The Wandsmith [LitRPG, Isekai, Harem]

89. Northwards II



It was night, and though they had rarely needed one since descending from the highlands, Ori had made a fire. Nearby, Ruenne'del lay resting, one of the fur bundles bought in Kul'dett rolled beneath her head as she gazed up at the star-strewn sky. Ori tossed pieces of wood into the flames, the silence that had felt peaceful and light-hearted only a day ago was now heavy and stifling.

After tending to her injuries from the owl's ambush, they decided to stop for the night. But despite the long day and the miles travelled, too much had happened. Too many thoughts had gone unspoken, too many emotions left unresolved. Sleep felt far out of reach.

Before he could break the silence, Ori focused on the bond, trying to tune into her feelings. Guilt and fear sat foremost, almost suffocating in their intensity, but buried beneath them was a thread of defiance. If he had to guess, she had known her words might be taken badly, but she had misjudged the depth of his emotional response. Whether it was a difference in culture, their shared lack of relationship experience or her inability to foresee events around him, his disappointment and uncertainty had clearly caught her off guard. It seemed that she might have meant to say more, but whatever conversation she had prepared was derailed by the emotional backlash echoing through the bond.

He tried to grasp the shape of her concern, but also the flicker of hope she had felt at that moment, something wholly different from the emotional chaos that had overwhelmed them both since.

For a while, Ori considered ending the bond entirely. Finding a way for her to live without it. But he recognised those thoughts for what they were a reflex to pull away, to create distance, to shield himself from the risk of further pain.

"I used to think this bond, being able to share our emotions, would make things easier," he said at last. "That it'd help me understand you. Help me know when something was wrong and how to fix it." He gave a short laugh, snapped a twig in half and tossed it into the fire. "But right now, I don't even know how to make sense of what either of us is feeling."

Ruenne'del said nothing.

"Did you get any reply from yourself… or your lover?" Ori asked.

"Kayleigh made it known she expects an explanation. One to be delivered in person, at Seelie itself."

Ori sighed. "Fine. I was planning to go anyway. How did she react?"

"As you'd expect."

"I mean… are you still lovers?"

"Are we?" Ruenne'del asked, finally turning to face him.

"I… If it had been someone else in the same situation, someone else you took a fancy to and could save in the same way, you'd have done it all over again, wouldn't you?"

"No."

"But that's what you did with Kayleigh. Why couldn't it happen again?"

Ruenne'del frowned. That flicker of defiance now flared through the bond.

"I chose you because I liked you, yes, but also because you could survive our bond. Because you could withstand the attention of Seelie, and of my mother. Because you could bond Kayleigh too. I never meant to betray anyone. I just believed… hoped… there was a way we could become a family. You once asked me, not long after bonding Raven, what our family might look like. That night, I wanted to tell you. I wanted to talk about how I hoped Kayleigh could be part of it. But…"

"I didn't react the way you'd hoped?" Ori asked. "Well. I'm sorry to disappoint you."

"So am I."

A long silence followed, broken only by the soft crackling of burning coals.

"You should have told me sooner," Ori said quietly, not quite letting go of his anger, but at least trying to find a path forward.

"I know."

"Freya said that by the time you realised what you had to say might hurt me, it was already too late. Just… can you promise me you'll talk to me? Next time, don't let things fester."

Ruenne'del sat up. She closed her eyes and exhaled. Ori felt the air shift, mana, aether, and peritia swirling around her like a breath held in time.

"I, Ruenne'del Tuatha Dé Danann, do thrice swear upon my name, my titles, and my eternal soul, to speak openly with you about all that matters, as soon as it is wise and possible to do so. I swear never to betray you nor forsake you for another, and to place our family, including your bonds, above all others. Thrice do I swear."

"Rue. You didn't have to—"

"No, I didn't," she said, pale but smiling. The first real smile he had seen from her in some time, and likely the first she had felt safe giving, now that she could sense his emotions finally beginning to settle through the bond.

"But your soul… what happens if you break the oath?"

"My soul disappears? I don't know. I'm not planning to find out."

"And what if it happens by accident? Or if someone compels you?"

Ruenne'del shrugged. "Intention matters. The oath isn't something I can break by accident."

"Fine," Ori said with a sigh. "I, Ori Suba, do thrice swear upon my name, my titles, and my eternal soul, to speak openly with you about all that matters, as soon as it is wise and possible to do so. I swear never to betray you nor forsake you for another, and to place our family, including our bonds, above all others. Thrice do I swear."

"Ori!" Ruenne'del hissed, alarmed.

"So, I suppose we're married now," Ori exhaled as he felt the weight of the oath settle across his spirit. "What? It's fine for you to make a binding oath of loyalty, but not me?"

"Never make oaths like that again. Not if you can help it. And especially not without my advice," Ruenne'del said sharply. The sudden spike of fear from the bond sobered Ori, his expression shifting as he registered the seriousness of her request.

"Yeah. Fine."

"Promise."

"I promise."

Ruenne'del let out a breath. "Which is why you never take oaths lightly. Especially not with the fae."

"That was… a compulsion, wasn't it?" Ori asked. "From the part of your oath where you said, 'to speak openly with you about all that matters, as soon as it is wise and possible to do so.' That's why you made me promise?"

Ruenne'del nodded.

"Alright. What else should I know?"

They talked long into the night, about the Seelie, Kayleigh, and Ruenne'del's relationship with her mother. Ori spoke of his past, or rather the lack of deep connections. He told her how rare it had been for him to form lasting friendships or romantic bonds, how growing up as a foster kid, passed between homes before eventually living with an aunt, had shaped him. He had spent years convinced he was unworthy of love, and even now, part of him still waited for the other shoe to drop. For his relationships with Harriet and Poppy to be revealed as the fragile, too-good-to-be-true dreams they sometimes felt like. Her admission of another lover had struck that nerve directly, feeding an insecurity he hadn't even realised was still there.

They spoke of their goals, and how, as Irregulars walking the Path, both were drawn towards transcendence. For Ori, it came from a desire to be worthy of his bonded, all of them. For Ruenne'del, it stemmed from a newfound freedom from fate, and a growing desire to leave her own mark. She explained that striving for transcendence meant changing fate itself, fundamentally and irrevocably. To do so alone was nearly impossible as such acts always faced resistance. But collectives, pantheons with shared intent or alignment, could become strong enough to defy fate, changing the course of the world for everyone, forever.

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"Like the Librarians?" Ori asked as the campfire settled into a quiet bed of glowing embers.

"Yes."

"And if you could change fate, what would you change?"

"I would change Fate so that seers could not see their own."

"Their own what? Their own fate, their own future? Why? Wouldn't that make them… worse at their jobs?"

"Yes. But it would also free them from it," Ruenne'del replied.

"Yeah, I think I understand. Suppose that's a nice, noble goal."

"One that would face resistance."

Ori shrugged. "I'll have your back."

"What about you?"

"Until now, I've always seen transcendence as a rank to reach, strength I had to attain in order to feel truly powerful. So I haven't really thought about what I'd want it to mean. But if I had to choose, it would probably be about soul bonds, or how fate seems unnecessarily cruel to people of mixed heritage."

He paused, shaking his head slightly as the memory surfaced, Harriet's firm, almost fearful refusal when the subject of children had once come up.

"Did you want kids?" he asked, deciding it was better to talk about it now than later.

Ruenne'del shook her head. "No."

"Because of the curse?"

"No. Because I'm striving for immortality, and I'm a seer. I wouldn't want to outlive my children. Especially if I could see how and when they'd die."

The closeness between them, so recently frayed, began to reweave itself, tentative at first, but growing tighter as understanding settled between them.

"So, this Kayleigh," Ori said, "the way you described her, I get the feeling we wouldn't get along?"

"The number of people she gets along with could be counted on one finger."

Ori laughed. "You said she's cruel?"

"She had to be. But when she's shown kindness, she returns it tenfold."

"So I just need to be kind to her when I meet her?"

Ruenne'del scoffed. "No. First, you'll need to be strong. She'll test you. She'll try to hurt you. Don't let her. Only when you can stand your ground and offer kindness from a position of strength will she accept it."

"But isn't she a Titan? That's at or above Divinity, isn't it?"

"Yes, but by the time you two meet, I hope you'll be her match."

"Fine," Ori said, accepting the challenge.

"She's ready to ascend as a Primordial of her own realm."

"What does that even mean? That she's stronger than a normal Titan?" Ori asked, unsure what she was trying to explain.

"No. It means she's looking for a home. A realm, or maybe a demiplane, to rule over."

"And you want us to find one for her?"

"I want you to offer her one," Ruenne'del said, "a new home, with us in the Cosmic."

They had talked long into the early hours of the morning, eventually drifting into a light sleep near the edge of the great southern road. It was well past midday when they stirred again, though Twilight's sky made it difficult to tell the hour with certainty. Freya had woken them, alerting them to the approach of a caravan heading north.

The travellers, mostly orcs, passed by without acknowledging their presence. It was the first sign of others they had seen in some time. The caravan moved at a steady pace, guiding livestock and horse-drawn wagons in a way that felt familiar, yet strangely surreal beneath the pale, changeless light of the realm.

Freya, Ruenne'del, and Ori watched the procession from within the trees, then quietly veered into the forest, overtaking the caravan as they made their way towards the first town.

Ori felt lighter. The sting of that first revelation had softened, replaced by something quieter, an unexpected sense of wonder, and a renewed awareness of who Ruenne'del truly was. Yes, she was fae: mercurial, enigmatic, and shaped by her royal upbringing. But she was also a seer, an oracle bound by visions of futures not yet lived. Only recently freed from the constraints of fate, she had once moved within the grip of laws woven from inevitability, structure, and futility, and those same laws had marked her deeply.

She saw further, planned more thoroughly, and schemed with a clarity that came not from cruelty, a need to manipulate or control, but from survival. It was part of her nature, one he now understood he had to accept and value. Just as he cherished her beauty, her strange whims, and the quiet loyalty she gave him, even when he failed to notice it.

As they walked, Ori periodically cast his awareness outward, Vision of the Progenitor reaching into the sky in search of his silent nemesis. Split Mind worked in tandem, theorising potential solutions: early warning systems, enchantments, or fate-based magic that might reveal ambushes when conventional senses failed. But he lacked the materials, techniques, and expertise required to bring any of those ideas to life.

Though he carried a vast bank of techniques and enchantments, the connective framework needed to develop entirely new systems, or shape original concepts from scratch, was still beyond his reach. More than anything, this was what drew him to Freya's former school in the realm's capital. Beyond the lure of a formal licence, it was the library, the access to rare knowledge, and the promise of expert guidance that excited him. Even as Freya tried to temper his enthusiasm with warnings about how rigid and relentless such institutions could be, he remained quietly thrilled.

However, as they neared Kelwyn Ford, the mood shifted.

Wheeled cages dotted the outskirts of the town. At first glance, Ori had assumed it was a caravan of livestock traders.

And, in a way, he was right.

Emaciated figures clung to the bars of steel cages, their bodies wasting, their eyes vacant. The stink of suffering was matched only by the stench of piss and rot. Beyond them, a large camp had formed, filled with hundreds of ragged men gathered around roaring fires. Their laughter was loud and crass, their voices thick with cruelty, a hideous contrast to the silence of the dying.

Ori recognised the signs at once. Flesh traders. Most of them were human, though a few reeked of infernal corruption even from over a hundred yards away. It was these infernals who noticed him first as he approached.

He smiled, expression calm on the surface, while Split Mind quietly suppressed his aura. He hid the disgust that curdled in his chest. Beside him, Ruenne'del vanished from view after a brief Whisper. She had cast Presence Inversion, ready to support him from the shadows.

He could already feel the weight of a Sovereign-ranked aura, likely the leader, his presence spreading not only over the encampment but stretching into the town itself. Ori glanced towards the settlement. The streets were empty, the buildings closed. It had the quiet, uneasy air of a town lying low, waiting for the storm to pass.

As Ori continued forward, more infernals began to sense him. The raucous energy of the camp faded. Laughter quieted. Faces turned pale. Some of the tainted began to babble, words falling from their mouths in senseless streams. Others wept, some in fear, some in joy, and others in resignation. The untainted looked on, bewildered, unable to grasp how this lone, unassuming outsider, could be the source of their sudden, creeping terror.

"R–r–redeemer… please, have mercy."

The voice came from a human boy, no older than eighteen, who dropped to his knees before Ori. His words trembled in the air as Ori reached the centre of the camp. Despite Harriet's soul-based masking, or perhaps because of how his accolade had evolved through repeated transformations, it was still clearly in effect, something in him had been recognised.

Surrounded, Ori rolled his shoulders, unmoved by the silence that had overtaken the crowd. Only sobs and the pleading of men who had once been cruel and vicious remained to break it.

At last, the leader spoke.

"You're him, aren't you? The one who shut down Rax. The demon bane."

The voice came from a Sovereign-ranked infernal, a tall, bulky man with sallow, waxy skin, sunken features and dark, greasy hair. He spat into the dirt as he spoke.

"I am," Ori replied simply, it was all he could think to say, all the words he could find within himself to offer.

He had only one purpose here. Though he was a White Mage and sworn to uphold life in all its forms, even his path recognised that those held in cages like these were not truly living. This camp was a place of rot, a knot in fate that demanded severance.

Starfield was not something to use lightly. As a transcendent spell, it bent fate each time it was cast. But as it could only grow stronger with use, it needed experience. It needed fuel.

Without further warning, Mind over Motion activated, slowing reality around him. In the compressed flow of time, he began layering meta-enchantments through Mind over Magic. With Seraphine's Beacon in hand, the world around him darkened. Millions of prismatic lights bloomed across the open grassland, each one flowing through unseen folds in reality.

They were lights of wonder. They were lights of death.

The spell reached deep into the astral minds of every man, woman and beast, evaluating every soul in its radius. It judged and Ori ratified. For every slaver, and for a few broken slaves who had long since turned on their own, Starfield offered no mercy.

In the slowed perception of Mind over Motion, the Sovereign-ranked leader barely reacted in time. He managed to draw a knife and hurl it. Ori caught it easily in the slow time. The man's body began to seize as his veins rose like cords beneath the skin, every ligament twisting violently. His final expression was a snarl caught between agony, terror, and disbelief.

Two and a half seconds passed.

One hundred and seventy-three people turned to ash. Most were low-ranked Awakened or nascent rankers, far beneath the intended level of the spell. Their bodies vaporised, even as their souls were purified before their journey to the ethereal realms.

Ori turned surveying the sudden stillness of the camp. Ruenne'del stepped out of Presence Inversion, her greatsword still in hand, eyes wide, her emotions shining through the bond.

Ori said nothing. He turned his attention to the captives, already moving to heal and free those who remained.


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