Near To Heaven

When Renard awakens the morning after, it is as though the night before was a dream. That he wakes up on the floor, by the sword, attests that it wasn’t — but aside from typical poor-sleep grogginess not worse than a mild hangover, he feels fine now. Truly, like none of those horrible things happened.

Renard collects himself and inspects the sword. Its blade has turned black, the same colour as that peculiar substance, and now breathes with a subtle but tangible aura. “I am alive!" the blade silently cheers, “Let my feasts spread my name!". Renard surmises with relief that the ritual worked, or at least did something.

Too exhausted to be jubilant about it, Renard goes for a glass of water. At the doorframe, he pauses. Fetches the sword, shakes ashy flakes off it, sheaths it, and secures it on his hip. He cannot say what impelled him to do this, but it feels correct. He drinks his water, saddles his horse, and departs for Sebilles.

Several days later, he arrives at Sebilles.

The Iron King welcomes him into the castle, and goes to hug him, but pauses in confusion upon approach as if smelling a poisonous gas. Wondering if he can sense something from the changed sword, Renard questions this reaction. The Iron King dismisses the odd feeling, smiles, and asks Renard how his scouting went.

Renard answers to satisfy him and swiftly closes the conversation. The Iron King advises he’ll be in his office, writing up the water-yields and day-rations across the regions for the next year, and bids him off.

Renard bitterly turns away, unhappy for the reminder of that Pilamine water, and visits Pleione’s laboratory.

Pleione harshes Renard for his abrupt disappearance after their last conversation. She had been terrified he was snitching to someone, then when it became clear he was not, was left thoroughly clueless as to what he was doing. But no matter, she continues excitedly, eyes bright as a child’s. She has successfully communed with the ancestors.

Renard, having assumed she would fail, hears these words as some weird joke.

Look, Pleione says, presenting something from out of her satchel.

Standing proudly upon her palm is a rock.

Just a rock.

Hooray?

Pleione buzzes as she explains. Yes, the ritual worked! The ancestors shed parts of their selves for her, and she infused this rock with witchbane. Indeed, the rock has the same black colouration as the sword Renard enchanted. But if she is so excited over a rock…

Renard unsheaths his sword, grinning. Hoho! How about this! Quite a step up, no?

Pleione almost drops her rock she is so stunned. She blubbers, eyes wide, and after several failed exclamations of “wha-", touching the sword to confirm it real, and a long silence, she asks in alarm if Renard killed someone for this.

“No," Renard curtly replies, and sheaths the sword. He uncomfortably appends, “Twas my brother’s…"

Pleione falls quiet, then jerks back into amazement and non-comprehension. Renard regales her on his adventure in his hometown and his experience with enchanting the sword.

Pleione shakes her head in disbelief, pinching her forehead. She informs Renard that what he did was absolutely, utterly reckless and borderline insane, and that he actually succeeded speaks to incredible luck or incredible favour of the Demiurge. Argent does not bind to materials unless that material is highly receptive to the argent’s concepts; the witchbane would not have bound to the sword were Isen himself not innately an exaltation of a swordsman archetype. Further, Renard is outrageously lucky that the rot didn’t spread to him, given that this was his brother, and frankly she can only call it a miracle that it didn’t. And finally, he is lucky that he didn’t bleach his ego into nothing or just choke on the argent. The story tells to use only a sliver of a soul! Not the whole thing! The stress he must have put his self under is unimaginable…

Renard pushes away his abrupt nervousness by reminding, again, that he is fine and did make a cool sword.

Pleione concedes an exasperated yes, the achievement of what Renard has done is too great and obvious for her to remain so critical. Renard asks her to inspect the sword closer, just to confirm that all has indeed gone correctly. She stares at the blade, turning it over in her hands.

“Incredible…" she murmurs. The witchbane has not just formed a coating on the steel; it has sunken and pervaded to the core. She again asks Renard if he’s certain nothing feels awry.

Pleione’s insistence on this point is unnerving. But he really does feel fine.

Pleione accepts this but urges that if anything peculiar does arise, he should come see her. But, that aside… she carefully sheaths the sword and returns it to Renard. The enchantment’s worked perfectly. This sword will work to slay the Iron King — it’ll slice through his impenetrable skin like paper.

Renard accepts the sword and sobers, remembering the point of all this. Pleione gives him a contemplative look, as if she wants to say something, but looks away when questioned and dismisses it as not being her business. Renard shrugs and accepts her rock as well.

As equipped for this as he’ll ever be, Renard exits for the Iron King’s office.