Chapter 29

“These things we hold to be self-evident, that each and every person should have access to magic, that each and every person should have the freedom to develop their magic as they see fit, and that each person should have the freedom to choose how they shape both their mind and body. Never shall be passed into law any restriction upon the advancement of a mage, nor any force used to direct their growth without their understanding and sane consent.”

—A Treatise on Progression in the Empyrean, Unknown Author

“Why are you still here?” Sylvas asked once the battle was long over and he had managed to find himself some privacy to deal with whatever was happening to him.

That happening in question being the very real looking form of Mira standing, and smiling, directly before him.

“Whatever do you mean darling?” She replied while glancing around the all too small space around them. “You’re the one who brought me here to this delightful… closet.”

“I don’t have much time before my next match, and I need to know that this hallucination isn’t part of some larger scale problem. Am I going to have a cascading collapse of my new Paradigm? Have I done some permanent damage by—”

“Oh darling, you just don’t understand at all do you? I’ve always been here, just beneath the surface, shoved down into your deepest darkest nether regions. Marinading in all of your guilt and misery. That part of yourself that can’t forgive and forget the whole planetary genocide you committed because some nice people in fancy clothes promised you were the messiah and not just some street rat they’d picked out as a sacrificial lamb.” Mira’s smile grew until it had a manic edge to it, one that he’d never seen in life. “You decided to break yourself in half, and one half of you was always going to contain this part. The part you pretend isn’t real even though it is the foundation on which everything you are is built.”

“But why do you… why do you look like her? Why do you sound like her? Why are you acting as if you are Mira?”

“Can you think of a better embodiment for all of your guilt and failure than the bride-to-be that you let die along with your whole planet? If you could, I wouldn’t look like this. In fact, the first moment that you can get past it, if you ever do, I imagine I’ll change right along with it.” She smoothed her hands down her dress. It seemed she could change her appearance more or less at will and was now wearing something that the real Mira probably would have considered quite scandalous since it showed skin all the way up to her knees.

“Why do you have to…” He trailed off as he tried to compose his thoughts into words instead of just turmoil.

“Because you need an interface for your Second Thoughts, and I’m it. Did you imagine that there would just be another you in your head parroting everything back to you? You’re far too damaged for anything so simple.”

“I don’t want to see Mira every day. I don’t want Mira in my head. I just want—”

“Darling, if wishes were horses, then we all could ride. I’m what you’ve got, and I suggest that you get used to it and start treating me with a modicum of respect, otherwise I might just get offended and shut down all of your autonomic systems.”

“You can’t kill me.” He crossed his arms.

“Oh I assure you that if you were to give me sufficient provocation, I most certainly could.”

“You live in this body too.” He snapped back, unable to fully quash the wave of fear that the words brought. “If it dies, you die.”

“Oh no, not death, I’ve never experienced that before, how frightening.” She said in a mocking tone. “Don’t threaten a fish with water or a ghost with death. For goodness sake Sylvas, it is like you have forgotten everything I ever tried to teach you about dealing with people.”

He took a steadying breath. “I apologize for being so rude to the parasitic personality that has just grown in my skull.”

She closed the distance between them until she was close enough to touch, close enough to count every eyelash batting on her cheeks. “Parasitic? Hardly. This is a mutually beneficial arrangement my darling, just like we always had.”

Close enough to lean in and kiss now, she just stood there, smiling. Sylvas was not smiling. “I’m not happy about this.”

“When has your happiness ever mattered a jot?” She turned away from him. “I’m here, and you had best get used to it.”

Pressing his eyes shut, he reached out with his other senses. Everything that he was born with told him that he was here with her. He could smell the oils she used in her bath still clinging to her hair. He could feel the warmth where she’d just been close. But to his second sight, and his gravity sense, there was nothing. He was alone. “If this is going to work, I think we need to establish a few ground rules.”

“Sylvas, darling. I’m in your head. I already know everything you want to say. Of course I’ll endeavor not to distract you when you need to concentrate, and I’ll take on the management of your sensory overload and divide it up to feed you the pertinent parts. Not to mention memorizing the spell forms of your opponents so you can duplicate them later with your implanted gemstone mana. I’ll take care of everything, the same way that I always did.”

He took his chance to speak up. “And you’ll…”

“Butt out of your personal life? Absolutely not.” She was grinning again. “You’re still my fiancé, even if I am temporarily disembodied. And I shan’t have you embarrassing us.”

“Embarrassing us?!” He cried out, a little louder than he meant to. “You’re the one who is—”

Mira vanished right as he said the words, her reply filtering itself into his mind.

Talking to myself in a closet?

That shut him up.

He had regained some degree of normalcy by the time he left the cupboard behind. It seemed that Mira was going to be an ongoing problem rather than something that he could set aside, but at least he had his faculties back in working order and was able to think clearly again. He had a quick browse back through his memories of the day to reacquaint himself with what had happened and felt a pang of annoyance at how easily he’d been knocked around by Luna, but there hadn’t been any major social missteps. Everyone was as focused on the competition as he was, which meant that they were all basically ignoring him too.

Kaya and the others were seated in their usual spot in the stands, but he stopped by Malachai to see how that faction was getting on and see if he could get a feel for the mood in the crowd as a whole.

“You did well.” Malachai said as he approached. “There are not many who can fight without their senses.”

Sylvas shrugged his shoulders. Still more than a little embarrassed by his performance. “It took me longer than it should have to realize what was going on.”

“Yet you won all the same.” Malachai’s expression gave little away, but there was a hint of warm amusement in his voice.

Oh I’m starting to see the appeal now. I mean, he’s handsome enough, but I didn’t think that would matter to you all that much, but that tiny hint of approval? No wonder you obsess over him.

Sylvas ignored Mira as hard as he possibly could, then feigned surprise for Malachai. “Were you doubting me?”

“Not for an instant. It will definitely be the two of us in the final.” He looked back to the battlefield. “The Grayhall contender is the only question, really.”

Sylvas smiled. “Do you think you’ve spotted their winner?”

“Honestly? I can’t be sure.” He steepled his fingers as he watched the match unfolding down below. “They have a few decent casters but nobody of our caliber.”

Oh that warm fuzzy feeling when he says, ‘our caliber.’ Maybe you should marry his sister after all. I’m certain she’ll be the kind to pat you on the head and tell you you’ve done a good job after you finish pleasing her. And with me to help you, I’ll make sure you do that every night.

Sylvas rose to his feet, flushing. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m keeping my other friends waiting.”

There was a fraction of hesitation as he said the word ‘other,’ like he couldn’t be sure that Malachai would approve of being lumped in with the rest of them, but if he was offended, nothing showed. “Please pass my salutations along to them.”

“Shall do.” Sylvas said, moving away as fast as he dared while Mira cackled in the back of his skull.

I can’t believe that you’re still this easy to prickle.

“I can’t believe that I’ve got to deal with your running commentary on my life.” Sylvas growled back.

Kaya and Ironeyes were seated together with a decent gap between them for him to slot into, and both greeted him with an absentminded slap on the back as he settled in. “What have I missed?”

“Everything, stanzbuhr.” Kaya pointed, as if there was any way for the two fighters to be mixed up. “This Grayhall mage, she’s got an ice affinity like our boy Bortan, but she really knows what she’s doing with it. Ice crystal knives, and refraction prisms and… you’ll need to find a playback, it’s just your kind of thing.”

Ironeyes gave a begrudging nod of agreement.

The fight was in its dying moments, a veritable forest of crystalline blades had closed off most of the arena, preventing the other fighter from moving more than a few feet in any direction. It was just a matter of time until he lost his footing on the frozen ground. A blink of a moment later, and the man’s eye was pierced by an icicle. The horn sounded, and the next match was set up.

“Do you have another match today?” Sylvas asked Kaya, trying to keep the conversation going.

“Nope, all done.” She glanced at him. “You’ve got one more?”

“I do.” He couldn’t quite gauge her expression.

Then the grin crept onto her face. “You going to suck as much in the next one?”

“Listen—”

Kaya talked right over him. “When she first flashed you, I thought, my stanzbuhr, he isn’t even going to blink at that, but what did you do? Stood there like a pliktach while she pounded you.”

“Like a pliktach.” Ironeyes agreed.

Sylvas wet his lips. “What is a pliktach?”

“Absolutely useless.” Kaya shook her head in dismay. “All that fine-tuning you did to see in the dark and the minute your eyes cut out, you—”

“Fish-frog thing. Useless lumps. No eyes.” Ironeyes explained. “We raise ‘em for meat.”

“—then he’s bouncing her up and down like—” Kaya was still rambling on.

“I’ve resolved the issue.” Sylvas cut her off, “my new paradigm just needed some fine tuning.”

Oh? Do you suppose that I’m a finely tuned instrument now?

It had been bad enough with just Kaya abusing him in her usual jovial manner. He didn’t think he’d be able to tolerate Kaya and Mira in harmony. He stood back up, startling both dwarves. “I’d better go get ready for my match.”

“Already?” Kaya’s brow furrowed. “Well, good luck. Guess you need it today.”

Oh I enjoy her.

Sylvas moved away as quickly as he could without drawing attention, nodding to Bael as he passed and ignoring the slight glimmer of concern he could detect in the elf’s gaze. It was like he wasn’t allowed to have a single moment when he wasn’t perfect, or everyone started worrying.

There was a great deal of hanging around following his hasty exit from the stands, but he put the time into working on his embodiment and paradigm. He had consumed enough materials now for that part of its development to be finished, he just needed to give the spell working on him a little bit more time to integrate everything. The paradigm, by comparison, was pretty much complete now that Mira was awake. All of the mental load that he’d been trying to bear through was now shared, and in a strange way he felt lighter despite the metal lump now residing in the back of his head. As if the burden had been weighing down his thoughts and slowing him. 

During his match earlier, he’d been so sluggish as to have been basically useless, but now his mind seemed to be making connections and forming conclusions almost as fast as he could present it with problems. His left eye, where the slate was integrated had mostly stopped feeding him information in the run up to the Crucible, but now he was able to restart it again. Within moments it was flooding his eidetic memory with new spells across the spectrum of affinities so that he’d be able to recognize them and recreate the weaker variants. Mira would study them, integrate them properly into his understanding, and offer them up as and when required. 

At least, in theory. So far, her tactical assistance had been limited to mockery.

Well, you provide me with so many things to mock.

Shaking his head as if he could dislodge her voice, Sylvas tried to focus on the fight ahead. He had a shared file on his slate with Bael, and they’d been scratching off the other contenders as they were eliminated. On top of that, they’d been marking each contender who’d already had two bouts so that the remainder of the list, now surprisingly short, contained only those they were liable to go up against. Sylvas was faintly relieved to see that the match he’d just caught the end of had been the second for the ice mage. He didn’t much fancy facing her after seeing that.

Staring down at the list, he tried to match names to faces he’d seen. No one campus seemed to be unduly represented in the list, but he knew for a fact that several of Malachai’s little gang were still in the running, and while he had direct experience with some of them thanks to their mock battle on Mournhold, they still represented what he considered to be the biggest threats.

A chime on his slate alerted him to the fact his match was coming up, and he followed the markers imposed over his vision to his destination, getting ready to correct any misconceptions anyone might have formed about him as a result of the poor showing he’d made earlier.

This time, he drew in a deep breath of the arena’s stale air with a smile and let all his senses stretch out. “Are you ready?”

I’m you. If you’re ready. I’m ready.

“Am I ready?” He replied, with a hint of annoyance.

Let’s find out.

From the other side of the arena, his opponent launched himself like a bullet. He caught barely a glimpse of the figure shooting across the space between them, but it was enough for Mira to provide him everything he needed to know.

Blackhall. Malachai’s lackey. Metal affinity. Silver whip.

That last detail jogged his memory. They’d fought on the Mournhold in the final chamber. Someone who manifested weapons and threw them around, but was reliant on a living tendril of metal that Sylvas considered a whip for the purposes of mobility. He must have used it like a slingshot to launch himself onto the field. Sylvas raised a single hand and cast a focused Inversion.

In a narrow band, all of the gravity in the arena switched from vertical to horizontal. All of the metal mage’s momentum was arrested and he slowed to a complete stop in front of Sylvas, who felt like he had all the time in the world to cast his next spell. A focused Gravity Spike that would end the battle on impact.

Do try not to get ahead of yourself.

As he cast the spike, the silver whip lashed out from where it had been coiled around the other man’s arm. The sharpened point slammed into the red sand and using it as a pivot point the mage was able to yank himself aside, making Sylvas miss.

They were closer than Sylvas should really have allowed, but he wasn’t as concerned as he probably should have been. He released his orbitals and sent them chasing after Mira provided his name, Wynnel, before he could launch himself away again.

Throughout the whole exchange, Wynnel had been casting, and now the spinning blades that he’d been conjuring came into existence. They looked something like cleaver blades without handles, and as they spun out of nothingness into being, they deflected each of the orbitals in turn. His orbitals were made of metal, and Sylvas supposed that the other man might have contested his will for control over them, but instead he chose to deflect. 

That tells us something about how the man chooses to fight. Mira informed. Note it.

The whip released its tenuous grip on the arena floor, and the mage dropped back to his feet, spinning that long tendril of shining silver around to intercept the one orbital that had made it through and slapping it back at Sylvas. It hit him hard enough to stagger him, but not enough to do any sort of damage, not with his own will slowing it.

Those spinning blades still hovered in the air above Wynnel, and now they moved forward at his direction, zipping across the distance between them in an instant. Sylvas had to leap one, and duck another to keep both his legs and scalp intact, but by the time he was back on the ground having avoided them, the next pair were coming at him and he had to dive or risk being filleted.

Sliding across the sand, he took ahold of the construct inside him and launched himself up into the sky before the boomeranging blades found their way back to attack him from the rear. With height and space, came a renewed perspective on the fight. He cast as he rose, swerving and twisting to avoid the blades as they chased him. Wynnel was casting smaller daggers out into the air around him and launching them up in volleys, but at this distance, his accuracy wasn’t good enough for Sylvas to be overly worried. The few that did manage to find him stuck little more than a fingernail’s distance into his flesh before all of the reinforcement he’d been doing to his body stopped them. It stung, but it was hardly life threatening. Nearing the top of his spiral, he paused just under the dome’s surface and readied himself, then he let go of the grip he had on his internal orbital and cast Gravity Shear. The shield spread beneath him as he fell, and as Wynnel’s blades came close they were easily deflected off to the sides. 

Sylvas fell straight at his opponent, piling on weight and mass, and he hit the sand beside him with such force that the whole arena floor bucked, launching Wynnel up, where he was then caught against the curvature of the Shear and carried off along its outer edge, tumbling as he went. He had made a good showing, but he simply wasn’t equipped to deal with Sylvas’ affinity, despite them having clashed before. There had been an opportunity to adapt, and he had not taken it, and now he was going to pay the price.

Releasing the Shear, Sylvas watched as Wynnel tumbled through the air, casting one last time and lining up his shot. As Wynnel fell back to earth, he lashed out with his whip to try and create another pivot point, and that was where Sylvas placed his Gravity Spike. The whip never made contact with the ground, wrapping around the gravity well that Sylvas had created instead. It was slurped down into the Spike like a long noodle, dragging its owner along with it. Sylvas had never seen exactly how the whip connected to its user, but after their last clash, he’d come to the conclusion that it wasn’t simply a tool, but more likely a manifestation of Wynnel’s embodiment. 

He couldn’t just let it go when it was being dragged out of his grasp, even if doing so would save him. As his arm collided with the Spike, it broke in several places. As his torso collided with the arm, it bent and twisted as the gravity ravaged it. Sylvas cut off the spell then and there, knowing enough damage was done, and like clockwork, Wynnel’s crest activated.

He turned to look at the crowd, at Kaya and Ironeyes on their feet cheering and Bael’s quiet approval. At the dismay on the faces of all Malachai’s minions, while their leader looked quietly satisfied. At the stares of all the rest. The ones he’d already beaten, the ones he would never face and the ones now filling with dread at the idea that they’d soon have to face him. He smiled up at them all.

That’s it, get nice and smug. Surely that won’t end poorly.

Sylvas’s smile didn’t falter. “You say that you can hear all of my thoughts. What am I thinking right now?”

That wouldn’t have been anatomically possible, even when I did have a body.