Serial
104: FATETRAP
June 16th, 48 S.D. 18:21 Sieg Lowlands, Central Plains
As the evening began to settle, Losha decided to retire early. Today’s events had left a great deal of considerations on her mind. Hours after her encounter with Irvis, she was still trying to process all the pieces. Meanwhile, she had to fight off the memories that man had brought up, the bitterness within her that lingered even through the years. Every time she thought about what had happened back then, back in Sventa, a pang ran through her soul, leaving her swollen with anger. On top of these frustrations, Losha also had to figure out tomorrow’s lesson plan. Talastol was yet her school to run. On the way back to her quarters, she noticed Faima standing by a window. The other woman caught her eye and motioned to her. Quickly, Faima went to the doorway and opened it.
“Hey, Losh, you got a moment?” she asked, holding onto the frame as she craned outside. Faima, though now into her 50s, looked half that age. Indeed, she appeared younger than when the two had first met during that fateful war. Regenesis didn’t just stop the body from getting old, it actually reverted its existing effects. It was always such a strange thing whenever Losha scrutinized it at length, but that was just the way things were with serialization. For a moment, Losha wondered why Eltin had never come that far. Were she and the rest really that much more developed as serialists? Were they beyond the master’s level already?
“Sa,” Losha nodded. She stepped into Faima’s little dorm, a simple two room residence. Most of the adults in Talastol had their own places like this, though the kids often doubled up. The school had a centralized cafeteria and bathrooms, but everyone had their own units like so.
They went to Faima’s first room which consisted of a low table flagged by two chairs. An orb of light hovered high near the ceiling; the series provided for the whole space. Losha noted the fair amount of books scattered around, interspersed with sheets of written material. Faima had become one of her sharpest students, a mentor to others like Mesel, and a candidate for becoming a master herself soon. Perhaps seeing the art first-hand in combat had done something to her, but whatever the reason, Faima had a natural calling for serialization.
“Do excuse the mess,” Faima said, waving her hand back and forth, more or less unconcerned with it in truth. “One kinetic series would take care of this in an instant, sa, sa. I know. I just never seem to get the time.” They sat down, and Faima flicked her hand, casting a series to close the front door. Losha leaned back while Faima crossed her legs.
“So, what was that all about?” she asked. “The visitor we had a few hours ago?”
Losha sighed for a bit as she scratched the side of her neck. “Sa, sorry. You would have been there too, but someone had to watch the rest, especially the younger students.” Losha said. “I did not wish for anything to be overheard.”
“Well, you know Virel seems to see and hear everything...”
“Sa. She was the one that warned me about the visitor. I am not worried about her knowing the matter.”
Faima whistled as she threw her eyes up for a second. “That girl is something else. Maybe she really can peer into the future.”
“No, she just... How best to explain this correctly... She just reads people well, connects with their souls. That just happens to let her anticipate how they will act, sometimes. She is not like Suvla at all.” The young Sofos had a gift for looking into others. At a glance, she could discern another’s heart.
“Sa, sa, but what happened with you?” Faima inquired. “I would ask Denze or Mesel, but I want to hear it from your mouth.”
“Girl talk, sa?” Losha grinned.
“S**t, just tell me, Losh,” Faima cursed in Gandian. Losha laid out the details of what Irvis had said, careful to be concise while maintaining a hushed tone. Faima’s face didn’t change once during the explanation; she merely digested the info as it came to her, only nodding from time-to-time.
“Well, this is a b***h...” Faima declared, again in Gandian before switching to Asten. “The ‘Zeroes’ are they? Shrieks, this whole thing sounds like a clusterfuck waiting to happen. I am not talking idly here, Losha. I know how vulgar I usually am, but I am being serious here. This is bad.”
“Not just bad for us, for everyone. The whole Central Plains will be caught up in this mess if it progresses. Every clan is on edge as it is. Throw in the Zeroes, serialization, and serastone, and it all comes crashing down in the worst way.”
“So, what is the plan? I know we are on our own now, but do you intend to bring back our old outfit?”
“No,” Losha said firmly, leaning forward now. “We are not doing what we did back in Sventa. No more missions. No more operations. We are a school and only a school, as we always should have been. We will not become some sort of vigilante squad.”
“Oh...” Faima said. “And here I was getting excited about that.”
“You never stop looking for a fight, do you, Faima?”
“Damned right!” Faima laughed slapping her leg. “I would gladly spend my time and effort handing out beatings. I even work for free, you know. Quite the charitable woman, sa?” she smiled.
“How can you be so smart, yet so violent?” Losha wondered aloud.
“Se? Now what about you?” Faima countered. “But really, Losha, what course do we take from here? If what Irvis told us is even half true, this is a matter that cannot be ignored. Far graver than even the last time we cooperated with Sventa, when we were still known as WOLFGANG.”
Losha grunted tiredly and shook her head. “I will tell you the same thing I told them. We do nothing.”
Faima raised both eyebrows, albeit very briefly. “Sa... Perhaps that is the wisest course, to wait and watch.”
“Obviously, we will not tolerate things getting out of control, but we have nothing to go on, no solid leads, and virtually no key information about how and where the Zeroes operate. Most importantly, we have no clue who they really are or what their objectives are. I refuse to stick my neck out there on Sventa’s behalf, or even at their suggestion. I refuse to put us at risk in any regard,” she huffed.
“So, just let things stay as they are until something bold or dangerous comes up?” Faima asked.
“No, not like that. I just think we should not act until the Zeroes expose themselves a little more.”
“But by that time, what if it is too late to stop them? Or worse, they never go out in the open and their havoc simply spreads even deeper?” Losha frowned and grumbled something lowly. “Look, Losha, I have rarely seen you indecisive, and every time I do, I do not like it. I hate to second-guess you, but for f*****g out loud, get your head straight.” Faima was one of the few people Losha allowed to talk this intimately with her, and probably the only one she could stand to hear profanities from.
“I am not being indecisive. I said we do nothing, and that is the end of it. Not until we must.”
“Bullshit,” Faima spat. “I know you too well. I can see you are torn. You want to go out there right now and lay down your law with the Zeroes. You are sickened by the fact that people might be using serastone and serialization for murder, robbery, and whatever else they can think of. Just sitting there, you are itching to take off. Now, on the other hand, you are outright disgusted with the very idea of helping those b******s in Sventa. You want to avoid a repeat of what happened 10 years ago. You want to avoid becoming a victim of their manipulation. The scars they dug in you are still fresh, and those are wounds you do not wish to open again. That is where you stand, paralyzed between two forces. We will wait and do nothing not because it is tactical, but because you need time to figure yourself out.”
“Hmm... Pretty good for someone who is not Virel...”
“Please, Losh. After all these years together, you are nothing but transparent to me,” Faima grinned. “Listen to me though. I have been there. I know what it is like to be abandoned by your people. We both have Sventa blood running through us, yet we do not carry our clan’s name with us. I understand the pain they gave you, maybe all too well. I never really learned to trust the clan as a whole, just certain people, like you and WOLFWIND. Maybe we can never trust our homeland, but we must not let that cloud our duty. Talastol is small, sa, but from here we will spread serialization, and it will be an art of peace. We must keep serialization free from darkness, above all, even if it means involving ourselves with Sventa.”
“You know,” Losha began after a while. “They have betrayed you twice already. Even if we must confront the Zeroes soon, it could very well be a setup. We do not have all the details. Could you really stand to see Sventa use you yet again?”
“What could they do to me and you? Banish us like before? Ksh!”
“We could... lose one of ours again if we go forward, if we do as Sventa wants us to. Just like last time.”
Faima breathed in deeply, looking up shortly. “Sa... Sure, things could go south. I understand where you are coming from, Losh. I really do. You would not want any one of us to suffer. We are family after all. But... Do you remember what you said to me when I first came to you about learning serialization? You told me that to wield the art was to wield a responsibility far greater than myself. Far greater than my doubts and fears. As serialists, we must see to it that our knowledge is not abused by anyone. We owe it to the safety of everyone around us. If you want to protect us and the world at large, the Zeroes have got to go, sooner or later. Plus, I really want to give my old boot a shove up their asses.”
Losha sighed. “In some ways, your tongue speaks more eloquently these days, but you are still the same Faima underneath it all... Thanks. I appreciate talking things over with you.”
“Not going to ask you what you really, really want to do next. I know that you know that you do not know. You got too much s**t hanging around your head. Sort it out, then we will hear your proper answer. The one where we take these guys out.”
Losha simply shook her head as she stood up. “See you in the morning.”
From her chair, Faima waved and watched her leave into the night. Reaching forward, her hand darted underneath a pile of disheveled papers. Below, she retrieved a pack of cigarettes. For a second, she thought maybe she’d been the one who influenced Losha to pick up the habit.
“No, that is not right. She only started around... Shrieks, when it all went down years ago.” She grabbed a stick between her teeth. “Poor girl... Geez. It hurts, sa? Well hold on, because it only hits harder the longer you live with it, Losha...”
A few minutes later, Losha walked into her own apartment. The place was dark, but immediately upon entering, she knew she wasn’t alone. With a swish of her wrist, she cast a series, throwing an orb of light into the air. Through the doorway to the next room, Losha spied Virel sitting cross-legged on the very edge of her bed. Losha looked at her for but an instant, then turned away briefly to shut the door.
“If you want to talk, do it here in this room. That is why I have chairs set up. And please, stop hiding your seras frequency like that,” Losha shrugged.
Virel shrugged once and jumped off the bed. “I do not see what is wrong with your bedroom,” Virel smiled, walking away. “I guess you are not in the mood for a heart-to-heart conversation. Not like we used to.”
Losha chaffed at her words, even though they were harmless. “How long have you been waiting there?”
“Long enough, Losha. But not long at all.”
“Sa...”
Virel possessed an unusual ability for a serialist. She could judge people based on how their seras flowed. One’s seras frequency was the product of seras radiating away from their soul at a set rate. According to Virel, however, there were actually slight micro-variations in the frequency constantly taking place. To anyone else, they were imperceptible, but not for the Sofos. To her, she could map them out to specific thoughts, feelings, or reactions in others. At the height of this extra sense, Virel could predict someone’s intent.
She was not a mind reader, but her insight into the soul was both uncanny and unparalleled. Though there was an explanation to it all, Losha couldn’t help but imagine there was something mystical in her nature. Virel must have known exactly when her friend would have returned. She’d already warned Losha about Irvis, detecting his approach a full day before his arrival.
“I have to question why you said nothing about Irvis’ purpose. You only told me that someone from Sventa would be here today. Perhaps that was something you missed?”
Virel folded her arms and looked up at Losha. “I do not see how you expect me to do that. We do not speak freely anymore. And we spend less time together. You are growing distant, Losha.”
“You know why that is, if you are reading me correctly.”
Virel frowned as she put her hands on her hips. “It is not just me. It is everyone. I know you were affected by what happened in the past, that you started to withdraw, but you are at a low right now.” She sighed softly before continuing. “Even if I can gaze into you, you do not want to be honest with me... or yourself. Like you are still afraid to admit any of your emotions to anyone. How long do you plan on staying like that?”
“Long enough,” Losha retorted, stepping past Virel as she went into her bedroom. Virel turned around and looked at her.
“Sa. I see you really are not in the mood to talk, not openly. Perhaps that is what you need: silence. But eventually, you are going to have to find your voice.”
Losha merely sat on the long side of the bed; her legs spread apart as she rested her arms on her knees. All the while she stared emptily, tiredly at the floorboards. Virel watched her for a bit, but soon she decided this was enough for now.
“I will see you later. I think you have a long night ahead of you. Valanya.” As she walked out of these quarters, Losha called out.
“Virel.” Her student stopped shortly. “Sorry.” Virel was a sweet kid. She had sacrificed nearly everything to be here with Losha. She had elected to follow Losha, even as Sventa had expelled the Wolf. In that way, Virel had essentially cut herself from the Sofos, all when she had been but a girl. Losha couldn’t bring herself to speak harshly against her like that, not after all the two of them had been through.
Virel smiled faintly to herself as she left, closing the door softly behind her. Losha blew out a long breath. Was it really true? Had she slowly been drifting away from her friends, from her loved ones? Had she allowed herself to be pulled away from everyone as the years moved by? Didn’t that explain her current state? She smoked, she was irritable at times, and her choices wavered when they should have been rational. But, in reality, hadn’t she been aware this beforehand? Even so, as she looked at herself currently, the scope surprised her.
“Shrieks!” she growled, whipping a hand and dismissing the orb of light. She threw herself back on the bed, staring up into blackness. “Silence. That is what I need. And sleep. But where can I find either in all of this rain!” With a groan, she tossed over to the side. Faima was right, she thought; too much clutter filled her head. Virel was right, she thought; she hadn’t been honest with anyone recently...
And so, fitfully, restlessly, finally she closed her eyes, perhaps to dream, or perhaps to recount her pains.
After the Sventa-Henron war, after I returned home to Sevia, I began building the school I had always planned on. With the fighting at last out of the way, with relative peace restored to our lands, I took the opportunity to establish myself in Sevia. Our family was hardly ever lacking in money, so I gathered funds quickly. Additionally, Master Eltin had left a sizable sum in Palostrol which we had earlier taken with us on our journey to the Central Plains. My school, the first one, was erected post haste, nearly as soon as I had ordered it.
The structure itself was modest, yet I had hoped to expand as we progressed. The earliest of my pupils consisted of those closest to me: Denze, Mesel, Faima, Virel, and then there was Jun, the orphan I had rescued from Leitis. Though we were a small gathering, we were a start, a new beginning. From this humble little group, we would grow our ranks and spread the teachings of the art, from Sventa, to the Central Plains, to the Continent at large. At least, at that time, that was what I believed. It was my duty after all, a task handed to me by our late master as well as the true founder of serialization, Nabel Viska. I had to fulfill this vision not simply because it was given to me, but because I had faith in it, in the promise my powers held for the world.
My notoriety in the war had already turned me into a sort of living legend. Once word went out that the famous Wolf of Sventa was taking in apprentices, people of all kinds came flocking to us, across Sventa and Henron alike. My meager pool of students suddenly blossomed in months, to such a degree I had to limit the amount I could reasonably accept. Palostrol had not been built that fast; Master Eltin had made sure to take his time, carefully selecting candidates and devoting himself to them individually. I could not do the same with thousands, let alone hundreds under my tutelage.
The demand took me aback, certainly, but in hindsight it was understandable. I was offering them abilities that seemed beyond imagination. In their eyes, I was teaching magic. However, the citizens of Sventa and Henron were not the only ones interested in obtaining serialization. Having seen what I was capable of doing during the war, the Tabran yet hungered for my strength. They wanted me to train select units of the military. I adamantly refused and fought their measures. Politics, however, are a domain where even my art may not sometimes reach. Although I managed to pacify the other Toroms, the army was not willing to let serialization slip so easily from them. If they could not get me to form a group of their own soldiers, they figured the next best thing to do was have me lead my own.
They contacted me through Boz Delte Sventa, my former commander, proffering the idea to me. Sventa wanted serialization for defense, and he knew I was wary of anyone abusing the art. If I were in control, he had said, if I were the one on the ground taking action and calling orders, I could make sure no one serialized for the wrong ends. If I were the head of a unit built with people I could personally trust, I could prevent mistakes and needless violence. I would be a model for how the art could peacefully protect others and end conflicts. After all, I had never killed anyone in combat. It was a compelling argument, one that I had thought about myself, and one I ultimately accepted.
I agreed to do select jobs for Boz when I had time to spare, minor things: going on patrol, border reconnaissance, and at times apprehending several criminals. I never forsook my primary role as a teacher, and my school was always a priority. Boz understood this whenever I declined to lend my services; if it had been another commander, I do not think they would have taken it so well. Boz was someone who knew me though, someone I thought I could trust.
Initially, I went solo, forgoing any assistance, however, as the requests became more involving, Denze and Faima eventually joined me. Mesel and a few other mentors handled things in our brief absences. With the three of us, we were officially designated the codename WOLFGANG, a reference to my former outfit. For five years we worked for Sventa, stepping into hotspots to ensure there was balance in our part of the Central Plains. Together, we dealt with crises and emergencies alike, acting swiftly, fairly, and efficiently. Under our watch, a sort of calm maintained itself against an otherwise hostile land.
I truly thought we were leading examples of what serialization meant for people’s lives, for the future. I had denied the Tabran of powers they were not ready to handle, secured the clan from all manner of threats, and brought my school, my following to fruition. And yet, I could not see the dangers we were walking right into, the fate that would destroy us. Even now, I remember clearly how it all began and how it all ended. Sa.. it was a rainy night years and years ago...
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