Pathless: Outcast

Cintra, 5th of Harvestide, year 305 UC

The gray walls were featureless, absorbing all sounds like a void. The silence was only occasionally broken by the footsteps pacing around the small room.

Veron moved, his hands clasped behind his back, his boot heels clicking against the cold, metallic floor. Veron’s shadow loomed long and distorted on the walls, his reflection a ghostly figure in the glass. The window showed nothing but the interior, amplifying the feeling of isolation in the room. On the other side of the glass, unseen eyes watched, but inside, it was just them—Veron and the boy.

In the center of the room stood a heavy black metallic table. Opposite the table sat Bryan, chained to a steel chair that was bolted to the ground.

His wrists were bound tightly with thick iron shackles, the chains clinking faintly whenever he shifted, though his movements were few and far between.

His eyes, once wide with terror, now held nothing. They stared vacantly at the table, unfocused. His pale skin, bathed in the sickly light from above, looked almost ghostly.

The faintest flicker of breath was the only sign that life remained in him. His blank stare was unbroken as if he no longer had the strength to react to anything around him.

Everyone around him died. Anyone that would be connected to him was bound to die.

It was better if no one talked to him. If people just left him be.

Veron was in the room, saying something but Bryan couldn’t hear him. He didn’t want to hear him.

Nothing mattered anymore, and soon, this would all be over.

Only a matter of time now.

Would he go down like Emlia and Ms. Kelly? A sword to the stomach?

They might have something else in mind for him.

‘I just want it to end.’

His stomach growled, reminding him of the hunger gnawing at his insides, but it didn’t matter. No food could bring back his appetite, not after everything that had happened. He had no desire to eat, no desire for anything except to disappear.

He had lost track of how long he’d been in this room. Days? Weeks? Time blurred into a meaningless stretch of gray walls and clinking chains.

All he knew was that he woke up here, chained to the chair. It was not like he was planning on going anywhere. There was no where for him to go.

The fight still played out in his head. Mostly the end of it, with Emilia being stabbed.

After the hundredth time, he had stopped caring. It was there, but it didn’t hurt as much. His body was so tired, but every time he closed his eyes, the memories jolted him awake—flashes of fire, the smell of burnt hair, the sting of debris grazing his cheek. All of it felt so real.

Veron leaned forward, his face inches from Bryan's, but Bryan didn’t react.

His gaze stayed fixed on the table, his mind drifting somewhere far away. All he wanted was silence. Complete silence.

He imagined what it would be like to break free—maybe take the chains in his hands and drive them through Veron’s chest. Over and over again, until the blood spilled across the floor in dark pools. The thought should have brought him satisfaction—should have made his heart pound like it used to. But now, it was just... hollow.

Empty. Just another meaningless fantasy in a world that made no sense.

'Emilia didn’t deserve to die. She did nothing wrong but try to help me. If that’s the way this world works, then I don’t want anything to do with it.'

Lost in his own thoughts, Bryan barely noticed the shift in Veron’s pacing.

The man was growing frustrated, his patience wearing thin.

No matter how many threats he threw, Bryan remained silent, unresponsive. A blank slate. The boy wasn’t giving him anything, and it was driving him mad.

He had a theory, a good one, but he needed confirmation—he needed Bryan to admit it.

Veron walked over to the large reflective window with an irritated sigh and knocked twice.

A moment later, a door materialized in the featureless wall. It was seamless, giving the illusion of no exit, no escape—part of the room’s design to break the mental will of anyone trapped inside.

But a confession wasn’t what Veron needed. Not yet. Kayle had wanted everyone involved dead, but Veron had seen something in the boy that changed his plans. This wasn’t just another loose end to tie up.

Bryan was special. The Inquisition could thank him later for the genius of it all, for what he was about to do.

So much so in fact that they’d let him retire without ever thinking of calling him back.

Veron’s boots clicked once more as he strode through the door, glancing briefly at the two inquisitors stationed outside. Their eyes were fixed on the one-way window, observing everything, unseen. The reinforced glass could withstand anything—spells powerful enough to flatten a building would be repelled here.

“What have you done to him?”

Lock, one of the inquisitors on track to become a High Inquisitor asked as Veron stepped through the door.

“What makes you think I’ve done anything? Surely you don’t think I’m that bad, do you?”

Veron asked.

Lock didn’t respond, but the look he gave Veron said everything. They both knew the answer to that. Silence stretched between them for a moment before Violet, who had been watching Bryan with an unblinking stare, broke it.

“Looks like he’s retreated into his mind. Can’t say I blame him. After what he’s been through, it’s probably for the best.”

Violet, with her white and red rabbit mask concealing her face, had an air of aloofness about her. She wasn’t one to mince words.

Despite being under Veron’s command, she had a sense of her own authority, having finished her training to become a High Inquisitor. The only thing she waited for now was her official posting.

“Obviously.”

Veron remarked.

“Did not seem like you knew by the way you were shouting. Even saw you slam your hand on the table, which isn’t like you. So, you sure fooled me.”

Violet said without turning her attention away from the window.

“Had to put on a good show, didn’t I? I mean, the boy wasn’t responding, what was I to do? Talk to myself?”

Veron asked.

When he saw Lock turn to him, he waved his hand telling the man that was a rhetorical question.

“So, you captured him against the orders you were given because you suspect he awakened his magic. But, he’s so damaged that he won’t even speak and we have no way to verify if what you said is true.”

Lock commented.

“Well, yes. But there are multiple corpses that can testify to my story. Ask Lyra if you want confirmation. Besides, do you really think the Inquisition will punish me for killing everyone involved but sparing one kid who happens to be a mage? No, they’ll shower me with praise.”

Veron replied as he leaned his back against the wall.

“Corpses? Didn’t you order a cleanup? So, try again, Veron. You could just be making this up because the mage you faced was too much for you to handle. Convenient cover story, don’t you think?”

Veron rolled his eyes. He did not have time to play with Lock.

“I’m not interested in arguing with you, Lock. Ask Lyra if you don’t believe me. I’m done with this conversation.”

Lock was about to speak, but Violet turned to Veron and spoke first.

“So, what’s next? You can’t do anything with damaged goods.”

“Well, we just need to fix him. I’ve already sent in a request for a mind mage. It should only be a few days until they arrive. After that…”

He trailed off with a casual shrug.

Violet’s masked face turned slightly in his direction, and though her expression was hidden, the tone of her voice dripped with revulsion.

“A mind mage? Are you serious? You’re truly insane, aren’t you? Have you learned nothing?”

“I’ve learned that actions speak louder than words. And besides, it really pains me to see that two of my students would act this way toward me after all the love and care I’ve shown you over the years.”

Over the years Veron was in charge of training newly initiated Inquisitors to join their ranks. It was a good break from doing the boring missions he was usually assigned and he had a lot of fun.

There were only a total of four people that he trained, and after that, he quit because he found it did not suit his personality.

Lock clicked his tongue in frustration.

“Love and care? You literally tossed us to a pack of Lygers on the first day of training and told us to come back alive. What did you expect?”

“And don’t forget, you put raw meat in our packs and riled them up beforehand. Clark and Urik both died because of you.”

Violet added.

Veron shrugged, he wasn’t too interested in what Violet was saying. Anyone who died around him, he forgot their names after a week. Unless it was his own family.

“The Inquisition needs strong mages, capable of surviving on their own. I was simply culling the weak. And as you can see, I wasn’t punished for it.”

He told them. Nothing he said was a lie, and the Inquisition was in need of mages who were able to stand on their own. It was something both of them would learn as time went by.

“I think your age is catching up to you. I remember you being chewed out by the higher-ups after we returned. Clark and Urik both belonged to noble houses, and their family disapproved greatly when they learned what happened.”

Lock retorted.

“Only because someone decided to go and tell them who was responsible. This is why we use fake names and identities, but one group of students thought it was a good bonding moment to share your real information. Which went and made someone-”

Veron looked directly at Lock.

“Go tell their parents what happened, when they couldn’t keep their mouth shut.”

Ignoring Lock’s silent fuming, Veron turned back to Violet.

“If you’ve got another suggestion for fixing the boy’s mind, I’m all ears. But this is the best option. No one likes having their mind pried open, but in this case, it’s necessary.”

Veron explained his reasoning, even though he did not have to.

The only reason he did so was because he had known both Lock and Violet for more than fifteen years, and they had a decent relationship. Even if both of them said otherwise.

“And here we were, discussing how you’d try to brainwash the boy by implanting false memories and sealing the old ones. Violet worried you’d pull something like that, but I told her you weren’t that far gone.”

Lock said, folding his arms as he shifted his weight toward Veron.

Veron didn’t reply immediately. His eyes narrowed as he studied Lock, his expression unreadable for a moment.

“Lock.”

He said slowly.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a core attuned to time magic, would you? Been seeing into the future?”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

Violet muttered, cutting in before Lock could respond.

Veron shrugged, a smirk playing across his face underneath his mask.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a mind mage to prepare for.”

With that, Veron walked away, leaving Lock and Violet. Violet watched him go, shaking her head slightly.

“I told you, the fucker’s crazy. Age hasn’t changed him—he’s set in his ways.”

Lock sighed, glancing back at Bryan, still slumped over the table, his head unmoving.

“That would seem to be the case. And there’s nothing we can do, is there?”

“No.”

Violet said softly.

“I’m not sticking around to see a kid’s mind get broken. Not again.”

She walked away without another word. Lock stayed for a moment longer, watching Bryan, the empty shell of the boy barely holding on. Then, with a heavy sigh, he followed Violet out.

**********

Cintra, 9th of Harvestide, year 305 UC

Veron stood just outside the interrogation room, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze drifting to the door as he waited.

Four days.

Four days of nothing. Bryan was no longer interesting to him; the boy had gone from a curiosity to an annoyance.

At first, Veron had been impressed by Bryan’s ability to endure—no food, no drink, no words—but now, his patience was wearing thin. Bryan had become a vacant shell, staring at the table as if waiting for the world to end. And Veron hated waiting.

He wished that the mage would hurry up and arrive.

When Veron had put in the request, Kayle had questioned him the next morning, demanding to know why he needed such a rare asset. All Veron could offer was a half-truth: that certain memories needed extraction. It was a reasonable enough excuse. Even Kayle couldn’t argue with that.

Mind mages—rare people, one in a million. Dangerous too.

Their abilities were so powerful that any mage capable of tampering with minds was kept under strict observation. One rogue mind mage could rewrite history, implant memories of entire kingdoms under their rule, twist the will of others to fight on their behalf or strip a person of their identity, leaving them empty husks, unable to speak or fight back. The Inquisition held a small number of them—ten, maybe twenty. Veron didn’t keep count anymore.

Turning, he felt it before he saw it. Someone entered the room, a man front the looks of it. Through the pale blue mask, Veron could see the man’s green eyes. Peaking through his long blonde hair were pointed ears that seemed to droop down.

‘Elf.’

All the mind mages wore the same mask and bore the same codename—Mind. They weren’t individuals, not to the rest of the Inquisition. The only way you could distinguish them was by their race.

“Are you the one that requested me?”

The man asked with a voice devoid of any emotion.

It was a shame, Veron hoped this one would have some sort of personality but that was not the case here.

"I am. And before you ask, we’re not doing the whole ritual the Inquisition requires for authorization to use your powers. I’d rather skip the tedious questioning. So let’s pretend we went through the hour-long conversation and just get on with it.”

The mage nodded once. That was good enough for Veron.

“Good. I need you to do multiple things. First, extraction and display. Extract the boy’s memories for the past three months and show me only the relevant ones for this case.”

He reached inside his robe, pulled out a small file, and handed it over.

“Here’s all the information you need. After we’re done, I want you to forget it all.”

The mage took the file, leafing through the few papers inside with unsettling speed. Within seconds, he closed it and handed it back to Veron.

“Is that all?”

The mage asked, his tone still devoid of life.

Veron leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.

“No. Once the extraction is done, go back to his birth and erase everything. Wipe his mind clean. I want a blank slate to work with.”

If the boy’s memories were erased, Veron could mold him into the perfect weapon—the greatest the Inquisition had ever seen. It wasn’t every day that someone awakened their abilities so young. The boy’s potential was a gift Veron intended to exploit.

“You are not authorized to request such an act without permission from the Grand Inquisitor. Which you do not have.”

Veron sighed.

There were rules, too many rules and each one had to be abided by. Veron had his own thoughts on the matter, but this was not one of those rules he could skirt around.

Speaking to Kayle about what he wanted was out of the question. He’d much rather work on this project alone, and hand him the finished product once it was done. That way he could take all the credit.

“Fine.”

Veron relented, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice.

“Then what can you do? I need him as close to forgetting everything as possible. The boy won’t speak, and I need that fixed.”

The elf tilted his head slightly.

“Without knowing the root cause, I can’t guarantee results. Full erasure is not authorized, but I can seal his memories. Not all of them, though. It depends on the emotional depth and how ingrained they are. The more emotional attachment, the harder it is to seal.”

Veron mulled this over for a moment before nodding.

“That’s fine. Find the best point in time you deem suitable and seal as many memories as you can. Then implant new ones. If that’s too much, just create a false event—something where I save him, so he feels bonded to me afterward.”

The mage’s deadpan voice offered no reaction to Veron’s request.

“Can do, but it’ll take time. Ten hours, maybe more. Will you wait?”

Veron chuckled darkly.

“And leave you alone? Good one.”

He gestured toward the door.

“You may enter.”

The mage raised his hands, revealing two dull metallic bracelets—magic dampeners. Veron reached out, undoing them both, allowing the mage to access his full power. Instantly, a dark glow lit up the mage’s eyes, casting purple light that shimmered across the floor.

Veron rolled his eyes at the display.

“Are you done? You didn’t think I’d meet you without protection in place, did you?”

The mage laughed, which told Veron the man did actually have a personality behind his dead tone.

He just tried to break into Veron’s mind and potentially fuck him sideways, but Veron did not mind. He had protection in place if something like this happened, and the mage's spell had no effect on him.

Pressing a button on the wall, Veron opened the door to allow the man entry into the room that held Bryan.

Once inside, the mage came up behind the boy and placed both his hands on the side of his head. His eyes glowed purple once more, but this time, there was an immediate reaction.

Purple tendrils, like wisps of ethereal smoke, slithered from underneath the mage’s black robes, creeping their way toward Bryan’s ears and nose, moving with a serpentine grace.

The boy’s body jolted violently as if struck by lightning, his mouth opening wide in a silent scream. His eyes rolled back into his head, only the whites visible, while his entire frame convulsed, jerking in the chair.

Bryan’s body shook so violently that the metallic table rattled, the chains binding his wrists clinking in rhythm with his spasms. Foam began to seep from the corners of his mouth, dripping onto the table in thick, frothy drops.

Veron watched as everything happened with indifference. The boy’s suffering, his violent reaction—it meant nothing to him. He wasn’t here for empathy or concern.

He was here for results.

The mind mage was scouring every corner of Bryan’s mind, from his earliest memories to the present.

Nothing was hidden from his probing—every thought, every emotion was laid bare. Secrets Bryan himself might not even know he held were being torn from the depths of his mind.

Four hours into the extraction, the air began to distort. Shadows deepened, and from the floor, tendrils of black smoke rose, as if conjured from some nightmarish plane. The smoke twisted and writhed, crawling its way up the legs of the metallic table, solidifying into small, distorted figures.

The smoke swirled into the form of a woman, walking down deserted streets. She moved quickly, stopping in front of a building and laying something—a small bundle—on the steps. With a swift knock on the door, she vanished into the night. Moments later, another woman appeared in the smoke, opening the door and taking the bundle inside.

The black smoke kept forming new images, showing moments of the boy's life briefly, never stopping.

The images shifted without warning, transitioning to a scene where Bryan lay on the ground, beaten and bloody. A woman rushed toward him, trying to intervene, only to be struck down by a man with a cane.

A moment after those same men who were beating the boy were killed as small blades in the shape of a crescent moon cut through them.

‘So, he did awaken and kill the noble.’

Veron put a theory together when he saw Bryan’s abilities on the train, but it was nice to know that he was right.

When people awaken their abilities, they have no control over them and it happens anytime during puberty. The strength they show during their awakening is a good indicator of how strong their ability is at the start, not what it could become.

For Veron, he froze his entire bed when his ability first manifested itself. Now, he could freeze a person solid with the same spell, under the right circumstances.

That was after he trained for years.

As for Bryan’s ability, it was already deadly starting out. He could not help but wonder how much more powerful it would become as time went on.

Ten hours later, Bryan’s head dropped onto the table with a dull thud, his body limp and lifeless. The mind mage withdrew his hands, and the tendrils of purple ether receded back into the dark folds of his robes.

The mind mage walked towards where the door was, and Veron let the man out.

Raising his hands, Veron put the magic dampener bracelets back around the man's wrists.

“How’d it go?”

Veron asked.

“Everything you asked for is done. He will remember everything up to the point where he killed those men. Beyond that, his memories have been altered. Instead of sealing them, I chose to replace them. The best lies are always built on fragments of truth.”

The mage replied in a flat tone.

“Meaning?”

“As you saw, that woman rescued him after he dealt with those men. I altered that memory. You were the one who saved him, who took him under your wing. The other men in his memories were replaced by figures within the Inquisition. He now believes he was trained by them, and he knows everything he needs about the organization—its rules, its purpose, and even a few fabricated friends who are conveniently absent, off at other training sites.”

Veron nodded, it was more than he asked for but good enough for what he needed.

“Very well. When can I talk to him?”

The mage shrugged.

“Whenever he wakes up. It could be five minutes, it could be five hours. But be warned—he wanted to kill you.”

Veron chuckled at the notion.

“He’ll have to get in line if that’s what he wants.”

The mage allowed himself the faintest hint of amusement.

“Don’t worry. I took that rage and turned it into loyalty. He thinks you’re his father now.”

Veron’s laughter died in his throat.

'Father?'

The word echoed in his mind.

He hadn’t planned for this—he hadn’t asked for this. For a moment, he stood still, caught off guard. But then, with a shake of his head, the unease faded. It didn’t matter. The boy was his to control now, father or not. The loyalty was all that mattered.

Veron shook his head, dismissing the thought.

“Good. That will do nicely.”