Discordant Note: Crescendo | TBATE

Chapter 277: Alone

Thank you to my beta reader and editor, GlassThreads!

Seris Vritra

I had no time to waste. The moment I saw the steamships on the horizon, I was already moving. I barely spared the unconscious asura another glance.

Nico's mana signature boiled like the sea next to me as the ocean smothered the magma's warmth. I internally calculated the distance as I ground my teeth, feeling a chill working through my drenched body as the warmth left me.

The worst possible time, I seethed internally, holding Toren's body close. They chose the worst possible time to arrive.

I'd known that this fleet was coming, had expected it for the past couple of weeks as the High Sovereign finally stopped holding back and decided to push for victory. But Burim was still reeling from the devastating fight between Toren and Chul. Already, this could prove devastating to my hold on the continent if I didn't act fast.

They'll reach us in twenty minutes at minimum, I thought, gnashing my teeth as I stared at the approaching fleet. Thirty if I'm lucky.

But luck was not something I counted on. Luck was a fool's hope.

I chanced one more glance at the unconscious asura, my gaze cold as I debated my next course of action. I needed to ensure my hold on Burim was clear. If I played my pieces right, even this devastating loss could be played as a victory. I just needed to shift my pawns across the Sovereign's Quarrel board correctly.

My eyes focused on the opposite docks as I started assembling this puzzle in my mind. I floated weakly toward the opposite docks, feeling another squeeze from my core. They were bustling with activity like a swarm of bees as dwarves shouted and clamored to be heard and saw to the refugees. The stone boats were methodically pulled to shore with grappling lines, allowing the folk of the Undercrofts to stumble to relative safety.

When the dockworkers sensed my approaching aura, they froze. Work and recovery halted immediately as haunted eyes focused on me and my horns, and then on the limp body in my arms. The clamor and bustle quieted as the scent of fear and worry overtook all.

Toren would know what to say to these people to draw them together, I thought, observing them from above. But I am not Spellsong.

I knew I must look like a devastated mess, all grace and poise washed away in the ocean. Still, I kept my chin slightly raised and my gaze serene as I searched for one specific man amidst the clamor.

Finally, I found who I was looking for. Lusul Hercross was with the wounded Jotilda Shintstone as he stared mutely up at me, his eyes glassy.

"Return to your work," I ordered, allowing my voice to carry as I flexed my aura. "It is not done."

Haltingly, the workers seemed to remember what exactly they'd been doing. The tragedy and destruction had not stopped, and neither could they. I distantly remembered an old-fought battle with Scythe Kelagon as I watched these frazzled and battle-shocked civilians struggle to pull what was left of their lives together.

I drifted down, exhaling softly. I marched forward, forcing my poise and resolve to bleed into every mannerism. I was Scythe Seris now, and these men would draw strength from my surety as much as anything else.

"Lord Hercross," I said, drifting toward the second son of the Named Blood. He froze, snapping a wary, hesitant salute as his eyes focused on the body in my arms. He didn't even kneel, showing clearly how exhausted and confused he must have been.

"Scythe Seris Vritra," he said, his lip trembling in tune with his legs. "How may I serve you?"

Strong boy, I thought. He's grown into his leadership in the short months he's been stationed here. Too many men have already buckled.