Alchemised

by SenLinYu

She thought at first if she waited long enough, some glimmer of light would appear, or someone would come. Yet no matter how long she waited, there was nothing.

She had to endure. To stay alert. That way she would be ready. She had to stay ready. She would not let herself fade away.

By its nature, lumithium bound the four elements of air, water, earth, and fire together, and in that binding, resonance was created.

All she knew was that as long as those manacles remained locked in place, she wasn’t an alchemist at all.

Helena had enlisted in the Resistance and sworn fealty to the Order of the Eternal Flame—not out of faith, but because of Luc Holdfast. Because she might not believe in the gods, but she had believed in him, that he was good and kind and cared about everyone.

Perhaps the Eternal Flame was not gone but remained as a hidden ember, waiting until the time was right. The possibility sparked a glimmer of hope. But how had she been made to forget?

Helena was special, though. She’d be the one who’d stay beyond Year Five, who’d study more than just the principal foundations of alchemy. She’d ascend to the highest floors, make discoveries, and do the kind of work that would change the world. Her name remembered forever.

The act of vivimancy, he said, could only be purified through intentions of selflessness.

“The war is over. What is it you think you’re protecting in that brain of yours?”

“Holdfast is dead,” he said sharply, as if he’d seen the answer in her eyes. “The Eternal Flame extinguished. There’s no one left for you to save.”

She stared bitterly at the manacles. She’d always been so proud of her hands—all the things she could do with them.

Perhaps that ouroboros dragon was not merely a pretentious decoration but something the Ferrons prided themselves on. An omen of a destructive, insatiable hunger which left nothing but ruin in its wake.

“Everyone who wins says they were good, but they’re the ones who tell the story. They get to choose how we’ll remember it. What if it’s never that simple?”

“I promised I’d do anything for you.” She curled her fingers into a fist. “Maybe you didn’t realise how far I was willing to go.”

She looked over towards the cage. “Keep a lot of people in cages, Ferron?” His jaw clenched, throat dipping as he swallowed. “Only you,” he said, glancing around at the intricate, iron interior of his ancestral home. “Haven’t you noticed?”

She wasn’t sure she followed the line of thought but responded anyway. “Luc was worth it.” “Why?” The question caught her off guard. She shook her head. “Some people just are. You look at them, and you know it.”

The spark she’d once regarded as the most intrinsic part of who she was had gone out. She was a vibrant corpse, hardly different from the necrothralls haunting Spirefell.

“Is there really a difference between having someone die for you and killing them?”

“But at this point I suppose I deserve to burn. I wonder if you’ll burn, too.”

But it wasn’t kindness. He wasn’t kind; he simply wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t as monstrous as he could be.

“I have warned you, if something happens to you, I will personally raze the Eternal Flame. That isn’t a threat. It is a promise. Consider your survival as much a necessity to the Resistance as Holdfast’s. If you die, I will kill every single one of them.”

There were too many people, too many lives, balancing on his shoulders. Everyone was always watching, waiting for him to intuitively manifest a miracle like the one Lila was presently describing in vivid detail to gasps and cheers.

Luc’s sense of failure ran through him like a fault line, waiting to rupture. Every death and every scar that Lila and Soren bore adding to it.

“Luc, I don’t believe in you because anyone ever said I should. I’m here because there’s no one braver or kinder than you. You’re all the good things that anyone ever hopes to be. We’re not here because you tricked us.”

“The reason we believe in you is because if you’re not good enough, then no one is.”

“The Order of the Eternal Flame, created by Orion Holdfast himself, was founded on Sol’s principles of the natural cycle of life and death. It was for Orion’s bravery and willingness to sacrifice his life that he was blessed by the heavens and made victorious. Any use of necromancy is a violation of the cycle. Your thoughts and words are a stain upon the Eternal Flame and history itself.”

She looked down. “Then we’re going to lose,” she said in a dull voice. “And I’m going to be the one who puts you back together, over and over, until I have to watch you die instead. And we still won’t win.”

“Whether you win a battle or lose it, all I see is the cost.”

Ferron stared at her, his mouth twisting. “Are you wanting a confession? Shall I tell you everything I’ve done?” She stared into his mocking eyes. “Do you want to?” There was a flash of surprise that softened his features for an instant. He was lonely.

“Really, you have time for all that?” His expression was scathing. “I’ll make time. I’ll come every day. Please.”

Helena met his stare. She could fix this. She wasn’t going to let him suffer and die for finally doing something good in his life.

“Don’t die, Marino. I might miss you.”

“Stay,” he said softly, and his head dipped so close she felt his breath in her hair. “You know, there’s something about you, Marino, that inspires the most terrible decisions from me. I’ll know better, but then I’ll still…”

“You’re like a rose in a graveyard,” he said, and his lips twisted into a bitter smile. “I wonder what you could have turned into without the war.”

“You made me feel like the parts of me that aren’t useful still deserve to exist. Like I’m not just all the things I can do.”

“I’m not a symbol,” Luc snapped, “or a heart. I’m Principate. We lead by our actions, not our commands.”

A smirk twisted his mouth as he looked at her. “There are far worse fates than dying, Marino.” She nodded. “I know. But that one you don’t come back from.” He gave a bitter laugh. “All right, then, but only because you asked.”

“I must say, Marino, you’ve ended up being quite expensive.”

No matter what happened now, no one would ever listen to her. She was cast forever into the role of doubter, of tempter.

She swallowed hard. “When this is all over, I don’t want you to think of us as friends anymore. I think it will be better that way for both of us.” “Why?” He looked horrified. “Because I’m not your friend anymore. Your friend Helena Marino died in a field hospital six years ago. She doesn’t exist anymore. I need you to let her go.”

“No. I won’t let you go,” he said. “I can’t. Hel, just tell me what’s wrong, and I’ll fix it. You and me, we’re friends forever.”

“You always have to come back,” she said. “All right? Don’t die. Promise—”

It was possibly a kiss goodbye. She wanted him to know. It was real. For her, it had always been real.

But his eyes… She could tell— He was hers. The realisation broke her heart.

He looked away from her then, his face twisting. “But you—you—” He shook his head. “It doesn’t really matter. You outmanoeuvred me. Or maybe I’m just too tired and grieving to keep pushing you away. You won.” He met her eyes for a moment, his expression bitter and derisive. “Well done.”

“I can’t—I can’t do this again—” he finally gasped out. “I can’t care for someone again. I can’t take it.”

For the first time, Kaine Ferron was fully human to her. She’d slipped through his walls and peeled away the defensive layers of malice and cruelty, and found that there he carried a broken heart.

“After you nearly bled to death here, I thought, at least I can keep her alive. She deserves to have someone who cares enough to try to keep her alive. I thought eventually you’d give up. But you will do anything to save the people you feel responsible for. Of course you’d weaponise your guilt in order to use mine.” He gave a low bitter laugh. “I’m sure there’s something poetic in it all, but right now all I feel is a new set of manacles.” He let go and stepped away from her, heading for the door. “So forgive me if I dislike looking at you. I’m still adjusting to the ways these new ones chafe.”

“You are not replaceable,” he said, his hands trembling against her shoulders. “You are not required to make your death convenient. You are allowed to be important to people. The reason I’m here—the reason I’m doing any of this—is to keep you alive. To keep you safe. That was the deal.” He searched her face. “They didn’t tell you.”

Murder was only a mortal crime; necromancy was a crime upon this life and the afterlife.