Alucent stood in front of Sir Vorn's desk, trying to keep his posture correct. Sir Vorn had asked for him privately just after the encounter with the 6-armed Shadebinder; while standing, his legs screamed at him to sit down because of the strain from Iron Vale and also the little battle that had occurred earlier, but Sir Vorn wouldn't offer him a seat, so of course he stayed standing, watching as the old man reviewed the after-action report. I've already been here earlier; what else does this man want with me?
Alucent's frustration with the fact that he couldn't even be invited to sit was showing in his thoughts.
While standing, he was looking around the office, and of course it wasn't anything special; the office was exactly what you'd expect from someone like Vorn. Clean. Organized to the point of obsession. Every paper was stacked at the perfect right angles. The inkwells also lined up like soldiers at attention. Heck, even the air felt controlled somehow, cool and still; it was carrying the faint smell of old documents and something metallic that Alucent couldn't quite place.
Behind Sir Vorn, through the reinforced window, he could hear the distant sound of the Tower's Great Weave-Press providing a steady rhythm. Thump-clack... Thump-clank... That sound had been the heartbeat of Eryndral for as long as anyone could remember; even Alucent heard it anytime he was in this office. It's the machine that literally wove Runeforce into their currency, binding energy to physical form so people could trade it for bread, shelter, and all the other necessities of survival.
His eyes got tired of looking around and went back to staring at Sir Vorn, who had picked up his Runequill to sign some authorization. The instrument looked heavy, with silver-inscribed brass; it was probably worth more than what he had earned in his entire time as a Threadweaver. Alucent couldn't help but give in to such thought. The Scribe-Elder positioned it over a form and began drawing the approval glyph with practiced efficiency. A symbol of a circle was then followed by something that looked like weird italic writing.
But that's when Alucent saw it.
The final stroke wavered. Just for at least a fraction of a second. The golden line of the rune flickered before Sir Vorn's hand corrected it, forcing the pattern back into perfect form.
Wait, what was that? Did I just see that? He shook his head. I'm probably just so exhausted that I might be imagining things.
Unfortunately, he wasn't seeing things. That was real. A tremor. The first visible sign that showed when someone was straining at operating their respective thread level, Alucent called back to what he had read in his father's journal. The Price. That's what they call it, the constant mental effort of resisting corruption while also maintaining high-level capabilities. And for Sir Vorn, who was a Thread 4, he was starting to feel it. It's said to wear you down slowly, like water eroding stone.
If what I saw is right, then for even Sir Vorn to start cracking, doesn't that mean I am doomed? What chance do I even have at advancing to thread 4? I can barely manage through Thread 3 without my hands shaking.
"Your tactical decisions at Iron Vale—we actually have to talk about it." Sir Vorn's voice came out rough, like he'd been yelling out orders all day; the sentence cut through his thoughts and brought him back to the present. "But first, there's an issue that you need to be aware of. I paid you earlier, right before the attack at the Marketplaza happened, didn't I?" He hadn't looked up from his desk since the conversation started but still expected a response from Alucent.
"Yes sir, that's right."
"Good, because as I am talking to you at this moment, your thirty Silverweaves are nearly worthless now," Sir Vorn said, the tone final. Indifferent, there was no mix of reaction on Sir Vorn's face.
"W-what do you mean, sir?" Alucent was confused; he didn't know how to exactly react yet. All he knew is if what he thought Sir Vorn was saying is true, he would be done for financially.
"Yes, you heard right, look young Luci. Since the new moon appeared at twelve am last night. Every newly minted Silverweave has lost about seventy-five percent of its value. A sudden inflation had occurred, and the Green Council has been doing all they can to find out what happened or when it went wrong."
He paused, allowing Alucent to take in all the words as if for him to truly understand his current situation before continuing. "The Council's official position is that the production difficulties are temporary." Sir Vorn finally looked up from his desk, and Alucent saw exhaustion in the old man's eyes, real, bone-deep weariness that went beyond simple fatigue.
"But you still paid me with it." Alucent couldn't keep his frustration out of his voice. "So the Council knows it's worthless, yet they're pretending otherwise? Knowing full well the situation it will put people in? Put me in?"
Sir Vorn sighed, understanding Alucent's frustration. "I won't lie that it doesn't come out as being inconsiderate on their part. But I'm just following the Council's order. They insist and truly believe that the new currency still holds equal value as of before the moon changed its color." Sir Vorn's expression made it clear what he thought of that claim.
Are these Council bastards really going to make me starve and suffer some financial issues just because they insist on their own beliefs? Can't they see that it doesn't correspond with what's actually happening? Damn it! Alucent felt like punching the air, but he held himself back; Sir Vorn wouldn't appreciate such behavior in his office.
"What the markets actually believe is a different matter entirely. And not my concerns; what I do is, I give orders. I don't make economic policy."
Alucent took his right hand and dipped it into his pocket, feeling the worthless weight of thirty notes of cash that should have been enough to live on for two weeks.
As he kept feeling, he could tell that these notes actually felt different; he hadn't paid attention to them at first when he was paid, but now he couldn't help but imagine how they actually look now.
Unfortunately once again, the guard's face flicked through his mind, instantly breaking his chain of thoughts about the feel and look of the currency completely. Eighteen years old. Died protecting Coalition interests because that's what soldiers did.
And your death brought me thirty useless silverweaves that probably won't be enough to buy bread. Was it even worth it? Will living in this world be worth it? Damn, I never thought I'd miss Earth.
He pushed the thought down immediately. Bread wasn't the only thing he couldn't afford; guilt was also a luxury he couldn't afford right now.
"That's it, Luci. Dismissed," Sir Vorn said, returning his attention to the papers. "Also, report back here this evening. We have new assignments to discuss."
---
It has been a few walks from the Scribe tower into the marketplaza, and Eryndral's central marketplaza was a mess.
Not physically, though; of course, the plaza still looked beautiful as the sun had risen now, and the turquoise moonlight from the previous night had already done its work. It made everything look like it belongs in a painting—too perfect, too vivid.
But the people. The people were barely holding it together, well, according to what Alucent could see.
He navigated through the crowd, watching merchants argue with customers in hushed, urgent tones. Everyone moved with tension in their shoulders; it was as if they were waiting for something bad to happen and weren't sure what fork it would take. The economic pressure was visible in every transaction, every exchanged glance, and every raised voice quickly suppressed.
The smell through the air invaded Alucent's nose; it smelled like it always did in the market. Fresh bread baked with herbs. Cinnamon from sweet vendors. And underneath all of this, he couldn't shake the cold metallic tang that had appeared when the moon changed. He compared it to, like, breathing in the air before a thunderstorm.
Something distracted him from his pleasant viewing of the Marketplaza; it was his stomach. Reminding him that he hadn't eaten since before the Iron Vale mission, the hunger was making it hard for him to think clearly, which he thought he couldn't afford right now, but nonetheless, he made it a priority to eat. Food first. Then he could worry about whatever assignment Sir Vorn had waiting.
As he walked by, he found a baker's stall where a stout woman with flour in her hair was arranging fresh loaves. His stomach made another sound as he noticed the bread was still warm, steam rising off it in patterns that caught the sunlight, and even though he had seen such things before, hunger made him feel it was almost magical. His mouth watered just looking at it.
I need to eat first; I just hope I can spend this new currency here. And yeah, let me check the look of this new note while I use it to buy bread.
"Uhm, excuse me," Alucent said, trying to sound polite despite his exhaustion and hunger. "How much for one of those?"
The baker glanced at him, sizing him up with practiced efficiency. Of course she must have been doing this for years; it seems to be a requirement in this kind of field. "Two Copperweaves."
Fair price, he thought. Before the economy collapse, that would have been the standard for a loaf this size. Alucent reached into his pouch and pulled out one of the new Silverweave notes; if you calculate it, it's worth ten Copperweaves. He then seized the opportunity to take a good look at the note; to his surprise, it was still made of Ironvine fabric, a flexible plant-metal hybrid, but now it had conductive veins, which, by his guess, reacted to runes. He stylishly took a closer look without the baker looking at him weirdly. He noticed that these conductive veins are silver rune threads.
He pondered what it's made for and what its uses will be but couldn't arrive at a reasonable theory, so he just gave up.
"I'll take one. Ma'am, do you have change for this?"
Upon seeing the note, the woman's expression shifted. Her professional courtesy evaporated, replaced by something closer to contempt. She plucked the silverweave from his palm and held it up to the light. She could also see the silver rune threads.
"And what exactly am I supposed to do with this?" her voice carried across the market, draining attention from nearby stalls. "You actually want me to give you eight coppers of money for your new fancy light show?"
Light show? Alucent didn't understand what the woman meant.
Heat rose to Alucent's face mixed with confusion. By now, at least a dozen people had stopped what they were doing to watch this exchange.
Ah, of course, people are watching; it's a marketplace after all.
He could feel the humiliation deep within him. He wanted to argue.
"It's legal currency, ma'am," Alucent said, hearing how weak that sounded even as the words left his mouth. "The Council—"
"The Council can shove their new currency where the sun doesn't shine," the baker interrupted. "I'm not accepting payment in notes that'll be worthless by next week. You got old silver? Real money? If you do, then we can talk. Otherwise, move along. You're wasting my time."
Alucent stood there, feeling the weight of multiple gazes on him. The analytical part of his mind noted the public nature of this humiliation, cataloging it as another data point in the ongoing collapse of social order. But the emotional part just wanted to disappear.
So, this is what economic collapse looks like at ground level? I didn't know it was this bad; I've never experienced it. Not the abstract policy discussions. Just a hungry person who can't buy bread because the money in his pocket became worthless overnight.
"She's right, you know?"
Alucent looked at the direction the voice came from; it came from a man leaning against a nearby stall. Alucent had theorized he'd been watching the whole exchange; his expression was that of someone observing an interesting social experiment.
He was dressed in practical traveling leathers, the type that had actually seen use, not the decorative kind nobles wore to look adventurous. His face had the weathered look of someone who'd spent years on the road, learning lessons that couldn't be taught in books.
The man pushed off from the stall and walked over with great confidence. "That's not money, young lad. That's a promise the sky made that the ground can't keep."
Who the hell is this guy? And why does he act like he cares about my failed bread transaction?" Alucent asked internally, perplexed.
"Jorin," the baker said, her tone warming considerably. "Maybe you can talk some sense into this one."
Jorin took the Silverweave from Alucent's hand without asking, examining it with the practiced eye of someone who'd handled currency across multiple territories. He pulled out one of the baker's notes, an older Silverweave with steady silver light, and held them side by side.
"Look," Jorin said, his tone shifting to something more instructive than mocking.
"This note you're holding? It was woven after the moon changed. You can see it in the binding structure. The Runeforce isn't stable. It flickered at midnight when the moon was still out; it glowed pale silver, of course, but if you look at it with closer inspection now, you can see that it's slightly flickering under the sun. This flickering means the Weave isn't stable and is actively degrading. In three days, maybe less, you'll be holding a piece of decorative fabric worth exactly nothing."
He tapped the old Note. "This one was minted before. The binding is solid. Stable. It'll hold value indefinitely because the Runeforce pattern isn't corrupted by whatever's bleeding through from that damn moon."
"Oh, is that so? I didn't fully understand why and what was happening with the currencies." Alucent said with understanding dawning on him as he crossed his arms.
So, it's not just the economic policy. The actual metaphysical structure of the new currency is broken. That's... That's actually worse than I thought. This new appearance of the moon is causing so much damage; I wonder what has actually happened.
"So, the old currency is the only thing that holds value, isn't that so?" Alucent said, piecing it together. He had thought it was the policymakers like the Council that were playing gods and causing suffering, but with what Jorin explained and how he understood it, it's much more than even they understand.
"But come to think of it, Sir Jorin, the green council is still minting new currencies and paying people with them. Why? Are they just stupid, or is there some reason they're maintaining this fiction?"
And more importantly, it seems all the silverweaves are worthless, and I am carrying them about.
"Well, the truth is. The Council is playing a game of chicken with reality," Jorin said, handing the useless Silverweave back to Alucent. "They're hoping the situation resolves itself before complete economic collapse. Or maybe they're buying time to implement some solution we don't know about. Either way, the market figured out the truth hours after the sky changed. Only the official channels are still pretending the new currency matters; at least, that's what I think."
Alucent looked at the note in his hand, then at the pouch containing twenty-nine more just like it. Thirty Silverweaves would have been enough for him to live on for two weeks. He had thought that he could finally use the payment to ease his mind off the risk at Iron Vale. For killing the guard and bringing back vital intelligence, but alas, that wasn't the case; he had instead come back home to more stress and headaches.
All of it worthless.
I'm broke in this collapsing economy, with a fucking new assignment coming tonight. How does Sir Vorn want me to deal with all these while I am starving?
"I was just coming from up in the Crystal Vale last month," Jorin continues, unknown to him that Alucent is crumbling from the inside. His expression shifted to something that looked almost wistful. "Have you ever been then?"
Alucent shook his head, trying to place the name. Crystal Vale. He'd never heard it before until now. Geography hadn't been a priority in his education back on earth. But here, Alucent's father's journal could help, but so far since he's been reading it, he hasn't come across it yet. Perhaps he should read more of its content whenever he gets time. He thinks that it should be in the journal based on what he has read so far concerning the kind of details in it.
If that's another city or a different region entirely, like Verdant Vale, how big is Senele? He had thought this planet shouldn't be the same size as Earth, not with what he has seen yet.
"It's in the northern mountains," Jorin said, reading the confusion on Alucent's face. "Maybe three weeks travel from here if you're not in a hurry. Beautiful place. It is completely different from the vale down here. They understand economics as an abstract concept rather than a physical limitation."
He gestured vaguely upward, toward mountains. Alucent couldn't see from here, but he knew it existed somewhere beyond Eryndral's borders.
"I tell you, they have these structures called skybridges. Ribbons of aeroglass suspended between peaks at crazy heights. Two thousand meters in the air, humming under your boots like harp strings when you walk across them. They call it the skyharp effect. The bridges actually sing different notes depending on your weight and walking speed. Some people up there compose music just by crossing them at different paces."
Aeroglass? SkyBridges? Music from walking? That sounds impossible. Is this man telling me the truth? But then again, I was killed on earth and transmigrated into this world in this person's body that I am wearing, into this world that I am very sure people on earth don't even know exists. Everything seemed impossible three months ago, so he might not be lying.
Alucent tried to picture it. Transparent bridges hanging in empty air, singing when pressure was applied. Of course, the physics didn't make sense to him by Earth's standards, but then he came to the realization that physics here doesn't operate like the one on Earth; they're both based on completely different principles, and he thought further. If they could weave Runeforce, which is basically a magic source from Earth's perspective, into physical currency, then why not also into architectural structures that violated conventional understanding of material science?
"They deal in what they call Luxcraft up there," Jorin continued, warming to his subject, lips curled up to something like a smile. "Trade in ideas and theoretical frameworks, rather than physical objects. Say, for instance, if you want to buy something, you have to offer a novel solution to an existing problem. Or a new way of understanding an old concept. Currency to them is just information with agreed-upon value."
He tapped Alucent's worthless note again, producing a fabric-like sound. "Down here? We tied our entire economy to physical manifestation. Made it dependent on Weave-Press functioning correctly, on Runeforce bindings remaining stable, and on reality itself staying consistent. Oh well... And now reality is breaking, and we're all finding out what happens when one's economic foundation becomes literally unstable."
Alucent was speechless for the entirety of the individual's explanation and philosophy, not because what he was saying is totally different, but because of how it makes sense logically. Even on earth, it's similar, as they too tie their economy to papers without a magical source. He chuckled and thought, At least Verdant Vale tries to tie theirs to Runeforce; Earth doesn't have anything tied to it apart from some politicians who care about getting their own bellies filled.
So, there are places in this world where they've moved beyond physical currency entirely. This is interesting and amazing at the same time. Where economics literally exists as pure concepts.
This implies a level of metaphysical sophistication way beyond anything I've seen in Eryndral yet; maybe this world isn't so bad after all.
And also, if the Turquoise Moon is corrupting Runeforce at a fundamental level, then that means any system that relies on it will become vulnerable.
The implications spiraled out in Alucent's mind, each one worse than the last. He couldn't stop thinking, If this new moon is affecting currency right now, what else can it be affecting? Runewells that powered the city systems? Or even the very etching techniques threadweavers depend on?
I need to ask Sir Vorn about this later when I am back at his office. If the corruption is spreading beyond economics into fundamental metaphysical structures, then it's about to get really bad—not just currency devaluation, but something much worse.
"Pardon me, but how much would someone give up for these?" Alucent asked, holding up the pouch. "In old currency?"
Jorin's expression shifted to sympathy. "Five, maybe six if you find someone desperate or uninformed. The exchange rate is collapsing by the hour as more people figure out the new currencies are worthless, so it will be better if you could hurry and find someone to give it up to, because by tomorrow? Maybe three. Or by next week? Nothing."
Alucent's face was filled with an expression that resembled sadness. I have to convert this immediately before they become completely worthless.
"Can you be of help and tell me where I can make the exchange?" Alucent asked, trying to hide his sadness, but his voice exposed it a little.
"There's a black market dealer three streets over," the baker offered, her tone less hostile now that Jorin had explained the situation. "Takes new currency and converts it. Charges twenty percent markup though, but at least you'll get something."
Alucent nodded, already doing the math. Thirty Silverweaves at the current exchange rate, minus twenty percent markup. Maybe four old notes, if he was lucky. That would be enough for a few days of food and basic supplies. Although not enough for anything else.
He thanked both the baker and the individual known as Jorin as he departed for the black market.
---
Alucent had spent the afternoon in a basement that smelled like mildew, trading his thirty new Silverweaves to a black market dealer. He was glad he could find one and make a deal with him, as Jorin had told him. The dealer offered him exactly four old notes and a pitying look.
Sir Vorn was waiting when Alucent entered. The Elder slid a dossier across the desk without preamble.
"Verdant Hollow," Sir Vorn said. "The locals are reporting spatial distortions. Memory lapses. Time loops. Objects appearing where they should be. Impossible things becoming commonplace."
Verdant Hollow? I might have to reconsider how I look at Verdant Vale.
He placed a small pouch next to the dossier.
Alucent opened it. The glow from within was a steady pale silver. No flickering or brown tint.
It was old currency.
"Fifty Silverweaves," Sir Vorn said. "Ten now. Forty more when you complete the mission successfully."
Wow, fifty Silverweaves. That's... That's more money than I've ever had at once since coming to this world. This mission must be a high-priority assignment if they're paying this much.
His happiness couldn't be hidden; his face got softer, his smile brighter. Alucent stared at the notes, then at Sir Vorn. Questions crowded his mind, each one competing for priority. He thought, Start with the obvious.
"Sir, but why me, specifically? I'm sure there are other Threadweavers more qualified for investigation work."
And more stable, more experienced. And definitely less likely to have their hands shake during critical inscription work. He couldn't say this part out loud.
"Well, because you're desperate," Sir Vorn said bluntly. "And because you're close to advancing to Thread 4, which means you're capable of higher-level work if you can get your head straight. But mainly because you're desperate. You see, young Luci, desperate people are motivated. They complete missions because failure means starvation."
Damn, he couldn't spare the harsh honesty? At least, it's better than being lied to.
"You mentioned spatial distortions and memory lapses," Alucent said, pulling his thoughts back to the assignment. "But what's actually causing them? Is this related to the Turquoise Moon? To whatever is corrupting the currency?"
I need to understand the mechanism. Also, knowing what I am walking into, I can't be taking uncalculated risks.
"The Council suspects it's related, but we don't know for certain." Sir Vorn leaned back in his chair, exhaustion visible in every line of his face. "According to the councils, the distortions began appearing around the same time the moon changed. Although correlation doesn't prove causation, the timing is suspicious, and something about the Heart-cult church
"Okay, but what's the Hearth-cult? What's that about?"
Sir Vorn's expression darkened. "Local religion group that's grown popular in recent months. They worship the hearth-fire as a symbol of home and stability. They're generally harmless. But now somehow, they're claiming the spatial distortions are blessings from their deity, proof that the world is becoming more perfect. They are actively encouraging people to embrace the changes rather than resist them."
There are actual religious people in this world? I've never heard of it since I've been here. Why am I just hearing about a church, their worshipers, and that they have a deity?
"So, basically, part of my mission is dealing with a religious group that thinks reality breaking or changing is good?" Alucent said, clenching his fist. "Sir Vorn, What else am I walking into?"
Sir Vorn leaned forward, his monocle catching the light. "Look, young Luci, let me explain something they don't teach properly at the academies. The Rune Path, or rather. The Rune-Weave, which is the official term and name for it, is about imposing truth on reality. When you etch a Thread 4 glyph—a Goldscribe rune. You're not suggesting something to the world. You're telling it how things are. Perfect, undeniable truth that reality is to be accepted because the logic is flawless."
Of course, Thread 4 Goldscribe, isn't that the Thread Sir Vorn is at? And I still haven't been able to advance from Thread 3.
"But here's the problem, Luci," Sir Vorn continued. "Your guilt over the people who died at Iron Vale, especially that young eighteen-year-old guard, makes your will a lie. You don't actually believe you deserve to advance. You don't believe you're capable of imposing truth on anything when you can't even be honest with yourself about whether that guard's death was necessary. And the Weave knows it. It reads the contradiction between what you're trying to etch and what you actually think."
He is right; I can't be feeling guilty forever about a guard's death. He was doing his job, and so was I. I would have been the one dead if I didn't kill him. No, not just me; I, Raya, and Gryan would have died, so why am I still hung up on his death? Logic actually says one thing; my emotions say another. This is the contradiction.
"So, when I try to advance to thread 4 in this state, what happens?" Alucent asked, though part of him didn't want to know the answer.
"The Weave rejects you. But it's not a gentle rejection, Luci." Sir Vorn's voice dropped lower. "It's called the taboo of madness. Whenever you try to etch a fundamental lie. When you attempt to impose truth on reality while lying to yourself, the backlash creates a feedback loop. Your consciousness gets trapped examining its own flawed logic, spinning faster and faster and faster, unable to resolve the contradiction because, as I've told you earlier, it is you."
A feedback loop? Like an infinite recursion error in my programming? Does the mind examine itself, examining itself, spiraling deeper until there's nothing left but the examination itself?
The description he made sent a cold spreading through Alucent's chest. That wasn't just death; according to what he understood from it, that was something worse. An eternal imprisonment in your own broken thought patterns.
"You won't just go insane, young Luci," Vorn said quietly. "You'll be trapped in that loop forever. Or until your body dies and releases you. Some Threadweavers in the Rune-Weave caught like that last for years. Unable to communicate. Unable to escape. It was just an endless examining of their own broken thoughts until there's nothing left but resurfaced madness."
This is scary, and I've been risking this anytime I try to advance before resolving this guilt. Dammit! What have I been doing? I've been putting myself in the high-risk zone. I have to snap out of this guilt before I trigger this Taboo of Madness.
With fear in his voice, scratching his fingers gently against his thigh, Alucent asked, "How many people have you seen this happen to?"
Sir Vorn was quiet for a moment. "Three. In my time as the Scribe Tower Elder. Two of them died within months. The third is still alive, technically. We keep her in a secured room in the lower levels. She hasn't spoken in four years. Just sits down there, eyes open, caught in whatever loop she created when she tried to force advancement."
Three people—now the exhaustion on him is understandable.
"Go to Verdant Hollow," Sir Vorn said. "Investigate the distortions. Contain them if possible. And while you're there, figure out how to resolve the contradiction in your own head. Find clarity about who you are within yourself and what you actually believe about the guard's death."
He then pushed both the dossier and the notes closer. "Or accept that you'll stay at Thread 3 forever and adjust your expectations accordingly. But make that choice consciously. Don't just drift into failure because you're too guilt-ridden to think straight."
"And if I can't find clarity?" Alucent asked. "If I go to Verdant Hollow and come back still carrying this guilt?"
"Then accept the consequences of attempting advancement anyway." Sir Vorn's monocle reflected light like a cold eye. "Because, I tell you, young Luci. Trying to advance in your current state isn't just suicide. It's the kind of suicide that might spread to anyone connected to your consciousness when you break. Other Threadweavers. People you've formed strong emotional bonds with. The feedback loop can jump to connected minds under certain conditions."
That means Raya, Gryan, and Tavin are not safe, and anyone close to me emotionally is not safe. He didn't want to imagine the situation.
He picked up the dossier. Verdant Hollow. A place he'd never heard of, experiencing impossible things, requiring investigation by someone like him, whose mind was one bad inscription away from permanent fracture.
Spatial Distortions. Memory lapses. Religious cults. And most importantly, my own fractured psychology as the biggest threat. This is going to be terrible; I can feel it now.
"When do I leave?"
"Dawn tomorrow. Raya and Gryan will accompany you. Tavin will stay here. His visions are too unstable right now for fieldwork." Sir Vorn returned his attention to the papers he was working on prior to when Alucent came in. "Young Luci, use tonight to prepare supplies and resolve whatever personal matters need resolution. Once you're in Verdant Hollow, you might not be able to leave until the situation is contained."
"I've heard, Sir Vorn."
Alucent left with heavy pockets and heavier thoughts.
Outside, the Turquoise Moon had risen fully, casting its beautiful, wrong light across Eryndral streets. People moved through that light like figures in a dream, their faces showing the strain of economic collapse and reality distortion happening simultaneously.
He walked toward his Steamcottage, already breaking down the mission parameters.
Blood is memory, and memory is law.
Although he understood what the words meant intellectually, the truth they pointed toward stayed just out of reach, blocked by guilt he couldn't resolve and contradictions he couldn't reconcile.
Maybe Verdant Hollow will force clarity out of me. Maybe seeing something worse, like distortions, will put my own problem in perspective. Or maybe I'll just add more guilt to the pile when people die; I don't even know anymore.
As he had such thoughts, he kept walking anyway.