Corym Lichenwind.

***

<> Eiriol threw her arm towards her screen in a dismissive manner as she laughed haughtily at the extensive effort given by young Morningstar.

It was crass but also correct. Every child of light to cross our eyes thus far only had two or three tricks up their sleeves. No matter how powerful their light and swordplay were, there were some creatures who were simply immune. Those without new tricks would quickly find themselves dead.

<> She huffed in disgust.

Under normal circumstances, I would have loathed even listening to the horrendous dialect of Drow. That went for my sister and every other elf alike. But when the topic was Telin's Champion, it was another matter entirely.

We were unlike the elves who went to Maru. Us and the Drow alike. We were some of the relatively few elves to venture through the rifts for colonization efforts shortly after they appeared. Elves of all archetypes went through all the rifts. Our efforts brought us through the one leading to Nonus, and then eventually here. To an ancient tree that housed a less-ancient Druid with a spectacular dream. He explained that he allowed himself to be cursed for that dream. Something he attributed to our meeting. Disgusting as it was to hear and worse it was to agree to, we helped him achieve his dream. It became reality some three or four centuries later. He gave the families who helped him land as thanks. And then the curse was transferred to us.

Not because of Zorrenor Knagh selling his soul a devil that may or may not have predated Cole of the Nox, but because of our elven cousins. Their tinkering with the rifts first led to our abandonment. Not that we were meant to return in the first place. Later, however, we learned of the consequences our cousins' actions wrought upon the rest of elven-kind. The Eternal came to us with declarations of his champion. Sonorous like that of a celestial, he announced himself to only us elves before he passed on his tasks to us as individuals. Tasks as vague and open to interpretation as any divine decree one could hear.

'Hear me, Eternal o' Telin! The year is both 999 and 1492. Birthed be my blessed Champion, bearing judgment o' mine. Pave for this road, vivification of material.'

I experienced a flash of light at that moment. A light that faded to reveal a divine stag with opalescent antlers and eyes filled with countless motes of brilliant light that stared into the depths of my being. The Eternal tasked me with teaching their Champion of our engineering. Later, I came to learn that my Sister's task was to show the Champion how to access the Faewoods and teach them about its creatures. The Drow was tasked with teaching them something else, though the subject of their instruction was something she never shared. Lastly, the High One was tasked with teaching the champion Ritual Fae Magic. That came as a rightful shock on its own, but we had gained solace at the time by the fact that the higher rituals needed the assistance of other elven mages to do properly.

Now that the appointed time was near and the preparations were complete, many of us could not help but be nervous. Except, of course, the Drow. So strong was her excitement at the Champion being of the same archetype as her that she was completely uncaring of the fact that he was male. Like all of us, I first chalked it up to pride causing her to voice such speculations. Although now, none of us could hide from the truth. Amun of the Nox was Telin's Champion. That put Lance Morningstar's victory over a Red Oni in the back of our minds and the fights of a mere Kobold and Lizalfolk even further back.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Quite amusingly, it was in the back of the minds of the humans as well. Though for completely different reasons than us. We were simultaneously relieved to be near the end of our duties and anxious to learn of the judgment Telin's Champion would bring. The humans were terrified of either or both outcomes of a situation their beloved leader and the Headmaster walked them into. And Doyle Wolfgang, the poor soul, was caught somewhere in the middle. Trapped beneath the webs of Eiriol's deceit. She was spreading chaos for the sake of passing the time. Something Drow excelled in and something Wood Elves normally cared not for. In this case, however, it at least afforded us a source of amusement until we were able to return to our kingdoms and suffer through the days until the ritual.

Gods knew we needed it.

***

Titus 'Storm King' Zlock.

***

"You seem on edge."

In perhaps I don't know how long, I glanced away from a screen I had hardly been focusing on. A subtle movement of the eye, it was, enough to move me toward the sound of Mack's voice while keeping the large body of Zeke Silva within the frame. Judging from his position, he hadn't been in focus for long. Meaning, I remained in a daze for upwards of an hour. Two encounters. I missed the encounters of a Lizalfolk and a Kobold, so not much was missed. But now was the final encounter of the day.

Zeke Silva was recommended by Zeff Yurich to face a powerful devil. An obvious ploy to lessen the shock of suggesting Amun take care of the Bairn. And it worked. There was no way the Optimus Regni would have been willing to bring such fiends remotely this close to Polaris for one as untested as Zeke Silva, which only served to increase their likeliness of agreeing to an immediate solution once they learned of a larger, uncontained threat. After a few days of simmering, however, many opinions were beginning to leak through the walls.

I looked at Silva smirking at a steel golem and could already see the outcome before it happened. The construct fell from a single blow from Zeke's magical fist. An unsurprising feat coming from a child of the legendary House of Silva. However... "I have a bad feeling, Mack."

"About the Bairn?" He plopped down next to me with a heavy sigh.

We were in the annex for once, in one of the dozens of lounges afforded just one of the Guilds of Polaris. Here, it was barren and empty. Silent enough to calm the storm brewing in the mind and possibly silent enough to find a way to fix things.

"Can't say I agree or disagree." He continued past my silence. "But it is curious. The elves are tolerating each other. The first-year instructors are stressed and the H.M. is cooped up in his office."

"I spoke to him."

"Oh?" Mack's face went serious for once. If only for a second before his usual kiddish smirk probed me to continue with no wordplay involved.

"He was unyielding." I felt myself sigh in defeat. A shameful feeling. "He told us to create or summon a beast able to test Amun. Or break the rules."

"An ultimatum?" He scoffed in false disbelief. "Wow. A fiend's a fiend, huh?"

"Mmm," I grunted. Neither a confirmation nor a denial, by my standards at least. "Something is amiss. The headmaster and the elves know what it is."

Perhaps Emperor Morningstar as well.

"And Wolfgang?"

"The Under-Elf is toying with his mind." I sighed. "Giving him just enough information to obsess over, but not enough to make a full answer."

He snorted out a laugh and shook his head. "As they do."

"And Amun?"

"He's been splitting his time between the library and a training room." Mack shrugged. "Or, he goes outside to smoke and lose himself in a daze for a while."

"So, he doesn't know?"

"No sign that he does." Mack shook his head. "But, the other guilds have got me thinking-"

"A rarity!" I attempted a chuckle.

"Yeah." Mack turned away with a sigh of his own. "Amun possesses arcana, right?" He turned back to me with raised brows that formed a pit in my gut.

"Correct." I nodded.

"And the Bairn is at the base of the mountain?"

"At the base of the range." I nodded again, slower this time. Inversely in relation to the enlarging pit. "Yes."

"Would his magic not attract the Scourge?" Mack finally asked. "That seems to be the worry on everyone's mind."

"Dragons are known to either hibernate or needlessly rampage after kicking out their young," I quickly said, though I knew it was a paltry excuse meant to deny the seed that had already been planted.

"And the Guardian keeps her from doing the latter, that's true. But." Mack protested. Leaned forward in his seat. "It's arcana. What do you think she'll do when she feels a burst of something that strong in the heart of her territory infused with death?

"We may have a fight on our hands, Titus."