Discordant Note: Crescendo | TBATE

Chapter 249: Catharsis

Thank you to my beta reader and editor, GlassThreads!

Toren Daen

I watched from the side of the cookfire as Captain Dromorth directed his troops through the Undercroft. The dim and dark cesspits of Burim always seemed to try and swallow any light that streamed down, but the lighting artifacts strapped to the belts of our soldiers and the task they were performing served to bring some much-needed warmth to the decrepit mishmash of rickety homes lashed to stalagmites.

Personally, I waited at the edge with a cloak covering my hair, doing what little I could here and there to assist in the distribution of food. Not far away, Bartholomew Morg spoke in animated tones as he peddled a story to some of the nervous dwarven children.

As I watched the slowly gathering operation, I found myself drifting back to winter nights in East Fiachra. Where Greahd would give out everything she could to bring about a sense of community to the downtrodden of the city. I thought of Naereni and Wade. Sevren and Caera.

I spotted a young dwarven girl as she stared up with awe at Barth's conjured play, clapping her hands. The sparkle in her brown eyes was so much like Benny's.

"It's... sad," Lusul said beside me, almost invisible against the shadows because of his dark skin. "I didn't know this place was down here. I couldn't even imagine..."

I exhaled sadly through my nose. "Places like this exist on every continent," I said. "You can't escape poverty, no matter your system." I tapped my fingers along my leg, noting the wary looks of nonmage dwarves as they stared at our cookfires and offerings of food. They sensed some sort of trap. Some sort of danger here, even though there was none.

At least not any they can understand, I thought solemnly as I leaned against the back of a stalagmite. None they'll ever be able to understand.

Seris was playing a game with these people. After she'd recognized the changes in Agrona's modus operandi through Viessa—where the Truacian Scythe enabled massacres on an untold scale across the continent of Sapin—she'd confided in me that she was going to push a certain image: not dissimilar to mine, where I attempted to act as a connective tissue for dwarf and Alacryan.

Seris would present the differences in her and Viessa's power blocks. If Viessa were the monstrous demon, Seris was the noble one. One could run from Viessa into Seris' clutches, thinking themselves safe. A pretty lie, I supposed, but a lie nonetheless.

And so here we were, distributing spare rations of food to the poor of Burim. A sound political move.

Lusul was silent for a time as he shivered slightly in the darkness. "On every continent, Toren?" he said weakly.

I snorted slightly. "It's worse in Alacrya," I said. "Better in Sehz-Clar, of course, but still much worse."

I tapped my fingers against my arm as I thought of the destitution that gripped the unadorned of my home city. "There's a reason people need to be mages to even purchase things like food and basic necessities in most Dominions. Why most of the time, unadorned are exiled and banished from the truly populous city centers if they fail a single tax."

Laws such as that inadvertently helped strengthen the blood of mages in Alacrya, as evidenced by nearly two millennia of experimentation. By pushing those with a low aptitude for magic away from the urban centers–where most of the industry and means of survival were centralized–Agrona created a culture where those with magic potential naturally congregated and perpetuated their bloodlines, gradually strengthening and enhancing their magical potential through manipulation of civilization itself.

"Then these people will be even worse off when... when we conquer them?" Lusul said, his pink eyes haunted.

I suppressed a bitter laugh. Lusul had grown so much over the past few months—from believing all Dicathians were inherently lesser, to fearing for our victory. I remembered when he'd told me that beating down "Dicathian savages" would serve his spine well.