One Foot on the Blast Zone

    Mordren began to explain something about the blast radius, but Sean wasn’t really listening. Instead he could only stare dumbly at the scene in front of him. There were scenes like this described in history books, but they were always the aftermath of some war or major disaster.

    I’m just supposed to be cleaning up a failed experiment or something, he thought, not… whatever this is.

    Gradually the air around him began to rise in temperature. Starting from his feet, all of the hair on his body started to stand on end. A prickling feeling needling out from his pendant shook him from his stupor.

    “…apparently the initial response crews reported burns, followed by nausea and severe bleeding before their expiration.” Mordren crept back into focus, the retainer oblivious to Sean’s lack of attention.

    “Get back in the lift.” Sean said, starting to back up towards the elevator.

     His companions turned their focus to him. “Is the smoke bothering you again, lad?” Flick asked, concerned.

    He grabbed her arm, trying to drag her with him. “No questions, Flick, we’ve got to go.”

    “Steady on!” She exclaimed, pulling herself away. “What’s gotten into you?”

    The tingling, along with an accompanying feeling of dread, grew stronger. Out of the corner of his eye, Sean saw the sea of corpses ripple as their robes began to flutter in a phantom breeze.

    His muscles, still ravaged by the Chain’s backlash, screamed in protest as he hefted a surprised Flick up over his shoulder. The few steps to the elevator were agonizing, his knees nearly buckling before he could make it inside.

    “Mordren, send the lift up.” He said through gritted teeth. “Now!”

    Sean’s legs finally gave out as the doors to the elevator closed, sending both him and Flick tumbling to the floor in a heap. He let out a ragged breath, leaning to watch the ground recede through the chamber’s windows.

    Flick tried to disentangle herself from him, a measure of outrage bleeding through the shock in her voice. “Pull something like that again without asking, lad, and I’ll take your hand off – king or no.”

    A deep, warning rumble emerged from Mordren’s chest at the threat. Sean ignored them both, still fixated on the street below.

    He noticed a dull red glow coming from a shopfront that, while not very far by foot, had been invisible from the ground. Eddies in the haze swirled as the air was inhaled towards the building, smoke curling in on itself in dancing patterns. Then, after a heartbeat of stillness, it was released.

    A howling wall of smog slammed against the elevator, the shockwave rocking it against its track.

    Sean flattened himself against the floor, instinctively trying to shield Flick beneath his body.

    Mordren stood steady, his hands bracing the glass. His brow furrowed as particles began etching lines in the crystal an inch from his face.

    The elevator gears screeched as mechanisms were fouled by the flying dust, turning lubricants into gritty paste.

    And then, like a switch had been flipped, they were out of the cloud. Light undimmed by smoke began to stream through the window, illuminating the relief on Sean’s face as he let Flick wriggle out from under him.

    “I might owe you an apology, lad. I should have noticed something was off.” She said sheepishly.

    Sean shook his head even as Mordren grunted in agreement, the big elf pulling a lever to stop the lift. “No Flick, you don’t. I couldn’t really communicate the situation effectively, I just knew we needed to get out of there.”

    She joined him in looking out the window, peering down at the already settling layer of cloud. “The air down there smelled wrong to me too, but I put it down to the brume. I’ve never seen anything of the like, what are we even meant to do about it?”

    “Fix it, apparently.” Sean looked at Mordren, who had pulled out a pocket watch that looked like it was sized for a child in his hands. “Apparently we both had similar thoughts. Do your notes say anything about the space of time between pulses?”

    “Unfortunately no. From here we should be able to see the changes in the Velvet caused by the mana burst.” The retainer noticed his companions looking at him in confusion. “The Velvet is what those in the upper spires call the layer of smog below us.”

    “Ah, in which case we might be able to time our run to the building and avoid the pulse entirely – if we’re lucky enough for them to be that spaced out.”

    “Exactly right. In the meantime, how may I assist you in planning your next moves?”

    Sean began to spin the problem over in his mind, but it was Flick who broke the quiet first.

    “You said the stone is in a workshop, aye? Experienced craftsmen?” She asked, to which Mordren nodded. “Then it stands to reason that the poor buggers who were working on it may have had a plan for something like this, even if they didn’t get to use it. Do you know if they had some way to contain the stones?”

    The retainer shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t say what may or may not have been present in my former master’s manufactories.”

    A sly look entered Flick’s eyes. “That’s the second time you’ve said that big man. Do you mean you cannot say, or you cannot say?”

    Mordren coughed, massaging his throat with one hand, while with his other he flashed a signal indicating the second choice.

    The shapeshifter raised her eyebrows expectantly at Sean. “I believe you have something on your royal person that might be of assistance, my liege.”

    Sean lifted the pendant from beneath the shirt. The raven charm spun on its chain, glinting softly in the sunlight. A part of him was hesitant to use it again after its last fiery rebuke, but Flick’s suggestion made sense.

    “Alright,” he agreed, “Give me a minute to focus and I’ll see what I can glean. Just… shake me out of it if I start to sizzle.”