Cecurro Ayere stood in front of the Omenpath to Torrezon that Vasro had summoned for them, leaning heavily on the nanotech cane that Koda had made for him along with his new prosthetic leg, arm, and fangs. He was about to go home for the first time in thirty years.
He’d face consequences for his frenzy before his sparking. He’d have to face his grandfather. But he would get to see his mother, his stepfather, and his half-sisters again. He would probably have to deal with the fact that his best friend, ruthless as she was, was now working for the Betrayer. He would finally get to tap back into the mana of the land he missed.
He barely heard Vasro and Koda speaking to Lazaro and Arturo. Something about his tremorsense and letting him adapt to the earth again. Not to touch him until he was ready. Which was fair – Kamigawa alone overwhelmed him, stepping back home for the first time would probably hurt.
It would open up well outside of Alta Torrezon, to give Cecurro time to adapt before they got into the city. Arturo and Lazaro went through first. After a moment to steel his nerves, Cecurro stepped into the Omenpath after them.
The first thing that greeted him was the night sky.
The first step onto Torrezone soil dropped him to his knees.
His hands hit the ground to keep himself from falling face-first into the dirt.
Something large. Eight wings, many touching the ground. Deep in a cavern. The Betrayer. Here. In Cecurro’s home.
Emrakul in his mind, louder than ever before. Even facing down Hanweir had never made her song pound through his mind like a Legion charger on a rampage. She echoed, calling to him. Calling for him to give into the madness.
Combat. Fighting everywhere, many against foes that couldn’t be seen in tremorsense. He couldn’t tell who was who, but he could tell when each hit the ground and stopped moving. Most of it was far off, but Alta Torrezon’s defenders were at the wall.
His heart pounding in his chest, no longer still as it should be. His breathing heavy, something that he had trained himself out of years ago. His head ached from the echoing song assaulting his mind.
The collective fury of the mountains’ elementals. They were furious about the strongholds, about the Legion, about the demons. They knew that Cecurro could feel them. He pushed them away for a moment, keeping them separate from the echoing of Emrakul’s song.
The ground under his hands, flesh and metal. The ground that eased up against him, cushioning him like it had when he was young and when he escaped. He dug his fingers down into it.
Cecurro surfaced out of the flood from his tremorsense with a gasp, his eyes flicking up to meet Lazaro’s concerned gaze. A thousand thoughts ran through his head, past Emrakul’s song. Finally, he bit out two questions. “Are we aware that the Betrayer is literally in a cave here? And why do the mountains fucking hate us?”
