to the right person, and more importantly, let go of the terrible fate that awaited its potential.

Wick, of course, was wisely silent, taking in the information from the side, just as Rax had expected. Rax himself had been considered smart, a genius, even, under the eyes of his family. Wick, however, was another league of sharp, the kind that cuts everyone close enough to touch him. Maybe he was sharp enough to cut Rax from the Hemincross legacy.

Despite the boy's tenacity, ingenuity, and intelligence, Rax didn't want to burden the boy. It was a cruel thing he would give him, and Rax wanted to make sure Wick's spirit could handle it. So, Rax did something he hadn't done in a decade. He took off the bone-white Arach mask, and his Trait was finally unleashed.

His senses were bombarded. A million lights attacked his eyes. Every hair on his skin rose in alert. He could practically taste every source of sorcery within a mile. Auras of everyone in the nearby area thrummed with nascent power, and his fingers itched to twine their energies, to transform them into something new.

He ignored the seductive urge. The forceknights were almost there. He had to hurry.

Rax's legs buckled under the pressure of all his senses raised from his Trait, True Sight. Berrma caught him by the arm, but Rax let one of his knees fall to the street, leveling his face to Wick.

Without the mask on to null his senses, he saw the boy truly for the first time. It filled him with wonder and an unparalleled fear. Wick's aura was pure gold. The boy's heart should have been a small hearth, the center of his chakra paths. Instead, it was a hexagonal gear, confirming Rax's suspicions.

Despite the brilliance of Wick's aura, there were signs of a hole in his aura. The boy had lost something grave and beautiful. Something wet trickled Rax's cheeks.

Wick's weak attempt to look like a feeble child in front of them vanished instantly. His hand reached out to Rax's face, touching the flesh that covered where his eyes used to be. Wick asked, "Who burned you?"

Rax sighed, pushing away the terrible memories of his family's caravan burned with his parents inside. "Me. I had to stop the bleeding when the Mandate of Morgoth pulled my eyes out."

Wick pulled his hand away, his grip reaching for the spade that wasn't there. The air shifted next to them, and Berrma blurred next to Wick, dropping his divali bone spade for the boy.

Rax wanted to tell him all the specifics, but they didn't have time. Luckily, the boy was smart and could extract an entire book from a few broken sentences. To think Wick had probably been like this before gaining the amulet. Rax asked, "What do you want, Wick?"

The charcoal-colored-hair boy had just endured a beating from the Deepest Hells from Lanton. He had been on the brink of suffocating on his own blood if Rax hadn't stepped in. Yet, Wick's mouth curled up into a dragon's grin. "What a stupid question. What do I want? The better question is what don't I want? I want it all."

"By the Crawl," Berrma cursed, her eyes scanning the building corners. "The boy is practically a little demon, and you want to give him your legacy?"

Wick's answer was enough. From what Rax could see with his Trait, Wick wasn't lying. Rax went to the next question, "How many trials have you completed from your legacy dungeon? From the shape of your amulet, it should be the Misonians’."

Without skipping a beat, Wick answered, "Only the first."

Rax nodded. "That sounds right. There are always three. I barely made it out alive from my own. If you completed any more than the first level, the world would shift in a way you probably wouldn't have survived. Fate is a cruel thing."

"You completed your dungeon?"

"Deepest Hells, no," Rax chuckled, despite the growing migraine from having his mask off. "Just the first level. I don't have the heart to handle the others. I could probably handle them now with all the power and experience I've accrued, but I won't. In fact, that's what I want to talk about with you, Wick. "

"When people repeat your name as if proposing something, it's a sign they want something from you," Wick said.

"Is that from your famed Ven Praxus?"

"From a penguin plumin," Wick answered.

"Hurry," Berrma muttered.

Rax nodded. "Where is Scout, Wick?"

Even though he hadn't seen the greenhaired halfbreed with his True Sight, Rax had a feeling Scout's aura was bright, but nowhere near the level of Wick. He wondered if Scout always had that fate as the son of an oceanid or if Wick's influence had overwhelmed Scout's own mundane fate, elevating it to something even greater.

"Say my name one more time, and I'll assume you want to propose a marriage," Wick said. "Scout is away, checking in on my investments."

"You meant the apprentices," Rax said without asking. "They're safe. Lanton won't touch them since he was only after me."

Rax paused. "You know. I had my network turn over every stone they could find that had information about you and your past. Since you're a child, nothing noteworthy came up. However, your father was another situation. His guild name was Pathfinder, commonly known as Path. All accounts say he was a good man on top of being a genius in navigating the Sprawl. He was known to teach upper-level Sprawlers techniques in disabling traps."

"Your point?" Wick said icily. There was an edge to his voice Rax hadn't heard before.

"Pathfinder is a synonym for the word Scout," Rax answered.

"Rax, the Mandate," Berrma pressed, her voice nervous. Of course, that concern was more for Rax than it was for her. Berrma was itching for a good fight. She hadn't had one in years. Pilgrims and their small vices, what could you do?

Wick didn't answer, but his eyes did flick away for a brief second. That involuntary look alone gave Rax some relief.

To her, Rax was getting off topic. But Rax wanted to make sure that Wick still had a tie to humanity. It wouldn't do the world or his own conscience any good if Wick grew into a monster as bad as a muntus. But she was right.

Rax couldn't use skills. In fact, his Source Points were always at zero since his Source was other people's skills. Etheria's legacy of syncing wasn't a lost art, but one that had to be earned, tied to the fate of the world. The linking they taught at the Skillia for the second-level students was a cheap imitation of the Hemincross legacy.

Of course, Rax still hadn't mastered syncing. If he had improved it any more, it would have put him and his friends in a situation far worse than the one they were already in. Fate was like that. The more powerful you became, the likelier your fate would turn on you, the fires growing hotter to temper you into tougher steel.

Rax went straight to the heart of the matter. "Wick. There are four legacies -- the Misonian legacy, Qeneri the Gold's legacy, the High Kami legacy, and my family's, the Hemincross. Forceknights and, hopefully, graduates of the Skillia will be here any minute to hunt me down. They want something from me. Don't worry. It's not our amulets. But it is still a terrible thing. They can never know about the legacies. You understand?"

He could practically see the gears in Wick's mind shifting, turning, calculating. The boy nodded. Rax clenched his jaw. The migraine was getting worse. "Good. The people who are coming will say I am an enemy of the empire of Vandia. I am not. They are all probably good men and women, but they are following the order of the Mandate of Morgoth, or someone who is a part of the Mandate."

Wick nodded again, his eyes swallowing up the information like the wide maw of a shark. "What I want is to give you not only my amulet, but the legacy it holds. You must also accept it. But I don't want you to take it without --"

"Give it to me," Wick interrupted. The hunger in the boy's voice gave Rax pause. Rax's True Sight showed him that the boy's resolve was inflexible as a mountain and burned hot enough to scorch the world. Was he really doing the right thing here? Would Wick turn into a monster, just a human version of a terrible muntus?

Rax shook his head. "I will. But you need to know that it's a terrible thing. Here is a secret only few humans know: the more powerful and important you become, fate will conspire to make your life even harder. The world is specifically designed to hurt you as you rise up."

Wick laughed, and the joy Rax saw in his aura terrified him just as much as the forceknights who were heading their way. The boy said, "That's it? That's what you're so afraid of, your own potential? I just need to survive to thrive. Give it to me now, and let's all be done with this. It's clear you don't have what it takes to face that fate, but I do."

There would have been a time when Rax would have snapped back at Wick and shown him what his powers were capable of. Rax would have felt slighted. But not now. All Rax wanted was the same peaceful life on the caravan roads his parents had so carefully made for him. He could be a merchant. And Berrma would be there. Of course, not Obadiah. Not after today.

Rax sighed and couldn't help but smile at the arrogance of youth. "Fine. I'll give it to you, but not now. They are coming, and it will take both myself and Berrma to fight them off. If the legacy was transferred to you right now, I'd be powerless."

He reached inside his robes and pulled out a familiar wadescroll without any kind of enchantments on it. His hand produced the pen he always carried with him. Rax dipped the pen's point into the blood Wick had spat on the stone street, then handed it to Wick. "This is the guild writ. All it needs is your signature in blood."

Wick gave it a once-over before signing it with his deft, clear-cut signature. The guild writ glowed. Wick muttered, "That pen of yours is enchanted. There must be a document somewhere else that recorded this. I'd wager it cost you at least one silver. How did you get the Prison Guild head to agree to this?"

Once again, the boy was spot on. Rax felt surer than ever that he had chosen the right one. Fate had tried to collide them together like violent comets, but Rax would fold his power into Wick's. The words that came out of Rax's tongue tasted bitter. "Obadiah. The noble household of Graves are the heads of the Prison Guild. This little business venture of yours is actually what got him reinstated as a noble in his house once more."

Wick's eyebrows knitted together. "Your tone makes it sound like it was a bad thing."

"His family are also casual members of the Mandate of Morgoth," Berrma growled, knife in one hand and sparkflame in the other. "That coward somehow leaked information about Rax. They dangled his status as a noble to out us. And here we are."

"My investments are safe. The apprentices and Scout are now officially citizens of Vandia." Wick shrugged, as if the betrayal of a ten-year friendship was beneath his concern. The boy's response put Rax back on edge, but he had given his word. The fight was coming, and after, Rax would be rid of this cursed fate.

Berrma stepped forward, pushing them aside. "They're here. Wick, step back. Rax, ready up."

Rax stood up. Wick ran to the shade under a canopy of a nearby building.

Ten men and women with perfect physiques and alert gazes stepped around the corner of the street. Unlike the guards of Outlast, they wore no metal armor and instead were dressed like average citizens. They looked that way to seem normal to everyday people when rounding them up for their mandatory military service against the oreads.

However, what set them apart were their intricate black tattoos. Each person's tattoos were different marks and were on different parts of their bodies, some only on their arms, others on their legs. As a general rule, those with the most tattoos were the ones you had to watch out for.

Their tattoos were the sign of their kami armor, having bonded with the rare kami scattered throughout the continent. The kami would manifest themselves as ethereal armor to protect their owner. That armor and the Strength skill were what made them forceknights.

It was still a wonder that Lanton had somehow finagled a Strength skillcard out of them, albeit a low-level one.

Behind them were thirty armored young men and women. To Rax's True Sight, their bodies glowed in various colors, each with their own Source. One had a sticky aura, probably some kind of fungus as their Source. A few had fire as their Source, their channels drawing from the torches they held in their hands.

Rax couldn't help but smile at the sight of the young sorcerers who had probably just graduated from the Skillia. From the looks of them, they gave off the arrogant aura of nobles, meaning they had power to spare, power which Rax would wield on their behalf. They had no clue.

"That's him," one of them said, a typical blackhaired Vandian in his fifties. He was grizzled and wrinkled but cut just as hard as those half his age.

Without a word, the tattoos on the forceknights lifted from their skins and formed into thick translucent blue shapes. The less experienced forceknights had kami armor that only covered their limbs. A few of the older ones had sharp talons for gauntleted kami armor.

At the sight of their power, Berrma's aura erupted into a stark and beautiful green glow. It was excitement in its purest form. Rax hadn't seen that aura in years. He had many lovers over the years since coming to Outlast, most only overnight flings, but it was Berrma's beauty that captivated him. That sight alone made the thickening migraine worth enduring.

"Let me go first," Berrma pleaded, her lips splitting into a wide smile only battle-obsessed pilgrims had.

Rax waved. He felt young again.

Berrma was a blur and so were the ten forceknights. If Rax didn't have his True Sight to guide him, the whole battle would have been lost. Even so, he could only see the half-second impressions their auras left in the wake of their contact.

All of the knights ignored her, and shot straight for Rax.

In a blink, three buildings exploded, each with a forceknight colliding into it, their roofs collapsing. The downed forceknights' ethereal armor shattered, reappearing again as tattoos on their skin, but their designs looked faded. It would be a few weeks before their kami armor regenerated back to their full potential.

Berrma was now in the center of the street, all of the forceknights' attentions focused on them. The grizzled older knight barked, "A pilgrim."

No shit, thought Rax. He wanted to step in and help her fight, but he was useless against pure physical prowess. He needed skills and Sources for his power to work.

The new graduates of the Skillia seemed too stunned to do anything about what they had just witnessed. This was probably the first time they had ever seen a forceknight downed outside the warfront.

"Deepest Hells," a few cursed together.

Berrma licked her lips. She wasn't even using her many knives. Oh. That made sense. It was a limitation she purposefully gave herself for this battle. This was the first time in a long time she had an opportunity to sharpen her skills. She had been at a bottleneck for so long. Staleness was the fear of every pilgrim.

Rax held his breath.

In three blinks, four more forceknights downed and broken. Two of their auras winked out of existence, dead. An entire row of houses and buildings ruined, wood splintered everywhere. A few of the sorcerers had cast skills to lessen the collateral damage, but Rax had already told everyone in the area to get out.

The final three were haggard and bleeding heavily, their kami armor cracked but still standing. Rax's sucked in a sharp breath as he saw Berrma's aura erupt to an even brighter green. Her wounds healed instantly. She finally did it. Berrma broke through her bottleneck.

"More!" Berrma growled. She pointed to the frightened sorcerers. "Join in! I want to face all of you at the same time."

Both the sorcerers and the remaining forceknights blanched at her remark. One of the kami armors wavered.

Rax laughed, straining his migraine even more. Luckily, it was still manageable. This was why he loved this woman. She was unlike anyone he had ever met, reveling in the pure challenge of growth. Why did he think they needed both his and her strength to take them on? The woman was madness and beauty in a small, single package.

If she needed his help, he'd step in. With the sorcerers' skills flying about, they would be an unmatched force. If Rax summoned his own unique ethereal armor, then they could get out of there faster. Maybe they could hide in the amnestic zone nearby until things cooled down. He and Wick were both immune.

"She's right," the veteran forceknight wheezed. Rax saw one of his lungs was ruptured. "We all need to fight."

The sorcerers bared their teeth and circled around Berrma, who was patient.

"That'll do." She smiled.

"Enough," spoke a single voice from the opposite street corner. It was a quiet voice but full of steel command.

The voice belonged to a young man about Rax's age, maybe younger, probably in his early thirties. Despite wearing a drab tunic and pants, his physical demeanor was heroic, as if he had stepped out of a story. And his aura...by unholy Morgoth, the man's aura withered everything it touched. On the man's hip was a plain wooden sword, something like a child's toy but sized for a grown man. It reeked of decay.

"The Autumn Sword," Rax whispered. His heart sank to his stomach. One of the Three Swords and One was here.

Rax screamed, "Berrma! Run!"

Berrma turned to him, her gaze confused. She gave him a wicked smile, a gesture telling him he was overreacting.

She looked down, the tip of a wooden sword protruding from her chest. Berrma, pilgrim, limitadi, and love of Rax's life, collapsed into a confused corpse on the cobblestone street, her aura sucked and decayed into a withering hollow by the second-most powerful forceknight of Vandia, the Autumn Sword.

In a single instant, all the joy and hope Rax had ever felt sank into an abyss.