163. After the Fire

Serac had thought the two months leading up to her smiting of Pretjord's Realm Immortal were busy—but they were nothing compared to the one that followed.

Even long after [Avici] had burnt itself out, its effects were nothing short of Realm-altering. Many Anchored souls perished in the fire, and those who survived were forever changed by the unimaginable torture they'd endured. Even several members of the Kronvakt were left so shell-shocked as to be all but decrepit. It would take years—perhaps generations—for the scars from Rathor Tyrsen's hellfire to fade.

And that was to say nothing of the ecological sequelae on the Tree itself. For weeks, ashfall covered much of the Realm, from the Crown all the way down to the Roots. It caused massive disruptions to the local habitats, and had only started to clear up in the last several days. Yakshas Serac spoke to had described it as a 'second winter' layered atop the natural season.

If there was a silver lining to the devastation, it was the forced 'flattening' of the social hierarchy. With their home made temporarily uninhabitable, Krongardians sought refuge in the lower segments. A new Realm order emerged (and not without tireless politicking by Serac herself!), one in which the Kronvakt disbanded and reorganized themselves into various 'task forces'. From there, Wayfarers and Anchored souls worked side by side to heal and to rebuild.

Of course, there had been and would continue to be significant road blocks to true, sustainable 'peace'—the kind Tyr Djofulsen might've once tried to Tamp into being. Bad blood between the Rotters and the higher-ups couldn't be cleared up simply by sharing one restoration project. The fact was the Krongardians had actively participated and the Stammers had been complicit in oppressing the Roots. Excuses like "we only followed commands" or "we didn't know" didn't hold much water in the face of generational suffering.

If Serac could avoid politics and feelings for the rest of her afterlife, she would. And yet, everywhere she went, she couldn't stop herself from making friends, enemies, and everything in between. More and more, she was learning that the two things went hand in hand.

Ongoing skirmishes—often with the Tomasen twins in the thick of the action. Power struggles in the vacuum left behind by the royal family. Over the last month or so, Serac often found herself needing to take sides or pass down judgment—and being severely discomfited each time.

At some point, however, she had to accept that this wasn't—couldn't be—her fight. Not while she had her own Path to tread and climb. And not while there were a Realm-ful of souls with their own ideas of how to rebuild a home. To intervene anymore than she already had would be tantamount to applying Serac's blueprints to Pretjord—and retreading Queen Loha's steps was the last thing she wanted to do.

Luckily, the Realm was in capable hands.

Hilde Vindsdatter—freed forever more from her toxic relationship with a prince—proved her leadership chops by spearheading the restoration efforts. Petter Svensen—proud new proprietor of his own restaurant on the Trunk-Roots border—became a voice of reason and solidarity amidst the chaos. Even the 'cool'-headed (their word, not Serac's) Tomasens made themselves useful, chiefly by ensuring that the destructively self-serving members of society (read: Palmr Jorgensen and his ilk) never again touched a piece of the pie.

Were these disparate elements somehow bumbling their way toward a prosperous and equitable future for all of Pretjord? Or were they powder kegs waiting to engulf the Realmtree in more catastrophe? Serac couldn't say for sure. She could, however, 'root' for her friends and enemies alike—as fervently as she'd ever wished anything for herself.

***

Zacko once told a story from Manesferan literature. About a 'king of kings'—a conquerer of worlds who'd seen everything there was to see and united all of it under his rule. He'd proudly sculpted a statue of himself, to greet visitors to his 'works' for posterity. Only… after the passage of however many Kalpas, nothing besides the introductory boast remained.

In the days and weeks prior to her departure from Pretjord, Serac recalled that story often. She pondered how not even Tyr Djofulsen—as close to truly Immortal as anyone could hope to be—had escaped the scourge of time and impermanence. But most of all, she thought of ordinary souls much like herself and their doomed attempts at cheating mortality.

Queen Loha was captured shortly after the final battle.

She'd somehow survived the Sanzu's deluge—no small miracle (though perhaps not quite as miraculous as Serac herself dodging certain Frenzy!). But that had only delayed the inevitable. For she was soon accosted by an eagle-eyed and [Gears]-propelled Zacko as she tried to sneak back into her not-so-secret-anymore cave.

The death of King Tyr had 'shut off' his [Pacification] magic, which meant Loha's dew-extracting setup was no longer operational. It still required significant manpower to dismantle the whole thing piece by piece, the better for the Realmtree itself to 'heal' from the inside out. With Loha's threat to the Realm utterly neutralized, the only thing left was to ensure she never got to try anything again.

At least a few remnants of the previous regime—most notably Eddur Lokksen—remained loyal enough to the disgraced queen to fight for clemency on her behalf. Loha had been as destructively self-serving as they come, but even so, Pretjord was still very much a Realm built by her and her husband's hands.

But, hate her or love her, it didn't much matter in the end. Because the end came for her swiftly and decisively.

Serac was one of only three people at Loha's deathbed. There was the aforementioned Eddur, knelt beside the queen and sobbing so freely that his tears nearly filled up his see-through skull! Hilde was also there, lending her officious authority to the occasion. The manta-ray woman had been the hardest-working soul in all Pretjord before the fire, and had only become busier since.

Why was Serac there? In truth, she couldn't really explain it herself. She certainly held no sympathy for the dying queen—surely the vilest and most devious of the Rakshasas she'd met on her journey.

Yet somehow, she felt it her duty to witness the end—the final moments of this soul who'd caused suffering of such magnitude across two Realms. She thought it might provide a sense of closure—both for herself and for the others who hadn't been as lucky.

She thought wrong.

Loha's arms were bound and her mouth clamped shut to prevent the use of DIAPHRAGM, yet clearly, such restraints were no longer necessary. Nothing of the queen's former grace and ferocity remained, leaving only a gaunt canvas etched with the grooves of overspent age. Serac was of course familiar with 'skin and bones', and might've even applied it to herself in her Damnatorium days, but until she'd seen Loha in this state, she'd never understood just how literal the phrase could be.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

The creature before Serac's eyes was the most wretched, shattered, and pitiable thing imaginable. It wasn't even allowed to speak—and was likely incapable anyway. The 'king of kings' from Zacko's story had at least left behind a statue along with some words, but not Loha. The woman had lost everything—her husband, her children, her life's work, and now… even her dignity.

The Rakshasa queen's passing—as quiet as her final, muffled breath—brought no closure. It only left Serac with a profound sadness. Not for what Loha was, but for what she might've been… had she chosen a different Path.

***

"Last chance, Pete," Zacko warned, with an airiness that belied the solemnity of his words. "Just say the word. We three will put our ascension plans on hold and wait for you. Might take a while—seeing as how this Realm is missing an Immortal at the minute—but I'm sure we'll make the best of it, like we always do. At the very least, there'll be more easy Karma for us to farm while we prep for Tidereign. Who knows? If we wait long enough, there might even be another Frostkrill for us to Hunt and steal its [Boon]."

Team Serac (yes, all three of them!) and a small group of friends were gathered once more at the very top of the Realmtree. This time, they were perfectly safe from being washed away by the waterfall, thanks to Gulloyne the Fjordstrider providing the biggest foothold they could've asked for.

The giant salamander was, of course, under Hilde Vindsdatter's safe command. She'd taken it upon herself to inherit the Steed, not for her personal use, but for the good of the Realm. On this occasion, the 'good of the Realm' entailed the deportation of a trio of rowdy criminals.

Along with Petter and Hilde, the Tomasen twins were also here. The sturgeons didn't particularly get along with the manta ray, but they'd set aside their differences just for the day. The twins now flanked the sending-off party on either side, hearkening back to their days as Stamgard's meanest bodyguards.

Presently, however, all eyes turned onto the skinniest and youngest member among them. It seemed Zacko's invitation had genuinely caught Petter off guard. The mackerel's eyes widened and darted about, momentarily back to his old, defeatist self. However…

"Nice try, Zacko," Petter said, sans honorific and without even the hint of a stammer. "I refuse to be your excuse to procrastinate. Besides, what makes you think you'll be getting to that [Frostkrillboon] first? If we ever do have the Realmhunt again, I'm going to be your competition!"

This got a good chuckle out of Serac, as well as shoulder-claps all around.

What a difference three months made! Not only had Petter Svensen become a popular restaurateur and a pillar of his community, he was also a full-fledged Wayfarer, well along his self-chosen Path. Serac too had let go of her overprotective instincts, instead learning to respect Chef Petey and his self-reliant ways.

Busy alternating between heartfelt laughter and teary farewells, it took Serac a while to notice an intense glare aimed her way. It belonged, of course, to Lars Tomasen—he of the not-at-all-cool head and permanently knitted brows. She met his glare with a smile and raised eyebrows, as if to ask: what's up with you?

"Is nothing," Lars said, suspiciously hasty. He paused for a second, then spoke again, this time with an obvious stammer! "I do… I do wonder… does your invitation… does it also… umph…"

Serac's smile quickly turned to a frown of alarm, wondering just what the heck had gotten into her stoic sturgeon friend.

"Umph?" she imitated the strange grunt, and was somewhat put off by the feel of it in her throat. "What is it, man? Spit it out before Hilde gets all pissy at us for wasting her time!"

"Is nothing," Lars said again, his scales of slate-gray looking a shade darker. "I wish you well on journey."

Busy deepening her frown in confusion, it took Serac a while to notice a couple of things. First was Hans Tomasen, the twin on the other side, shaking his head with a wry (and extremely rare) smile. Second was Zacko beside her, who for whatever reason had turned his back, and now positively convulsed with stifled laughter.

Trippy? A little help?

"I believe, Serac, that yours is a classic case of the hopelessly oblivious. Lars Tomasen has my condolences."

Oblivious? Are you calling me that? What am I obliv—

"Serac Edin," a sharp, authoritative voice cut in, courtesy of a visibly miffed Hilde, "if you're quite done turning the men of Pretjord into even bigger imbeciles than they already are, I'd love for us to hurry this along. I won't go so far as to say I'd be glad to see the back of you, but I won't not say it either."

Oddly glad for the interruption, Serac turned to the stern manta ray with a mischievous grin. She then offered her onyx-clawed hand (the rock-free one, of course!), unduly confident that the gesture would be reciprocated. After a pointed pause, the manta ray spread one of her pectoral fins and took Serac's hand in hers.

"Thank you," Hilde said quietly, meant only for one pair of ears, "for all that you did… and more that you didn't."

"Don't mention it. And good luck with the imbeciles!"

Hilde gave a short snort and nothing more.

With the heartfelt laughter and teary farewells out of the way, it was finally time for Team Serac to ascend. To that end, Serac turned her exuberant attention onto their third and newest member.

"I have to admit," Renna the pink frog croaked, meeting Serac's shining gaze with a pensive one of her own, "I'm more excited than I'd expected to be. I've always been curious about the nitty-gritty of ascension, and yet… I just never imagined it as a real possibility. Pathetic, isn't it? This Realm has no shortage of Wayfarers, yet for the longest time, not a one of us truly forged our own Path."

"Well, missy, you better learn to expect the unexpected. Because here on Team Serac, that's pretty much all we do."

Renna nodded, a little more solemnly than the Rakshasa's quip might've warranted. She then looked up, as if remembering something.

"Speaking of… you said you wanted a new team name—one that's less 'egotistic' than the current placeholder. Well? Have you thought of one?"

"That I did!" Serac—the king of giving new names to things, whether they wanted it or not—announced brightly. "This one took me a little longer than my usual work, but I think it was worth the extra effort. Henceforth, we three of Team Serac shall be known as—"

Suddenly, a flash of lightning. Followed by…

Crraacckkk…!!

Booming thunder. Loud enough to make six seasoned Wayfarers (and one up-and-comer) instinctively duck for cover. Even Gulloyne the giant salamander flinched at mother nature's explosive fury.

The spring sky darkened in an instant—unnaturally quick. It then directly led into torrential rain, drenching the Wayfarers faster than even the Sanzu waterfall.

"Hilde?" Serac shouted to be heard over the thunderstorm. "Is this your doing?"

"No!" the manta ray shouted back, looking just as alarmed. "What would be the point of this?"

Even as she'd asked the question, Serac knew the answer. She knew this couldn't be Hilde's doing. For the Yaksha was too ordinary—just another soul making an honest effort at climbing Mount Meru.

No, magic of this force and scale belonged to something more. Perhaps an Immortal—or a soul who'd already reached the summit.

Seven pairs of eyes shot to the sky at once, as a winged shadow fast approached. And before the shadowy figure could manifest in earnest, it first announced itself with a Pathsighted label:

[Designation: HUMILITY—Herald of the Muted Passions]

[Wayfarer Race: DEVA]

[Karmic Level: 193]

[Liminal Karma: 274,163 क]

[DEIFIC Instrument: PARASOL]

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