Deep in the dungeons of Pyrdredd, the sister citadel to Valdis, Athar stood silently near the head of one of the many beds that were being used to house Ardrin's experiments. He carefully observed another hegraphene of the Iron Plume clan as it gulped down the vial of violet liquid with streaks of gold lining the edges.
As soon as the hegraphene finished, Athar grabbed the vial from the creature, helping it to settle its head into the headrest and latching the thick leather strap across its chest and arms.
"That does not taste very good, does it?" the hegraphene said. Its speech was slow and singsong, but the gravelly undertone characteristic of their species rang true throughout the room.
"No, it does not, my friend, but it's a necessary part of the process," he said with a feigned chuckle. "You're going to feel strange, but this strap will help keep you from accidentally hurting yourself during your assimilation process," he said in as calm of a voice as he could, knowing full well what came next. "It's not going to hurt, is it?" the creature asked, gently testing the limits of the strap itself.
"Just remember to focus on the mana, and it won't hurt, I promise," he lied through a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I trust you, Athar. I've seen how you've taken care of my brothers and sisters these past thousand cycles, and so I put my life in your hands," the creature said with a nod of confirmation.
Athar returned the nod solemnly and took a step back from the bedside. "Very well. Let's begin. Start by focusing your will onto the mana within your body," he began, carefully observing anything and everything that was about to transpire.
The creature closed its eyes, feeling the mana flowing through his body, air, and sky before trying to claim it for his own. He began to notice that there were other colors of mana appearing, some of them golden and bright, while others were intertwining with the usual dark mana.
"Hah, I never thought mana could be this beautiful," the hegraphene said as if lost in a daze. "Remember, focus on the mana and draw it into you," Athar said in the same tone he had used so many times before. The creature followed his order, reaching out with its consciousness, grasping at the tendrils of mana floating in front of it, and convulsing uncontrollably.
The creak of the leather strap grew nearly as loud as its pained groans as it strained against the bedside bars that held it securely. Athar calmly put a hand on the creature's chest, hoping to calm it down with what little he could do.
"It's alright, you're okay," he said, trying to comfort the hegraphene. "Focus on the mana and breathe," he said, feeling the rapid rise and fall of the creature's chest plate. Its violet eyes swirled and sparked with golden tendrils of mana that shot out from it in short spurts as the undeniable panic began to show in its eyes. "Wh-who a-are y-you? D-do I-I kn-know y-you?" the creature suddenly asked, the fear seeping through its tone.
Athar felt his stomach sink and face pale immediately, forcing him to swallow the boulder forming in his throat.
"I'm your friend, and I'm here to help. Just focus on the mana, and don't worry about anything else! I've got you," he said while fighting his own emotions, moving his free hand down to its forearm to prevent it from slicing into the seams of its own natural armor. The hegraphene, using its other hand, began to claw at its thigh just above the knee, digging sharply between the seams of its plating.
"I know it hurts, but you have to focus, please!" Athar begged, moving the hand on its chest over to the other arm as its eyes grew even wider in fear. "Focus on the mana and how it's circulating. You have to get it under control," he pleaded, no small amount of pain ruling his tone.
The creature's breathing grew increasingly shallow and rapid, the slight wheeze in its tone indicating that it was trying to get the mana under control. With a slow halt to the convulsions, and a long, aerated breath that was reminiscent of a breeze flowing through autumn trees, the battle was lost.
"Shit," Athar muttered, watching the glow in its eyes disappearing like a blacksmith's unfinished blade being held aloft in the cool, evening air. "No, no, no, no!" he shouted, slamming his hand on the side of the firm mattress. He let out a deep, guttural sigh, feeling the anguish of the other hegraphenes around him as if it were his own.
"I'm sorry, friend. I'm so… so very sorry," he said, feeling the tears flowing freely from his face. The silence, only mildly broken by the sound of tears hitting the armored plating of the hegraphene's chest, hung heavily in the air.
One of the other hegraphenes, who had already undergone the treatment, put her hand on Athar's shoulder. "You shouldn't beat yourself up about it, Athar," she began comfortingly, her voice holding much less raspiness than most others of her kind. "We all knew the risks when we agreed to follow the Masked One here," she continued, gently squeezing his shoulder.
Without looking, he placed his hand on hers, feeling the small ripples in the plating that covered the tops of her hand and fingers. "I know. I just wish there were more I could do to make sure this doesn't happen again," he said, sniffling as he finally raised his head to look at her.
Her violet irises glowed softly as thin, golden tendrils like lightning raced across them. The faceplate the hegraphenes usually wore in front of those not of their clan was retracted into the sides of her face, revealing her small, pointed nose, supple lips, and ash-gray skin and hair to match, an evolutionary adaptation to their environment.
"There isn't much else that can be done. After all, it was his own lack of power to control the mana that got him killed, not anything you did or didn't do," she said, trying to comfort him. "That's a cold-hearted statement to come from you, Devyr," Athar said with a mild scoff of disbelief. "Cold-hearted, sure, but it's still the truth nonetheless. It's how things have always been here," she said, shaking her head. "I know," he replied with an almost imperceptible nod.
Devyr looked at him with a worried expression for a moment before immediately hiding it behind her face plate as the Masked One entered the room; his cloak almost dragging on the floor behind him. He paused in front of the two who were still standing next to the lifeless body.
No wounds or signs of sickness, Ardrin noted as he looked at the recently deceased hegraphene.
"What happened?" Ardrin asked bluntly, gesturing to the lifeless body on the bed. "This one couldn't get proper control of the mana," Devyr answered in Athar's stead. "I see," Ardin replied, noticing Athar's dour expression.
Does he care for them as if they were his friends? He thought, staring down at the body once more.
"Your friend's sacrifice was not in vain," Ardrin said, realizing there was an unspoken truth to his thoughts as he saw Devyr's hand still resting on his shoulder. Athar, finally looking up at him, gave him a curious stare. There was no defiance in his eyes, but something unsettled Ardrin enough to force him to clear his throat and turn away.
"Come, Athar. We don't have much time left," he said cryptically as he turned on the ball of his foot down the adjacent hallway. Athar gave Devyr a pained smile before following his master down the gloomy hallway. They walked in silence for a few moments, their footsteps the only thing resonating down the sickly green pathway.
"You've been serving me well lately," Ardrin began, deciding to break the silence of his own accord. "Th-thank you, master, but apparently it's not good enough," the young man replied solemnly. "Because you lost your friend?" Ardrin asked bluntly. A haunting silence filled the air once more as Athar chose his next words carefully.
"Yes, because of him. The hegraphenes, as different as we may be, have been nothing but welcoming to me, much more so than Irun was when I first met him," he began, staring blankly at the floor moving beneath his feet. "They even know I've been exposed to my Alternate, but they don't shy away from wanting to help me if it ever tries to take over again," he continued.
"Do you know why that is?" Ardrin asked plainly. "They said it has something to do with being within the reach of the Undergod, but they didn't explain much more than that," Athar said with a mild shrug of his shoulders. "While that is a factor, it's not the only thing at play," Ardrin began, opening the doorway to the tincture distillery.
Inside the room, there were glass tubes and stone mortar and pestles strewn across a large stone table. Many of these tubes were connected to one another, forming intricate spirals that weaved through metallic coils warmed by mana-flame burners at their bases. "What do you mean, master?" Athar asked as the Masked One took the last portion of the Gwynnleaf he had stolen from Coltend and crushed it beneath a stone mortar.
"Your alternate is only behaving because it knows that lashing out or taking over is not conducive to its survival, especially here," he replied bluntly. "You're saying that the Undergod would kill it if it did? But why would he even care about that if he could crush it like an insect regardless of it lashing out?" Athar asked, genuine confusion reigning his tone.
Ardrin sighed, setting the mortar and pestle down briefly before turning to face the young man. "Yes, he would, and it would be done without a moment's hesitation," he replied gravely. Athar took a step forward, spreading his arms widely. "Then why doesn't he just get rid of it for me, then? Why must I walk around like some kind of accident waiting to happen?" he asked frustratedly.
I need to choose my next words very carefully, or it could easily spell both of our ends, Ardrin thought, making sure to shield his thoughts entirely.