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Arthur Leywin

The door of the prison cell closed behind me, the echo of the metal ringing throughout the dim hallway. I let out a sigh, my banished emotions slowly slipping back into place. Like water filling in a parched reservoir, the sensations took a moment to truly settle.

“I don’t like this side of you, papa,” Sylvie said as the barrier between us gradually relaxed. “You’re too cold. It’s… scary.”

A bit of guilt swelled in my chest as the heartfelt emotions of my bond made themselves known over our empathic link. Sylvie was still higher up in the flying castle, nestled around Uto’s horn as she siphoned mana from it. So while she wasn’t here to see me personally, she still had an intimate perspective of my mind whenever I was down here.

Every time I stepped into that cell, I pulled on that buried, ignored part of myself. I called Grey to the surface, suppressing Arthur and his emotions.

So I could do what needed to be done.

I’m sorry, Sylv, I said, gritting my teeth. But you know I need to, just for this.

“Isn’t there anyone else you can ask?” she asked, her voice uneasy. “It can’t always be you. It’s not good for you, Arthur,” she said weakly.

I paused outside the door, flexing my mana and burning away a few drops of black blood from my hands. Uto only responds to me, I thought back. We’d had this conversation before, and I suspected we’d have it again, too. And the information I’ve been able to pull from him, however gruesomely, will help us in this war.

Sylvie simply went silent, her nervous disapproval warring with the acknowledgment of the truth of my words.

In the short time since my first meeting with Uto inside his cell, the Retainer had slowly broken more and more as I returned. The combination of Spellsong’s predictions–or as I’d more recently learned he was called, Toren of Named Blood Daen–and my own victory over the Retainer without any clear sign of loss had sent him raving mad. His mind became a jumbled mess, and those were the perfect times for… interrogation.

Already, I’d managed to extract a great deal from the captive Retainer. The magic system of the other continent was one of the first things I’d managed to divulge from Uto over the course of our sessions. It wasn’t common knowledge amongst our troops yet that the Alacryan way of magic was entirely different: only captains were fully informed of the Alacryan’s inability to use organic magic, with required checks for runes made a standard protocol to watch for infiltrators. But that was the easy part.

I looked at Gentry, the spindly man who, until my intervention, had been in charge of torturing Uto for information. He sat dejectedly near the wall, a slump to his shoulders as I exited the vault.

“You got more out of him, I assume?” Gentry said, sounding strangely sad.

I raised a brow. “I did,” I acknowledged. My mind flashed back to Uto’s broken gaze as he rattled off names. Viessa, Melzri, Dragoth, Cadell, Seris… And there was one more. One he refused to utter, the barest spark of sadistic defiance lighting up in the recesses of his soul simply by the action.

Uto was broken. But not entirely.

“We have names for the Scythes and their Retainers, now. This information will be helpful in knowing our enemy and their capabilities, but…“

Gentry caught my hesitation. “What, did he try and lie to you? If that’s the case, I’m sure I can do something to loosen his tongue.” He rubbed his hands together, looking almost like a scheming rodent.

“I’ll get all I need eventually,” I said with a sigh, dismissing the enthusiastic torturer. I’d always thought it was a good thing to be proud of your job, even in my past life. But Gentry made it… strange. “But Uto was exceptionally hesitant to speak about the newest Scythe that’s set to eventually join the war effort. I couldn’t even get their name, only that the decision to make them a Scythe was only finalized a few years ago.”

Gentry sighed sadly, the opportunity to pull fingernails and break kneecaps taken away from him. “I suppose you’ll be going off to report to the Council, then?”

I nodded as I began to stride down the hallway. I started walking toward the large meeting room the Council always used, already planning what I would say. It was easy to slightly slip back toward Grey as the politics of it all rushed through my mind. I’d spent most of my time in the castle either in meetings with the former kings and queens of Dicathen strategizing or training nonstop with the Elders and Lances on hand.

My abilities to utilize my elemental magic with versatility had improved manyfold over the past month or so. The Elders had been explicitly ordered to teach me their secrets–because there was an enemy only I could face. I’d seen great use of Elder Buhndemog’s force redistribution technique. Camus had begrudgingly revealed the truth of his blindness after being ordered to by Commander Virion. By heightening my sense for wind attribute mana, I could detect attacks and movement before they ever reached me, even if it wasn’t at the proficiency of the blind elf.

I’d grown substantially, but that had been because I was pushing myself so hard. I hadn’t been afforded the time to interact with my sister in the castle very much, which made my heart ache. I was being pulled deeper and deeper into my duties.

Back to Grey.

I’m not him anymore, I thought, rejecting the idea entirely. I have a family to protect. People I care for.

But those thoughts didn’t comfort me as I’d intended. Instead, they made a growing darkness gnaw at my skull.

In my past life, millions had died in the wake of my revenge for Headmaster Wilbeck’s death. Under my direction, Etharia had steamrolled Trayden and scorched the earth, leaving nothing behind. Even as I’d ordered men on the battlefield and directed my troops to cut off supply lines to fortified cities, I’d known my actions to be morally reprehensible. Yet at the time, I simply hadn’t cared.

But an unavoidable question seared at the edges of my mind. If you went to such lengths for those long dead, Grey whispered, how far will you go for those yet living?

I was pulled from my dark thoughts as I spotted a messenger running toward me, his eyes wide as sweat streamed down his face. “General Arthur!” he cried, stumbling over to me. “You’re needed, now! At the Council!” he said, practically hurling the words at me.

I reached a hand out, steadying the man as he nearly collided with me in his haste. “Hold on, soldier,” I said, feeling a wave of apprehension wash through me. “I was just on my way there. What’s this about?”

“The dwarven rebels, sir,” the man said between choked gasps, “they’ve taken Burim.”

—

The Council chamber was deathly silent as I entered. I locked eyes with Virion first, the elf looking exhausted. His face was a mask of quiet dread as he looked at me.

My face likely wasn’t any brighter.

The elven representatives, Alduin and Merial, both stood on their end of the table. Aya wasn’t in her customary position behind her artifact holders, having been stationed in the Elshire Forest for the time being. Alduin was adept at hiding and maintaining his emotions, but I’d learned that Merial was his superior in politics. Despite this, they both were unable to mask the same uncertain and nervous expression.

Blaine looked about ready to explode, his teeth gritted and his face flushed. Priscilla’s hands were laid gently over Blaine’s in a maneuver I’d long since recognized as a subtle cue from the former queen of Sapin to her husband that his temper was showing. The dark-haired councilwoman was always cognizant of her other half’s emotions, acting to counterbalance them throughout her meetings.

But still, she showed a note of her anger on her face.

Behind the Glayders, Lance Varay stood at attention, cool as a block of ice. As I entered, she gave me a subtle nod. She’d been one of my primary sparring partners this past month whenever she was afforded the chance. By clashing blades with the deadliest of the Lances, I’d improved my own spellwork severalfold–namely in honing my abilities to cancel out spells before they appeared through the use of Realmheart.

“Ah, Arthur,” Virion said, surprisingly gruff. “We were just waiting on you. While I’d like to welcome you in and give you a pat on the back, we have grave news to discuss.”

I nodded slowly, my eyes focusing on the map of Dicathen laid across the Council table. “The man who called me here said that the Alacryans have made their largest move of this war,” I said, scrutinizing the dwarven country of Darv with an air of detached calm.

The elven Commander nodded wearily, running a single hand through his shaggy beard. His eyes darkened and the wrinkles on his face seemed to sag even further, his age showing once more as the war dragged him through hell. “You pointed out in our last meeting that the erratic movements and changes in the Alacryans’ attacks on the Wall likely were indicative of a greater change elsewhere yet to come,” Virion said with a sigh. “And it appears your strange knowledge of warfare has proven correct, but not how we expected.”

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In the short month I’d been training, I’d become a more active voice on the Council. Usually, I served as a supporting voice for Virion or gave a more nuanced opinion on matters of troop deployment, and while most of the Council had been hesitant and uncertain about my abilities to contribute–to them, I was a sixteen-year-old boy, after all–the results had quickly made my voice one to be respected and heard.

And unfortunately, it appeared I’d hit the nail on the head once more.

“Except we expected there to be another attack somewhere along the coast of my kingdom,” Blaine bit out, his brows of gray-streaked maroon furrowing in anger. “But instead, there was a strike in the middle of Darv. How could we have let this happen to us? There should have been some sort of preparation. And I heard from my reports that this happened a day ago. Why are we only hearing about this now?”

Alduin was the next to speak up, ever ready to act as a counterbalancing voice to the former human king. “Our network of information within Darv is already strained,” he said sharply. “Added onto the fact that it appears our enemy used diversionary tactics. It was one of my troops who finally managed to escape the city by using their magic to swim up the River Sehz to Blackbend. When they arrived, they were barely conscious and nearly dead.”

“Indeed,” Virion said seriously. “And the tale that brave soldier had to tell was strange. From what he recounted, there were practically no Alacryan troops present in the attack on the city of Burim. Only dwarven rebels set to reclaim their home. In fact, the elf was surprised by the lack of Alacryans.” The old elf paused, seeming to weigh his next words. “And at the head of the assault was Olfred Warend.”

The room became quiet as a grave. The rumors that Olfred Warend had been freed of the tethers of his artifact had been circulating all throughout Darv at a pace that told me it was being intentionally seeded. Furthermore, the word came that it was an Alacryan who had done it–only cementing the necessity of my training even more.

Now that Olfred–the traitor–had appeared to lead a battle without Aldir striking him down with his artifact, all doubts about Aya’s experience were erased.

“We underestimated the dwarven rebels,” Virion admitted, wincing slightly. “Truth be told, none on this council served to view them as a threat, or as a power worth contesting. But now–”

“That’s the point of it all, Virion,” Blaine interrupted, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. When I looked at him, I was surprised to see that his eyes were misty; clouded over with long-gone memories. The anger seemed to have drained from him at the last words, replaced with an emotion I’d never seen on the former king’s face. “Don’t you see?”

Virion seemed uncertain for a moment. “I’m afraid I don’t, Councilman Glayder,” he said after a moment.

Blaine’s eyes suddenly focused as he stared at the old elf. “Back when my father ruled Sapin and drove our troops to their deaths against your forces,” he said after a moment, “I realized that I could not allow his monstrous actions to continue to break the good people of my country. Do you know what I did?”

“You rebelled,” Merial said, sounding strangely interested. “We know the story of your ascension, Blaine. You started your reign by instigating civil war and tearing your father from his throne for his waste of human life. An admirable thing.” There was more than a hint of respect in the elven woman’s eyes as she recounted the tale.

I found myself leaning over the table, invested in my own right. The last war between humans and elves had indeed ended when Blaine executed his father–and it had been passed around as a heroic tale for as long as I could remember. The valiant prince toppling a corrupt tyrant. That action and the times of prosperity that followed had cemented the Glayders–but more specifically, Blaine himself–as an almost revered figure amongst the humans.

But seeing the twist of emotions and raw pain that warred on the old king’s face, I realized that the truth must have been far, far more gruesome than what every child in Xyrus was told as a bedtime story. This man had personally run his own father through with a blade.

Unbidden, I remembered what I had done to Cecilia. I gnashed my teeth, trying to crush those old thoughts. They resurfaced too easily after the mindset I’d taken when torturing Uto. After all the dreams I’d been having.

I made the connection quickly, my finger tapping against the table as I looked at the human king. “There’s some sort of parallel here,” I said, trying to bury my thoughts of the Legacy’s last moments on Earth, “between the dwarven rebels’ attack on Burim and your own rebellion, isn’t there?”

Blaine looked at me, blinking with mild surprise. His eyes–normally hostile toward me by default–must have seen something in mine that kept his anger at bay. After all, I’d been a king once, too, even if in another life. I knew the weight on his shoulders.

“When I first started my rebellion,” the Glayder man said after a moment, “it was not without significant aid from several powerful noble houses. They’d been losing funds consistently as they threw their men into the meat grinder of war. So when I first planned to go to battle, they wanted to fly their standards high and proud, exemplify their contributions, and regain their power.”

Blaine’s hand smashed into the table, making it rattle as he barked the next words. “I denied them that. I forced them to fly the symbol of House Glayder and strip their soldiers of any sort of regalia denoting their family. Do you know why?” he asked the silent room.

“It was so I could make this struggle one of Glayder versus Glayder,” he spat, his temper flaring once more. “Not of the nobles versus the Glayders. And once I’d won my battles, all the people saw was my victory,” he said, his eyes narrowing.

“You’re saying that the Alacryans purposefully withheld their full support from this attack,” Virion said after a moment, “to make it seem like it’s the dwarves’ victory?”

“And now that they’ve captured a city,” Blaine continued, his fists clenching as his nostrils flared, “more and more traitorous dwarves will flock to their cause. Any actions we as the Council take can only be seen as proving their lies correct. Moving troops into Darv will only make the situation worse. That Scythe–whatever their name is–is doing this intentionally. She’s sowing division in Darv.”

“And if she succeeds,” I said with dread certainty, “it changes the perspective of the war with Alacrya as well.” My hands clenched over the table.

It’s confirmed, then, I thought, sharing a knowing look with Virion. It appears Seris isn’t on our side, considering she must have been the mastermind behind this assault.

“Even if we can’t just throw troops at the problem, we still need some sort of response,” Priscilla Glayder said, her icy eyes flashing. “Burim provides the Alacryans with a perfect place to stage and resupply their ships. Sapin’s navy already struggles to match those steamships, and we’ve only been able to maintain control over our shipping lanes and sea routes through numbers and resource advantages. If they can use Burim’s port as they please…”

“We should send a Lance to the area,” Alduin said after a moment. “At least on a reconnaissance mission. We know so little, and we are uncertain of Lance Mica’s allegiances.”

I felt the eyes of the Council settle on me like half a dozen weights. Varay’s eyes narrowed pityingly from behind her artifact holders.

“The mage who returned to Alduin said there was a man accompanying Lance Olfred as they attacked,” Virion said gravely. “One with bronze armor and golden-red hair.”

“Toren Daen,” I breathed, my hands clenching at my sides as grim certainty overtook me.

“Are you ready for a potential confrontation, Arthur?” Merial asked somberly, looking at me. Her eyes flicked to the scars along my throat and hands, remnants of my duel with Retainer Jagrette. Worry danced on her features.

“I’ve done nothing but train for this possibility for the past month,” I said, forcing a smile. “If I am ordered to fly out to Darv, that is where I’ll be.”

—

Talks continued for a couple of hours more as plans were discussed. There needed to be a public response from the Council denouncing the attack and reaffirming their strength. The truth was that the capture of a city made Dicathen appear weak. Incompetent.

We’d broken for a lunch break a short time ago, giving me a chance to stretch my legs and settle my thoughts. I felt a bit of surprise, however, as I noticed a small, white fox trotting down the hallway toward me.

Sylvie? I thought, watching my polymorphed dragon bond as she approached me. What are you doing out? I thought you were locking yourself away to absorb the mana from Uto’s horn.

My bond opted to hop up onto my shoulders, settling herself in the old position she’d occupied on my academy days–namely, right on top of my head. I chuckled as she ruffled my hair, trying to get comfortable on her perch.

“I thought I could stand to stretch my legs a bit,” she replied over our mental link. “And besides, you spend too much time with those old buffoons in the Council. I need to get my allotted time with you, or else you’ll run off and train again.”

I snorted. You know, when you act like this, it's hard to remember that you’re a big, ferocious dragon and not some sort of lazy cat, I thought, feeling a soothing warmth travel across my muscles as I relaxed, thinking days long past. Is the view alright up there? I asked as I started to walk, no particular destination in mind.

“It’s absolutely amazing,” Sylvie said seriously, perching herself like a queen atop my crown. “You’ve gotten a lot taller than the last time I did this. It’s almost fit for an asura like me.”

I raised a brow. Almost?

“One of the nobles here has a small mana beast as a pet,” Sylvie explained. “And she has this strange little carrier backpack that she uses to hold it. I think you should get me one of those.”

I blinked. Sylv, I don’t think Lord Indrath would appreciate me carrying his granddaughter–a dragon that will one day be powerful enough to level mountains–around in a backpack.

Sylvie scoffed out loud, which sounded something like a dog’s cough and a cat’s meow. Don’t listen to him on these matters, Arthur. I may be an asura, but–

Sylvie’s ears perked up as she went rigid atop my head. I could feel her light amusement nosedive into wariness as she spotted something across the hall.

Instinctively, I engaged my mana core as a shadowed figure approached from the darkness. I felt tempted to draw Dawn’s Ballad from my dimension ring, the damaged teal sword my lifeline in any combat scenario.

“A wyvern,” Sylvie said sharply. “I couldn’t recognize it before because I was too young, but now…”

The figure came into focus, hobbling toward me. Elder Rinia used a cane to support herself as she approached, a slight smile on her face as she met my eyes. On her shoulder was a familiar creature–though it took me a second to place what it was. It was Avier, the late Cynthia Goodsky’s owl bond. The owl stared at Sylvie with eerie intensity.

I was immediately struck by how old the diviner looked. She’d been old when I’d first met her, but her wrinkles seemed deeper; her eyes somehow more hollow even as they flashed.

“Hello, Arthur,” she said, her voice rasping. “I was looking for you.”

I shifted, surprised to see the elf in the castle. Now that I thought about it, I hadn’t seen her for several years–not since my trip to Epheotus to train with the asura. I found myself questioning why I was seeing her now.

“Hello, Rinia,” I said. I wanted to smile, but there was something ominous in the air between us. A tension I couldn’t place. “Considering I was in Epheotus for the past two years, I’d imagine that if you were looking for me, it would be pretty difficult,” I joked, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

The elven seer tapped her cane against the stone tiles. Avier ruffled his feathers. “I’m afraid I don’t come with good news, Arthur,” she said sadly. “There’s something I have to tell you–something you can’t tell anyone else.” Her eyes seemed to flash, a purple hue overtaking the strange orange-green color of her irises. “And it could affect the outcome of this war.”