Discordant Note | TBATE

Toren Daen

Norgan and I walked along South Orlaeth Street, each strolling with a skip in our step. A slight grin stretched across my face, and looking at my brother's own, I could see the edges of his lips curled into a more devious smirk.

It was a good day, one where the pieces we had worked for for years started finally coming into place. I had finally advanced my mark to a crest, gaining enough understanding of the spellform on my own to push forward to the next tier. Norgan had got another mark at a recent bestowment, and one that greatly complemented the spellform he already had. And after one last shift of grueling work at the East Fiachra Healer's Guild, my brother and I would have finally saved up enough money to apply for the magic schools of the Western district of the city.

As we walked in the morning light, I subtly glanced at my brother once more. His body was thin: unhealthily so. Where before the observation would cause guilt to churn in my stomach, now a surge of relief took its place.

Once we were enrolled–I knew both he and I would pass the entrance exams with flying colors, so it was only a matter of time–we wouldn't need to skip so many meals. We could both put some meat on our bones.

Norgan looked at me as we weaved through the morning pedestrians. His eyes sparkled with an intelligence that sometimes scared me. We were only a year apart in age, and yet he was already my better in so many things.

"What do you think the Striker school exams will be like?" he asked idly. "What kind of challenges do you think they'll have?"

I thought about it for a moment. "Probably sparring," I answered. "I mean, what better way to tell if you're good at Striking than fighting another opponent?"

My brother nodded. "Yeah, they probably will." He furrowed his brow. "But sparring probably won't count for much," he added. "Different strikers have different skills, after all. I think the test will have a teamwork section," he theorized.

My brows raised of their own accord, seeing my brother's thought process immediately. Mages were generally separated into several distinct types based on the runes they received: shields, casters, strikers, sentries, and instillers. The three combat-focused designations–shields, casters, and strikers–usually formed combat teams together, working together as a unit and covering each other's weaknesses.

My rune designated me as a caster. Telekinesis wasn't a common rune to acquire and was generally considered weak. After all, a spellform that shot a dozen spikes of rock at an enemy was far more effective than having to push rock around with your mind. The latter took more effort for the same effect, and you couldn't conjure your ammunition yourself.

So it made sense that the exams would likely have a section dedicated to teamwork.

"I think we can make do without a shield," I said consideringly as we crossed over one of the canals Fiachra was famous for. "I mean, our teamwork is enough to make the Scythes jealous," I said with a smile.

My brother stuck a leg out in front of me suddenly, causing me to stumble and bump into a wall. "You could've really used a shield then, Toren," he mocked primly. "Maybe you wouldn't have scraped your arm."

Scowling, I used a mild application of my telekinesis rune to pull on the drawstrings of Norgan's trousers. He stumbled too when his pants began to fall, leaving me to cackle as he hastily tied them back up. "I think you could use a sentry to watch your pants," I said with a grin. "Maybe to keep them from running away?"

"Haha," my brother said in a monotone, but from the glimmer in his eye, I could see he was amused.

Our walk continued for a bit longer: we were going to our last shift at the East Fiachra Healer's Guild, at least for a little while. The magic schools paid stipends based on performance in classes, and both Norgan and I were confident in our abilities to excel.

Norgan, however, began to slow. We were atop another bridge, this one smaller and for foot traffic only. He looked out over the rushing water of the canals, a somber tone to his voice. "I wish Arlen could see us now," he said. "We're almost ready to start our lives."

I looked out over the waterways with my brother, silently agreeing with him. Arlen was the last steward of Named Blood Daen, tasked with raising the two of us and giving us a proper Blood education. Even if our Blood had fallen, according to the old man our pride should still remain.

Arlen had passed away a couple of years ago from old age.

Now we were close. Once Norgan and I were out of the academies, we would form an ascender's team, just the two of us. Named Bloods were families that had gained acclaim and status from their ascensions, and we'd do it all over again for our fallen family. We'd claw back to our Named Blood status once more with accolades and glory from the Relictombs.

"Arlen would look at us and shake his head," I said forlornly, the exact image in my mind. "Say the scions of Named Blood Daen shouldn't be mingling with unads and healers." I snorted. "We lost that illusion pretty quick."

Norgan laughed lightly. "By the Sovereigns, did we. Being left on your own does that to you."

I patted my brother on the back. "Now's not the time to think of the past though, brother. The future awaits!" I said grandly, gesturing with my other hand. "To the ascension of Named Blood Daen!" I said, holding a fist out for him to bump.

Norgan grinned. "May all who doubted us eat our dust," he said in agreement. He raised his fist to meet mine, then paused. A frown creased his brow as he leaned to the side slightly, peering at something behind me.

My smirk slipped from my face. "What do you see?" I asked, turning around to peer behind me. My eyes widened in alarm, quickly spotting what had disturbed my brother

In an alley a ways away, I could just make out a man looming over a curled-up woman. I couldn't discern their features well from the distance, but Norgan could.

He bolted towards the alley, calling back to me. "That's Duena! The lady we treated a few weeks ago!" He said back. I began to run side by side with him. As we got closer, I was able to finally place the features. It was her!

The man, who I could now see was wearing a dark hood, raised a gloved fist, ready to bring it down on the trembling Duena. She closed her eyes, shaking in fear. 

But his back was to us.

Norgan engaged one of his marks, a rune that wrapped his legs in wind. It propelled him forward in a streak, the blowback nearly knocking me off my feet.

The man turned quickly, revealing a face masked by a black cloth. The eyes peering beneath the mask had barely a moment to widen before Norgan's feet impacted his chest in a perfectly executed dropkick, sending him careening deeper into the alley with a burst of wind.

The masked man hit a crate with a crack, splintering wood. Norgan landed gracefully between Duena and the dark-clothed assailant.

Knowing my brother could keep watch himself, I knelt to help Duena. She was an older woman, nearing the end of her middle-aged years. We had assisted Doctor Trelza in setting a broken arm and partially healing it, something that was almost undone just now. Her arm was still in a cast, though the cast was dirty and damaged in several places.

The woman herself had a black eye and several bad scrapes, but nothing more serious. She would recover fine.

She looked up at me with terrified eyes, looking around for her assailant. 

"Duena?" I said, trying to calm her. "Duena," She focused on me. Good. "I need you to run to the Healer's Guild. Send some guards over, please."

The masked man was rising back to his feet, snarling all the while. Norgan shifted into a defensive stance as he stood over us, shielding us with his body.

"Please!" I snapped, the man stalking back making me anxious. The woman startled, glancing between me, my brother, and our assailant, before running off in obvious haste.

I stood up, cracking my knuckles and moving beside my brother. As I took a calming breath, we stared down the masked man, ready to fight.

The man stood in an agitated stance, growling under his mask. Two cold grey eyes glared at us, snapping between my brother and me. "Do you fools know who you're dealing with? Who you just hit?!" he hissed. From his voice, I reassessed my description of them as a man. They sounded younger–late teens, maybe?

"We don't," my brother replied, cracking his neck. He shifted into a more aggressive stance now that Duena had gotten away, but I noted the nervous edge to his features. "But we can't let you hurt anybody here."

Norgan was right. Especially about the need to protect Duena: she had been kind to us when my brother and I were first thrust out into the streets. And we had begun to repay her by treating her broken arm, but that debt was far from settled.

But the fact that this masked teen was assaulting a woman in broad daylight caused alarm bells to ring in my head: especially when we were so close to the administrative center of East Fiachra. The guards would be on us in minutes. Why did this man think he could act without consequences?

Sparing another glance at my brother, I noted the slight nervous edge in his eyes. He had reached the same conclusion as I, of course. But that didn't change what we had to do.

Our opponent laughed. "You won't let me? I can do what I want, " he spat, rushing at us with a burst of fire around his feet. Norgan shifted, parrying the masked assailant's strike with a wind-clad fist. Norgan retaliated quickly, ducking underneath a kick coated in flames.

Then, my brother lashed his own fist up in an uppercut. It wouldn't land, I knew: the trajectory was off a few inches for a sure blow.

I braced, then flared my crest, sending mana into it in a burst. I pushed my hand to the side, the action helping me visualize the spell easier. A speckling of white flickered next to our opponent, pushing him hard to the side. I was consequently shoved in the opposite direction, but I had been ready.

The masked teen, already off-balance from his flaming kick, was shoved into my brother's devastating blow. His chin snapped up from the strike, his teeth audibly clacking together. His body lifted off the ground in a small gale. A gurgled gasp escaped his throat, blood and spittle flying from his mouth.

Norgan shifted his stance, following up with his other hand in a wind-coated palm to our enemy's chest, blowing him backward in a gust. As he flew, I tugged lightly on his leg with my telekinesis, sending his simple arc into a careening tumble.

He kicked up dirt once he hit the ground, farther down the alley than before. His landing was no doubt more painful due to my interference. I could only apply telekinesis to one target at a time, but that just meant I would need to use it in creative ways.

My brother and I squared ourselves, our long practice finally paying off. Norgan was the frontline fighter, devastating our enemies with his strikes. I would run interference, putting our opponents off balance and assisting however I could.

"You done? Nothing you try here will help, I promise that," I said mockingly. The black-clad teen pulled himself shakily to his feet, small flickering embers sparking around him. "You're trapped, and the guards will be here any moment."

The teen had perhaps found himself in the worst possible situation to fight us. We were in a narrow alley, which forced him into a head-on assault. I was protected behind my brother, able to lend support and provide cover with ease. And from the few exchanges we had, it seemed that Norgan held the upper hand in close-quarters combat as well.

The teen spit out a glob of blood, glaring at us with a look that could kill. "You slum-rats don't even know what you're dealing with, do you?" He steadied himself, seeming ready to rush us again. They never learned. "You'll die miserably, you hear?" he hissed.

"We'll see," my brother said sternly.

The fight restarted quickly, but our opponent was more wary this time. Instead of approaching normally, he waved a hand, conjuring several fist-sized fireballs. Without a moment to spare, the fireballs flew toward us in a streak.

Aware of my precarious position behind him, Norgan turned his focus towards deflecting the fireballs. He punched one with a wind-clad fist, dispersing it in a wave of heat. The second he batted into the ground, kicking up a wave of dust. The last he cut in half with a sharp knife-hand.

But that distraction had allowed our enemy to get in close. He leapt out of the dust, arcing high. Another fireball trailed in front of him, forcing my brother to divert his attention. Norgan had time to deflect the last fireball, but it clearly took effort. His hand was singed afterward and was left painfully open.

As our opponent brought his flame-cloaked fist down towards my brother, I barely had enough time to push Norgan's head out of the way with a flare of white telekinesis. The strike still clipped his ear, singing some of his hair.

Thinking quickly, I scooped up a handful of rocks from the ground. Norgan and our opponent began to exchange a flurry of wind-enhanced and fire-cloaked strikes, heat being dispersed across the narrow alleyway.

"Reverse!" I yelled over the fighting. My brother understood immediately, slipping a punch and disengaging.

Our enemy, his face twisted in an expression of rage visible even through his mask, rushed to follow. Unexpectedly, my brother weaved behind the masked teen, switching places with him.

Once again, our opponent's back was to me. Something I immediately capitalized on.

My telekinesis was exponentially stronger the closer my target was to me. So when I threw my handful of pebbles with a pulse of telekinesis behind them, they accelerated to absurd speeds. They rocketed forward, impacting the masked teen's back with a dozen meaty thunks. Blood flew as the rocks dug into his back and shredded his clothing, sending our opponent staggering forward with a howl of pain.

My brother didn't let the opening my attack provided go, yelling as wind built in his fist. Norgan swung it in a brutal hook, connecting with the teen's temple with a crack. Our opponent slammed into the dirt, his head bouncing off the ground.

He was out cold.

Norgan shook his hand, wincing slightly. His last punch had rattled his knuckles, but not nearly as much as our unconscious enemy's skull. I released a breath I didn't know I had been holding. A small amount of blood pooled on the ground beneath our downed enemy from his back. I had guessed the teen had some form of physical reinforcement from the beating he had fought through, so judged it safe to pepper him with that spray of rocks. It wouldn't kill him, but it would take a while to heal.

I clapped Norgan on the back, my laugh dispelling much of my nerves. "Got him at last," I said. "I didn't know that would work so well."

Norgan exhaled. "We practiced enough on our joint strategies, brother. Or did you doubt their effectiveness?" he asked with a raised brow.

"Not at all," I replied earnestly. "I'm just used to things going wrong. I was expecting a roof to collapse on you. Or maybe the road would fall out from under me," I joked.

"Always the cynic," Norgan replied, shaking his head. "What should we do with him?" Norgan asked, nodding toward the unconscious teen.

"The guards should be here any second," I said. "You made quite a ruckus." Something glinted in the sun near our fallen foe, a reflection of the sun on metal. I frowned, kneeling down to inspect the object.

I picked up a small brooch. On it was a stylized ember overlaid on a forking river, which converged into a sharpened point. It was well-made: clearly for someone of high birth.

"Norgan," I said with growing unease, showing him the bit of jewelry. "You know the crest on this brooch?"

Norgan's brow furrowed in worry. "Yeah," he said, his gaze flicking to our downed opponent and back again. "Blood Joan. That's not good."

Blood Joan was powerful within Fiachra. It didn't wield Highblood levels of power, at least not yet. But they were near the top of the pecking order. Our instructor Arlen had taken great care to teach us most of the houses of Fiachra and what they represented.

And Blood Joan had nearly eradicated Named Blood Daen thirty years ago. Our mother, a young teen at the time, had only escaped the massacre because of a head cold that kept her away from the trap. Now Norgan and I were all that was left.

If we hurt one of their members, the repercussions would be severe. I wasn't the most adept at political theory, but I knew the shame a supposedly defeated enemy trouncing the victor years later could mean. It was a blow to the pride of their Blood.

I opened my mouth to speak, but a chilling voice cut through my thoughts. "It's a shame you know that crest," they said. 

Both Norgan and I spun, settling into our predetermined battle setup. From over my brother's shoulder, I could see the person who had spoken.

They were clad in a similar black to the teen we had beaten but with a noticeable feminine physique. A long, thin dagger was strapped to their hip, not yet drawn.

Wind slowly twisted around my brother's limbs as we faced this new threat. Worrying signs blared in my mind: most of all, neither my brother nor I had noticed this woman approaching. 

"And why is that?" I asked through gritted teeth, my eyes flickering around the alley for an escape route. The fact that we couldn't sense the woman either meant she had a stealth rune or her core was significantly above ours in purity. But we were blocked in. Norgan might be able to get out, but he would have to leave me behind.

The woman looked at me, and even through the mask, I could sense her amusement. "I'll have to kill the both of you now," she said cooly.

It seemed we wouldn't be getting out of that alley anytime soon.