Dodge: Serial 102

15 long years later, a man approaches Losha with some interesting information.

Serial 102: Once a Wolf

June 16th, 48 S.D.        13:42        Sieg Lowlands, Central Plains

    The day was dark and gray. Across the sky, murky clouds blotted out the light. Slanting through the air, countless bits of water dropped to the earth. The grass, now sleek and soaked, gently hissed as fine rain cascaded from above. With each hushed step she took, Losha Holvate Sventa felt something growing inside her. For a moment, she looked up, angling her head towards the heavens. As the weather washed her face, she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. How nostalgic, she thought. Days like this one brought uneasy memories to her mind. It was on that note that she brought her gaze back down as she tightened the grip on her servai.

    About a dozen meters away, Denze pulled himself up from the ground. Huffing, he came up on unstable feet. Even so, he made an effort to stand and face her. Quickly, he readjusted the cloth masking his left eye. He took an additional second to wipe the mud off his slight beard. Afterwards, he readied his stance, pulling his own servai - a sword like hers - into both hands. Losha simply stood there with her own weapon held idly by her side. The two serialists locked sights briefly.

    In an instant, Denze rushed towards her, dashing along with speed-steps. As he rode the wind, leaving a trail of green light in his wake, Losha remained rooted to her spot. Denze came upon her shortly, charging in on her left side. Lashing out, he threw a sharp, horizontal cut her way. She spun around and blocked his assault backhanded. Though he attacked using all of his strength, Losha matched him with one arm alone. She shoved him away by thrusting her servai as if it were no effort to her at all.

    Denze stumbled a few paces, but he recovered fast. Narrowing his good eye, he tried something risky. His image vanished; his form blurred and faded. Blitzing at Losha, he was almost immediately on top of her. As the buzz of his supersonic movement sounded, however, his bold gambit failed. Losha dismissed her servai in a blue flash; she engaged him hand-to-hand. While Denze threw out his arm at length in an effort to stab her, Losha dodged his servai and snatched his wrist, driving his blade aside. With a fierce palm-strike from her free hand, Losha hit Denze squarely in his chest. The force of her blow sent him flying backwards, clear off his feet. He sailed for several meters before crashing and sliding for a while. As he grunted, he came to rest flat on his back.

    “Enough!” Losha declared. Slowly, she walked over to him as he struggled to sit upright. When she at last stood by his side, he turned and looked up at Losha.

    “You are getting better,” she said, offering a hand and a thin smile.

    “Hmph... yet not as good as you,” Denze replied, grinning and shaking his head. He clasped her hand in his, all the while sending his servai away. Holding each other firmly, they pulled and brought him on his legs again.

    “You did well, Denze. You keep improving each time we spar like this,” Losha nodded.

    “The problem is,” he started, “you always get better too. I have no clue if I can ever reach your level. You keep pushing yourself.”

    “It is not about equaling my power. Just focus on maximizing your own strength. Today’s Denze simply needs to beat yesterday’s Denze. There is nothing more to it.”

    “If you say so,” Denze said, brushing away clumps of wet mud stuck to his pants. “But one of these days, well, you better watch out,” he chuckled.

    “Do not keep a friend waiting. You know, perhaps if you took advantage of using a different servai, your aptitude might rise. You are not naturally proficient with swords, however, you excel as a sharpshoot. Maybe try having your servai mimic a firearm next time.”

    “Sa, I guess I will look into it...”

    Losha turned away and looked to the west. Her eyes swept across the broad plains. Denze looked out as well, tracing where her vision went.

    “It is about time we left,” she said. Her features became distant and somewhat sullen.

    “You can sense it too?” Denze asked.

    “Of course,” Losha responded, turning all the way around. She went off walking in the other direction. “We have visitors today.”

    For a moment, Denze delayed in following her. He frowned to himself and muttered lowly. “They would come when it rains...”

    Together, they went back to their home, their school, Talastol. In name, it was partly a clever reference to Master Eltin’s institution. It also derived significant meaning in the Asten tongue. “Tala” was a base for many words, generally translating into such ideas as “soul”, “spirit,” or “core humanity.” “Tol” was a suffix indicating a place of gathering. At the time, the name seemed appropriate enough, a sort of “soul center” for people to come and learn serialization. The school itself was a mere shadow of Eltin’s. A simple wooden fence closed off the perimeter, but it only stood about waist-high. Stretching from the lowlands, a plain dirt road snaked its way to the entrance, which was but a gap in the fencing. The buildings were all basic wooden constructions, single-level and unpainted. Talastol was scarcely even a quarter the size of Palostrol, and the head-count here hardly topped 50. Everything was small and bare in comparison to their old school. It looked more like a crude settlement than somewhere the world’s best art was taught.

    Denze glanced at Losha for a second as they came closer. With downward twist of his lips, he wondered if things could have been different years ago. Perhaps then she would have had the school she’d always dreamed of... He shook these thoughts from his mind, telling himself that what happened couldn’t be changed. As Losha herself always said, they had to deal with what faced them currently; they had to bear the present.

    Upon entering Talastol, the two of them were greeted by some of their students, children playing in the rain. The little ones stopped and turned.

    “Good afternoon, Master Losha, Master Denze!” all five said in unison.

    “Sa!” Denze waved. Losha nodded, smiling faintly. “Hey now, should you all be playing in this kind of weather? Look at you guys, drenched to the bone.” He stood akimbo and shook his head for a while, letting out a sigh.

    “But so are you, Master Denze,” a girl pointed out.

    “That is different. We were out... practicing,” Denze said carefully. Losha stepped forward, looking down at her pupils.

    “You should not be out here like this, you know.”

    “But today is our day off from classes,” protested a boy. “We are going to enjoy ourselves come rain or shine.”

    “Hmm? You have no schoolwork to finish?”

    “Well...” they said, unwilling to answer right away.

    “Strange, I know Mesel of all people would have given you something to keep you occuppied...” Losha muttered. “Well, consider this then. I want you all to find a way to dry your clothes with a series. That is your new homework. Now, move along back inside.”

    “Aww...” each one groaned.

    “But, we already have an assignment to work on later,” another girl complained.

    “Hey, be grateful you guys. You do not have to write a report this time,” Denze laughed.

    As the kids dragged themselves indoors, Losha folded her arms.

    “That lot never learns. Hopefully a bit more schoolwork will give them a lesson here. You need to at least teach them a bit of common sense, Denze.”

    “Ah, what can I say?” Denze shrugged. “Guess some of my reckless traits rub off on them. Did not expect them to run out here without even a coat...”

    “Yet, look at both of us,” Losha said. “Go fetch Faima. Tell her to make sure everyone else stays put for a while. Then go find Mesel. I want you two in our meeting room. Bring our guest with you. He will want to talk to me straight away.”

    Denze started to walk off, but then he abruptly turned back to her. “He?” her friend asked, raising an eyebrow. “Do you know who is coming?”

    “No,” Losha said. “But our soothsayer does.”

    Denze only hesitated for an instant before he understood her. He nodded then silently dropped out of sight. Losha kept to her path, heading towards the far end of Talastol. On her way, she noticed someone out of the corner of her eye. Standing beneath the overhanging edge of a building’s roof, Virel Sofos watched her without a word.

    No longer a child from so many years past, Virel was now a beautiful grown woman. Though a bit on the short side, she had just recently turned 25. Her cheeks and lips were ever smooth. Her gaze had become bright yet soft. Like notes, Virel’s voice rose and rang with vibrancy. Wavy, voluminous, and flowing, her black hair fell to either side of her shoulders and down her back. As usual, she wore a traditional dress from Sventa, one that stopped just below her knees. Over that, she wore a dark cloak of the same length; the hood drooped over her forehead. Losha turned, and for a fleeting second, they glanced at each other. Afterwards, however, Losha kept walking.

    “You were right,” she said to Virel. Virel’s expression remained blank. She held herself before disappearing somewhere. Losha, meanwhile, came to a small building. It had but one door that lead to a single room. It was the place she and the others used to discuss administrative topics. She could think of no better location than this to host their visitor. All the other buildings were lodgings, classrooms, or storage. It was the closest thing to an office she had. Losha threw open the door harshly as she stepped in. Her clothes were spilling lines of water onto the floorboards, but she paid no mind to that.

    With a wave of her hand, she cast a brief series, lighting three oil lamps simultaneously. Two of them were suspended from the ceiling by a rope, acting as a sort of roughly fashioned chandelier. They swung slightly upon her entrance, tilting their rays back and forth. Losha went over to a table in the center, seating herself on the opposite end. Minutes passed before Mesel joined her.

    Like Virel, he was no longer small, relatively speaking. He never grew to match Denze’s height, but he stood on Losha’s level these days. He kept his hair combed back now, and he’d taken to wearing glasses. He’d never needed them, but the pair he wore now served a special purpose. He often projected light onto them via serialization so they could magnify select images. Additionally, he used certain series to see in different spectrums. For the past several years, he’d been searching for something that would allow them to see seras itself. Though not yet a Master himself, Mesel remained one of her closest confidants, a trusted member of her circle, something of a brother as well. She wanted him and Denze her for this visitor. She had a feeling this meeting had the potential to affect them all...

    “Se? Are you really going to let them see you like that?” he asked while walking in, observing the water dripping from her. Losha frowned, groaned, but stood up. “Are you going to change?”

    “No.” Losha waved another hand, this time over herself. A thin, azure light wrapped around her body. Tossing her head back, she exhaled as the series went to work. She quickly began to warm up, bathing in a sudden swell of heat. The kinetic series started to dry her, releasing steam from her limbs.

    “Instant sauna,” Mesel remarked, stepping over to a window. “That does the job too.”

    As she became less and less wet, she directed the series carefully over her hair. She’d since stopped braiding it into a single, long piece. Now, she merely tossed it into a ponytail. It was lengthy, thick, and bushy, making most people call it a wolftail instead. Though Losha no longer wore her Wolf of War pelt, she still carried the appearance of legendary warrior she’d once been. No one spoke these things directly to her; there were plenty of sore memories that needn’t be touched. She shook her head a bit then sat down again.

    “Should you go out and greet them?” Mesel asked, looking through the glass. “You know how rare it is for people to come out this way.”

    “No,” Losha said; her tone was ragged as she stared down at her resting hands. “Remember the last time we had an uninvited guest?”

    “So you do not want to see them?”

    “No.”

    “But you will anyway?”

    Losha refrained from answering for a time. “Let us just see what he has to say...” she said, drumming her fingers on the wood. The two of them said nothing as they waited for Denze. Gradually, his seras frequency crept closer and closer, as did their mysterious guest. At last, Denze opened the door, holding it for a man to walk through. He was an old character, around his 60s with patches of gray hair and sharp, sunken cheeks. He’d not gotten fat with age, what with his fairly moderate frame. He smiled widely as he took off his hat; his teeth were still natural and impeccably polished.

    “Sa, so we meet at last!” he said, nodding at Losha. His voice was raspy and deep; he smelled of tobacco even as he stepped inside. Losha had a good memory as it concerned seras frequencies. She knew she’d never been face-to-face with him at all. Still, there was something familiar about him.

    “Sit,” Losha said, tilting her hand to the chair across from her. It was not clear whether it was an offer on her part or a command. Nevertheless, the man gave his coat a shake and joined her. Denze closed the door, then stood off in a corner, leaning against the walls. Mesel put his back to the window. The man placed his hat in front of him on the table and began with a few pleasantries.

    “So good to have the chance to see you, Losha Holvate Sventa. You are proving quite elusive, you know?” She said nothing; her fingers continued thumping the wood as she looked into him with little amusement. “I see you look exactly like you did when you left us. Hah, if only time were that easy on me,” he laughed.

    Once serialists reached a certain level, the seras within them began permanently altering the body, ceasing any signs of age. The process, formally known as regenesis, had left Losha appearing no older than Virel herself despite the years that had gone by. Master Eltin had only partially attained this stage, but already she, Denze, Mesel, Virel, and Faima had all come that far. Just barely, Losha’s brow slid down as she leaned closer.

    “Who are you, and what have you come here for?” she asked bluntly.

    “Sa, introductions. Do excuse me. My name is Irvis Delte Sventa. I have come here to discuss something that might interest you, Wolf.”

    Her hand curled up tightly as she spoke, though her face displayed no emotion. “Delte? Another request from the military, is it?” She shook her head negatively. “We do not take on ‘jobs’ any more. We do not see ‘clients’ either. Not after what happened last time. You and yours should now this better than anyone else. Furthermore, do not call me by that name... I am no longer a soldier.”

    “My apologies. But, this is not a job, not a mission,” Irvis smiled, trying to placate her. “Nothing of the sort. Of course, I understand your... mistrust as it seems to be the case. Your exile 9 years ago was a controversial event. Not everyone in Sventa still agrees with that decision though.”

    “And are you one of them?”

    “I came here today, sa?” Irvis said avoiding an answer. Losha examined him while maintaining her own mask. He was right; she held no trust in him. It wasn’t simply the fact that he was someone from Sventa, the ones who had betrayed her. There was more to it. Something about him was decidedly false, duplicitous. Though he presented himself as friendly and inviting, anyone but a fool could tell him for a liar. Perhaps he was counting on that perception for whatever it was he wanted...

    “And why exactly have you come to see me, Ver Irvis?” Losha asked, attempting to cut short any small-talk. She had no interest in entertaining the man, only as long as it took to say “no.” First, however, she needed to know why her clan had reached out a decade after abandoning her.

    “Sa, sa, about our business, it is quite lengthy to explain. Might I enjoy a smoke while we begin?” he asked. “The Sieg Lowlands are very remote, uninhabited really. I still had to go through great lengths to gain passage through several major clans. As a result, my finest cigars were... exchanged for my safe travel. I have no regrets, but I am feeling the urge to light up soon.”

    Losha stood up and walked to a small drawer near the wall. Pulling out the tray, she grabbed a pack of cigarettes. Without even looking, she tossed it over her shoulder. It slid across the table, landing perfectly before Irvis. One of the sticks poked out towards him.

    “All we have is the cheap stuff,” she said, turning around and closing the slot. She’d already taken one for herself, putting it in her mouth. Mesel shifted uneasily on his feet, turning his head away. His specialty was seratic medicine, and he saw tobacco as very unhealthy, though most others did not share his opinion. He greatly disliked that Losha had picked up the habit.

    “Thank you. Actually, back home, the cheap stuff is really all I like.”

    Losha sat back at the table. She held her fist out with the thumb perched on top. She flicked it, miming the motions of a lighter. All at once, however, as her thumb stood erect, a small flame burned above it. There was in fact no fire, just a series. It cast light in the shape of a blaze, but in that same area, kinetic energy caused things to heat up. No combustion actually occurred until something touched the wisp. To Irvis, this all looked like magic. Losha held her hand out, and he lit the end of one cigarette. As the man started to inhale, she moved to light her own.

    “So, you came here to tell me something?” she asked as the glow of her series brightened her face. Snapping her fingers, she stopped serializing.

    “Sa. A matter that concerns the very future of these lands,” Irvis puffed. “Have you heard about the state of the Central Plains today? What they say has become a trend in the wake of the Treaty of Balawanda?”

    Losha blew out a cloud of smoke from her lips as she shifted to the right. “You speak of the so-called alliance race?”

    “Sa. After Sventa and Henron formed the Central Plains’ first peaceful, cooperative pact, binding the two major clans in coexistence, others have eagerly set out to replicate it with their neighbors, though not particularly for the same reasons. Unlike us, these alliances are an insurance. Initially, others feared a dual Sventa-Henron alliance would threaten the balance of power. Two clans acting together doubles their strength and raises the cost of battling against them. You yourself would need an alliance to effectively wage war. The spark caught on; from there clans slowly started aligning strongly with another, usually in pairs, a defensive response to a changing world.”

    “Imagine, if Besnol desires to attack Prevati, it must contend with their allies, the Vekla as well. If Kalon wishes to go after Mepav, Zelhal retaliates too. On one hand, it has done much to put these turbulent plains at ease. No one wants to attack the other for fear of drawing themselves into a costly conflict. Even so...” Irvis paused for a moment. Suddenly, Losha’s heart rate flared.

    “...these are not the years of peace,” the serialist said.

    “Aptly spoken. For a while now, large battles between clans has been limited. 10 out of the 14 major clans are allied with at least one other partner. Bloodshed has decreased; instead the blood now merely boils beneath the surface. Tensions have been going at all time highs. Every group is ready to pounce on their opponents for what normally would have been minor transgressions. It will not be long before a simple brawl on the border develops into full-scale armed combat. A single scuffle could ignite a new campaign. I believe you said it yourself, sa? That we live in a world of rivalries? Well, things have not changed since the Sventa-Henron war, not the overall equation. The rivalries may be fewer with this patchwork of alliances, but they make up for it with their size and intensity now.”

    “That is a nice summary of recent history, but I fail to see what it has to do with me,” she said, halting to take a drag. “Make your point, Ver Irvis.”

    “The Central Plains are like a dam, just waiting to burst. Still, no one truly wants the mess that would follow. These alliances serve as a form of deterrence. However, consider what would happen if a third-party interfered with this tenuous system. Unaligned, they could strike a target on behalf of one alliance or another, a proxy if you will. The victim could not fight back directly against the one employing this third-party, only the third-party itself. The gates would be thrown open; simmering disputes would rip wide, and war would ravage the Central Plains on a scale we have yet seen.”

    “Ksh. Any major clan foolish enough to act as this hypothetical agent would be torn apart by their target. The alliance would strike back and outnumber them two-to-one. It would be utter suicide. Who would risk that?”

    “What if,” Irvis began, “it was not a clan, but a small, well-trained group?”

    “They could not hope to do much damage or stand any chance of winning, much less surviving in that case. Their ‘victims’ would surely crush them.”

    “Unless this band had access to something special, something like this.” Irvis held his index and middle finger in a “V”, between which was a small, black rock. Immediately, all three serialists were on alert. Losha stood up quickly, pushing her chair back as she held the table. Mesel craned forward, touching the rim of his glasses. Denze took a single step towards the old man, pointing at the object.

    “That is...” he breathed. Irvis merely smiled at them all.

    “Sa,” he said. “Serastone.”

Author's Note

15 years ago, Losha Holvate Sventa fought to bring peace between Sventa and Henron. Though calm has been established between these two major clans, the larger situation has not been resolved. Time has passed, but the Central Plains are still a violent place, seething with anger and hatred. All it takes is a simple scratch, and everything will come rushing to the top. From the shadows, one underground group aims to do just that using the strength of serialization. Now an abandoned hero, Losha must once more rise to save these lands from the destructive power of the art. Yet as the actions of her past confront the Wolf, can she find the will to stand against the one behind it all, her very own son?

The next installment comes December 23rd, 2015. This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

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* As readers can see, there's been quite a time jump since the last serial. It's been 15 years since then. In that time, a lot has obviously happened. Losha has started her own school along with Denze and Mesel, however there are a lot of things that aren't explained immediately. She's not in Sventa and obviously holds some bitter feelings against her clan. Something happened in the intervening years. Her school is not as big as she'd hoped either. Her attitude has changed since then as well. Losha has obviously become notably less softer than the kind-hearted student she was. Some of that still remains in her interactions with her students, but it becomes quite clear as she talks to Irvis. Whatever happened during the gap causes Losha to disavow her codename and her famous identity.

* Denze and Mesel have changed as well. Mesel seems to have grown up and is into advanced research concerning serialization. Denze has become a Master of the art himself, surpassing Mesel. For those that remember the earliest series, Mesel was a very gifted student, at the time being one of the most talented youths in Palostrol for his age. Denze felt as if he were lagging, but he's made up for that. He sets his sight on Losha's caliber now.

* Virel Sofos, the youngest daughter of Marila Sofos (head of the Sofos minor clan) is apparently a student as well. During the Sventa-Henron war, she expressed much desire to learn Losha's art. Her wish has come true. However, she remains enigmatic for now, shyly ducking away from Losha, much like she did in her first appearance in Serial 19. Her role in the arc, however, cannot be understated. She's a key player, so watch her.

* Faima also comes along from the previous arc. Evidently, she too has become a serialist. Expect this all to be elaborated in the next few serials.

* Check it out, new little synopsis for this arc :)
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Any feedback is welcome. Just writing because I like it. Always wanted to make a weekly series, so I'm doing it.