The Primarch Keeps Breaking Things

>Feel bad for cutting things short. Like, really-really bad. Against all forms, levels, and layers of better judgement, end up taking her with you.

"Hey, I like dessert," Chris says. All your empty plates vanished while you were out 'stretching your legs'. "What's another half hour? It can't be that important... right?"

He gives you a lingering, meaningful stare. You return it. There's no time for eating—

"So's settled, then. We'll have dessert."

Doe-Elana lifts her hand to wave at a server. Without thinking, you grab her wrist, and mentally kick yourself when she startles. Your eyes meet. Pink creeps across her face.

"Um?"

"I'm sorry, but it's well and truly urgent." You let go, softening your voice until you sound guilty proper. Her wrists are dainty for someone so muscular. "No dessert, I'm afraid. Will you be in town for awhile yet? We're open to rescheduling."

Her eyes widen with delight, and yours in disbelief. What in all hells are you saying? You can stay the night at best.

"I'll be around for a few days, yeah. After I win the treasure hunt, how about I treat you to another meal?" She winks. "You know, share the wealth with the herd and stuff."

"Certainly."

No way.

You force a smile and hope doe-Elana retracts the offer for her own sake. How many hours do you have 'til you're summoned? Twelve if you're fortunate? It's too bad. Doe-Elana has wide, honest eyes that assure you vanishing will hurt, and—

KRA-KOOM

Light strobes through the windows, and the whole earth shudders. Your ears ring. Chris startles, knocking his water glass across the table, and bolts upright.

"That can't be good." Sweat pearls on Chris' temples. His unspoken question hangs in the air between you: Think it has anything to do with us?

The comm you discreetly relieved him of buzzes at your hip.

You have your suspicions.

>_

>Play it off like you know exactly what you're doing.You must create the illusion that you are a complete professional.

"Stay put," you say, already shouldering your way through the crowd. You check the comm: 1 Missed Call. "I'll let you know. Allow me to handle this."

"Handle what?" The doe's voice, fading behind you into a sea of worried chatter. "Chris, what's he talking about? Chris? Hey!"

You trust him to distract her while you investigate the explosion. Speculation ripples through the masses. You overhear a couple gems on the way to town square: malfunctioning fireworks, a prank gone wrong, domestic terrorism, contraband magical goods, and more.

The comm buzzes again. You pick up and plug your free ear to better hear the caller.

"Aedan? Or Lucian?"

"Lucian, Miss. I presume you're calling about the explosion?"

"Explosion?" Miss Elana's pitch climbs three octaves. "There's been an explosion? Gods, they got there quick. Alright, then. Um... um..."

While she untangles her tongue, a wave of mana undulates through the air. The comm crackles with static. Every hair on your nape rises—you'd recognize those energies anywhere.

"May I interrupt, Miss?"

"G-go ahead." You can practically hear her chewing her nails.

"Who exactly did that wand belong to?"

"I don't know! I've not been told. My ex gave it to me for my birthday. I didn't realize they'd stolen it until literal hours ago—"

"I see." Whoever's been sent to retrieve it must be acting under contract. "I'll be in touch, Miss Elana. I need to go now."

"Okay. Be safe, you two. Aedan's an idiot sometimes, but you better keep my brother alive!"

"Of course, Miss."

You pocket the comm and push through the bodies clogging the streets.

Who are you dreading to see?

>_

> Your husband. Things'll get weird, especially with doe lady over there.

>The magical-generator-thing being damaged. If that goes critical, there's going to be another explosion, only a thousand times bigger.

Everyone's running in the opposite direction of you, so you know you're headed the right way. Traces of your spouse's energies suffuse the air. You can feel him in the atmosphere like a shark tastes blood polluting the water. Every civilian you pass may as well be dead.

(Blackmont Village, fifteen years ago: You developed the formulae, transcribed the spells, and perfected the technique, but the 'SCR-01 incident' wouldn't have been possible without his raw power. Only he was fool enough to support your experiments.)

Another wave of mana washes over you. For the first time in a long while, dread grips cold at your gut. Long cracks spread across the ground, tripping up stampeding feet and tipping over vendors' stalls. A faint blue glow escapes them.

Something's rooted underground, drawing power from the planet. You don't know what a backwards city like Eryl's doing with a mana-powered generator of this calibre, but—

Shit. Of course. It's for the wards.

You start running. According to doe-Elana, that fountain in Town Square isn't the only warded feature of Eryl. Everything that is will explode if the generator goes critical. You don't want to imagine the casualties.

The crowd thins out as you approach Town Square. It's vacant when you arrive, and flooding, water from the ruined fountain spilling across the setts. Rubble and bodies litter the ground. A familiar figure stands silhouetted behind clouds of settling dust.

It's him, all right, your estranged spouse from your time in the Second Ring. Breathless and perspiring, you slow to a stop. You'd hoped to reunite under kinder circumstances... specifically, circumstances where your exile hadn't pitched him back into a bounty hunter's lifestyle.

The generator crackles underground. The dust begins to settle.

Well! This is awkward on several levels!
Will you be the first to speak? If so, how will you approach the situation?

>_

> He will. He was always a doting husband, at least before certain events transpired. You're... super uncomfortable. You don't think Aedan has ever seen you this nervous and out of whack before. You approach carefully, he could kill you easily if he chose to.

>He's trying to fix the generator too. Demand to know what's going on.

You wipe stinging sweat from your eyes. How did a day of mindless babysitting devolve into this? You pray the Young Miss' wand wasn't valuable enough to warrant a hit man.

Glug, glug.

Water pumps from the broken fountain, over the bodies and across the ground. Girard's back is turned, the same drake-hide jacket from your honeymoon stretched across broad shoulders. Your insides knot. The air crackles with mana: Girard's, and the whining generator's underground.

You step forward. Splish. The water runs pink.

"Hm." Girard shakes his head at the mass of crystal and wires jutting from the ground. "Here's a problem. If I'd known I was landing on top of a generator, I would've been subtler 'bout my entrance."

Despite his wording, there's nothing playful about Girard's tone. Your throat constricts. He turns toward you while the generator spits iridescent sparks.

"I never was that great at holding back. I give it, what, half an hour before the generator blows?" His eyes are gold and sharp and much too cold. They lend his smile a chilling edge. "You look good, Lucian. Glad to see exile hasn't ruined you. How's babysitting for the 'royals'?"

He chuckles. You don't. You stand your ground as Girard approaches.

"Seems you haven't changed much, either." There's a faint tremor in your voice and the cores of your bones. You swallow hard, steeling yourself. "It's a shame we have to meet like this. Girard—"

He lifts a hand to silence you. "Let's make this quick an' painless. Wand, kid—where? I want us all outta here before this town ends up underground."

Shit. You should've let Aedan follow you, after all.

* * * * *

Cut to the street outside Maripaz' Diner. You're Chris now. The town's ordered an evacuation, and doe-Elana won't leave you alone to defy it.

You realized shortly after 'gallant ladies'-stag Bartholomew' vanished that he took your comm. Between that, the supposed 'magical terrorist attack', and doe-Elana yanking on your arm, you're feeling pretty snappish.

"Look, thanks for worrying, but I'm not going anywhere without Barth." You twist away from doe-Elana's grasp. "Just save yourself or whatever."

She looks hurt, then baffled. "A bomb just went off in town square! Do you wanna die?"

"I just don't wanna leave without him. He, uh, he's got my passport."

Her eyes narrow, and she leans in close. You remember that one racist rumour that Cervo can 'smell guilt'.

"What's your deal? I'm trying to save your life! You're way too calm about this, Chris."

You're this close to telling her to screw off, but you also know better than to draw more suspicion by acting defensive. Your sister's baton weighs on your pocket. You look her in the eye, and...

>_

> Give her your favourite card. You tell her you'll be back for it eventually. Barth's your best friend, you don't want to leave without him.

>Try and fail to say something cool, you just look silly instead.

"Elana." This time, you grab her arm. "I need you to trust me, okay?"

"Um. Okay?"

You stare into her eyes. People who care more for self-preservation than you do go barreling past. Doe-Elana lifts an eyebrow as your mouth turns dry.

"Uh..."

God damn it, you forgot where you were going with this. It's hard to be dramatic in the middle of a crisis! Doe-Elana's antler-bells jingle when she tilts her head.

Right, your trading cards. Right. Of course.

"Take my Chalice of Restoration," you say, pulling the card from your deck. "It's the first card I ever won in competitive play. I want you to hold on to it until I find Barth."

"When people start giving their valuables away, it's never a good sign... but I don't think you'll let me fight you on this, huh?"

"I'll be back. We both will." You press the card into her hands. "Barth's like a brother to me; I can't just leave him."

Doe-Elana flickers a wry smile. "I know. Come back safe."

You pocket your deck and force a smile back. Your heart hammers against your ribs. Before your better judgement can interfere, you spin on your heel and run toward town square.

What's going on when you arrive?

>_

>It's pretty empty by now. Everyone has run off. Kinda eerie, actually.

>Some next level Kung-fu Bullshittery. Like, Flips for days. One guy just ran straight up a building to kick another guy in the junk. You wish ol' Barth-breath Hadn't ganked your Comm. You want to record this for posterity. You guess you could go raid it off of him, since he's on the ground, unconscious

> Lucian's in a headlock, and his face is turning purple.

>It's pretty empty now. Everyone has run off. Kinda eerie, actually.

The crowd thins out the closer you get, and the air grows from quiet to still. Something's not right. Even for an evacuating town of... what'd she say... a couple thousand bodies, the place shouldn't feel this lifeless. Your skin crawls. Even the skyline seems off.

You're starting to wish you'd just told Elana about the baton.

Ten minutes' jog through vacant streets brings you to town square. Your suspicions are confirmed when you arrive to overgrown grass where paved roads once lay. There's nothing waiting for you here.

Not even town square.

- - - - -

Cut to: Somewhere. Anywhere. Anywhere but Eryl.

You're Lucian again, suffering an impossible headache. The generator, now who-knows-how-far from Eryl's innocents, juts from the ground as a lifeless magitech heap.

If you were feeling sassier and hurting less, you might congratulate Girard on minding his stomach. Very few people survive a mutual displacement spell of this magnitude without vomiting some, and your once-beloved only looks a bit green.

With time passing and Aedan at Maripaz', you couldn't well stand around waiting for the generator to explode. A decade's passed since you last performed a displacement with such a large AOE, but you panicked and poured your all into swapping three hundred feet of cobblestones with a stretch of the Xihuca Plains.

...At least, that's where you hope you are. Years of accompanying Mesdames Primarch and their offspring to this vacation spot should have burnt its coordinates into your mind.

"Lucian," Girard says, leaning against the generator like a discarded toy soldier. You find some satisfaction in his nausea. "Lucian."

You're tempted to ignore him. The side effects of the displacement should've rendered him harmless for now.

>_

> Why are you here? I mean I've sort of gathered, but mostly I'm just irritated.

>Don't ignore him, give him a sock to the jaw instead. He always did have a glass jaw.

You consider petty violence. Then you decide otherwise, because standing makes your headache worse and the plains spin around you.

Instead, you lean on the side of the generator Girard isn't on and close your eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Nothing," he says. "I don't know where 'here' is. I was takin' back stolen goods before you ripped us outta timespace and made things harder than they have to be."

Well. That's a start, you suppose.

"Mesdames Primarch's offspring aren't responsible for stealing that wand. Why the fuss? Doesn't your employer understand who they're implicating?"

Drake leather squeaks against metal as Girard attempts a shrug. "None of my business either way. I only came for the wand. The generator, the casualties--that was an accident." He mutters something you can't quite make out. "This coulda been so easy, Lucian. Fuck."

>_

>Say, how valuable is that generator, anyway?