Alchemised

by SenLinYu

The woman was a vivimancer. Necromancy’s inverse twin, wielded on the living rather than the dead.

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

Usually, resonance was channelled into the alchemy of metals and inorganic compounds, allowing for transmutation or alchemisation. However, in a defective soul which rebelled against Sol’s natural laws, the resonance could be corrupted, enabling vivimancy—like what the woman had used on Helena—and the necromancy used to create necrothralls.

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

He turned. Helena’s throat closed as the world around her vanished, footsteps faltering. He was not old at all. It was the iron guild heir. Kaine Ferron.

The maid’s gaze was empty. If there was any trace of her soul, it was smothered beneath Ferron’s will. She looked up at him. “You’re a monster.” He raised an eyebrow. “Noticed that, have you?”

“When I see dark places and I don’t know where they end, I feel like I’ll disappear inside them, but this time, I’ll never be found.”

“You know,” Ferron said, jolting her from her thoughts, “when I heard it was you I’d be getting, I was looking forward to breaking you.” He shook his head. “But I don’t think it’s possible to exceed what you’ve done to yourself.”

“Why would I torture you when you won’t react?” he asked softly in her ear. He straightened, raising an eyebrow. “See? Nothing. No elevated pulse, no pounding heart. I could bring in one of your little friends, and peel their skin off right here in front of you, and you wouldn’t react.” He shook his head. “There’s no fun in that.”

“Why all this sudden interest in me?” he asked. She shrugged. “You don’t make sense.” He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, is that all? And here I was hoping you were plotting to seduce me.” She stared at him blankly. He gave a mocking smile. “Steal my heart with your wit and charms.” Helena scoffed. “Who knows, perhaps I have a proclivity for—” He paused, studying her, trying to find something. Helena walked away. “Maybe tomorrow.”

However, the Faith held a strict view that resonance was not a reflection of spiritual purity but merely an expression of it. All humans were flawed, alchemist or not, and therefore all humans must strive towards purification. A step which Cetus conveniently left out of his alchemical process. Additionally, it wasn’t difficult to predict where large numbers of alchemists would appear. It was correlated with regions that had large lumithium deposits. The Northern continent’s largest mine was in the mountains, upriver from Paladia, and the number of children with measurable resonance born in the city was more than double the rates of neighbouring

Lumithium could only be safely excavated by those without resonance; otherwise the symptoms and wasting sickness came quickly. But the work was limited to a single generation. Miners’ children were almost always born with measurable resonance.

Both vivimancy and necromancy were regarded as a corruption of resonance caused by a “poisonous womb.” Hence the long-standing obsession with creating homunculi even among the Faith, to erase women’s defective hold on humanity.

Soren. Remember Soren. What happened to him? Her skin crawled, a painful ghastly ache rose through her body, her lungs seized as if there were water inside them, and her vision turned a violent red. When her head cleared, her temples were throbbing. What had she been thinking about? Something about—Lila?

She looked healthy. Pretty, even. A Helena from a different life. But her eyes— Her eyes were dead. There was no fire in them. 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?”

“You idiot—why did you come out tonight?” Helena just looked at him. She thought she should say something. What she’d tried to tell Lancaster. “Ferron always comes for me,” she whispered.

“I don’t like when people are dead,” she said in a small voice. He sighed and sat down beside her, taking the cloth away from the necrothrall. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said in a tense voice. He took her by the shoulders, turning her towards him. She knew he wouldn’t. He only hurt her on certain days, and this wasn’t one of them, so she sat very still.

The doctor turned to face him, flushing. “And you, sir. Remarkable that you could manage such delicate healing through imitation. Very impressive. You should work in the hospital.” “So I’m told,” Ferron said with an insincere smile. “Do you think they’ll still hire me after I murdered someone in the lobby?” The man blanched. “Well—what I mean is—” “If there’s nothing else, I’ll see you out,” Ferron said, striding away.

“You’re having me raped, and you expect me to be grateful about it?” Helena’s voice was dead, coming from far away. Stroud’s expression soured. “I’m giving you an opportunity for your life to mean something.”

“Oh, Marino.” His thumb trailed along her neck, following the scar below her jaw. “If I’d known what pain you’d cause me, I never would have taken you.” He sighed, and she could smell the liquor on his breath as his head dipped closer. She had no idea what he meant, if she was supposed to apologise. “But at this point I suppose I deserve to burn. I wonder if you’ll burn, too.” His face was so close the words brushed against her lips, and his mouth crashed against hers.

It was a punishing kiss.

She’d been receptive to Ferron. He’d come towards her and kissed her and she had let him. In the moment, it hadn’t even occurred to her to push him away. Instead, she’d melted at the warmth of being held. Trapped in Spirefell, she was latching on to any glimpse of kindness, any sense of tenderness her mind could fabricate. But it wasn’t kindness. He wasn’t kind; he simply wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t as monstrous as he could be. And for Helena’s fracturing mind, an absence of cruelty was sufficient solace. For her starved heart, it was enough.

Damn

“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.”

“You know what your problem is?” Helena said nothing. He’d tell her whether she wanted him to or not. He’d always possessed all the sharp edges and wariness that Luc lacked. “You don’t have faith in the gods.” “Yes, I do,” she said quickly. “No. You don’t. You think you do because you think they probably exist, but that’s not faith. You don’t trust them.” “Why would I? They haven’t done anything to deserve being trusted,”

“He wants a full pardon for all of his wartime activities.” That seemed an obvious demand, although entirely out of the question. Luc would never pardon his father’s murderer. There was something about the way Ilva said it that made Helena feel that a pardon was not all Ferron had asked for. “And…?” “He wants you, Marino,” Crowther said. “Both now and after the war.”

“Ferron,” she said, the idea abruptly occurring to her, and she wondered why she’d never thought to ask before. “Was it a punishment for you—being made Undying?” He glanced at her, his face empty. “How could immortality be a punishment? It’s what everyone wants.”

As he was regaining consciousness, she took his nearest hand, careful not to shift his shoulder as she started massaging the palm and worked slowly to his fingertips, knuckle by knuckle, her resonance seeking out every bit of tension and knotted muscles. Her father used to massage her hands like that, even before Paladia. Every night. An alchemist’s hands were like a surgeon’s, he’d said, they had to be taken care of. She knew Ferron didn’t need it. It was only meaningful to her, but it was all she could do.

He massaged her hands earlier

Her cheeks were still hot as she packed up all her supplies, refusing to look at him again. He spoke just as she was leaving. “Don’t die, Marino. I might miss you.”

But she was so lonely. Her fingers wrapped around the empty amulet, the points catching on her palm. There was a dull sense of emptiness that never went away now, a slowly growing wound that she couldn’t heal. She couldn’t fix herself anymore, and no one else seemed inclined to even notice she was breaking. You are all alone, and when the war is over, you will still be alone. She blinked as the figures below blurred into halos of gold and silver.

“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…”

“I must admit,” he said in a low voice as though making a confession, “if anyone had told me you’d become so lovely, I would never have come near you. I was rather blindsided when I saw you again.” Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “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.”

She could feel the weight of her life bearing down, crushing her day by day, always taking more than she could spare, but she could also feel Kaine, the warmth of him and his fingers laced through her hair. He was gentler than she thought he could be. He looked at her like he saw her. And he was asking. She kissed him. A real kiss this time.

She knew that people enjoyed sex, but she had always thought it was an indulgence. She had not known it was a hunger. Or that she was starving.

“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.”

Soren was still watching her. “You know, I forgot your hair looked like that. It’s pretty, the way you braid it now.” “Yes,” she said, forcing a smile, her eyes burning. “It’s best when I keep it braided. I hardly know what to do with myself when it’s like this.”

:(

Helena turned, then gave a brittle laugh. “You know, I just realised, if I succeed, you’ll control Ferron the same way you use Luc to control me. It makes me feel rather sorry for him.” Ilva didn’t look at her. “Well, he’ll deserve it more than you do.”

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. She could use that.

Noooooooooooooooo

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.”

“She’s dead,” he said. “You are not. My loyalty was to those least responsible for her suffering, but if the Eternal Flame has decided that you are an affordable casualty, I will not be noble or understanding. I can exact dual revenge. I will make them pay if they get you killed.”

“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.”

“You don’t have to push me away to protect me,” he said in a hard, familiar voice. “I can take it. You can stop being lonely. I won’t misunderstand. I know you just want someone to be with.” She looked for a door. An escape. He didn’t let go. “Helena…” She stilled at her name. “I’m alone, too,” he said.

“I thought you said if I ever burned you—” He captured her hand and pulled her close. His other hand slid possessively up her throat, fingers tilting her head back, and he kissed her, long and deep, before he drew away to meet her eyes. “Call me, and I will come.”

His hands slid up until her face was cradled in them. His forehead pressed to hers, breath mingling a moment before he kissed her again, drawing her farther inside. Their every step hurried. They were always running out of time. Someday, she promised herself, someday I am going to love him in a moment that isn’t stolen.

Luc sat looking at his last paladin with open grief, but when his eyes rested on her, there was only that same sadness. “You’ve always done the worst things because of me.” The words cut her to the quick. She should have known. She should have known Luc better, enough to know he wouldn’t turn on her like that. He was too faithful.

“Never did see Etras…” he said, his voice faint. “Sorry. Promised I’d—take you back.” “It’s all right,” she said. “Will you—take care of Lila? And the baby?” She nodded. “Don’t tell Lila—” “I won’t.” His hand trembled in hers. “Promise…?” She swallowed hard. “I promise.” He said nothing else. When she looked up, his eyes were unseeing, the dawn reflecting in the empty blue.

“My mother’s name was Enid.” Helena nodded. She remembered that. He looked towards the garden, fingers curling into a fist. “I always liked that name.” Slowly Helena realised what he was doing. This was his attempt at giving her what she wanted. For him, acknowledging that he would have a child, a daughter, meant acknowledging that he wouldn’t live to meet her. He was telling the stories so Helena could tell their daughter about him, about what he’d been like, before the Institute and the war.

He gave a gasping laugh, almost more of a sob. “Did you know, you are the worst promise keeper I have ever met?” Her throat tightened. “I keep the ones that matter.” “No.” He shook his head. “What you do is make so many conflicting promises that you can pick and choose depending on what you want. I’ve devoted some thought to your methodology.” He looked down. “That’s why you never seem to keep any of the promises that I care about.”

“Helena, I’m tired.” She looked up and saw it in his eyes. The war had eaten him; it had carved him to the bone and not stopped even then. He was scarcely more than a ghost.

“It’s called quickening—when you first feel a baby move.” She drew a deep breath. “If you use your resonance, you’ll be able to feel her now. If you want.” His hand twitched and he hesitated. “We can do it together,” she said. “You should meet her.”