The Chronicles of a Scalebound Sage

WM [67] Chains Or Crowns

Bjorn's senses reeled as chaotic magic surged through the air, an oppressive cacophony of power that felt like knives scraping across his heightened awareness. His senses, usually attuned to the subtler flows of mana, were overwhelmed by the raw, untamed forces around him. The taste of magic, typically a soft undercurrent, now flooded his mouth like molten metal, searing his tongue with every breath. Each inhalation felt thick and acrid, a sharp bite of pure power. 

Bjorn could only pick up bits and pieces of what the group was saying. They were talking exclusively in Muaian which Failsafe had not fully deciphered yet. He did pick out ‘mana storm’ given the overwhelming presence of magic in the air, Bjorn could only assume they were in the midst of one.

He turned his gaze toward the sky, where the storm churned like an angry ocean. The thick blanket of mana above writhed and contorted, an unstable force with no pattern, no reason. The land beyond their crystal barrier twisted in kind, the landscape bending in ways that defied all logic, as though reality itself was buckling under the pressure.

Then, the light show began. Flares of energy erupted from the storm, casting erratic pulses of color across the world below. The landscape began to shift, contort—mountains twisted like melting wax, rivers rerouted themselves, and the very air seemed to warp. A shiver of recognition jolted through Bjorn. The sensation was jarring, like déjà vu, but why did this feel so familiar?

The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning, and his heart lurched. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen this—he had witnessed it before. Not in this life, it was in his previous life. As the group continued their conversation around him, his mind spun out of control, flashes of memories slamming into him like waves crashing against a rock. Fuyumi’s face melted into someone he didn’t recognize—an unfamiliar woman with raven-black hair, her features sharp and unyielding. Aurelius morphed into someone else entirely—a man with sharp eyes and a rugged face marred by a jagged scar. The name Martin surfaced unbidden, and with it, a torrent of memories.

Bjorn blinked, and in an instant, his hydra form was gone. He was human again, sitting around a fire, his old body as it had been all those years ago. Martin sat across from him, but he was older now, his youthful vibrancy replaced by the weight of hardship. His eyes had dulled, once bright with the innocence of childhood, now clouded with the shadows of what they’d lost. His head was shaved, and the brand of Nuriel—the mark of the angels—was burned deep into his neck. He looked nothing like the boy who had once led their childhood adventures, the boy whose laughter had filled the air as they explored the woods together.

The past and present twisted together. Now, Martin was a man who seemed twice his age, worn down by pain and loss. He was nineteen, but his face told a story of someone much older, someone who had aged before his time. His father, the town’s magecrafter, had been killed when Hasmanuel struck, and since that day, Martin had never been the same. His spirit, once so full of life, had been extinguished by the fire of survival. He followed the will of the angels not out of loyalty, but out of a desperate need to cling to life in a world that had betrayed him.

“She sent us out here to die.” Martin's angry voice reverberated in the storm. “Now is our time. She doesn’t think we will make it back anyway. Let's find a way out.”

The woman beside Martin spoke up, her name, Kireza, came to Bjorn’s twisting mind.

“Shut your mouth, you know they are listening to us,” Kireza said as she covered his mouth. “Do you know what she will do to us if they catch us? Don’t speak blasphemies against the Ivory Lord!”

“They can’t hear us here.” Isin said as he stood. “Martin, you can find it right?”

“What are you talking about?” A second man said. “You should repent so we can continue our journey with the blessing of the Divines.”

Martin ignored the man. “Of course. Wait, you did it? You saw the pattern in those orbs.” A pensive smile formed on his lips. “It wouldn’t matter if you don’t know if you can use it. So you got the formula, right?”

Isin nodded, his face grim as he stood and drew a gun from his holster. “We’re getting out of here.”

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Martin rose to his feet as well, drawing his own weapon, his gun aimed at Kireza. Isin’s gun was trained on the other man, and in an instant, both weapons were discharged. The crack of the shots echoed in the charged air, and the two bodies slumped to the ground without a sound. The others in the camp froze, their eyes wide in shock and disbelief.

Isin turned to the remaining members of the squad—Fifteen in total—and spoke with calm authority, his voice cutting through the stunned silence.

“It’s a shame we cannot save those with the chip,” Isin said, his tone filled with regret. “But the rest of you—if you want to go back to serving under that bitch, you’re free to leave. But if you want to live, if you want to make those Divine bastards pay for what they did to us—the lives they took from us—if you’re tired of being the Slave Race, then follow me. We will never be slaves again. We will own our own futures. We will determine our own eternity.”

His words hung in the air, charged with an electric promise, and the remaining squad members exchanged glances. They were humans without the inhibitor chip, free to think for themselves. The choice was theirs. Martin stepped over Kireza’s body, placing a hand on Isin’s shoulder. The two of them stood together, facing the others, their resolve unshaken.

The silence stretched on, thick with uncertainty. In their eyes, there was something more—hope. It was a dangerous hope, but a hope nonetheless. Isin understood it, they were afraid, beaten and chained for so long. He knew they would be terrified of what this could mean for them but he would offer it anyway. He holstered his gun and reached out his hand for anyone of them to take.

Isin’s gaze swept over the group. “Make your choice. Chains, or crowns.”

***

The crackle of the campfire in the present snapped him back. Bjorn blinked, disoriented, his hydra body heavy and alien once more. The oppressive mana storm was still raging outside the crystal perimeter, but now it felt like a whisper compared to the storm in his mind. Bjorn was breathing heavily when suddenly Tanisha tackled him, causing him to tip over onto his back. He was so startled he let out a less than flattering squeak which caused Tanisha to laugh at him as she hugged and cuddled him. He was confused as to what led to this sudden outpour of affection but accepted it nonetheless.

“What in the Infernal was that, Failsafe.” Bjorn asked mentally.

“Huh-what was what?” Failsafe questioned.

“Did you not see that?” Bjorn asked. “The people, or the guns. We had guns back then. Now that I think about it, we were highly advanced by the time I died.”

“I… uh. Don’t know what you are talking about.” Failsafe said, his voice sounded concerned. “I didn’t see any people besides the people here. Maybe you are seeing things because of the storm? There is a lot of mana in the air. As far as technology, yeah it looks like something happened to push people back down in terms of technology. I was wondering about that too. I think it may have something to do with how you died. The people that killed you may have wanted this decline in technology.”

“Why though?” Bjorn asked.

“How should I know? Maybe to get people to use mana. Maybe because there was a war that caused people to destroy their technology. Maybe you had a contingency that when you died the tech stopped working.” Failsafe was quietly thinking for a moment. “What is a gun by the way? I don’t have any reference to it.”

“It is like a crossbow but fires smaller projectiles at far faster speeds without being enchanted.” Bjorn said. “They are loud and inefficient though. I think they were the weapon of the magicless Slave Race as they would never be able to kill an Angel with one.”

“Huh. I don’t understand how you could know that and not me.” Failsafe said. “We are connected and I can see your memories.”

“Precautions built into you for core memories maybe.” Bjorn responded. “Maybe Isin was worried that if you had unfettered access to me someone could use you to change me. You are a spellform, it would be catastrophic if I was reborn and someone found out you existed and altered you before I was powerful enough to stop them. They could change my memories or soul.”

Failsafe was quiet for a long time. “That makes sense. Is that what your parents told you?”

Bjorn did not stay silent; he had already prepared a response for when Failsafe inevitably asked about his Hydra parents.

“No, they didn't, in fact they told me very little. The Queen is on her way here though. She wants to take us back to the Higher Planes. The King wanted to see if I can handle pneuma, which he determined no I can’t. Apparently, I need to master aether and mana first.”

Bjorn  was pulled from his ruminations with Failsafe by a sharp desperate cry for help. Instinctively, Bjorn’s muscles tensed. He whipped his head toward the source of the scream, his eyes darting through the shifting landscape. There, just on the edge of the storm’s reach, a small merchant group—no more than a handful of travelers—were being attacked.

A monster, this one looking like some twisted version of a troll, its hulking form partially obscured by the chaotic mana storm, lunged at the caravan. Its eyes were wild, glowing the same fluorescent lights as the mana storm itself. Its massive claws tore through the air toward the group.

Bjorn leapt to his feet, his powerful limbs surging with mana. Tanisha, who had been standing beside him, was already moving, her swift movements a blur as she readied herself to spring into action. She summoned twin daggers from her inventory as she prepared to help the travelers. Before they could make a move, a flash of silver cut through the storm, and the world seemed to slow. 

Aurelius was already there. His sword, a shining arc of radiant power, glowed with an otherworldly light. The blade flashed once, its sharp edge leaving behind a trail of brilliance that drank in the chaotic mana around him. The monster, which had been moments away from shredding the merchants, stopped in its tracks. There was no time for a final roar. Aurelius’s sword had cleaved through it in a single, effortless strike. It was like watching the storm itself, contained within that cut. Then a second bisected the monster. The creature’s massive body crumpled to the ground in a heap of lifeless faux-flesh, its glowing eyes flickering out as it died.

Aurelius lowered his sword, the glow dimming as the power within it faded, revealing the crystalline blade and leaving behind a quiet calm in the storm’s chaos. His expression was cool, collected—no trace of exertion in his stance. He turned to face the merchant group, who were now trembling in fear but alive, their lives spared by his intervention.

“You're welcome,” he said with a calm nod, his voice barely rising above the storm’s roars. “You should set up more wards to prevent your mana from attracting them during these storms.”

“Woah, he’s a fast one, isn’t he?” Fuyumi said drunkenly.

Tanisha glanced at Bjorn, then over to Fuyumi, whose posture was as still and composed as ever. At first, Bjorn thought she was simply lost in thought, but as the shot glass slipped from Fuyumi's hand and tumbled to the ground with a soft clink, he could no longer deny it. Her head hung slightly forward, a sure sign she had nodded off.

“Well,” Tanisha said with a half-amused smile as her knives vanished. She switched to Yalish, knowing Bjorn would understand. “We have some interesting people in our group this time for sure.”