Episode 3 Sneak Peek #24

This week's sneak peek has a lot of flavour text flags in it, so to summarize what's going on:

• This is from the Veyer branch
• The MC got fired from the mission
• The MC has high approval and romance points with Aeran
• The MC has elected to not feel guilty about their actions

You exhale sharply. “We don’t have time for this,” you say, pushing past a shocked Zenaida. [REDACTED] backs out of the way as you scramble up the path. You grunt as the dirt caves beneath you feet, sending a cascade of pebbles tumbling down the slope. “As pleasant as this little hike has been, we’re on a deadline.”

Veyer curses. “Stand down. You don’t know what you’re playing with—”

“We’ve waited long enough. I’m getting to that tower and I’m getting the Astrial. I’m sure Zenaida can handle the fallout.”

They grimace and double over, hands on their knees. “Trust me on this, $firstname,” they plead. “If you—”

Something ricochets out the trees, hurtling towards you at high speed, a stream of red light trailing in its wake. You whirl around and draw $blade, sunlight glinting off its silver-white edge. The object arcs across the road and drops from the sky, halting in the air a foot from your face.

[CHOICE] 1. Strike it down. You can ask questions later.
2. Observe it first. You don’t know what it is.

You lunge, your blade arcing through the air—

Twang.

The object falls from the sky, dropping dead at your feet with a thud. You pause, $blade falling still in your hand, and crouch down to inspect the object. A sphere no larger than your fist lies in the dirt. Three silver bands wrap around it, layered in such a way that, when activated, one could pass over the other.

A surveillance orb.

“Fuck,” you mutter, scooping it up. An arrow strikes clean through its core, an alassar arrowhead emerging from one end and silver fletching from the other. Fractures crack through its dark, polished glass, rippling out from the entry and exit points. Whatever magic lived inside is dead.

A shadow falls across you.

Exhaling an uneasy breathe, you rise to your feet and look upwards. A familiar figure stands at the crest of the hill, garbed in black, silver-white bow glinting in the sun. He towers over you from his vantage point, gazing down at your party with an impassive expression. Despite his warrior’s stance, it’s easy enough to see his fatigue. He’s pale and worn, his blue eyes dull, his hair a tangled, unbrushed mop.

He looks ill.

Aeran meets your eyes and your heart clenches. It’s difficult to tell which feeling surpasses the other—the rawness that throbs in your chest at seeing him like this, or the unbridled fury that wells up simply by seeing his stupid face. Of course he would be here—why wouldn’t he? Though a part of you had foolishly hoped he had been left behind, you aren’t the only Wayfarer in Zenaida’s employ. She would never decrease her chances of success by leaving him at Mahanin Palace.

You grit your teeth and sheathe your sword, irritated with the way your $garb sticks to your skin and how heavy Veyer’s coat feels about your shoulders. It won’t take much for him to put two and two together. You doubt you can lie your way out of this one.

[CHOICE] 1. “What the hell, Aeran? I had it!”
2. Let Zenaida handle this. It will irritate him to no end to be reprimanded by a mage.

A strange look crosses his face. “And I acted first,” he says, lowering his bow. “I won’t apologize for that. If you want to be petty about it, do it someplace else.”

You grit your teeth. “At least give me a warning before you shoot something out of my face,” you snap. “I’d rather not be shot by you again.”

He flinches, the colour draining from his face.

Ignoring the phantom pain throbbing in your shoulder, you shoot him a dark look, yank the arrow out of the orb, and thrust it into his hands. You push roughly past him and hike up the rest of the hill, the party trailing in your wake. Zenaida, Malsara, and [REDACTED] converse furiously under their breath, but you ignore their voices.

“What are you doing here, Krellion?” Aeran’s voice calls suddenly.

“Helping,” they reply witheringly. “Which seems to be more than what you’ve done. I hope you realize just how stupid that fancy show of archery was. Diradan Tower is under close observation by more than the Guild of Mages. Let us hope that by the time whichever organization controlled that orb realizes it is dead, this task is complete and we are long gone.”

You slow your pace, rolling the broken orb in your palm. What to do with it?

[CHOICE] 1. Throw it away. You don’t know anything about these things. Better not risk bringing it into the tower.
2. Keep it. If someone comes looking for it, you’d rather they didn’t find the evidence.

It’s dead weight anyway.

You draw your arm back and hurl the orb off the hill. It arcs through the air, its silver bands glinting in the sunlight, and vanishes into a cluster of trees by the riverbank. It will be hidden well enough—you doubt you could find it even if you wanted to.

With a long breath, you turn your back on the river and clamber up the rest of the hill. Aeran tails you, easily outstripping Malsara and the struggling mages.

“If it makes you feel any better, I asked Krellion the very same question,” [REDACTED] calls as he passes [them]. “I didn’t know about this anymore than you did.”

He stiffens at the comment and stalks past [them], taking the lead.

Continue.