The Runic Alchemist

There was one spell Damian had always wanted to try on someone, though he never dared. It skirted dangerously close to violating free will, bordering on slavery. But what if the target was already sworn to end his life, blinded by vengeance so deep they'd never leave him alone?

Moondancer was the perfect candidate for the Divine Seeker Vines spell. Since the one time he'd used it on Vidalia, Damian had sworn never to cast it on another being. But this was different. Damian adjusted the barrier dome overhead, opening it slightly, and ascended above the spot where she was trapped in ice. With the ship on standby, he stepped out of the control room, opening the door to the seating compartment and drawing the intricate runic spell from memory, Damian stood ready. The glowing runic circle floated near Moondancer before activating.

His mana sense, now far sharper than when he first encountered the spell, allowed him to visualize the ethereal gold and green vines extending from his core. They streamed toward Moondancer, delving into her being, binding themselves to her shadow core. To anyone else, the effect was imperceptible—no one but Damian and Moondancer could detect the spell's presence. She, even less so than him.

The spell had worked exactly as it was designed to. Damian felt a wave of relief upon confirming that the green vines hadn't connected their cores; instead, he retained full control. He could sense Moondancer's presence even without mana sense. As Vidalia had once explained, he couldn't read her thoughts but could perceive the ebb and flow of her emotions. Right now, she was a swirling storm—confused, baffled, and, most of all, furious beyond measure.

Amidst that chaos, though, there was a glimmer of something else. Was it happiness? Relief? Damian wasn't entirely sure. Feeling someone else's emotions coursing through him was strange and disconcerting, yet oddly fascinating in its own way.

Stepping into the waygate, Damian braced himself as the nauseating sensation of travel overtook him again. Moments later, he and the others emerged on the other side. A collective exhale of relief echoed behind him; they had all been holding their breaths after encountering the enormous red dragon in the sky.

Their armors were dented, their weapons battered, and some bore the marks of fresh wounds. Fortunately, Damian's healing potions had already closed the worst of those injuries, though the fatigue in their faces remained. Without hesitation, Damian shut the waygate behind them, ensuring their escape was secure.

He guided the ship to land near the workshop, already able to sense Runefather and Reize inside. Many students he knew were busy tending to the injured, freeing people from chains, and distributing food and water.

Yet not everyone was safe indoors. Over 500 people huddled together, many shivering in the cold outside. Damian's brow furrowed in frustration. He had hoped the Highswords would show more decency—at least allowing the rescued captives into the academy—but their typical aloofness and irritation prevailed.

Runefather and some were inside the workshop, while some others were keeping an eye on the crowd. They acted as though these refugees might suddenly turn on them. Among them, Damian noted Gravebreaker, Soulfella, Bloodedge, and another unfamiliar figure, all standing idly at the edges.

Damian stepped off the ship, his companions following close behind. Without pause, he summoned a series of wooden buildings, replicating the style of the workshop. Fires were quickly kindled in each new shelter, the warmth drawing people in. Those freed from their chains finally found a place to sit, rest, and share a rare moment of comfort.

Maelor and Evrin's supporters worked tirelessly, distributing food and water, tending to wounds, and offering quiet reassurances. The air began to shift from tension to a fragile kind of hope. Only after ensuring that everyone had a place to stay did Damian and his group make their way into the main workshop to meet Reize.

Inside, a heated argument was unfolding between Reize, Runefather, Sunkeeper, Hellseeker, Worldscribe, and Lifewarden. The topic was, unsurprisingly, the treatment of the injured. The workshop floor was crowded with wounded—some grievously hurt, others helping as best they could by distributing water or feeding the weakest among them.

As Damian entered, the argument froze mid-sentence. Reize turned, her eyes widening as she took in his appearance. He was a striking sight—cuts and bruises criss crossing his face and body, his bloodstained and battered armor bearing the evidence of his battle with the emperor. Though he had healed his critical injuries, he hadn't bothered to clean away the dried blood or mend the cosmetic damage, creating an image both awe-inspiring and grim.

Once satisfied with her inspection, Reize pulled Damian into a tight hug. The workshop fell silent for a brief moment, then erupted into applause. Soldiers and civilians alike clapped, some openly weeping as they witnessed the embrace. For many, Damian was more than a savior—he was proof that hope still existed.

The Highswords, however, remained on the outskirts of the scene, their discomfort clear. They shifted awkwardly, unsure how to respond in a moment so steeped in gratitude and emotion.
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Among the less injured stood the baron, accompanied by Lord Silas and the bald knight Damian had first encountered in Faerunia. Their injuries were minor compared to others in the crowd, allowing them to move freely. The baron and Silas both gave Damian a subtle nod of acknowledgment, their expressions quiet but sincere. The gesture wasn't dramatic, but Damian understood the weight behind it—a silent expression of deep appreciation for all he had done.

Damian made his way over to the worktable where the Highswords, the baron, and the other nobles had gathered. His thoughts churned as he glanced at the weary faces of the crowd, noting that many of those they had saved were, in fact, from the empire. The emperor's words surfaced in his mind. Whether it had been a lie or not, he couldn't afford to dismiss it.

If the emperor had told the truth, the implications were troubling. It raised more questions than answers. Could a kingdom struggling with population truly harbor so many death row criminals? And what offenses did the emperor consider grave enough to warrant such a sentence?

Damian's brow furrowed as he considered the possibilities. Regardless of the truth, caution would be necessary. Lies or not, he could not dismiss the emperor's words entirely.

"Why aren't they inside the academy?" Damian demanded, his voice sharp as he addressed the third-rankers.

Worldscribe answered first, her tone as cold as her expression. "The others wanted to throw them off the campus entirely. We managed to convince them to tolerate their presence outside the building."

"Oh?" Grace scoffed, glaring at the Highswords. "And are the mighty Highswords afraid of prisoners in chains?"

The third rankers cast wary glances at her but remained silent. Breaking the tense stillness, Sunkeeper spoke with a steely edge, "It wasn't our decision to plunge into a war or to snatch people from right under the empire's nose. You made that choice yourself—now you can deal with the consequences."