Severa Book 1 (Chapter 7)

Changed the voice of the System. Refer to last chapter for changes :)

The symbols rearranged again, coalescing into a languid ripple of text across her vision.

[Ohhh. You.]

Her jaw tightened. Meaning?

[Relax. Ain’t deep. You got a name, yeah?]

I am Severa of House Montreal. I was advised that I have been soulbound with . . . you, whoever you are.

[Me? I’m the warden of your new shiny ting: The Celestial Drip Core Supreme Soul-Juicer Mk IV, yeah? Rolls off the tongue, yeah?]

“I—what?” She spoke aloud.

[You heard me.]

She ‘heard’ it, but she didn’t understand it. The syllables had shape and weight—Common, without question—yet their arrangement was wrong, like a chandelier rehung with its crystal drops in random places. Ting? Drip? They weren’t words she’d ever seen in any lexicon, not even the vulgar ones.

What is this dialect? Are you fabricating a language?

[Ahh, see, you’re one of them royal diction types. Always talking like you in a council meet. I’m speaking street lang, see; language of kings, just not your kinda kings.]

Do you have a name? What can I call you by?

[Queen Elizabeth.]

That’s definitely not your name.

[Fine! Name’s DeShawn. Happy now?]

DeShawn? That’s not a common name in any realm I know.

[Not from your time, girl.]

A dull throb had already begun to press against the inside of her skull, and not just from the three paltry hours of sleep she’d managed. This . . . whatever-it-was . . . felt like being trapped in a private audience with some grinning jester who’d mistaken her for the entertainment.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “What,” she said, each word dragged through the sieve of her patience, “can you do for me?”

[Straight to business. I like that.] The voice leaned into her thoughts with an oily ease. [Thing is, fam, I can do plenty. Shields, boosts, power plays, info drops, the whole magic mandem package.]

She narrowed her eyes. “Magic mandem package?”

[Yeah. Tricks, game-changers. Also—think, don’t speak. People might think you’ve lost it if you talk out loud.]

Such as?

[Can’t be giving the whole playlist away at once, you see. You’ll get whispers, insights no one else has. The kind that puts you in charge, not just in the room.]

It took her way too long to translate whatever it had said into Common language. And she thought the Magister and Fabrisse’s cryptic jargons had been painful enough.

The moment she figured out its meaning, she walked out of the room and straight into her private quarter. Come with me, she telegraphed to DeShawn.

She strode down the hallway and passed by the rows of the Magister’s inventions again. Of course her new companion had to offer unsolicited comments.

[Oi, what’s with all these fancy bits on the walls? Gold trim on everything—feels like I’m walkin’ through a jewellery box.]

She ignored him.

[And hold up—what’s that?] The symbols in her vision jittered as his attention locked onto a massive 4D chessboard in the corner alcove, the translucent pieces shifting themselves in a slow, complex battle. [No way. We had one like this in VR. I just watched it play itself ‘cause I was lazy.]

She kept walking.

When they reached her private chambers, the golden glow of the hallway surrendered to a cooler, darker palette. Midnight blues and deep charcoals wrapped the walls, broken only by the occasional glint of polished silver. Her room was simpler than the outside, but still laced with a lacquered desk, a pair of crystal sconces, neatly arranged keepsakes that looked more like curated trophies than casual décor.

On the wall opposite her desk hung a large framed thaumagraph—the kind of light-capture image spell that froze a moment in layered shimmer. In it, a much younger Severa clung to Forsing’s neck, her face lit with a smile far less guarded than the one she wore now. Their formal clothing, stiff with ceremonial embroidery, contrasted with the unplanned spontaneity of the moment. Out of the ten shots that thaumaturge had taken that day, this had been the only one not posed.

[Damn, homegirl, I thought you were all stuck-up and shii. Look at you, grinning and stuff.]

Her brow twitched. Restrain your commentary.

[Whatever you say, girl.]

She crossed to her private chest, released the triple-locked seal with three swift gestures, and lifted out her most prized possession: an ornate dagger forged from blackened starsteel, its blade etched with glowing runes in a cold blue light. An epic-grade relic. Holding it before her, she let its polished surface catch the aetheric lamplight.

What can you tell me about this? She asked, eyes narrowing. She needed to know what this thing knew.

DeShawn didn’t answer for a moment.

DeShawn? She asked again.

[It’s a dagger. What else you want?]

She lifted an eyebrow. The grade. The material. Its aetheric properties. Details.

There was a beat of silence. Then came DeShawn’s response.

[How am I supposed to know? I’ve never held a dagger in my life.]

She folded her arms. You still haven’t answered me.

[Look, I’m not from your time, girl. First time I’ve been properly awake in years. I’m rusty. Gimme something that moves, and I’ll show you.]

Severa drew a slow breath, letting the tension coil. She set her relic down, then  extended her free hand, fingertips igniting in a bright, crackling flame that curled and danced with fierce intent. The fire flared, a vivid Rank V incantation that palpilated with raw power.

The aether around her shimmered, responding to the sharpness of her control.

It says it doesn’t know what things are, she thought, but maybe it can tell properties, say, damage output, mental fatigue cost, effects . . . something useful.

She narrowed her eyes. DeShawn, what can you tell me about this spell? Its strength, weaknesses, anything.

[Damn, girl, you can do that?]

She pressed again, voice sharper. “So? What else? Details.”

[I don’t know nothing, girl. I didn’t even know y’all was out here doin’ fairy godmother vibes magic in this world.]

Severa hissed through her teeth, and the faintest crease appeared between her brows. “Then what do you mean, ‘something that moves’?”

[Get yourself a mirror, girl. I wanna see your face.]

Fine. But I better see something tangible from you.

Severa sank down onto the edge of her chair in front of the mirror, already dreading the endless presence of this relentless voice lodged in her mind. How long was she going to have to put up with this? A lifetime?

The polished glass reflected her almost translucent skin, carefully hidden beneath layers of foundation that masked the slight shadows beneath her eyes. Her jawline was soft, contrasting with the only sharp feature she couldn’t hide: her bloodied, piercing eyes.

[Damn, girl, you know how to do your eyeliner. Sharp as a blade.]

Before she could snap back about the useless compliments, a cascade of glowing numbers and symbols poured into her vision, floating like spectral data around her reflection.

Social Aptitude
  Theoretical Understanding: High — 85%
  Practical Exertion: Moderate — 51%

Political Savvy
  Theoretical Understanding: Moderate — 70%
  Practical Exertion: Low — 38%

Mental Health Stability
  Theoretical Understanding: Low — 40%
  Practical Exertion: Moderate — 37%

Stress Resilience
  Theoretical Understanding: Moderate — 65%
  Practical Exertion: Moderate — 55%

Empathy Quotient
  Theoretical Understanding: Low — 40%
  Practical Exertion: Low — 35%

Charm Factor
  Theoretical Understanding: Moderate — 67%
  Practical Exertion: Moderate — 62%

She stared at the numbers for a very long time.

By the Will of the Flamus . . . She buried her head in her hands. I’m getting socially judged.