Discordant Note: Crescendo | TBATE

Chapter 170: Already Won

Seris Vritra

Toren's head turned sharply toward the doors, a clench to his jaw that told me he sensed something coming. I quieted, focusing on my mana senses as I followed suit.

Not long after, I sensed his mana. Cadell Vritra, the closest thing to a right hand Agrona allowed, flared his oppressive aura as he approached the doors. None could yet see him, but already every conversation and word within the meeting hall died away, snuffed out by the apathetic power thrumming through the air.

There is still a gulf as wide as the sea between us, I thought with a flash of irritation, though I showed none of it on my face. Even as I grow in power, I cannot see the depths of Cadell's own.

For the first time in what felt like an age, I'd begun to grow in strength once more. Varadoth's horns were rich with mana, each absorbed bit of energy bolstering my mana channels and pushing the purity of my core even further. Though they were ill-won, I could not relinquish the chance to heighten my strength.

As Varadoth had fought against his own High Sovereign, I'd been forced to recognize the gap between us. I'd been confident in my ability to match the head of the church, but I had been woefully wrong. The insight I absorbed from his remaining horns only pushed my thoughts deeper into contemplation and worry.

The doors finally opened, revealing the imposing figure of Agrona's foremost Scythe. His impassive scarlet eyes roved over the occupants, quietly dismissing them all as he strode over to a corner of the room, the shadows swallowing him like a tight-fitting glove.

Behind him, Nico walked in his usual way. The Scythe-to-be always stomped with an angry tension to his shoulders and gait, stalking forward as if every brick under his foot had personally wronged him and he were squishing them like insects. While most of the other Scythes openly displayed their contempt as Nico walked in, I kept my thoughts hidden.

I turned my head slightly, watching as Nico walked toward the table.

And that allowed me to see Toren's expression.

As both the mask of Renea Shorn and my true self, I'd slowly learned what each of the movements on Toren Daen's face meant. He was expressive in an almost offputting way. One shouldn't show so much of themselves in this world. Such openness was always punished by those who saw an opportunity and knew how to exploit power, but regardless of this, he wore his heart on his sleeve.

But right now, Toren's face was as cold as stone. There was no upturn of his lips or wrinkle in his brow. I saw no tilt in his head or flare of his nose.

It was as if he were a statue, his sole, unerring focus boring into Nico as he plodded to the table. Lord Daen focused on the newest Scythe with an intensity that could wear away stone.

Then Toren noticed my inspection of him. His brow raised in a way that told me he was surprised, while the slight quirk of his lips spoke of mild embarrassment. And caution.

What interests you about Nico Sever, Toren Daen? I asked myself as Cylrit returned to my side. None of the other Scythes demanded your attention so. And to ignore Cadell–the greatest of the Scythes–in favor of the one most dismiss?

Another mystery. I inadvertently felt a twinge of excitement as I was offered more questions, none of which yet had answers.

But that excitement died as every Scythe–save Cadell–moved toward the table. Nico stood to one side, Melzri on the other. Viessa faced Dragoth, each waiting quietly. Their Retainers all stood at attention behind them, save Jagrette whose body lay limp on a couch nearby.

It was understood among us all that the entrance of the Scythe of the Central Dominion heralded the arrival of someone even greater.

The anxiety among us rose as we all waited, subtle tension barely masked. For all that each Scythe was a master of the political game with the masks to match, there were some that were beyond our games. Beyond our abilities.