Vorenus pauses, thoughts racing through his mind. You know, I’ve never understood my magic, how it occurs. What if… what if this is actually the way to opening up more power .. by a connection directly to my body, perhaps I could be a conduit for magical energy, perhaps I can redirect it, and destroy these madmen! Or, have they plotted all of this out, do they fully understand all contingencies, would it be futile, would I become used and drained, or… worst case scenario, stripped of my powers or killed? Would I even be able to control it if I could harness the energy? Many other thoughts are going through his mind, he starts chewing on his lip and cheek in the darkness. Then he hears Shenua talking about light, it takes his mind down a whole different pathway.
“Too much light draws notice. By who? On what authority are you doing this? If what you are doing is honorable, and right, then why not out in the open? Why are you so opposed to bringing things into the light? My eyes, my human eyes, unlike these two, need more light. I can’t be expected to work in conditions like this, if you would like my help, you need to put more light on the situation both physically and in the context of explanation. Who are you, really? Why should I believe one damn word out of your mouth? If you want us to assist, you must explain. This is so confusing…”. Vorenus tilts his head low, still giving the outer appearance of one who is vanquished, who merely wishes to comply and understand. But he bides his time, still considering possibilities..
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A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
The masked figure listens in silence, still as stone. When at last he speaks, his voice is steady, deliberate, edged with something both patient and dangerous:
“You ask why the light must be hidden. Because the Crown has eyes in every lantern, every sconce, every mirrored glass of this city. The more you burn, the sooner you are found. You think yourselves unseen now? No, you are only tolerated, because you are useful. Draw too much notice, and that tolerance will end. Brutally.”
The pale veins of the fractured node pulse once, dim but insistent, a heartbeat tethered to his words.
His hooded head tilts toward Iromae. “You are correct: not all who were meant to stand here are present. But three is enough to begin. The binding will hold, if only for a time.”
Then toward Shenua. “You are bound because the lattice recognizes you. The others will follow once the channel is opened. Their role is no less vital, but it begins with you. With your hands. With your mind. The Weave remembers you.”
And finally, his gaze settles on Vorenus. Though the mask hides his expression, there is the faintest flicker of amusement in the voice. “Skepticism is the mark of a man who knows little, but longs to know more. That hunger is dangerous. But it makes you … useful.”
Another pause, weighty. Then the masked figure’s hand rises, palm outward, and the guards by Shenua step back a pace. “The choice is simple. You can obey — and see for yourselves what this fractured stone holds. Or you can resist, and watch your ally bleed the last of her life into it. That is all the explanation you require.”
Behind the grate, Lirae shifts faintly at the base of the node — whether in pain or in defiance, it’s hard to tell.
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Vorenus pauses, thoughts racing through his mind. You know, I’ve never understood my magic, how it occurs. What if… what if this is actually the way to opening up more power .. by a connection directly to my body, perhaps I could be a conduit for magical energy, perhaps I can redirect it, and destroy these madmen! Or, have they plotted all of this out, do they fully understand all contingencies, would it be futile, would I become used and drained, or… worst case scenario, stripped of my powers or killed? Would I even be able to control it if I could harness the energy? Many other thoughts are going through his mind, he starts chewing on his lip and cheek in the darkness. Then he hears Shenua talking about light, it takes his mind down a whole different pathway.
“Too much light draws notice. By who? On what authority are you doing this? If what you are doing is honorable, and right, then why not out in the open? Why are you so opposed to bringing things into the light? My eyes, my human eyes, unlike these two, need more light. I can’t be expected to work in conditions like this, if you would like my help, you need to put more light on the situation both physically and in the context of explanation. Who are you, really? Why should I believe one damn word out of your mouth? If you want us to assist, you must explain. This is so confusing…”. Vorenus tilts his head low, still giving the outer appearance of one who is vanquished, who merely wishes to comply and understand. But he bides his time, still considering possibilities..
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
The masked figure listens in silence, still as stone. When at last he speaks, his voice is steady, deliberate, edged with something both patient and dangerous:
“You ask why the light must be hidden. Because the Crown has eyes in every lantern, every sconce, every mirrored glass of this city. The more you burn, the sooner you are found. You think yourselves unseen now? No, you are only tolerated, because you are useful. Draw too much notice, and that tolerance will end. Brutally.”
The pale veins of the fractured node pulse once, dim but insistent, a heartbeat tethered to his words.
His hooded head tilts toward Iromae. “You are correct: not all who were meant to stand here are present. But three is enough to begin. The binding will hold, if only for a time.”
Then toward Shenua. “You are bound because the lattice recognizes you. The others will follow once the channel is opened. Their role is no less vital, but it begins with you. With your hands. With your mind. The Weave remembers you.”
And finally, his gaze settles on Vorenus. Though the mask hides his expression, there is the faintest flicker of amusement in the voice. “Skepticism is the mark of a man who knows little, but longs to know more. That hunger is dangerous. But it makes you … useful.”
Another pause, weighty. Then the masked figure’s hand rises, palm outward, and the guards by Shenua step back a pace. “The choice is simple. You can obey — and see for yourselves what this fractured stone holds. Or you can resist, and watch your ally bleed the last of her life into it. That is all the explanation you require.”
Behind the grate, Lirae shifts faintly at the base of the node — whether in pain or in defiance, it’s hard to tell.