“What does it do?” asked Scorio, turning it around, its impossibly smooth surface glimmering in the lamplight.
“Well, you’re out here processing Coal mana, right? That will coarsen and reduce your control over your mana manipulation over time. This will undo much of that damage, though the benefits will be temporary.”
Leonis looked at the pill, expression thoughtful. “Though it can also be taken at the same time as poisonous mana, and will neutralize the toxins in low-grade extracts. Which is the part I think you’d be especially excited to hear.”
Lianshi blushed. “I mean, I figured you would be roughing it beyond the Final Door and might incur damage to your Heart. It made sense to save it. And…” She paused, then flushed. “Also, it was, like, a symbol of my faith in you—or—never mind, this sounds ridiculous. If you don’t want to take this now, I thought you could keep it on hand in case you ever get in trouble.”
Scorio felt his heart swell and his face grow warm as he smiled at Lianshi, whose blush only deepened. “This is… thank you. Do you know if I could dissolve it into a tincture? Would it lose its properties?”
“I don’t know,” said Lianshi, expression going blank. “I mean, you’re not supposed to use it to ingest even greater poisons.”
Leonis’s laughter boomed off the walls. “Are you surprised, Lianshi?”
“Thank you,” said Scorio, bowing low to her from where he sat. “This really means a lot to me.”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” she said, looking away quickly. “But I’m happy you like it. It can’t be easy, out here without any resources. I plan to try and bring you something as often as I can, to help.”
Scorio beamed at her. “You’re the best. You really don’t need to.”
“That’s what I said,” protested Leonis. “Also, she’s making me look bad.”
“You don’t need any help in that department,” said Lianshi.
“So,” said Scorio, examining the pill. “Do I just drink it down with water or the like?”
“Mmhmm,” said Lianshi. “I’ve never had one, but it’s supposed to refresh you. Summon your Heart after you’ve swallowed it, and you should be able to sense its power within you. Then draw it into your Heart as you would mana, and it should do the rest.”
“Excellent.” Scorio beamed at her. “I’ll do it as soon as I get home.”
To which Lianshi just beamed back at him.
Scorio set the pill beside his plate. “Did you both learn anything more about your own pasts?”
“That’s right,” said Leonis. “You weren’t there for our own Archspire moments. Want to hear my titles?”
Lianshi set her cup back delicately. “The question is, can he stop you from repeating them all?”
“Leonis, once known as The Grim, the Golden King, Favored of Eragoth, and Wielder of Nezzar. The highest rank I ever attained was Pyre Lord—which I’m positive is wrong—and it’s been four years since I last died.” He rubbed at his bearded jaw. “I’ve been reborn a hundred and twenty times since the founding of Bastion.”
“He doesn’t die easily,” said Lianshi.
Leonis sat back, hands on his thighs, knees spread wide, at ease, smiling, relaxed. “So if you want to start calling me the Golden King—informally, of course—feel free. It’s high time I started living up to my old reputation.”
Lianshi threw a yellow rind of a fruit she’d peeled at his face, which he batted aside with ease.
“I don’t know,” said Scorio. “The Grim? That doesn’t exactly, well…”
Leonis’s wide smile collapsed into a frown. “I’ve thought on that, as well. Who knows what sort of life I lived? What I was forced to do? But… I’ve still got time to grow into it. I was clearly a man of great import. Someday soon I’ll have to start living up to that legacy.”
“Whereas I was once known as Lianshi, the Nun of the Red, Guardian of the Second Death, and Bestower of the Final Grace.”
“Impressive,” said Scorio.
“The highest rank I ever achieved was Charnel Duke, and it’s been sixteen years since I last died. I’ve been reborn ninety-seven times.”
“Only ninety-seven?” Scorio leaned forward on both elbows. “That’s rare, isn’t it?”
“Seems to be. Most of our peers fall in the same range—from about a hundred and fifty to two hundred times.”
Leonis smirked. “During the first few nights, everybody was trying to work out the math. Bastion was founded eight hundred and seventy-three years ago, right? So in my case, I’ve been reborn a hundred and twenty times. At first, everyone just divided the city’s duration by the number of rebirths, but that left out the time between reincarnations. Since that time seems to fluctuate, we took a poll and discovered that the average time between rebirths was three years. So multiply a hundred and twenty by three—three hundred and sixty—and that’s how many years I’ve spent actually dead. The balance, five hundred and thirteen, is how many of those years I’ve actually lived. Divide that by a hundred and twenty, and on average I live four or so years each time I’m reborn before dying.”
Scorio blinked. “That… you’re making a lot of assumptions there.”
Leonis shrugged one shoulder. “Just averages. And a way to pass the time.”
“Whereas I average about six years of life before dying,” said Lianshi. “Still a dismal number.”
Scorio frowned. “But what of those like Praximar? They look much older.”
“Life was much tougher in the beginning,” said Leonis. “Bastion was constantly besieged by the fiends we came here to fight. New incarnates like ourselves would be placed on the walls within months of being reborn, if not sooner. The attrition rate was terrible. Over time, the demons were driven back, and now we Great Souls tend to live much longer, with the best or most fortunate of us making an actual drive for the Pit. So no, the averages don’t tell us much. Hasn’t stopped people from trying to wrest meaning from them.”
“The Pit,” said Scorio softly. “That’s where the fiends come from?”
“Supposedly,” said Leonis. “The source of all mana. Only Imperators can survive the Curse that surrounds it. The goal is to enter it and destroy our enemies at their source, forever ending the war and becoming the Infernarch.”
“And that will open the Portal home?” asked Scorio.
Lianshi shrugged uneasily. “That’s what folks say the Infernarch will do.”
“But since the Empyreal Prophecy failed,” said Lianshi, her tone hesitant. “A lot of folks are doubting a lot of old truths.”
They sat in silence for a spell.
“But that’s why we’re here in the first place, right?” Scorio looked from one of his friends to the other. “The reason we tied our souls to the Archspire. To protect our homeworld?”
“Right,” said Leonis softly. “We were heroes back home. We fought and beat the demons back to protect our people. And then we agreed to defend Bastion for eternity to make sure the demons never, ever came back to wage war on our home again.”
Scorio nodded slowly, mulling this over. “Leonis the Golden King. Lianshi the Nun of the Red. Scorio the Bringer of Ash and Darkness.”
“Guess they weren’t being too choosy,” said Leonis with a humorless smile.
“Or perhaps we all stopped being enemies once the demons arrived, and fought together to defeat them,” said Lianshi.
Scorio continued to mull this over. “And nobody ever figured out why the portal home closed.”
Leonis spread his hands. “Just theories. No facts.”
“But the hope,” said Lianshi quietly, “is that by someone destroying the Pit and ending the war, they’ll become the Infernarch and the Portal will open.”
“And our souls will be unbound from the Archspire?” asked Scorio.
“That’s the hope,” said Leonis.
“Which is why we fight,” continued Lianshi. “To bring peace and an end to Bastion. To go home.”