The Commandant

"You don't want to keep him waiting. Trust me."

Jaina pulled in a deep, stabilising breath. The Commandant. What a title... Designed to provoke respect and fear, no doubt. And, by the way the rest of the guards talked about him... it was working. Even in Garth. When he used his Will to speak to her, to talk inside her head. She had heard it. Caution. Maybe even unease.

The Will-user had recognised what she was, of course. Know it from first glance. Introduced himself. And had told her whatever she was planning was useless with the collar.

She fidgeted with it, consciously. It was uncomfortably tight, the strange, cold metal pressing in around her throat, the spikes making it difficult to walk, difficult to move round corners. Apparently, at the moment, the Commandant was the only one able to activate it. Whatever that meant...

She had reached the Commandant's chamber. She hesitated, her hand on the door. Then she shook her head, and pushed it open.


The Commandant was standing at the top of a short flight of steps, facing a view down to the docks, his back to her.

Blade hesitated, pausing by the door, and then shook her head, settling on a semi-polite courtesy, "You asked for me?"

He didn't turn: "Yes."

She looked at the back of his head, frowning slightly. His skin was impossibly pale, a ghastly white. He was bald, and strange sort of... horns were coming out of the back of his head. She had never seen a creature like him before. He was dressed all in black, and an antique-looking sword hung from his belt.

She frowned again, tilting her head to one side. She didn't recognise it. That was odd. She knew every sword, all the swords in Albion, even the Old Kingdom relics there were only rumours about. But this... this she didn't recognise. The blade was long and wide, and chipped slightly at the bottom, missing a chunk. The blade was silver, but dull, unpolished, with a T-shaped hilt.

"You're observing my weapon?"

She glanced up at him. He still hadn't turned. She nodded, slowly, "Yes. I was... admiring it. Old Kingdom relic, yes? I've never seen one like it, and I know a lot about relics. Though it does look very much like the Maelstrom, a very old weapon created by the First Shadows." She cocked her head to the other side, looking at the weapon again, "The hilt looks almost like that of the Harbinger, a sword created by the twins Elda and Essa centuries ago. It appears a unique sword. Powerful, I would imagine."

"Many would think the Maelstrom and the Harbinger a myth."

She cocked her head slightly, "Well. That's just because they've never seen them."

"You know their locations?"

"One, yes. The other... maybe some day I will. Not today."

The man nodded, almost thoughtfully, his eyes still scanning the horizon in front of him, "You know a lot about weapons."

She gave a small smile, "I'm not called Blade for nothing."

"Your name is not Blade."

She frowned, "Sorry?"

He turned to her.


Blade almost flinched back. His eyes were a burnt yellow, his skin broken, shredded and sealed. It looked like someone had used his body for a cutting board and then done a bad job of covering it up. But those eyes... those eyes are what caught her. Emotionless. Empty.

Merciless.

Though she shook inside, Blade managed to keep an expression of vague curiosity on her face. Her eyes glimmered onto his throat. He had a collar around his neck too, but it was smaller than hers and without the spikes, allowing better manoeuvrability. Maybe it was a rank system, or something...

He took a few steps towards her and she forced herself not to back away, "I am the Commandant. You are Recruit 273. That number is not random - it was assigned to you because I have broken two-hundred and seventy-two recruits before you. You are nothing more... than the next link in the chain." Seeming not to notice her sceptical raised eyebrow, he gestured to the walls around them, "You have been brought here to oversee the reconstruction of the Tattered Spire... and to serve Lucien as he sees fit."

The name made her blood boil, as did the situation. Serve Lucien? Not in a thousand summers would she allow him to use her in such a way.

"My job is to ensure the obedience of guards like you. You will do everything I tell you. No question. Failure to obey... will cause the device around your neck to activate. This is not a pleasant experience. You will lose your willpower, your memories; your experiences will be drained away. This will continue... until you submit."

Submit... Another word that cut through her, but this time it was joined with a spark of grim amusement. She wasn't any other weak-minded Crucible champion. She had a reason for being here, and that reason gave her strength. If it was the last thing she did, she was going to give these men a run for their money.

He seemed to catch her thoughts: "Perhaps you believe you will resist. Some try at first - a misguided sense of personal honour. You must decide: is your honour... really that important to you?" he left her a second to think about it, and then gestured to the spot beside him, "Now. Come here. Obey me."

Her eyes moved over the platform. It wasn't much of an order. And, whatever he said, this really wasn't about personal honour. This was about keeping herself sane, and keeping Garth in reach. And if she wanted Garth in reach... sometimes she would have to play along. So she didn't really have that much of a choice.

Blade moved forwards, slowly, standing by his side.

"Be still. Good. Now. Look over there."

She looked. The boat she had arrived on was still docked. People were still unloading, all dressed in that strange guard uniform, all with collars firmly attached to their necks. Blade let her eyes move over the walls, now completely ignoring the man beside her. The pure size of this place... And they would be helping to make it bigger. To build a creation unrecognisable in its perfection.

She watched the prisoners go around in chains, disgust building slowly but resolutely inside of her. The guards beat them when they failed, when they missed a box, when they were not fast enough, when they felt like it. Torture, degradation, imprisonment... Perfection? If this was perfection, then a lot was left to be said for chaos...

"...Yet, our progress... is not a miracle." She forced herself to listen, quickly, to concentrate on what he was saying. He didn't seem like the sort to appreciate someone ignoring him, "It is a product of obedience."

She looked at him, her attention sharp. Her heart was beginning to beat faster. There was something in this she didn't know.

The Commandant looked at her for a second, "Let us see how well you have learned." He yanked out his blade. She flinched, trying to pull away but, for some reason, her body didn't seem to want to. The collar kept her firmly in place. He watched her struggles with a dismissive curiosity. He moved closer, "I am going to hit you... and you are going to thank me. Because I tell you to."

He waited one second and then sliced her arm with his blade. The collar failed and she staggered back a step, clutching at the wound, blood spurting between her fingers, sharp pain moving over her, biting her lip to prevent a profanity.

"Now. Thank me. Obey!"

She looked up at him, darkly, ignoring the pain, "No."

His eyes narrowed, and he shook his head, slowly.

Suddenly, the collar around her neck constricted, mercilessly. Blade fell to her knees, grabbing at her throat as pain cut deep, her breathing sharp and shallow. The collar burned through her, the metal sending shocks of something like lightning, something like heat rattling through her. She felt something she had never felt before, like a tug, like a pull on her stomach and her mind, yanking, trying to force her to do as he said.

A voice echoed through her head, a sickly familiar voice, clouding all her senses and filling them with only Lucien's words: Obey! Thank him for his mercy!

The collar released and she fell to all fours, panting, one hand still clutching at her throat.

"Thank me for your pain!" the Commandant hissed, his voice echoing through her head, "Obey!"

"Fuck you." She murmured, her hand on her throat.

The collar squeezed again, and again she was thrown to the floor in agony. Her mind flickered over memories, long ago, but they were just images, there were no words, and, however hard she tried, she couldn't remember. A bandit leader she couldn't name, a long, dark bridge she couldn't place, a face she couldn't recognise, all of it was seeping away. Panic started to pump through her. She choked out her breaths, feeling it breaking her, knowing she couldn't survive much longer of this.

You will obey! You must obey!

After what seemed like hours, it released. She fell to the floor, her mouth inches from the cold stone, still gasping, pulling in oxygen. Her whole body shook.

"Recruit 273, you will learn your place! Obey!"

She shook her head, slowly. She coughed out blood on the floor. Her head felt weak, dizzy. She couldn't hold on for much longer.

She felt his presence near her, "So be it."

"Thank you."


She had to force the words out, strangled in her strained breaths.

The Commandant knelt down beside her, grabbing hold of her chin and forcing it up to his face, "What was that?"

Blade shook her head, bitterly, her loathing of her words clear: "Thank you."

He let go, allowing her to fall by to the floor, "Excellent. You learn quickly. Now..."

Avo. He wasn't done. Blade stayed where she was, slumped on the floor, unable to bring the energy to right herself, her forced breaths slowly calming, her heart slowly settling back to normal.

He gave her a sharp tap on the shoulder with his foot. She winced and then pulled herself up slightly, facing him.

He leant down to her, "Beg. Beg me to show mercy."

She let out a breath and let herself back to the floor again, fighting to keep her breathing calm. No. She couldn't.

The Commandant circled her, watching her reaction with a calculated curiosity. What was she going to do... "You do understand the concept... don't you. Beg."

She shook her head again, looked up at him, in his yellow eyes, and managed one word: "No."

The Commandant growled. The collar squeezed again, stopping her air, the dizziness coming back, and she fell back, back to the floor, and, with Lucien's voice echoing in her head, lost consciousness.