“Wait, so let me get this straight.” Lina pursed her lips, frowning, everyone frowned all the time. Tyr noticed how uniform expressions were among humans and otherwise. There was nuance to the movements of their facial muscles but he didn't know how to articulate, they all looked like frowns and wiggling eyebrows to him. She seemed pensive, skeptical even. “You recall this memory even from the perspective of others? Isn't that a bit far fetched?”
“Not really.” Tyr replied. “It's like... It's not my own memory, I am looking at myself from the sky in my dreams. Every time I sleep, more comes back to me, I can even move around and experience things happening in other rooms when it happens. Like a ghost.”
“Do you think you're a reincarnated person, from the past maybe?” Lina asked. “It happens, believe it or not. The clans say so, at least, I don't exactly have the closest ties to them though.”
“No.” Tyr shook his head. “I think...” That's when he remembered what the others had said, insisting that he never tell anyone of his aspect. Iscari included, never let them truly know how it was defined. “My bonds with these people give me the ability to share some sort of sensory input with them. Right now, I can feel Tiber, Okami, Samson. It's like buzzing, static in my ears, but it lets me know they are still alive and I do possess the ability to care for them enough to be glad for it. I suppose?”
“Is there a point to any of this, regardless?” Lina asked with a sigh. “Hearing about how you managed to chop a farm in half is super interesting, but I can't say I wasn't already aware of how ignorant and impulsive you are. Primus' are strong, everyone knows that.”
“Yes, if you let me finish.” He took a drink of water from the steel canteen he carried. The water in these lands was slightly alkaline, rich in minerals. It suited his taste quite well, this 'spring water'. For water... It was surprising how there were other kinds of water, each variety tasting so different. Temperature being the difference between all manner of flavors...
“Er, sorry...” Lina said. “But it's got me thinking about your magic, you know – the kind that you use. It's strong, right? But there's also a drawback. It's not as specific as my own magic, or that of any other human I've ever met, and it's always predicated on pure elements. Do you use high magic?”
“High magic?” Tyr raised an eyebrow. “What is that?”
“It's the kind of magic that elves and dragons supposedly used. Stuff that could destroy whole cities with a single spell, but using it at a lower level is supposedly hard. The inverse of human magic. Simple on a macro-scale, but the opposite for small phenomena, because it has something to do with spiritual enlightenment, right? That's why elven children are said to be the strongest among their entire race. You told me you have a bloodline, and I said you might have some elven blood in you. I think that's what it must be, high magic is also inconsistent and exceedingly difficult to fine tune.”
“I doubt that, and I doubt elves even exist.” Tyr shook his head. “My father says that our bloodline is 'pure'. I've asked, they say they run tests for these sorts of things before a marriage. Primus' have taken wives of other species in past eras but if they'd ever bred successfully, they've always had daughters. On top of that, a dwarven merchant once told me that elven magic is actually very weak. That they are shit at it, so they use ancient artifacts to make up the difference. That they are very strong physically, but not talented in the arcane.”
Then again, he'd been told a lot of things about 'elves' and still had never seen one...
“Ah... Okay. Please continue.” Lina wasn't convinced. Tales abounded about the elven kingdom and how magnificent it was. So strong that even the primus' wouldn't venture too close to the border.
She'd observed Tyr closely for weeks now, and there were subtle differences in appearance alone, even if she ignored the unique magic. His canines were exaggerated, not quite so long as a beastkin but some place in between, and the grisly process of tearing him apart had given her an even closer look. Inside, him, that is, with the skin peeled away and the flesh coming together like worms of gelatin.
A normal human only had 9 leg muscles, but Tyr had over 40 individually segmented pieces there, his calves containing 8 of these muscles alone. His spine was thicker than it should be, and his rib cage sat in six much wider plates rather than 12 pairs. He appeared human, but internally – his organs were not quite in the right place either.
He also didn't seem to ever use the bathroom, and more than once she'd noticed the piercing glint of his eyes glaring at her through the darkness. Men slept, even heroes slept – but Tyr seemed to have no need for it. For weeks, he'd remain awake, always watching something, or sitting up in the tree – claiming that he was 'talking to the birds'.
Strength always came with a reaction of energy. There were men who were strong, typically called 'adepts' or something like that – either through spira or mana. Lina knew of the former in theory, she was the daughter of a primus and while he was a poor excuse for a father... Regardless, a divination spell or detection array would sense it. Tyr was naturally powerful, and at times he would do bizarre things like rake the side of a tree with his bare hands and leave a weeping gash in the bark to serve as a guideline. No energy necessary, just pure physical force.
Once he activated his infusions, Tyr became a beast far beyond that of a magus, if only in speed if not in strength. Purposely breaking his bones or dislocating joints to avoid strikes – calling that practice.
It was unnatural. Or rather, the contrarian inside of her, perhaps that was natural? After all, a bear swiping through the river in search of fish wasn't using mana or any other form of energy...
Well... Only time would tell, perhaps all primus' were like that. Tyr was superhuman, capable of great feats, the only reason he hadn't seemed to do much with it is because he took these amazing abilities for granted. Once he got a proper grasp on his mana... Lina had no idea how strong he'd become, a primus that could use that kind of magic silently?
–
There was a mountain, a lonely spire with no range, sitting in the middle of a flat expanse of forested plains. A seat of emerald green clashing against the blue of the Sapphire – awe inspiring in it's beauty. It looked out of place, smack dab in the middle of Harani lands with none of the telltale signs that one should be there at all. Below it was a body of water that widened in the middle before thinning again.
Shaped like a teardrop, a largest city seated on the thinnest and northernmost part. To the north, the wide blue ribbon of a river flowed through the city and into the 'tear', and to the south it flowed into another series of lakes. Ending at the mountains visible as a small gray line at the horizon. From the northern sea to the Taldarim's, by far the longest coherent waterway in the entire empire. Perhaps even the world.
Riven was the name of the city that dominated this waterway. The center of trade in the central empire. For all its convenience, the eastern sea was rarely used. It was thin, stormy, and too dangerous. Where there weren't pirates, there were monsters, and it wasn't like there was much out there to trade with in the first place.
Arendal, the land of cheery open fields, and the best climate for mass cropping would bring their horses and linens to Riven, for transit north to the sea via barge. They, Arendal, ruled the northern forests to the far east, tribute from the lesser nobility coming in the form of ironoak, used to build the high masted and multi tiered ships of the Harani. Their lumber was famous, but Arendal's warhorses were legendary. All these cities part of the wider network of trade, feeding the breadbasket of the empire.
Gothen, east of the Talon and near a dwarven clan, trading mostly in finished goods, steel, the rare mithril ingot, tools and pottery. It was built in a valley between many mountains, in a rich clay delta. Every one of them served a purpose, and trade in Haran had always been good, it was an empire of plenty.
Tyr was caught of guard by the size, the clash of colors, and more people than he'd ever seen in his life. Anxiously tapping his small fingers on the side of the carriage as Tiber held onto his belt to ensure he didn't fall out.
There were other cities, Northwind at the mouth of the river that fed into the northern sea, built into the highland cliffs that overlooked that a expanse of blue. But for the most part, cities in the east were rare. It was one of the safest places in the known world, courtesy of the terrain, and a single shared border.
Only a handful of population centers were necessary, the rest were just towns or small villages dotting the landscape. The colleges watched over them all from their twin seats of Arendal and the Talon, and then there were the ruins of old Sinea. A shattered city of ghosts, so the rumors said. Nobody went there except for the bravest adventurers and treasure hunters. Not many returned, whatever the case.
“They call this lake the Sapphire, my boy.” Rufus puffed out his chest with pride, it was good to be home again. Riven wasn't the most impressive city, not when compared to the capital, but it was home. A place of bridges and decks arching over the water, just high enough for the barges to pass beneath. It was wealthy, claiming dominance over all eastern trade and serving as a way station unlike any other in the kingdom, it's people kind and humble.
Down to earth. They claimed themselves an 'eastern' city. Even in Haran, there was a separation of culture between the regions. The Goldmane's had ruled this city for uncountable generations and had always been good to their people, and they were incredibly proud of what they had. “Do you know why?”
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“Because it's blue... I mean, come on.” Tyr pointed. “How obvious can it get?”
“Actually...” Tiber chuckled, adding his two cents. In the weeks of travel he'd ingratiated himself well with the prince. The old man wasn't so bad, either. Smart, and not worthless with a blade. Though he used a flanged mace and a diamond shaped buckler instead of a proper 'long'. Well... It didn't matter. Man smash skull with heavy stick good. “They call it that because the chief native export of Riven is a rather unique mana crystal formation called the star sapphire. They are very popular in the successor states. Those little islands that dot the interior of the lake are riddled with underwater caverns full of water attuned mana crystals. Some say those underground springs stretch on for dozens of miles. They used to be filled with kappas, but now they are fairly safe.”
“Aren't you quite educated?” Rufus chortled happily, nodding in agreement. “It is as he says, my prince. Riven is one of the oldest cities in the empire, even older than the capital. Rumor has it that it used to be the center of all adventurer activity in the whole northern half of the continent.”
“What's that, then?” Tyr pointed. Just at the horizon, there was an incredible long stretch of half demolished brickwork of dizzying proportions. A wall that must have been dozens of meters tall at least, at one point. He knew that in the northern mountain just peaking over the rolling hills, visible from their vantage point on the ridge, was the 'Talon'. The name of both the mountain and the massive keep that sat atop it. Home of the wardens and one of the largest mage college installations in all their lands. Tyr couldn't see that, though, but he'd always wanted to. It had been with great disappointment that his talent with magic had been so little, not enough to be inducted, but he'd begged his father time and time again.
Perhaps one day. He could be a real college mage like Lady Asha!
Rufus shrugged. “Some people call it 'the wall', not sure what it was used for, though. We don't even know who built it, it predates mankind. It was here when we first came to these lands.”
After that, Tyr had only a handful of further questions, which was odd for him. Simply stunned by the grandeur of all that was the world outside of the box he'd been kept in.
He asked why the mountain looked so lonely, but nobody knew the answer to that question. Riven wasn't just famed for it's star sapphires, it was famed for mana crystals in general. Earth in the mountain, water in the lake so large as to be an inland sea, and rich in small dungeons dotting the caverns of both. It was a city of progress and industry, a logging town grown large and fat through commerce. The outer shell of Riven was crafted almost entirely of hardwood, while the inner was quarried from dark basalt. It gave it an almost colorful appearance, and there were flags and standard all over to add to the beauty.
Flags depicting the various colleges, the raven of Riven, the lion of Goldmane, merchant houses and trading guilds. The people were healthy, in good cheer, and their spirit was as plain as day. In complete contrast to the dour faced men and women of the western empire. It was always so busy, as expected of a city of trade. And loud, something not very common in the capital where moderation was held to so high a standard.
Thousands of people thronged the wide thoroughfares, going about their business, of which there was a never ending supply. It wasn't Karth, in any case. Karth was likely the richest single city in all of the empire, but it was a spiderweb mass of buildings as far as the eye could see, built on those precarious platforms. Wood and stone, adobe and mortar. Here, the city was far more orderly from an aesthetic point of view, clearly planned better from a civic standpoint if nothing else.
“I like those banners.” Tiber chuckled, finding it appropriate. Granted, he wasn't a dull man. He knew every standard of every household throughout all human lands. But here he was, the Raven, about to be entertained by the ravens. The standard of Riven was the raven, but Goldmane's was, appropriately, a golden lion. The same standard of House Faeron, just of a different color and a bit more artistic in design.
They only kept the raven standard flying out of respect for the previous ruling kingdom of the city. In a way, some sort of solidarity on the behalf of the magnanimous Counts and Countesses that had ruled these lands for time immemorial.
There was a man waiting for them. A finely bearded man with sharp eyes and a face that didn't communicate handsomeness, but he was made dashing through force of whatever smith had forged his golden plate, a pinch of personality to add to it all. He was decently tall, well built, thick of limb and full of vitality. Dismounting his mighty black steed with a booming laugh, gripping Rufus in an uncomfortable bear hug.
“Uncle!” Gideon shouted loudly, drawing the older man into a crushing embrace. People all around them laughed, with even a few clapping. Strangers, but the Goldmane's were loved by the common folk. Rulers that gave with both hands, who were fair and judged impartially. Allowed the people their wants and whimsies, always seeing toward their happiness. Count Gideon would listen to even their smallest request, and always did his best to match their expectations of him. A humble, gallant man. One worthy of respect. The youngest arbiter in imperial history.
“You're crushing me.” Rufus wheezed, with Tiber laughing at the ridiculous sight, that taciturn and overly proper butler being manhandled by a younger member of his family. It was a good sign though, to see a bastard so respected, even loved. Things were not so equitable in the south. For what it was, Tiberius was starting to like this place, much to his surprise.
But it was the next individual embarking from the carriage that took the breath of them all away. Tyr looked about, smiling, lost in childish wonder. So many people, so bright an atmosphere. The city was so well organized and the mood was so light. By the score, people began kneeling to the ground in deference to him. The prince and heir primus of their beloved kingdom. Some called out to him boldly.
“We love you, prince Tyr!”
“Long live the prince!”
“Ah! He's so dashing, I want to pinch his cheeks!
“Please don't do that, mother...”
“My life for House Faeron!”
Gideon offered his own respect. Bowing, but not kneeling. What the people did was not necessary, nor would it have been entirely welcome in one of the western cities. Men of Haran did not kneel to anyone but their fathers or gods, not even the primus himself. That's what they said, but when confronted with the angelic form of the young prince, shining and awe inspiring... Heroic, even as a boy – he was always so dashing, ensuring that everyone and everything around him felt so safe and loved.
There was custom, a need to respect the elite, but a kneeling carried a lot of weight in Haran. It was the ultimate show of devotion and reverence, or just plain weakness in the eyes of some.
Things that were lost on Tyr, in all truth, but Rufus was well aware of the devotion they were showing his young ward, and so were they. His people of so a fine city, enough to bring a tear to his eye.
Tyr was indeed great. He, like all their children, was a representative of the future of this great nation. It was a sign that he inspired awe in more than just the servants, who were required to do as the common people were not.
“And this...” Gideon mused, tilting his head back and forth in comical observance of the lad. “No, this could not possibly be my son. Last I remember, our young prince was no taller than my thigh. Who brought this impostor to my city? What have you done with my child?”
“They aren't married yet.” Rufus chided, laughing all the same. It was only a matter of time before their houses were bound in the most sacred of ways. That day would come, and Lady Alexis would grow into a fine a woman as her mother, and Haran would be made even greater for it.
Tyr blushed, resisting the urge to burst into laughter. Gideon was a very friendly man and was always so warm. Just like Regar, his two uncles. Though, by law, the count of Riven was very soon to be his lawful father.
“Hello, father.” Tyr bowed at the waist in respect as he had been instructed.
“Good gods, lad. My people!” Gideon hoisted a giggling Tyr up onto a wide shoulder, giving him a perspective above the kneeling crowd. “Is my son not the most dashing and handsome of all our sons under the crown!? How surprising, I thought they made them shovel faced out there in the west, we must give thanks to our brothers and sisters in Oresund for putting some good looks in him!”
People laughed, of course. The charisma of Gideon was legendary. His two eldest sons standing behind him laughed as well, winking at a waving Tyr. “He is, Lord Gideon! Long live the prince!”
“Well said, good man! And who might you be? I don't believe we've had the pleasure!” Gideon called out. He was always so loud and rambunctious, still young and bright in the eye. Rufus hoped the years wouldn't take that enthusiasm from him, or the grim duty of the arbiter after he 'officially' took that title from his lord father as well.
“Rorik of Riverwood!” The man called out. “Here stationed by the primus' command after the campaign, third captain of the Moon Legion!”
“Ah, good people. Celebrate not just I and the prince, but also the good legion men who keep us safe from all threats. Two cheers for Rorik of Riverwood!”
“Cheers!” They shouted twice, the middle aged man blushing as people slapped his pauldrons and gave him a good word or two. Or three. Well wishes and blessings from every god worshiped in the empire. These people loved their legion men, nationalism was rampant and Haran had always been of a militaristic mind. From east to west, pride in their empire was something all Harani shared.
They departed with a cheer. People rose from their knees and clapped, a trumpet blaring in the streets to see it cleared. Some grumbled, quietly, but those were all foreigners – mostly demi-human, like the dwarves who didn't claim the same faith as humans. Nobody blamed them, a dwarf was a brother or sister in these lands. As for the rest... Well... People were too busy celebrating to chide them for any lack of respect.
Riven was a beautiful, happy place. Full of life and joy. Tyr found himself swept up in all of it as Gideon tossed the smiling boy onto a horse. Departing for the wondrous keep standing tall and proud at the center of the city.
It was better back then, things just seemed... Brighter. There was color to the world and Tyr had eyes to see it, he'd never know what he'd sacrificed until it was all washed away. He'd done so willingly, been the hero he'd always wanted to be. Gallant, noble, and righteous.
Not one of them had thanked him for it. Everything he was, all for them, and yet they'd never know it.
The duality of man. A boy left alone among the ruins and broken corpses of so many, not a single hand to comfort him.
They will love me. I know it. One day, they will look at me, standing tall above them - their savior. And they'll show me all of their colors.
Man does not deserve what I am about to do for them, the sacrifices I've made and the things I continue to do in their name, but I will continue to do it.
Because I have faith.
They will see me.
Please. Can you hear me?
I'm not much for begging but I'm doing it now. LOOK AT ME.
I didn't deserve that, and I see that now.
So I took what was taken, I broke all the laws between gods and men and I was made jagged in the process.
I was five years old.