[Crystal One: Dust]

  Arthen's Perspective

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  Tiger Fang’s orders were to defend Hillcrest Citadel. He hadn’t known I planned to bring some of Reminisce’s best soldiers straight to him. I was confident he could wipe them out cleanly, that I could extract without ever being noticed.

  But Ragnor wasn’t a variable I could control for.

  Gaia was never meant to be cast. At least, not when it had been.

  I hated to do all this to him; for all his prowess, the poor boy was probably terrified.

  And, rightfully, furious.

  As if I weren’t burdened enough, he’d cast his Despair rune on me. He hadn’t even hesitated; he’d targeted me first.

  I remembered how that rune was created. That memory alone steeled my resolve. This was the only path forward. I was certain.

  “Is everything alright?” A merchant halted his horse-drawn wagon along the road. I’d been hobbling at its edge. And if my ruined leg even glanced the ground, my entire body erupted with excruciating pain.

  “Furthest thing from it,” I grumbled. “Mnemosyne?”

  “Of course, of course.” He immediately dismounted and helped me into the wagon. I had to share space with bearskins and assorted commodities. But it was infinitely better than dragging myself to the city alone.

  “Terrible crash near the Citadel,” the merchant mused. “You caught up in it?”

  “Wrong place, wrong time,” I lied. He was just a civilian. He didn’t need to know the intricacies of Reminiscent military disasters.

  The difference was, Reminisce didn’t give a damn about him, or anyone like him.

  I did.

  “Silver lining, though,” he chimed. “New rune?”

  That was an exciting possibility. This was the first injury severe enough to warrant forging one. I’d been ‘stock-sword Arthen’ for too many years to count.

  “Once I get this leg treated, I’ll head straight for the runeforger,” I declared.

  Eventually, we reached the southern entrance of the Gates of Mnemosyne, a towering onyx construct encircling the city. Mnemosyne was named after the Cosmaran goddess of memory, in honor of their contribution during the Old Nemonik War.

  Ironic, considering how easily the city forgot the individual.

  How easily the individual forgot themselves.

  The wagon passed the Gates’ guards without issue. They barely looked up from their card game. They were lieutenant rank at minimum. High enough to be Vanguard, if they’d wanted. Lazy, not incompetent.

  The Aristocrats’ Grove, my birthplace, occupied the entire outer ring of the city. A grotesque display of decadence meant only to shield passersby from the rot within.

  Illicit memory crystals changed hands. Kingpins made fortunes. And the Aristocrats played pretend.

  I remembered every half-truth. Every act of hypocrisy. Endless legislation, attempting to control something without realizing it had no handles to begin with.

  All of it drove me to the Syndicate.

  But the city…

  It sang.

  DOOON!

  DOOON!

  DOOON!

  Runemagic wasn’t reserved for soldiers. It was convenience. A utility. Even a mundane memory, like the scent of a flower, could be a useful rune.

  So, Mnemosyne was never silent.

  “Here we are,” the driver said, halting near the hospital entrance.

  I thanked him and struggled down from the wagon. We were deep in the city now, where the grass was watered with blood. The Aristocrats had little need for infirmaries; my own father couldn’t cut butter without proper etiquette and protective gear.

  I hesitated.

  It would take me over a week to be treated and return. Hillcrestian scouts were likely already on their way to the Syndicate. If they implicated me and Tiger Fang, if they acted hastily, they’d brand me a deserter.

  But given my rank, I knew they’d wait.

  I limped inside.

  The hospital interior was decorated just enough to stave off madness. A painting here. A potted plant there. Who designed this place? I wondered. And how do we convince them to take up embroidery instead?

  The receptionist froze at the sight of me, then bolted for help.

  Two doctors arrived with a stretcher. They wore black, loose gowns, not unlike a judge’s robes.

  “Hold still,” one instructed, retrieving a blue rune from his pocket.

  DOOON!

  Tranquility washed over me as the rune touched my forehead. The agony drained from my shattered leg and bloodied face. Clear-blossom. Perhaps the most potent painkiller known.

  They eased me onto the stretcher and took my walking stick. I was carried down the hall, beneath a sign reading:

  PHYSICAL INJURY UNIT

  After a short journey, they set me down in a small, austere room.

  “We’re amputating your leg,” one of them said.

  I had already known, but the certainty in his voice left no room for discussion.

  His assistant sighed reluctantly before leaving the room. He returned shortly with two racks of medical equipment and runes, each marked with what I assumed were their initials.

  “We have numbing, fainting, and painkilling runes, among other things,” he explained, choosing a deep blue rune. “We should be able to keep you asleep and unfeeling during the entire procedure.”

  Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Wait, what do you mean, ‘shoul—’”

  DOOON!

  ***

  I awoke dazed and groggy. Sunlight streamed through the window. My belongings were neatly arranged in a chair across the room. Slowly, I moved the covers aside to inspect the damage.

  My leg was gone from the knee down, the stump wrapped in bandages and numb from magical pain suppressants. I would never walk straight again. But my curiosity surged.

  I had been crushed under rubble. What kind of rune would that generate? How powerful would perfect memory make it?

  “Nur—!” I cried, only to be interrupted immediately.

  “Yes?” I hadn’t noticed the nurse sitting on a stool next to my bed. She was reading a novel and looked slightly irritated by the interruption. A half-extracted memory crystal gleamed from her forehead.

  “What kind of crystal is that?” I blurted, ignoring more practical questions.

  “Smallpox,” she replied bluntly. Unicorns like her demanded utmost respect: healing memories were far more tedious to extract than affliction, and their resulting runes were correspondingly powerful. If a Unicorn could heal something, it meant they had survived it first.

  “Is that all you wanted to ask?” She pulled a grey rune from her pocket and waved it in front of my face. “I could put you back to sleep if you’d like.”

  “No, no,” my face flushed. “I was wondering: are there any prosthetists here?”

  “We have peg-legs,” she said flatly, “and somatopsychological therapy.”

  From soldier to swashbuckler? Just like that?

  “Ar—”

  “That’s the spirit!” She patted my head patronizingly. “I’ll be right back.”

  And she meant it. In moments, she returned with a blindingly white memory crystal and a peg leg. I realized that this ‘therapy’ would likely be extremely painful.

  “This crystal will show you everything you should expect,” she explained, placing it gently on my forehead. She produced a small runeiron hammer from her pocket and—

  “Wait!” I stopped her. “I…can’t.”

  “And why is that…?”

  “Pre-existing psychological condition?” My ‘gift’ wasn’t exactly a ‘secret,’ but I wasn’t sure if she’d take me seriously. I worried I’d become a test subject, the equivalent of asking a dyslexic person to read aloud.

  Viewing others’ crystals eroded my sense of self. I would remember every detail forever. Their love would blend with mine, their ambitions with mine; I’d become them in ways I could not reverse.

  The nurse sighed, nodding understandingly.

  “I guess we have to do this the hard way…”

  ***

  “AGH!!” I stepped awkwardly and torqued my knee. It felt like it might dislocate.

  “I’ve got you,” the nurse assured me, patiently letting me lean on her. The peg leg provided far less stability than a real foot; my remaining leg strained to compensate.

  “This is impossible,” I complained.

  “You just need practice.”

  “For how long?”

  “You’re already adapting. Maybe a week?”

  “Oh? Only?”

  “That’s how long it will take for the amputation to scar over. You should have an easier time after that.”

  “...Do I have to remain here for that duration?”

  “Yes. With proper runic treatment. Otherwise, months of recuperation.”

  “You said I was adapting!”

  “I meant your motor skills,” she scoffed. “Step outside too early and your leg will be infected within minutes. Then you’ll be back here anyway.”

  I sighed. “I suppose it can’t be helped.”

  ***

  The week passed uneventfully. Doctors rotated, casting runes on my stump until the stitches closed. I practiced walking until it became second nature, aided by my memory.

  Upon discharge, I was eager to visit the Forge—but first, I made a stop in the Wanderers’ Enclave, a small, peaceful district within Mnemosyne.

  Reminiscents assumed Cosmarans were nomadic, derisively labeling them ‘Wanderers.’ Olayemi, a close friend, had reclaimed the term by founding this district.

  And he hated it when I visited the city without stopping at his tavern.

  The Puny Axe was near the hospital, probably for obvious reasons. Even without perfect memory, I could navigate to it by heart.

  Turning the corner, I was taken aback by a gigantic, grizzly-bear-sized beast sitting almost patiently outside the door. It turned at my approach and grunted disinterestedly, gnawing on some sort of bone. Someone’s pet? I decided to ignore it and moved inside.

  Olayemi sat at the bar with a young Cosmaran girl, deep in discussion. I sat beside her, startling her.

  Whoops. I was probably a wretched sight: unshaven, unkempt, eyes sunken deep.

  Olayemi noticed me and moved around the bar.

  “Abúrò!” he beamed. “A taste or an experience?” His runes could instantly inebriate a customer, and his signature ale kept them coming back. The revenue was so immense, Mnemosyne was forced to legitimize the Enclave.

  “Just a taste,” I smiled. “Going to the runeforger soon. Need to be clear-headed.”

  A mischievous grin spread across his face as he fetched my favorite drink. I handed him three munins, and he returned my bottle.

  “Do you know who you’re sitting next to?” he asked playfully, pocketing the coins.

  “New face?” I raised an eyebrow, popping the bottle open. “No clue.”

  “That’s Maya,” he introduced. She had dark, dewy skin and purple irises. Her clothes looked like she’d just trekked through the wilderness. And she had a confused air about her. She clearly had never been here before.

  My ears started ringing. Worst-case scenario.

  She was Tiger Fang’s sister.

  ***

  Why was she here? I wracked my brain. She was supposed to be on Snowcrest Mountain. I’d brought her and her brother there myself. Their village rarely let anyone leave, so how had she come here? Did she run away? What did she know?

  Did she know to keep quiet?

  “That’s Maya?” I said, extending my hand. I needed to appear friendly, to keep her calm. “No kidding. You probably don’t remember me, but I’m Arthen.”

  “Marcel’s talked about you before,” she said, loosely taking my hand. She was already blurting out Tiger Fang’s given name. Bad sign.

  “I don’t doubt it,” I sighed, sliding two coins into her palm. “He credits me with saving both of your lives.” She stared blankly for a moment.

  “Do…I owe you?”

  “Don’t poison yourself with such thoughts, Maya,” Olayemi chided. Snowcrest Hollow hid runic secrets from Reminisce. Secrets Maya had grown up learning. A wrong answer could lead to the entire mountain being annexed. Everyone in the Syndicate—and, more importantly, her village would be killed or enslaved.

  “Where is your brother, by the way?” I asked. She shifted uncomfortably; Marcel was all she had, and always off on missions. My question dug into that wound.

  But that was the point.

  “He passed through here on his way to Hillcrest,” Olayemi said. “Then came back on his way to the village. He stayed a few hours but wouldn’t rest. It’s been some days. Should be home by now.” Useful information, but not my target.

  “Maya?” I redirected.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted, shrinking in her seat.

  “He didn’t come here with you?” I pressed. I hated to do this to her.

  “He said he would ‘find me,’” she replied, defensively. He was at headquarters, then.

  “I didn’t mean to pry,” I retracted strategically. “But sending you all the way here from the mountain… he wouldn’t do that lightly. Something must be wrong.”

  “You could say that,” she dismissed. The girl wasn’t stupid. She knew exactly what I was doing. It might’ve been presumptuous, given I hadn’t seen her in over a decade, but I couldn’t help a small flicker of pride.

  Then she made a mistake.

  “Where did you say I could find a doctor?” she asked Olayemi. That one line was a bouquet of confessions: she didn’t know her surroundings, didn’t know how to navigate the city. Perfect.

  “Infirmary’s on the way to the runeforge,” I offered smoothly. “Let me take you. For old times’ sake.” Socially, she was trapped. I’d saved her life once; she couldn’t politely decline. Her jaw tightened.

  “Sure…”

  Checkmate, I thought, lifting my bottle.

  “Thanks for the drink,” I said, hoisting it as I hobbled out the door. I heard her trailing loosely behind, while Olayemi smiled after us. I’d love to chat, friend. But damage control comes first.

  “A little privacy would do us some good, don’t you think?” I remarked as we walked. The city tolled with the distant resonance of runes. Cupcake, her bear-sized pet, followed, sniffing every scrap of trash or debris. She even let me pet her.

  “What do you want from me?” Maya demanded irritably. I let silence stretch just long enough to unsettle her.

  “You don’t remember this about me,” I began, “but I consider myself a… private man. I have my secrets, and I keep them close. Guarded.”

  “This concerns me because…?” She shifted away, but I closed the gap just enough to keep her on edge.

  “Because you’re one of them.” Her puzzled look invited elaboration. “You know about Snowcrest and the Syndicate. You know they rely on each other’s secrecy, and that relationship teeters between mutual coordination and destruction.”

  “...And?” Her eyes darted around, seeking an escape.

  But such measures were barely justified.

  “I’m reminding you to keep your lips sealed about the Mountain. You’re not home, but the pact still applies. Protocol still applies. All it takes is one rumor reaching the wrong ear. If you want to protect Chief Thorin and little Valorie, remember the fate that awaits them if Reminisce finds out about them.”

  “I…understand,” she breathed, just as we reached the infirmary.

  “Here it is,” I gestured toward the entrance. “I wish I could stay longer, but I really must go.”

  “Not a problem at all,” she said, perhaps too eagerly. I took her hand for a shake but held it just long enough to be eerie.

  “Now, I’m off to the runeforger’s, then to the mountain,” I leaned in slightly closer, lowering my voice. “I’ll tell the Tiger’s Fang you’re safe and sound.”

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