CHAPTER 34: Pain Train

It was early in the morning, in the aching moments before the sunlight would wash its way over the ruins of Lum, Orsel, having taken another night’s refuge in one of the countless abandoned homes in the fallen city, found himself abruptly awoken by an all-too-eager Hope.

“You awake yet?”

 She said, holding a stack of papers as usual. “We have a busy day ahead of us!” 

“What time is it?” Orsel asked, affixing his cloak and rubbing his eyes.

“Time to start your training! We haven’t a moment to lose, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon!” She blipped away, only to return three seconds later, beckoning him over. The groggy Orsel had no choice but to follow her. Instead of leading the shayd to the archives and throne room, as was the standard, Hope led Orsel towards the barracks: A large, sturdy, dome-shaped building surrounded by old, decrepit weapons and armor. As the pair entered through its open-arched doorway, Orsel could clearly see that Hope had done some recent work to the place. There were combat dummies strewn about on the main floor, as well as a rack of better-kept weapons to choose from. Some looked like the same weapon Hope had chased him with on their first meeting, the hoop-shaped blade on a staff, others looked closer to curved and angled swords, and a mighty looking shield was proudly displayed amongst them.

“So.” Hope began, holding her own weapon from the throne room. “You want to help me on my quest to rebuild the Keystone.” Her demeanor was much less optimistic than before, her eyes glassed over with the same seriousness that Orsel assumed came with the profession of being a grandess.

“Well,” Orsel cleared his throat. “It seems like my best option at the moment, so—” He promptly found himself smacked in the arm by the staff end of Hope’s own weapon.

“I’m not going to sucre-coat it, Orsel, this may be the most difficult thing you will ever be asked to do. You will be traversing unforgiving landscapes—” She swirled her hoopmace above her head, kicking up a gust of sand from the training floor. “—Facing devastating foes!” She kicked one of the dummies hanging from the ceiling towards Orsel, who threw himself onto the ground to avoid it, dropping his crookshank in the process. “—and exercising every innate ability you have to stay undetected from the enemy.” The sand had settled, revealing Hope with her back turned towards Orsel. He reached towards his crookshank, only to suddenly find Hope’s hoopmace sliced down in the space between his hand and his tool.

“Knowing this,” She continued, looking down at Orsel with the bladed edge of her weapon still stuck in the ground. “Will you still follow this path?” With some hesitation, Orsel reached his arm through the hole in the hoopmace to grab the end of his crookshank and pull it through.

“Yes.” He answered, clutching his tool close. “Yes I will.”

“Very well, then.” Hope responded, slightly impressed. She began to pace around the room, mace behind her back.

“Rule number one! You are to do as I say, when I say, how I say— the road to shaping you into one of my soldiers will not be an easy one.” 

“Soldiers?” Orsel asked, surprised.

“Indeed.” Hope smiled. “If you’re going to be working for a grandess, then you will abide by the standards of one. Now—” She tapped a hoop hanging from the ceiling, “Let’s get started, shall we?”

To say the next few hours were grueling was an understatement. Orsel’s less-impressive-than-average body was punished at nearly every step of Hope’s rigorous training session. First up was stretching, as was customary for a workout— used to keep the body limber and malleable. Unfortunately, the label was a bit more literal than Orsel would have liked it to be. He had grabbed onto two handles, one with his hands, one with his leg tendrils, and found himself forcefully stretched like a rubber-band… For about three seconds, at least— as his lower tendrils gave out, and he snapped upwards like a slingshot against the roof of the building.

Sparring was even worse. Hope may have been an old woman, but an interesting fact about elementals is that they innately aged in an odd way, where they find themselves more powerful the older they are, and the grandess was certainly no exception. She was practically running circles around the poor shayd, even when training for the most basic moves like a crossbar block or forward thrust. He found his crookshank being knocked out of his hands time and time again, to the point where it was getting more than noticeably dented.

After that, however, came the endurance testing— wherein Orsel was forced to run laps around the width of Lum, in the beating afternoon sunlight.

He barely made it halfway through before he collapsed onto the ground, in front of Vino’s commandeered workshop. The plucky flauna finishing some chores around the place when he found his friend face-down in the sand-dusted road.

“Orsel, what happened?” He ran over, concerned.

“Nngh… Training… Proving self… Hope…” He groggily answered.

“Here, come inside for a bit, get you out of this light.” Vino shepherded Orsel into the doorway.

Orsel, despite his thoroughly weakened state, found that the workshop was looking quite homely— a glass kiln roaring quietly in the corner with shelves upon shelves lined with progressively refurbished tools and trinkets. There was still a massive pile of swept-up garbage and sand in the corner, but barring that, the place looked quite nice. He slumped into a chair, unknowingly dropping his crookshank on the ground with a mighty CLANG. Taking notice, Vino investigated it, seeing it was in much worse condition than when they left Shaydon.

“Great seed! Hope’s really putting you through the wringer.” He picked the tool up, causing its head to fall off onto the floor and clatter about.

“I just… need to… do better.” Orsel panted, struggling to keep his form. Vino picked up the crookshank’s head and took it over to a table near the kiln.

“I guess you guys really can get tired.” Vino observed. “You know, you can always back out if you want. You’re the only one of us doing this, and I have a feeling going after the Keystone is more trouble than it’s worth.” He lined the pieces of the crookshank up with one another, grabbing a hammer and set of tongs from a nearby drawer. “I know Hope made it seem important… And I know there’s a lot of evidence Shaydon’s doing something big… But you shouldn’t feel responsible for cleaning up after them. You’re free! Take a chance to live your life, it’s something a lot of people would give anything for.” Vino placed the crookshank near the kiln, heating and softening the metal of the shaft and head. He began to hammer them back together.

“I’ll never be free.” Orsel sulked. “You saw that gang that went after us a couple days ago. They won’t rest until we’re captured again.” Vino was adjusting some of the crookshank’s dents with his hammer and tongs.

“Yes, but—”

“And I’ve been on this world long enough to know that someone has to do the things no one else wants to do— and more often than not it’s usually me who has to clean up the mess or take the blame.”

“Orsel, you don’t have to do this.” Vino encouraged as he dunked the staff into a nearby trough of water, its metal cooling and sizzling in contact with the tranquil liquid. 

“Orsel!” Hope’s voice cried out from outside the door.

“Crud, I gotta go.” He shambled out of the door.

“Wait!” Vino yelled, presenting the repaired crookshank in his hands. “Whatever you end up doing… You’re going to need this.”

“Thanks.” Orsel weakly appreciated. As he left, Vino looked over at his unfinished invention— he had since taken a break from it to focus more on cleaning up the workshop, but it was so haberdashed that he didn’t know where to begin on improving it. He turned away to grab an empty trashcan and dustpan., prepared to work on the enormous pile of filth in the corner.

As Orsel stepped out of the workshop, he was immediately greeted by Hope.

“Ah, there you are. You want to take a break? I’m sorry if I’m being a bit hard on you.”

“No, no, it’s alright. Look, I’m good enough to do this! Watch!” Orsel proclaimed as he began to run a bit further, only to collapse from exhaustion after around six seconds. Hope blipped over and picked him up— Orsel’s form melting out from his cloak at her touch.

“I-I’m going to—”

Hope shushed him.

“You’re going to rest. You put in a lot of work today.”

“I—” But before he could make another syllable, Orsel’s body had completely melted away, darkness pouring out of his cloak and dissipating from sheer exhaustion. Feeling some remorse, Hope slung the cloak over her shoulder and walked back towards the home Orsel was resting in. On her path, however, she came across Jacob, who had taken it upon himself to start rebuilding some homes. There was certainly a limit to what he could do, given his experience and the tools at his disposal, but organizing the rubble by color and fitting some obviously-shaped pieces together was something he found accomplishable.

“Afternoon, Hope.” Jacob greeted, placing a huge, purple chunk of sandstone down on the ground next to its similar-colored brothers. “How’s it goin’?”

“Not too well, I’m afraid.” Hope answered, Presenting Orsel’s cloak. “Orsel got a bit tuckered out during training today.”

“Aw, hell.” Jacob griped. “You broke ‘im already?”

“It was a long day today.” Hope explained. “And besides, I’ve worked with shayd and Shaydon long enough to know that they’re fiercely dedicated workers. This is a good sign!”

“Yeah? Well, I’ve fought them long enough to know that this certainly is not.”

“How so?” Hope asked, tilting her head. “He’s building up endurance, right?”

Jacob grabbed Orsel’s cloak from Hope’s hand, inspecting and prodding it. 

“Shayd have a bit of a tendency to throw themselves into their jobs to the point where they sometimes… well… self-destruct. They’ve been raised to be validated for hard work, and pretty much nothing else.”

“That… does explain a few things.” Hope said, biting her finger.

“Yup, so if you want my advice, quit takin’ advantage of the little guy, or else what you call fierce dedication is gonna end up becoming fierce dead-ication.”

“Hey! I’m not taking advantage of anyone!” Hope snarled. “He agreed to this on his own terms!”

“Sure he did.” Jake agreed sarcastically, gently placing Orsel’s cloak on the ground before Hope. “Look, I don’t give a klam’s behind what you’re getting yourself up to, just keep him safe, and keep me out of it.”

Hope sneered at Jake as she walked away, but couldn’t help finding some truth to his words. Orsel’s training was already beginning to raise some bad habits within him, and she would have to find some way to circumvent that. For now, however, a nice rest would be greatly appreciated.

CHAPTER 35: An Advantageous Offer

The next morning, Hope awoke in her throne room to find Orsel waiting for her, in turn. 

“Morning, your Grandness!” He saluted. “I’m ready to start training. What’s up first? Laps? Technique?”

“Orsel, you’d tell me if I was pushing you too hard, right?” Hope asked, her cheek cupped in her palm as she reclined in her throne. Orsel froze at the question. After some thought, he resumed his motivations, attempting to divert the topic. 

“I want to learn how to do that spinning thing you were doing the other day, where you raise your staff over your head and—” He attempted to mimic Hope’s technique by twirling his crookshank over his head, only to accidentally fling it aside, the metal screeching against the fine stone floor. “Ope, sorry. Let me just—”

“Leave it.” Hope requested. “I asked you a question.”

“Oh, uh yeah. Why? Do… Do you want me to tell you when you’re pushing me?”

Hope leaned forwards so she was eye-level to Orsel, hands entwined as her elbows rested on her knees.

“Orsel, your friends are right. You don’t have to do this if you really don’t want to. From what I’ve heard and seen, you of all people deserve a true chance at freedom, and I’m willing to help you with that.”

“What are you talking about?”

Hope stood upright, beckoning Orsel towards a set of stairs far behind the throne room.

“Follow me.” She led the shayd down, deep into the great archives of Lum where the group had sipped tea during their first visit. It was during this time when Orsel was finally able to get a good look at some of the exhibits that were on display… The ones that weren’t covered in an inch-thick layer of dust, at least. 

“What is all this stuff?” Orsel asked, dusting off a plaque that stood before a large set of dusty antlers.

“These are the Faithful Archives.” Hope explained, “Named, of course, after Lum’s first grandess, Faith.” She spread her hands out at the expanses of the archives— shelves and displays placed in numerous layers upon one another, minerals, clothes, armor, machines, substances, and some things Orsel couldn’t even describe, all resting here, untouched. The menagerie had aged somewhat poorly over the years, but its splendor— especially while bathed in the light from the enormous stained-glass windows, was undeniable.

“She believed above all else that the preservation of culture and ideas was one of the most important values to keep, so she kept this archive of treasures and artifacts from all across Crux inside what would have normally been her palace.” Hope continued.

“That’s nice.” Orsel responded, not quite sure what to do with the information.

“Oh, that’s not even the best part. The real neat stuff is downstairs.” As they traversed deeper and lower into the temple, the shelves lined with the great and varied artifacts became more and more noticeably filled with dusty, nondescript rods. Orsel saw one that had fallen on the ground some time ago and picked it up. As he held it and rubbed the dust off of it, he saw that it was actually made of glass, textured with countless tiny marks he could feel on the tips of his fingers.

“What are these things?” Orsel asked, looking around at the filled shelves.

Hope grabbed the rod Orsel had picked up, and placed it between both of her palms. The engravings lit up as she held it, projecting themselves onto the ground and ceiling. 

“This is a talestaff. We use them to record stories and history about our world.” She placed the rod sideways into a mechanism and turned it on, adjusting it until the markings and carvings showed a more focused picture as they were projected onto a smooth, white wall. There were several pictures of what looked like other lumans displayed alongside words spelled in symbols that Orsel didn’t understand.

“We have thousands of these in here, detailing stories and important historical events from all over Crux.” Hope explained, turning the talestaff in the machine as the projection scrolled across the wall. “Most of them are about life here in Lum, of course, but I’d go as far to say it’s one of, if not the most comprehensive collections in the world.”

“So… is this what you wanted to show me?” Orsel asked, looking around at the shelves upon shelves of dusty, glass rods.

“Oh, no!” Hope clarified, turning the machine off. “Sorry, I got a bit sidetracked. It’s just up ahead.” The pair walked further and deeper into the archives, Hope’s body illuminating the way ahead. Eventually, they came to an enormous, circular door made from orange metal and inlaid with glass segments that looked almost like veins coursing throughout its surface. Hope placed her hand on the middle of the door, into an indent that looked like a handprint carved into a cylinder of clear crystal. As Hope’s hand fit into the indent, the glass that spanned throughout the door lit up in unison, and a great rumbling from the mechanisms behind the vault entrance was felt. The portal split into six segments, splitting outwards until a round arch revealed itself to the two visitors. Hope slowly stepped into the room, walking in a straight line towards its end. As she did, Orsel noticed rows upon rows of glinting metal in her presence, lining the path and walls.

 He couldn’t quite make out what it was as he stood behind, but once Hope made it to the end of the pathway, she pulled a switch on the far wall, opening four enormous portals of light on the ceiling. Orsel’s eyes stood agape at the sight of what lay in the room… Star! Mountains of it! More than he had ever seen before in his life… And more money than he would ever make in his life. Piles upon piles of the glittering coins lay before him, either in neat stacks or misshapen huddles. As Orsel attempted to step into the room, he found his tendrils could not support his weight, overwhelmed by the glittering goodness he was witnessing, and he knelt upon the floor, wheezing.

“Another part of Faith’s legacy was the centralized currency that Crux still uses to this day— star.” Hope taught Orsel, spinning a lone coin between her fingers as the star-shaped piece of glass embedded within refracted her ambience. “Needless to say, we have some of the one trillion total coins that were produced and distributed put aside for more… personal reasons.” 

“Wuh…wuh… wuh…” Orsel could barely string a sentence together at the sight of the pristine collection of coins. He began to grasp his hand over a small clump of them, but abruptly closed it as he came to his senses. “Wuh… wait. Why are you showing me this?” He asked, standing upright again.

“Orsel, when I asked for your assistance at Keystone temple, it was a rash decision, born out of desperation and haste, and I apologize. The last thing I want to do is place the burden of a task such as this on shoulders that aren’t fully capable.” Hope explained. “You have worked hard to secure your freedom from your predicament at Shaydon, and I would like to offer my aid in preserving that freedom.”

Orsel looked around as he grasped the concept of Hope’s proposal.

“You’re… going to give me star?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a very tempting—” Orsel hovered over a nearby pile of star, tendrils grasping towards it, until Hope’s choice of words snapped him into a state of realization. “Wait, what do you mean ‘shoulders that aren’t fully capable’? Do you think I’m not good enough to carry out your mission?”

“No, no, no, of course not!” Defended Hope, waving her arms about in protest. “Well… Actually, kind of. But liste—”

“I knew it!” Orsel said, turning around, beginning to walk out of the vault. “We should’ve started training sooner today. I need to get better, one way or ano—”

“NO!” Hope said, blipping in front of Orsel, impeding his path. She dragged her palm across her face. “Alright, I clearly didn’t think this through. What I’m trying to say is you don’t need to do this for me! Look around, I’m willing to give you the means to start a new life, unbothered by what you’ve faced before. Leave this dangerous job to someone who can do it!”

“I don’t…nngh!… Want your star!” Orsel yelled, resisting the allure of the glittering currency. “I want a purpose! Something besides putting up buildings every day, or being an outcast, hunted down by my homeland! What good’s this money going to do anyway? I didn’t even earn it!”

“Orsel, you trained yourself into exhaustion yesterday.”

“Only because I wanted to meet your standards! The standards of a grandess! You told me how hard it was going to be, and I still accepted, and all the star in the world isn’t going to change that.”

Hope stepped forwards, towering over Orsel.

“Are you certain? You’ll turn down this offer, and continue your service?”

Orsel stood on the tips of his tendrils in an effort to paint himself as intimidating, still only coming to about eye-level with Hope’s neck.

“I am.”

Hope’s composure faltered as she brushed back her hair in regret.

“I suppose I deserve this.” She blipped back towards the switch, removing the columns of light from the mountains of glittering star. “Come on, let’s head back outside.”

As they continued up the palace, revisiting the exhibits and archives, a thought sparked itself within Orsel’s mind.

“Hey, I have a question. Thead and Shaydon’s armies ransacked this place, right? If that’s the case, why is all this stuff still here? You’d think wanton destruction and pillaging would’ve been at the top of their list once they showed up.”

The sudden mention of these painful memories caused Hope to pause for a bit in thought.

“Thead… his motivations were a bit more… intimate than simply destroying everything. While his armies razed the rest of the city, he made it clear he would take on this palace on his own.”

“So, since he was just one guy, he couldn’t do a whole lot?”

“The damage he caused is more than just the loss of mere things.” Hope clarified. She looked wistfully at a yellow cloth she had been carrying in her pocket. “Lives were lost— every last one of them that I had sworn to lead and care for. All of them except for me.”

“Is that why you’re still around?” Orsel asked, not realizing the weight of his question until it was too late. “Sorry, I mean—”

“To this day, I still don’t know.” Hope sulked. “He either wanted me to continue ruling as a Grandess over a nation of dust… or…”

“Or?”

“Or he simply couldn’t bring himself to do it- that somewhere, within his blackened core, some shred of him still cared for me.” She wrenched the cloth in her fist, salmon with subsumed rage. “But either way, it’s the cruelest thing that has happened to anyone on Crux! I’ll be shattered like my kin before it ever happens to anyone again!”

Orsel could feel the pain in her voice.

“Well, whatever you need, I’ll be here to help.” He confided, putting his hand on her back. “It may be nowhere near the same scale, but I also know what it’s like to be betrayed. Nobody deserves that.”

“That’s something I’d like to discuss, actually.” Hope stated as she turned towards Orsel. “Your devotion towards the task ahead is quite appreciated, but I’ll be the first to say it’s a bit… much.”

“What do you mean?” Orsel queried

“Well, for one thing, you need to keep a healthier mindset when it comes to training. You can keep working hard, but just… don’t do it to the point your body starts falling apart.”

“Your drills are pretty taxing.” Orsel chided.

“Yes, this goes both ways— I’ll lighten up a bit on that front and keep your capabilities in mind. However, another thing— don’t feel like this is your only choice. I know I made the whole show back there, but my offer is still open to you, and I intend to keep it that way throughout your training.”

“I— well, that’s very kind of you.” Orsel stuttered, thinking again about that much financial freedom. It was a difficult thing to turn away, as star had been one of the biggest motivators throughout the majority of his life. Everything, especially in Shaydon, revolved around it in one way or another. That money, deep within Hope’s basement, could be used for essentially anything Orsel could imagine— a new home, far away from Shaydon, classy furniture, a new visbox, but another fact about the world Orsel knew is that offers like this were usually too good to be true. You never get something for nothing, especially not money. It was a fortune he had no right to earn, and if he had taken it, it would have served as a standing reminder that he wouldn’t have been good enough.