TO&FQ: Book 2 - Chapter 44 (RAW)

Chapter 44 - Convalescence

"The Nex (Neural-Interface Exosuits) derive their name from the neural core that translates human thought into mechanical motion, seamlessly binding intention to cybernetic strength. Humanity discovered swiftly, and often painfully, that the Nex demands conformity; deviation from the familiar shape of our own bodies invites confusion and eventually madness, a flaw especially apparent in early experimental designs. Further constraints arise not only from the natural limits of human anatomy but from the interface itself, whose reliance on rapid neural connectivity renders remote operation impossible. The Nex suits stand as towering reflections of ourselves, varying from human scale up to eight meters, the upper bound set by the artificial nerve fiber bundles. These mechanized suits have since become indispensable, integrated seamlessly into industry, rescue operations, construction, exploration, and inevitably, warfare."

- Rebirth of Man & Machine: A Primer for Nex Pilots.

It took considerable effort and a surprising amount of patience to flush the Dust from Finleigh’s body. The arduous process required constant vigilance, a painstaking task that Seraphina had chosen to oversee personally. Who could have guessed that the human body was capable of releasing such an unsettling variety of liquids and substances? Truthfully, it was an ordeal the young noblewoman was eager never to repeat.

To ensure that each tedious act of care was optimized to her benefit, Seraphina meticulously timed her visits, only tending to Haze when the bard was lucid enough to perceive her actions. Anything otherwise would have been nothing short of wasted effort.

All this she managed while carefully balancing her demanding school schedule and her numerous entrepreneurial endeavors. The carefully calibrated grain prices set by Bottleworth’s Confectioneries remained just above average, a deliberate act of generosity contrasting sharply with the ruthless profiteering of her competitors. This clever manipulation positioned the Bottleworth brand almost synonymously with charity and benevolence among Meridian's citizenry.

Yet, merely earning their gratitude was insufficient. Seraphina required tangible power, unquestioned and decisive. To achieve such power, subtlety and ruthlessness were equally necessary. A handful of rival grain traders soon met unfortunate ends, their sudden demise ostensibly caused by disgruntled citizens tired of exploitation. 

Of course, through paid proxies and agents, Seraphina ensured her hand was invisible in these incidents. There might be rumors, but rumors were difficult to prove when all of the evidence was destroyed, or in this case, eaten by a certain Hydra. Now, the young blonde wielded nearly absolute control over Meridian’s primary food source.

If she could replicate this cunning strategy throughout Aranthia, she would soon hold a veritable stranglehold over the entire region's grain supply. Starvation, after all, could be a more formidable weapon than a thousand siege engines. It was not that she wanted such drastic measures to become necessary; rather, she found comfort in the knowledge that she had contingencies in place should circumstances demand it.

It was always best to be prepared.

Unfortunately, not all of her meticulously planned schemes unfolded smoothly. The adventuring party she had hired to capture a Unicorn had mysteriously failed to report back to the guild. Seraphina harbored a strong suspicion they had become hopelessly lost or met some grim fate. Unicorns were very aggressive, very dangerous, and surprisingly, omnivorous. Disappointed, she mentally noted that she would need a stern word with Eloise regarding the reliability of her father’s recommended mercenaries.

It was approaching the hour when Haze would stir from her sleep. Strategically administered doses of sleeping drugs kept the bard placid throughout the day, allowing Seraphina to manage her with efficiency. Tackling the physical addiction had been relatively straightforward, almost trivial, compared to confronting the deeper, insidious psychological craving the Dust created.

The Dust itself was an extremely potent drug. The substance granted its users vivid, immersive, lucid dreams that surpassed even the greatest joys of real life. Reality could never match the seductive power of living in a perfected fantasy. This promise of a blissful escape made Dust addicts particularly dangerous, as they would do nearly anything to acquire more of the substance, abandoning all sense of pride or dignity. After all, who could care for a mundane reality when dreams offered the fulfillment of every hidden desire and secret fancy?

That love lost? Conjured from thin air. That dream of being the best? No problem. It was a miracle drug, wholly and intoxicating, and therein lay its most treacherous trap. For the briefest of moments, Seraphina found herself questioning, just for a half a heartbeat, her alliance with those responsible for its importation into Aranthia.

She shook her head. Seraphina de Sariens did not second-guess herself.

Aware that Haze would soon stir, Seraphina carefully arranged her features into an expression of practiced kindness. Following her mother’s advice, she intended to drown the bard’s resistance beneath an overwhelming tide of “kindness.” The young girl unlocked the heavy door and, with a gentle, reassuring smile plastered on her face, entered the white-washed room carrying a tray filled with fresh, wet towels. This she set by the bedside and clapped her hands. 

Seconds later, a mousy servant girl delivered a bowl of piping hot vegetable soup. It was all for show, of course, well, at least mostly, Seraphina most certainly did not do half-measures when it came to self-interest.

The Bard was a pitiable sight indeed, skin pale and clammy, fiery ginger hair frayed and tangled beyond recognition. Gone was the luster and lively spirit that had once defined the talented performer. Yet, despite her wretched condition, Haze still found the strength for a weak, faltering smile, more habitual reflex than a genuine welcome.

“Good morning to you, Haze,” Seraphina greeted warmly, her tone deliberately soothing as she ignored the bard's incoherent mumbles.

Occasionally, Seraphina had attempted to treat Haze using her healing magic, yet these efforts had proved disappointingly ineffective. The bard’s ailment was mostly psychological, not physical, and therefore beyond the scope of mere magical intervention. Worse still, Seraphina had begun to feel troubling aftereffects from her frequent use of healing spells. Only recently had she barely managed to stop herself from granting Miriam an unearned day off—something she would never normally entertain.

The realization that magic could gradually erode one's identity and personality unsettled her deeply. Indeed, it was akin to a virus that slowly, methodically replaced parts of the host. She found herself reflecting on the philosophical puzzle of the Ship of Theseus. Just as a ship gradually replaced plank by plank, eventually becoming entirely new, so too was her very self, her essence, being subtly overwritten. 

She wondered grimly, if piece by piece she were replaced by magic, would she still remain Seraphina? Would she even notice when the last authentic fragment of herself vanished? Or would she simply wake one morning as something entirely different, unrecognizable yet believing herself unchanged?

Shaking off these unsettling thoughts, Seraphina reminded herself of the practical utility of her spells. Heal was invaluable, nearly doubling her effective Health in combat and preserving the flawless porcelain quality of her skin. She had seen enough callused, rough hands among women adventurers to recoil at the mere thought of allowing herself such coarse imperfections.

To further ensure Haze’s cooperation and safety, Seraphina had tasked her loyal serpent, Cornelia, with a constant surveillance of the addict. The serpent’s coils provided a stronger, more reliable restraint than any lock could manage, though that had not stopped Seraphina from investing in the highest-quality locks available. As always, a layered approach was the most effective way to ensure one’s desired outcomes.

“How much longer must I stay here?” Frest murmured weakly, her voice barely audible, weighed down by lethargy and despair.

Seraphina briefly considered her alternative plan if rehabilitation failed entirely. Cornelia was more than capable of dealing decisively with any situation—perhaps, she might just have the serpent might simply devour the Bard if necessary. Indeed, as of late, Cornelia had been replacing Miriam in this rather important duty of dealing with inconvenient things. Her maid had far too much on her plate, after all. Seraphina chuckled inwardly at this bit of cleverness.

In Seraphina's estimation, the Finleigh likely suffered from some form of depression. Depression, the young girl thought, was a weakness of the mind that only preyed on and afflicted the weak-willed. If there was one trait she despised above all others, it was weakness. Vulnerability she could reluctantly accept, understanding that even the strongest had moments of fragility, but outright weakness disgusted her, representing an abhorrent denial of everything that she felt she was.

“Why, Haze, darling,” she responded softly, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness, “you must remain here until you have recovered completely.”

As if in punctuation, she effortlessly conjured a Crystal Dagger, her growing mastery of crystal magic evident in the ease of its summoning. Haze looked worriedly at the shard of pink crystal before Seraphina simply fed it to Cornelia, who gobbled it down with a crunch. 

Whatever follow-up question or line of inquiry that was budding on Haze’s lip died at witnessing this display.

This magic lent her mind a sharper clarity that balanced the troublesome bouts of altruism brought on by the excessive use of Heal. Yet crystal magic, too, was slowly reshaping her core, embedding itself insidiously within her, a stark reminder that nothing powerful came without cost.

She sighed softly as she considered this internal struggle. Not only was she burdened by this body’s previous memories, she also bore the weight of the Arcane. Magic, in its way, was both boon and burden, slowly but inexorably replacing her very self. She wondered how many more spells she could safely cast before Seraphina de Sariens became merely an echo of who she had once been. 

“It is time for your breakfast, Haze,” Seraphina said warmly, her radiant smile brimming with a brightness that rivaled the golden sunlight streaming gently through the nearby window.

Despite her lingering misgivings, the Bard slowly lowered her defenses, allowing Seraphina to spoon-feed her carefully prepared soup. Initially, the noblewoman had found the task unpleasant, almost distasteful, yet over time, a curious change had overtaken her perception of the ordeal. Once she began thinking of it simply as tending to a cherished pet, a small, delicate blossom of satisfaction unfurled within her heart.

When at last the bowl was empty, Seraphina offered herself a silent, approving pat on the back. I really am growing as a person, she mused with quiet pride. Was this tender sense of fulfillment the same pleasure that healers and physicians experienced when caring for the sick and infirm? Or, a darker, more troubling thought whispered, was it merely another subtle manifestation of the insidious influence exerted by the Holy magics she wielded so often?

Still playing the role of attentive healer and gentle caretaker, Seraphina calmly retrieved a small wooden board, a fresh sheet of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell from the nearby dresser. With graceful efficiency, she arranged them neatly on a table beside the Bard’s bed.

“Tell me, Haze,” she began softly, her tone imbued with genuine concern, carefully rehearsed yet convincingly sincere, “what was it exactly that drew you so irresistibly to the lure of those Dust-induced dreams? Surely you knew the terrible dangers involved in such an indulgence.”

“You would not believe me even if I told you,” Finleigh murmured weakly, her voice tinged with bitterness and defeat as she turned her gaze pointedly away.

The hardened emeralds of Seraphina’s eyes momentarily softened, showing a gentle, sympathetic expression she had practiced meticulously before the mirror. “Come now, Haze. I cannot help you unless you tell me what truly ails you. If we are to heal your spirit, we must face the root of the issue directly, no matter how uncomfortable it might be.”

A long, heavy silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the overly enthusiastic trills and warbles of birdsong drifting in from outside the window. The noise grated on Seraphina’s patience, distracting her carefully honed concentration.

“Hawk!” Seraphina warned, channeling the power of her enchanted necklace. Immediately, as though compelled by an invisible force, the birds ceased their clamorous symphony, scattering swiftly into the clear morning sky.

“Where!? They are yummy!” Cornelia mentally blurted, only for Seraphina’s glare to silence her.

At length, Haze let out a deep sigh, the sound heavy with profound melancholy. It was swiftly followed by another sigh, this one even more exaggerated, clearly an attempt to tug at Seraphina’s sympathies. The noblewoman had to consciously clench her jaw to prevent her teeth from grinding in irritation at the Bard’s transparent attempt to tug at her heart strings.

“I... I saw him there,” Haze began softly, her voice scarcely above a whisper. “In the dreams the Dust gave me, I saw my father again. He was just as I remembered, sitting by the fireplace, holding his Chordrelle. He would always play it when he felt happy. Or sad. Or even just bored.” Her eyes grew distant as they welled gently with tears, the emotions she had fought so long to suppress now spilling out into the open.

Seraphina raised an elegant eyebrow, keeping her expression carefully measured while inwardly her mind churned with a combination of curiosity and mild irritation. She searched through her memory, the vast lore she had meticulously internalized from the game, yet found nothing matching Haze’s recollections. Perhaps she had skipped over this particular detail, or maybe it was something the developers had added later.

“My father always wanted to be a great Bard,” Haze continued, her tone growing faintly nostalgic and wistful. “He lived for music, for stories that moved the soul. Even though he never achieved true fame, he never stopped playing. I used to watch him for hours, lost in melodies that seemed to fill our little home with magic.”

Haze paused, a bitter smile ghosting across her pale, cracked lips. “I wanted so badly to follow in his footsteps. But I was foolish to try. A girl can never be a true Bard, not like he could have been, either.”

Seraphina barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Father issues. How incredibly original. Yet outwardly she maintained a gentle, supportive demeanor, tilting her head thoughtfully as if deeply moved by the bard’s confession.

“But that’s nonsense, Haze,” Seraphina replied smoothly, her voice sweet and reassuring. “With me, you’ve made quite the name for yourself already. Your music can charm even the hardest hearts. You should never doubt your worth.”

Haze shook her head slowly, weakly, as though the motion itself cost her great effort. “It’s not the same. My father’s love for music was pure, effortless. He was music. I’m just... a shadow chasing echoes.”

With a lackluster attitude like that, you will always just be a shadow, Seraphina thought darkly.

“Tell me more,” she prompted gently. “If we understand these dreams fully, perhaps we can break their hold on you.”

She carefully dipped her quill into the inkwell and pretended to jot down notes on the parchment.

Haze took a ragged breath, closing her eyes tightly as though bracing against an invisible pain. “In those dreams, I finally had the courage to play beside him. He smiled at me, Seraphina. He was proud of me. Just once… it was, I was, enough.”

This is just too much. Seraphina paused, quill hovering above the parchment, considering carefully how best to exploit this vulnerability. A troubled heart, a yearning for validation—such things could easily be shaped to her advantage.

Smiling softly once more, she reached out, gently placing a reassuring hand upon Haze’s trembling shoulder. 

“I can not promise to reunite you with the memories of your father, darling, for the solace of the Dust extracts a most terrible price,” she murmured comfortingly. “But I can help you find a way to make him proud of you. Together.”

Haze suddenly wrapped her arms tightly around Seraphina in an embrace so fierce and desperate that it seemed as if the weakened Bard had secretly been hoarding her strength precisely for this very moment. Seraphina was momentarily taken aback by the unexpected intensity, nearly losing her composure as Haze buried her face deep into her shoulder, tears streaming freely down her cheeks. The rawness of the embrace, the sheer force of Haze’s sudden vulnerability, caught even Seraphina off guard.

But Seraphina was quick to rally, and a part of her almost looked forward to solving Haze’s little issue. It was a puzzle that could be conveniently solved.