Arc 9 | Chapter 413: A Drink to Destroy a Nation

For being two people who had only just met one another, Vern and Rayleen sure bickered a lot. It was… intense, their topics of disagreement spreading from actually reasonable things—whether to go right or left; whether they should be relying on Rayleen’s abilities or not—to ridiculous—see: sweet bun argument.

As if on cue, Emilia’s stomach growled, and she began searching through her bag for a snack. Tucked into an alleyway as they were, Rayleen insisting that they needed to wait twelve minutes before continuing on, Vern arguing that was stupid, it was the perfect time to go digging through her stuff. Jerrial, helpful man that he was turning out to be, graciously helped her hold open her too full bag to dig, and dig, and dig, and hadn’t she

just

put more snacks, gifted to her from Nivel, in here? Where had they gone…

“Aha!” she whisper-yelled, raising two snack bars high above her head, triumphant. One went to her, the other the Jerrial. Vern and Rayleen went on arguing, seemingly not even noticing that their two companions were now eating without them. Their loss; neither she nor Jerrial pointed out that they were missing out, instead just going back to their leaning against the wall of a building as they ate, Jerrial taking small, delicate bites. Each mouthful, he chewed carefully, and after devouring her own bar, she had to ask: was it habit, because he was sick, or because he had been homeless for an unknown amount of time and his tummy wasn’t used to eating much anymore.

“A bit of everything,”

he replied, taking another small bite, each shift of his jaw careful and almost choreographed.

Emilia had never been good at eating slowly, despite her Censor’s repeated attempts to remind her to chew more—it was better for digestion, after all! It hadn’t helped, and after she’d just gotten used to ignoring the notifications, her Censor had finally given up. The problem, in her estimation, was that there was just so much to do in the day and never enough time! Eating properly took time she didn’t have and didn’t want to waste seated at a table, chewing, chewing, chewing, boredom filling her mind because you were also supposed to eat mindfully and not just stuff your face while your mind was elsewhere. Chewing was part of that mindfulness, as was focusing on the food and the atmosphere and the people you were eating with. Emilia could sometimes do some of that—could appreciate a good meal and let her happiness flow over the people seated with her. Even when sitting with people she loved and was set to spend the rest of the day with, however, she couldn’t make herself chew slower. It was impossible. Slowing down was, for her, utterly impossible, even in this small thing.

So, watching Jerrial be so slow in his consumption, his soft voice eventually telling her why he ate so slowly, was an experience. A few of her friends ate at more reasonable speeds, but Jerrial was by far the slowest.

“Part is definitely that my stomach is still sensitive from the lack of food the last few weeks, and even more before that, when I wasn’t sick, I was just homeless. Before being taken in by Fräthk, I was homeless, and then, with them…”

Jerrial trailed off, taking another bite, more slow shifts of his jaw as he stared down at Emilia’s hands, where she was idly folding the wrapper of her own, swallowed-up bar, the mildly sweet taste still clinging to her taste buds.

One of the only good things that came out of Jinkai, in her experience, was its interesting architecture and aesthetics—although, no one could ever agree on the origin of either, some arguing the dark, maze like atmosphere of the Free Colony originated in Jinkai, while others argued in originated in Falrion, which had once held a firm grasp on the nation. Most of the continent thought the origins were Falrion, but Emilia wouldn’t be surprised if those agreeing were just nervous that the secretive, but apparently quite powerful Free Colony might take badly to being told they were copying Jinkai, rather than that they had once forced their own style onto a nation they had repeatedly fought Dion for control over. The same was said of Jinkai’s myths: that they may have originated in Jinkai or Falrion.

The origin didn’t really matter—not when both were so impossible to visit that she couldn’t do more research, difficult as such research tended to be—but there was a myth out of one of them. The myth had travelled the continent until it eventually got to Baylor, who collected myths with all the obsessive hoarding of the dragons of Dion, which were said to be some remnant of a culture and nation that existed long before Dion. Today, the visage of several mythological creatures and the long-gone people who brought them into the world existed in legends and artworks, as well as in rumour and myths, supposedly come from ancient documents that had long been locked away until not even the Emperor Supreme was no longer allowed to view them. Given said documents were supposedly written in a long-lost language, being allowed access to them probably wouldn’t have been very helpful. Regardless of all that, Baylor had then gone on to relate this particular story to Emilia—this myth about how not only did ancient nations know how to manipulate ley lines to power their technology and manipulate the aether, but how objects themselves had something similar.

While the Free Colonies had techniques, such as etching, that could be used to turn regular objects into things that held power, that wasn’t what this myth spoke of. By harnessing core energy through conduits, core users could use etchings to created intricate designs on the object, which damaged the aether of it. When the aether eventually healed or was further damaged, whatever power had been given the item—the ability to suck oxygen from an area, for instance—would dissipate. Depending on the skill of the person who did the etching, as well as the purpose, the power might last only a few minutes—good for fast and dirty attacks on someone chasing you or leaving a door unlocked for an ally who was still catching up—or millennia—although, as far as anyone knew, the techniques for such long-lasting etchings had been lost for more generations than one could count.

The myth Baylor had gotten a hold of, during a game of cards in Seer’ik’tine, a few years ago—only Baylor could somehow find himself in a game where the bets were stories of value—instead spoke of the lines of the aether as they sat against a specific object. Allegedly, there had once been a way to manipulate those lines of power the same way ley lines could be manipulated. This wasn’t exactly helpful, as the ability to manipulate ley lines was a lost art, but it was still interesting, and in the years since hearing the myth, Emilia had often found herself examining objects and thinking about the way the aether layer over them.

The ley lines of the planet, for as much as they didn’t really understand them, were things they all knew to exist—these places where the aether seemed to bubble and burst with power, as though it were sheets of existence, meeting up like tectonic plates. They were smaller than the planet’s tectonic plates, and much more… Emilia didn’t want to think

purposeful

—more… artistic? Like someone had swiped a brush over the planet and created a design that wasn’t quite perfect or purposeful, but seemingly meant to be beautiful, all at once?

The point was, whether they could currently manipulate those ley lines or not, they still existed, echoing power that couldn’t be touched or felt through anything but the most sensitive of instruments. So, if despite the power they held, millennia of trying had never managed to do more than allow the barest glimmer of the ley lines to be felt, why shouldn’t everything else have ley lines of their own? What were the meridians that stretched out from cores but the ley lines of the human body, more palpable than any other ley line because humans were power—were seemingly born to be capable of pulling at the power within them and letting it loose.

At least, that was the case for core uses. Skills pulled aether from their owner’s aetherstores in a more direct way, passing aether through whatever tissue and organs existed between it and its target. It was actually a bit of a problem and part of the reason so many people refused to even attempt coding their own skills: if the designer fucked up, and the skill activated too soon, BOOM! It activated

inside

the person, rather than at the target location. It wasn’t

super

common, but every so often, a new hacker would accidentally injure themself when a line of code wasn’t quite right. Usually, they didn’t die! That was part of why, when testing skills, you never activated them near your head and tried not to use an aetherstore near anything vital: the last thing anyone wanted was to accidentally blow up their brain. A hand could be reattached, a severed artery usually repaired. Blown up brain? Decapitation? Exploded heart? Not too much that could help with those ones.

“You are so deep in thought.”

Emilia glanced away from the wrapper she had been folding, folding, folding, wondering how small such an object’s ley lines would be and how to figure out where they were—if there was even any power to be found within them—to Jerrial. The man was smiling softly at her, and although her Censor informed her that he had continued on with his answer—basically, Fräthk had rarely given them enough food to sustain themselves, so all of his

little bugs

had rationed their food and knew not to overeat when more food was offered to them because it could cause severe intestinal issues, and what a weird way to treat your more valuable and powerful people?—Jerrial didn’t seem offended. If anything, he seemed more amused than anything.

“Sorry,”

she muttered.

“Always been bad about getting lost in my head. My Censor does keep track of things for me, so you don’t have to repeat your story of how your boss is an idiot, but usually I’m better at responding and acknowledging people when they’re speaking to me.”

“An idiot?”

Taking in the amusement still lingering in the Lüshanian man’s eyes, Emilia decided he probably knew what she meant—or hoped she was of the same mind as him—but just wanted to hear it from her. She could appreciate that—they didn’t know each other well, after all, and seeing as they were about to break into a powerful criminal’s holding cells together, understanding each other’s worldview seemed important. It was also just something to do, Rayleen still insisting they couldn’t leave yet before turning her bickering with Vern onto less important things: whether a currently popular drink, which used fruit imported from Byshire, was against national interest.

According to Vern, given the fruit was farmed in Byshire but both it and its use in beverages had originated in Dion, consuming it was no different from importing something in directly from Dion, which was highly illegal. While he didn’t think having it in the city or consuming it necessarily reached a line of compromising nation interest—he didn’t think the drink itself was somehow going to lessen the population’s dislike of Dion or anything, something many Lüshanians were adamantly against happening—he did think that the arguments that were coming out of its consumption, as friends argued whether it was really a Dionese or Byshirian drink, were affecting national unity, and therefore, the drink was against national interest.

Rayleen said something contrary to Vern’s line of thinking, which Emilia didn’t really think was relevant, but the argument that exploded between the pair a second later probably proved that Vern’s point was correct: somehow, this drink and the fruit that flavoured it were, in fact, against Lüshan’s national interest. Fascinating.

“They really will find anything to argue about, won’t they?”

Jerrial sighed, blinking at his friend and their… companion? escort? kidnapper? Emilia still had no idea what to think of Rayleen, with her mysterious abilities and not necessarily a love of Fräthk, but certainly something that wasn’t the hatred she occasionally saw filling Jerrial’s expression, nor the fear that slashed over Vern’s, even though he could have turned back long before they began making their way through the criminal’s territory.

“I wonder if she was given more food…”

Emilia quietly mused, watching the golden woman continue her bickering with Vern.

“Most people try to make their underlings love them, or at least earn some loyalty from them. Restricting food so much… I know some people make themself some mixture of love and cruelty to manipulate people—things like giving and restricting food sporadically to keep them on edge—but based on what you said—”

“A few people who worked directly under Fräthk were given a little more freedom, but they have all worked within the organization for decades, and I would not say even they were treated kindly by Fräthk, even for short periods of time. They have simply accepted their lot in life, and found a way to work with it, even if it means they have to do terrible things for someone they hate,”

Jerrial confirmed.

“Some people call them Fräthk’s loyal; I would argue they are simply the most broken, unable to do anything but be loyal in an attempt to live even a few minutes of freedom and pleasure a day, knowing there is no escape from this life.”

“Idiot; they’d have so much more success treating their people better.”

Shaking her head at the criminal’s stupidity, she muttered something about how even she could run a criminal enterprise better than that.

“I assume they mostly get by with threats, rather than true loyalty, and that’s just asking for a revolt. Maybe some people will be too broken by the abuse to fight back, but”

—eyes catching Jerrial’s light-brown eyes, flecked through with darker browns, greens, and blues, Emilia smiled, reaching out to brush a piece of hair out of his eyes—

“not everyone will break. Some people will always push back. Earning a broken loyalty through misery may have worked out for them so far, but Fräthk is an idiot for believing that abuse is a layer of protection, and not a dagger against the back.”

Jerrial’s hand rose to latch around hers, their fingers twinning together in what might have been the first time they’d actually touched. He squeezed, and that was really all the answer she needed—if he was given the chance, Jerrial would take Fräthk down. Perhaps it wasn’t his primary goal in going to the holding cells—more a potential side quest—but if he could, he would. Emilia would prioritize getting Olivier and making sure he was alright, but once that was dealt with, would she be able to leave this man, who was hours away from the olthagri coming back with a brutal vengeance—likely to claim his life—alone in his revenge?

The entire universe already knew what her answer was, but Emilia refused to even give it a voice within her head. She knew, even without thinking it, and given the way Jerrial watched her, somehow, despite barely knowing one another, he knew as well. They were alike in a way, after all—two people who would help those who fell into their path, even when it wasn’t the smartest thing to do. Jerrial had done it with Candence, bringing another mouth to feed into his and Vern’s lives when they didn’t have enough for themselves. Jerrial had done it with her as well. Yes, he also wanted something from the holding cells, but it weren’t as though he had demanded her help in exchange for taking her there—not really, anyways. Rather, he more demanded she let him come with her, so he could make use of her infiltration to get what he wanted. Looking back on the way he had phrased it… Emilia wasn’t even convinced he wouldn’t have given her directions, had she refused—after all, Jerrial had said he would help her get Olivier if she helped him get into the holding cells, not that he would help her find Olivier in exchange.

So, how in the world could she leave this man to suffer, when he was so clearly willing to help her and anyone else who stumbled into his path?

Yeah. Fuck.