Ashborn Primordial

Chapter 307: Return of the Guardian (Two)

Vir and Janani stood at the shores of the Gargan Sea, just outside Samar Patag to the south. The world was silent, save for the sound of waves lapping against the coast. None of the turmoil and injustice of the city reached here. It was peaceful, in direct opposition to Vir's own state of mind.

“It was here. This was the spot,” Janani said. “As per tradition, we cremated Bolin’s ashes. While we wished to keep them interred in an urn, Chitran law prohibits Gargans from following our tradition.”

Vir felt the taste of copper in his mouth, but willed himself to remain quiet. Forget saving Bolin, he hadn't even known the child had died. He hadn't attended his funeral.

“And so, we spread his ashes upon the sea, that his soul may return to the great cycle. That his next life may be better than his last,” Janani added softly.

Vir said nothing for a long moment. In his head, a storm raged. Thoughts of hatred at the Chitran for being so cruel. Hatred at the Chitran for failing to protect the city when the Ash Beast horde arrived. The guilt had passed. Now all Vir felt was anguish at his powerlessness as he idly stroked Shan’s fur.

It was a gentle squeeze on his shoulder that brought him out of this forest of dark thoughts.

“As I said, nobody blames you, Neel. Not in the slightest. So, please, do not blame yourself.”

“It was a Chakra wound, wasn’t it?” Vir asked somberly, watching the waves lap against the shore.

“We cannot be certain. It could have been trauma to his mind. Or, yes. It could have been Chakra. His condition was stable for a time. Then it took a turn for the worse.”

“No,” Janani countered. “The Gargans rallied Greesha to bring in a Panav healer. There was nothing she could do.”

“I see. Would you give me a few moments to pay my respects?”

“Of course. Take all the time you need,” Janani replied, backing away to a respectful distance.

Vir sank to his knees and closed his eyes, hearing the lapping of the waves, and believing that Bolin’s spirit was somewhere among them.

When he spoke a long while later, his voice was softer, more melancholic. “Did you know? Someone once told me that for most demons, the Chakras are steps toward enlightenment. Toward letting go of the shackles that bind us to this world.”

“They sound wise,” Janani said softly.

“Perhaps. But if that means not caring about children like Bolin… about tragedies… is that enlightenment, Janani? Or is that simply hiding from the truth?”

“As someone who has only opened her Foundation Chakra, I am hardly one to comment. I think, perhaps, that your answer may lie elsewhere. Perhaps enlightenment is not about feeling apathy to such tragedies, but rather growing from them? At least… It’s what I’ve done. These orphans… I treat them the same as the children I never had. Believe me when I say that I understand what you feel. I understand it all too well.”

“I’m sorry,” Vir said, rising to his feet. This time, it was Vir’s turn to comfort Janani, whose face was now covered with tears. “I can’t even imagine how hard it must have been for you.”

“He’s in a better place now,” Janani said, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “His next life will be prosperous. I’m sure of it.”

“As am I,” Vir said. “As am I.”

The pair leisurely made their way back to Samar Patag's gates, reminiscing about Bolin and his virtues, while Shan scampered off, not wanting to be noticed by others.

“Will you go to see Greesha?” Janani asked when they’d arrived inside the city.

“I think not. Please send her my regards. I’m due to pay Asuman a visit. I’ll just be needing my mask…”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Asuman, as usual, was not difficult to find. For Vir, that was. For anyone else, they’d have to deal with multiple levels of castle security. Even Cirayus would’ve struggled. For anyone wielding Dance of the Shadow Demon, however, it was as simple as picking an exit.

“It has been awhile, Asuman,” Vir said, firmly clamping his hand over the kothi’s mouth.

The governor had been sound asleep in his enormous four-poster bed—the same bed Vir’s own parents had once occupied.

“M-mmmfff!!”

“Don’t bother calling for your guards. You know who I am. You know what I can do. If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead already. Nod if you understand.”

The kothi obliged.

“Good. I am here to chat. Scream, and you die. Does that sound amenable to you?”

Again, Asuman nodded.

Vir released his grip on Asuman’s face and stepped back, allowing Governor Asuman to sit up in bed.

The dimly lit room hid Vir well, and he nearly blended into the darkness.

“Y-you!?” Asuman muttered. “How’d you—no, you always have a way, don’t you?”

The kothi sat up and kicked off his blanket, forcing Vir to resist every instinct that told him to look away. If he’d had any uncertainty about kothi anatomy, he had them no longer.

Purging the terrible sight from his mind, Vir forced the conversation along. “You know why I am here.”

“I can guess,” Asuman said, donning a shimmering silver robe and hastily tying a sash around his waist. Vir couldn’t begin to guess how much such an extravagance was worth.

“You worry that I can no longer control the Warriors who call for my expulsion. You are here to take care of matters with your own hand, hoping to avoid a civil war. Well, I can tell you, killing me will only hasten the war, not stall it. I am the only reason this city hasn’t fallen apart yet. It was me who—”

“I’m not here to kill you, Asuman. Or to depose you.”

“You’re… not?”

“Let me make one thing clear, Asuman.” Vir spoke slowly and without emotion. “I hate you. I wish for nothing more than to cut your head off and put it on a pike for all the world to see. After all the atrocities you’ve committed, after all the children you’ve allowed to die, death would almost be too lenient. You deserve worse.”

“You said you’re not here to kill me!” Asuman replied, wheezing.

“I did not lie. I hate you. But I am no fool. You are an evil—a blight upon this realm—but you are a necessary evil. For now. If you fall and the Warriors depose you, I fear it will only end in slaughter. But I am tired of death, Asuman. My heart aches when innocents die for nothing more than petty political squabbles. I wish to fix your mess without resorting to the genocide of an entire Calling.

“On that, we are aligned,” Asuman replied. He’d poured himself a drink and taken a big gulp. He gestured to a pair of luxurious upholstered chairs. “Care to sit while we discuss?”

Vir simply stared at the demon, his blank mask betraying no emotions or expression. The kothi predictably shirked back.

“S-suit yourself,” he said.

Vir studied the kothi in the darkness and came away pleased with the results. It hadn’t taken much to cow the governor—the memory of their prior encounter must have seared themselves deep into the kothi’s psyche.

The groundwork had been laid, his adversary made pliable.

“Now,” Vir said, slowly approaching the seated Chitran. “Let us discuss what happens next.”

“And I’m telling you! We strike hard. We strike fast. We can overrun the keep. It’s Warriors manning those walls, anyway. Wouldn’t be surprised if they open the gates when we ask.”

Gatiman stood at the center of his manor’s ballroom, addressing the several dozen representatives of the most prominent Warrior families of Samar Patag. Normally reserved for festive occasions, on this evening, they plotted something far more sinister.

“I say we attack the Gargans straight away. Why bother with all of this nonsense?” It was Shawan, the young upstart of the Satyana family, who’d said this, but it was a sentiment shared by several of the others.

“Would that we could, Shawan,” Gatiman replied. “Governor Asuman must be removed if we want to avoid shedding our own blood. Asuman is more than the Gargans’ protector! He is the only bastion holding up their morale. And as Warriors, I know you all understand the value of morale.”

Gatiman paced around in a circle, catching the eye of each of his compatriots. Personal attention was key in tense environments like this, where even a snubbed gesture or a mistimed response might reinforce the doubt in their minds, instead of squashing it.

Thankfully, Gatiman was an expert. He had them in the palm of his hand. Just a little more pressure, and they’d be his. The plan would be set in stone, and soon, Samar Patag would fall into his lap. After decades of scheming, to think it had happened so easily.

“I agree,” a voice said, and Gatiman smiled. The first of them had fallen for his trap.

“And why wouldn’t you! The plan is solid. Our strength is unmatched!”

“You are Warriors, after all. The city will fall into the palm of your hands, should you will it.”

“Yes! Yes, exactly—” Gatiman paused, a doubt forming at the back of his neck. This fresh voice. It was a strange one. Muffled and distant, and unfamiliar to him. It spoke with none of the refinement of high Warrior society.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t very well ask. To do so would be an immense embarrassment. It’d tell them he was unfamiliar with one of their ranks—unthinkable, given the pedigree of those assembled. He might very well lose the favor of the Warrior agreeing with him. Worse, it’d send a message of incompetence to the rest of the group.

“Exactly,” Gatiman continued. “Who would hesitate in the face of such assured victory?”

“Asuman’s head will sit on a pike!” the same voice said.

“Er, yes. Indeed,” Gatiman replied, searching the faces for the speaker. He wasn’t alone, several other Warriors appeared similarly curious.

“We shall cut his body and let his blood flow through the streets!” the voice said, louder this time. It came from another direction.

“I, er… That may be a bit too much—”

“Not at all,” the voice said. Closer. Far too close.

Gatiman whirled.

“For we must hammer into that blight what it means to go against the will of the city.”

“Y-You!?”