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Arthur Leywin
When my mind finally clawed itself from the slog of unconsciousness, the first thing I noticed was how much I could feel.
Not in my body–though that felt absurdly heightened, too–but in the world around me. I blinked weary eyes as the sensation of it all–fire, water, earth air, and something even more–pressed against the back of my skull. It was as if I was trying to taste a hundred different flavors at once while simultaneously able to perfectly distinguish them all.
On instinct, I checked my core and…
No longer was the center of my strength a bright silver lined with cracks. No, it was a brilliant, burning white.
The white core–the greatest peak a mage could reach. The highest power possible for a human being.
And I’d done it.
I opened my eyes as I groggily pulled myself to my feet, and had to blink as I took in the doors to the Triunion Council room. Because not only could I feel the mana all around me, each particle like an all-consuming rush of energy, but I could see them too.
Like Realmheart, I realized, still trying to understand what exactly had happened. But not exactly like Realmheart, either–I could see how the red motes of fire mana swirled around the torchlight, eddies of green wind mana carrying blue water mana about in gentle waves as yellow earth mana clung to the ground. But I didn’t feel that overwhelming rush of power; of insight. This was simply visualization.
But between the blues and reds and yellows and greens, there was another color, just barely visible. I thought I caught flashes of purple between them all.
Aether, I thought, watching those flickers of purple with wide eyes. Yet I shouldn’t be able to–
“You know, I’ve waited a very long time for this moment,” a smooth, feminine voice said from behind me. “And now that we’re finally here, you won’t even give me the time of day. I’m hurt, Arthur.”
I stood ramrod straight, a tingling sensation like innumerable insects crawling down my spine clutching at my bones. I felt a horrid state of wrongness overtake me as those words caressed my ears; so smooth. So confident.
I turned robotically, the room spinning as every single ornament, decoration, and flux of mana seemed to converge on a single being.
A girl watched me from on high, lounging in the centremost chair on the massive table. She appeared to be in her mid-teens, just a bit younger than me–but the aura she projected belied her youthful appearance. Her choppy, wheat blonde hair seemed to shimmer in the light like gold, and the onyx horns stretching from her head drank in every iota of reflected yellow. Any glow that managed to escape the trap of her horns was cast further into oblivion by the deep shades of her dress. The windows far beyond outlined her in the light of the setting sun, making her seem like a dark blot eclipsing a star.
And her eyes–they were red. As red as blood left to dry and pool around a long-dead body.
I knew immediately this was Sylvie. This should be Sylvie. But the way those eyes–each the color of curdled blood–sparkled with quiet mockery was not Sylvie. The way the barest edge of her lips curled up in a knowing smirk showed none of the compassion I knew permeated every ounce of my bond’s expressions.
This was not my bond.
And in their hands was a pure, ripe apple, as deeply crimson as a beating heart.
I squared my stance, feeling my mana roil in my chest as I held a hand out to the side, prepared to summon Dawn’s Ballad should whoever this was try and make any sudden moves.
Even as I faced the being possessing Sylvie’s body with my magic flaring and clear readiness for combat, they didn’t move, aside from twisting the apple in their hands. They stared down at me as if I were a particularly interesting bug, the malevolence deep in those eyes making my newly-white core tremble in my sternum.
“You aren’t Sylvie,” I said slowly, ready to call my weapon, “so who are you?”
The being in my bond’s body tilted her head. “You don’t know, Arthur Leywin? You’re quite intelligent for a lesser, aren’t you? Take a guess.”
The revelations of the past few days slammed back into my mind one by one like sledgehammers. Of all that had transpired between Sylvie, Toren Daen, and what he’d spoken of.
My eyes narrowed, and I called the mana around me to my will as I summoned walls of earth to block off all the nearby exits. I finally called on Dawn’s Ballad, keeping it between me and the monster possessing my bond.
“Agrona Vritra,” I said, suddenly beyond sure of my guess.
Sylvie’s horns split the setting sun’s light as Agrona chuckled lightly, the sound of my bond’s voice all wrong. “You should relax, Arthur Leywin. I could have used this body to kill you while you were drooling on the floor mere minutes ago, if I truly wished.” Agrona twisted the apple in his hand, inspecting it with inquisitive eyes. “Though I can’t use mana in this form, even if I wanted to. If I wanted to have my way with you–if my tastes flowed that way–it would be quite difficult, don’t you think?” he asked, raising a wheat-colored brow as he shrugged.
I snorted in disgust, but didn’t allow anything else to show on my face as I conjured a seat of earth beneath me. I made a show of settling comfortably into the seat as I stared up at the ruler of Alacrya, very aware of our positions.
King Grey slipped to the forefront of my mind. His analytical, rational thinking was what I needed to maneuver through this minefield.
He’s placed himself higher than me, I thought, recognizing the height disparity between us two. Agrona watched me from at least ten feet above. He’s made his position clear. He’s presented his statement of where I stand relative to him.
“Is Sylvie safe while you’re possessing her body?” I asked calmly, staring up at the dictator as I set Dawn’s Ballad across my lap. My sword was still unsheathed–a quiet message of my own to the basilisk far above.
Agrona tossed the apple up, catching it as it fell back down. “Sylvie… A good name, I must admit. But yes, your bond is merely sleeping. I’m using a spell I implanted inside of her when she was but an egg.”
I filed that information away for the future. Right now, I needed to stay focused.
“It’s easy to guess that you want to speak with me for some reason,” I commented, projecting a nonchalant air. “Else you wouldn’t have set yourself up so high, presumably waiting for me to wake up.”
Agrona shifted the apple, the rays of the setting sun glimmering as they rebounded off the sleek curvature of the fruit. “I have a few reasons,” he admitted. “But recently I heard a really interesting story. Would you like to hear it, too?” he said, peering at me and allowing his eyes to squint into little crescent moons.
I relaxed my posture, staring solidly at the lord of the Sovereigns. I went over everything I knew about this long-lived asura in my head–that he’d practically brainwashed an entire race of people in Alacrya to do his bidding, that he was on a quest of vengeance to dismantle the asura themselves.
And that he’d reincarnated me into this world, but only for another purpose. To pull Cecilia into his clutches.
And I knew, even if I didn’t want to, I couldn’t afford to let this talk slip by so easily.
“Is it going to take too long?” I asked leisurely. “The sun’s almost set, and I’ll have to be getting to bed sometime soon.”
Agrona chortled. “Oh, you lessers and your perception of time. Always rushing to get this and that done within your stupidly arbitrary frames. Here in Alacrya, the sun set long ago. Strange, that that distant star insists on remaining in the sky here in Dicathen. But no, Arthur Leywin. This won’t take too long.”
Agrona twisted the apple in his hands. “You see, I was told a very interesting story recently by a new acquaintance of mine. A story about two naive lessers, a bountiful tree, a wrathful, jealous god, and a serpent.”
The High Sovereign’s eyes seemed to darken as the rubies within were overwhelmed by shadow. “Do you know the story? It’s a pretty famous one, though not really a local variety.”
I tapped my fingers on the edge of Dawn’s Ballad, unwilling to show how Agrona’s last words had unnerved me. Because of course, I knew the story–the biblical tale of Man’s fall from grace. Of original sin. Of humans daring to partake in knowledge beyond their ken, and being punished for their foolishness.
And it was not a story known to anyone in this world.
My eyes darted to the apple in Agrona’s slender fingers. His smirk widened.
“It appears you know exactly what I’m talking about,” Agrona said, the smile on Sylvie’s face like a disgusting ooze in my skull. “It’s such a great story. A serpent is cast from its throne in the skies of Heaven by a wicked god who thinks they’re all-powerful. But the serpent sees something nobody else does. Our resourceful protagonist perceives all that the vengeful, jealous god has created, and knows that they could pull it to their whims.”
I watched transfixed, my jaw slowly working as Agrona continued his monologue. He rolled the apple around his hand, the fruit seeming impossibly red. Impossibly perfect. “And so the serpent concocts a plan. The god above might detest all things that crawl on the ground, but there’s this one pet project he’s made in a little cage, in a place the god likes to call Paradise, but is actually a zoo. And so our scheming hero comes up with an idea: if he can just ruin that little ‘Paradise’–show the dogs within the truth of their existence–then all of the envious god’s plans go up in smoke.”
Agrona brought the apple close to Sylvie’s mouth. “But the serpent needed a plan. He needed a way to convince the lessers of their station, to tempt them past their cage. And lo and behold, that god made a single rule in all of Paradise.”
Agrona looked me in the eyes as he took a single bite out of the apple. The sound of the crunch seemed to reverberate through the entire Triunion Council hall as if carried by strings of sound magic. Yet for all that I could see the mana twist and ebb around the room, I couldn’t understand how the sound of a single bite could stretch across the castle.
The basilisk inhabiting Sylvie’s body chewed slowly, a single dribble of juice streaking down the side of Sylvie’s mouth like a dragon’s tear. Agrona wiped it away with a single, pristine thumb, before running Sylvie’s tongue along the juice’s trail.
I resisted the urge to shudder in disgust, Agrona’s eyes twinkling with a hint of mockery as I struggled to watch this… monster puppet my bond.
“To never eat fruit from the Tree of Knowledge,” he said at last.
“And what is this supposed to say?” I snapped, sounding far more irritable than I would have liked. The High Sovereign of Alacrya had unnerved me with his comparisons. “The serpent, I understand. The god, too. But who is Adam, and who is Eve?”
Agrona didn’t answer immediately. He simply took another bite of the succulent fruit, humming in pleasure as he swallowed. “I’m just telling a story, Arthur,” he said, his voice chastising. “The serpent is just a serpent; the god just a god. The cage could be anything, really. And the lessers? They’re of no more importance than lessers ever are. Who and what the serpent tempts… that’s entirely up to your lesser interpretation.”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
The room settled into a grim silence as Agrona tossed the apple core up into the air, before catching it with a thunk. Every movement seemed purposefully crafted, each made to sink into my psyche like knives. The way he belittled me–it was almost like he was treating me as if I were a child.
Though I suppose, in comparison to him, I might as well be a child, I reluctantly acknowledged. Those thoughts allowed me a modicum more control. It reminded me exactly what Agrona was trying to do–trying to unbalance me. Why else would he reference a story from my previous life? He was trying to unnerve me with this knowledge he shouldn’t have.
I wouldn’t let it work.
“Except the serpent fails,” I said into the din of silence. “The snake is discovered by the ‘jealous god,’ and punished for all eternity for being greedy and envious. For tainting something pure.” I narrowed my eyes as I stared up at the head of the Vritra clan. “For decaying something that was once whole. That’s how the story ends.”
Agrona snapped Sylvie’s fingers, pointing one at me as he smiled slightly. “See, that’s where it’s all wrong,” he said. “You know, that story was always touted by the god’s worshippers, wasn’t it? They’re the ones who told their side of the story, after all. But nobody thought to listen to the poor, neglected serpent, did they?”
I scoffed, unamused by Agrona’s comparison. He’d enslaved an entire continent to his whims, experimented and toyed with the lives of millions. He had no right to speak as such. “So, what?” I said, my voice disbelieving. “The serpent was justified, all along? The snake was just acting for the greater good of all, hoping to bestow knowledge upon the poor, hapless Adam and Eve? I find that suggestion ludicrous coming from you.”
Agrona shook Sylvie’s head wearily. “You’re missing the point, Arthur,” he said jovially. “In fact, I’d say that the serpent is everything the worshippers say it is. Envious, deceitful, wrathful? Maybe a bit traitorous and scheming, too. Oh, all those are perfect descriptors,” the mad god of Alacrya said cheerily, tossing the apple up into the air.
But when he caught it once more, it stayed there. Agrona’s slight smirk fell away, leaving a face carved of utter stone as those ruby eyes bored holes into mine. “No, the point where the story is utterly wrong? That’s where the gods’ worshippers assume that the serpent can be made to grovel; made to writhe like a worm for eternity. They assume that the story ends there with the serpent’s endless punishment. But they. Are. Wrong.”
Agrona’s hand clenched around the apple, and it burst into innumerable fleshy chunks. The gory sound of the pulped fruit splatting against the ground echoed like a stone thrown into the depths of a cave, reverberating over and over and over.
I could see no movement in the ambient mana and feel no fluctuation around Sylvie’s body. But as the words settled into my bones, I felt my hackles subconsciously rise as, for the first time, I realized I was facing something ancient.
Agrona liked to appear amiable and companionable. He presented a mask that pretended at pleasant sanity, but when that mask came off…
There was just… just darkness. A hungry void seeking to devour. There was the face of a scorned god, angry and malevolent.
And then Agrona smiled leisurely, the earlier display falling away as if it were merely a mask. His lips curled up at the edges, his eyes twinkling as they took in my state. I belatedly realized that my hands had clenched around the handle of Dawn’s Ballad to the point my knuckles were white as bone.
I had to forcefully calm my breathing as I stared up at Agrona, feeling small.
“But that’s all besides the point,” the basilisk said jovially, flicking Sylvie’s hand so that the juices of the fruit splattered across the Triunion Council’s immaculate table. “I came here to tell you something, Arthur–a few things, actually.”
I resisted the urge to swallow. “And what might those things be?”
“You are one of the only two people on this continent I find worthy of my attention,” Agrona said nonchalantly. “And so I’ll give you a little warning. I’ve progressed very, very conservatively in this war so far. Even your little family at Blackbend have been graced with immunity to my forces for the barest time.”
My hands clenched around Dawn’s Ballad as I glared up at Agrona, fury breaking through my mask of Grey as he threatened my family. But he wasn’t done.
“I’m sure you’ve seen a great deal of bloodshed, King Grey. More than most lessers. Maybe even more than most asura. So I want you to understand what I mean when I say that the blood shall flow soon…” Agrona’s smile almost seemed pleasant. “It’s going to be the bloodiest war in history’s tapestry. Numbers cannot fathom the casualties that your continent will face.”
I felt the blood drain from my face as Agrona confidently made his statement. My thoughts immediately shifted to my mother and father–stationed at Blackbend City. How they and the Twin Horns had already lost Adam.
“There will be no surrender,” Agrona continued simply. “No sparing of prisoners. No recourse for civilians. Men, women, children… The serpent will have its fill of the crimson tide.”
“You’re insane,” I said, my jaw gaping as I stared at the architect behind everything. “You’re utterly mad.”
Agrona waved a hand dismissively. “That’s a hypocritical implication coming from you, King Grey. How many bodies did you leave in your wake from presumed insanity?” The Vritra shrugged Sylvie’s shoulders. “You lessers have such a strange predilection for hypocrisy.”
Agrona rolled Sylvie’s eyes, as if dismissing an errant line of thought.
“Regardless, since you’ve done such a good job listening, I’ll tell you something else. The asura of Epheotus that you’ve grown to rely so, so much on? They won’t be coming to save you. Not long ago, a coalition of asura tried to assault my fortress in Taegrin Caelum.”
Agrona leaned forward, that ever-present mocking smirk stretching just a bit wider. “They failed. And now, as punishment for breaking our treaty, they can no longer interfere in this war.”
As Agrona’s words hit me, I resisted the urge to curse aloud. The asura were our greatest allies–our only insurance that this war was an equal playing field. Without them… Without them, how did we…
“So, King of Another World,” Agrona interrupted my spiraling thoughts jovially, “I’ve done my little villain monologue, explaining all of my plans to the valiant hero. I’ve played the part you so desperately need me to. So tell me, what will you do?”
I stared at the ground, my thoughts grinding to a halt as all that I’d learned compounded in my skull. If Agrona wanted to reincarnate Cecilia, if he wanted to bring the Legacy into another life, then I couldn’t allow him. And from what this mad god said, he was ready to reap a death toll greater and more ghastly than any seen before.
The reasons I fought for Dicathen were complicated. I didn’t fight for my continent out of some sense of loyalty. With the benefit of a second life, I hadn’t grown so attached to the land I lived on. It was just earth to me.
No, it was the people who drove me to fight. And as images of Mom, Dad, Ellie, and Tess flashed through my mind–their bodies merely an outline in an endless sea of corpses beyond them–I realized I had no other choice.
“I’m going to fight you,” I said, looking up at the High Sovereign as resolve threaded through my voice. “I’m not going to let you have your way, Agrona Vritra. You’re going to fail–asura or not.”
I’d faced impossible odds countless times. What was one more impossibility?
Agrona clapped slowly feigning joy. “That’s perfect, King Grey,” he said with an air of pleasure. “It’s always Kezess with his grand ultimatums, but I can see why he’s so fond of them. It’s been so long since I’ve found myself having fun.”
I stood from my seat, unconsciously beginning to hover as the mana supported me. My chair of stone fell away beneath me as I slowly rose to meet Agrona’s level. Dawn’s Ballad flashed in the light. I leveled the weapon at the monster infesting my bond like a parasite. “I won’t let you take this continent,” I vowed, my voice even as resolve flowed through me. “Ultimatum or not, I won’t allow a tyrant to tear us apart.”
“I expect nothing less, Arthur Leywin,” Agrona said, those blood-curdled eyes narrowing. “But before we cut this intimate meeting short, I want to correct you on something. Earlier, you asked who Adam was, and who Eve was. That’s the wrong question.”
I had the sensation that this entire encounter had been planned. Agrona had laid each and every piece of our meeting beforehand, meticulously aligning the conversation in the route he wanted. I wondered if this mad god of Alacrya thought he was only playing a part, and this entire council room was his stage.
But as a genuine, easy grin stretched across Sylvie’s face, morphing it into something wretchedly unlike what my bond would ever show, I felt that I was finally seeing a glimpse of the true being beneath it all. “You should ask what the fruit is, Arthur. Because it might just be out there somewhere, waiting for someone to take a bite.“
And then those eyes of ruby finally closed. Agrona leaned back in the chair, that soft, eerie grin still plastered on my bond’s face.
And then Sylvie slowly opened her eyes. She stared at me with a bewildered look, her topaz eyes tracing from the point of Dawn’s Ballad all the way back to me. “Arthur,” she said, “Arthur, wha–”
My bond tripped as she tried to shift from the chair, her arms flailing as she yelled out in surprise. On instinct, I released my hold of Dawn’s Ballad, rushing forward in the air to catch the teenage girl as she almost fell to the floor.
I caught her just in time, feeling her emotions as they surged across our tether. Fear, excitement, confusion, and a whole lot more confusion layered on top of that.
I slowly floated down to the floor, holding my bond close as I did so. She clung to me, the grip of her fingers uneven and unsure as I finally settled down.
So that’s what it’s like for a white core mage to fly, I thought. I could get used to this.
I looked down at my bond, separating and putting a bit of distance between us. I held her solidly by her shoulders as I stared into her bright, yellow eyes, trying to find a hint of red.
“How long are you going to keep staring?” she sent me over our mental tether.
It occurred to me belatedly that the emotion I felt over our bond felt much more… nuanced. More whole and complex as she unconsciously sent her emotions over. It was strange, feeling another being’s emotions. That fear, uncertainty, confusion…
But that wasn’t what was important right now.
“Sylv,” I said, entirely serious. I could come to terms with her human form later. I had more pressing matters to talk to her about. “What do you remember last? I need you to tell me.”
My bond opened her mouth to speak–and I belatedly realized she no doubt felt my own mixture of fear, resolve, and burning fury in the aftermath of my talk with the leader of Alacraya.
Her wheat brows furrowed–this time in a way truly reminiscent of her, and not some puppeteer, and she opened her mouth to speak.
“She doesn’t remember anything of your little chat with Agrona,” a gravelly voice said from far behind me.
I turned robotically as the echo of a cane filled the audience hall. I watched with transfixed eyes as Rinia Darcassan, resident diviner and elven seer, plodded forward as if the world itself weighed on her back. Cynthia Goodsky’s old bond, Avier, watched with unblinking eyes as it stared at Sylvie.
The elf looked old–far, far too old. I found myself baffled by how she could even still move. From how thin her body was, I feared that a simple breeze might cause her to break down into motes of dust and drift away.
I was told a story once, wasn’t I? I thought absently, Of what happens when a diviner pushes their abilities too far?
“Sylvie here doesn’t know about the spell her father planted in her when she was but an egg,” the aged elf said, her voice like sandpaper. Those eyes of hers–each a dance of orange and green–dimmed slightly. “But it won’t really matter in a moment.”
Rinia slowly, slowly raised a decrepit hand as she finally reached us. It appeared as if a scarecrow had suddenly come to life and been given the shape of an elf for how creakily that arm shifted.
But then I spotted something on the tip of her finger. A single, burning flare of purple.
My hand latched out, catching Rinia’s arm in my grip. “What are you doing?” I hissed, my eyes flicking to the mote of… of aether at the end of her digit. “What are you planning to do to Sylvie?”
Rinia looked up at me, and her eyes flashed violet. “Saving your bond from a parasite, you foolish boy,” she chastised. “Do you want that spell sitting around in her core, strings to puppeteer her whenever he damn well pleases?”
The color drained from Sylvie’s face as she started to connect the dots.
“Arthur, what is she talking about?” my bond transmitted mentally, struggling to stand upright now that I wasn’t stabilizing her with both hands “What happened while I was out?”
I gnashed my teeth, feeling a bit of lingering distrust for the elven seer. She’d lied to me about Tess, hadn’t she? She’d told me Tess was in danger and that Spellsong was attacking her. In the end, however, Spellsong had been helping.
But ultimately, the elf was right. I’d need to trust her. Sylvie’s needs took priority over my distrust.
I let go of Rinia’s arm. She sagged slightly, rubbing her wrist with a slight wince where I’d held it. “Thank you. And you’ll need to learn to control the strength of your new body. You aren’t used to the strength you have now.”
I frowned. I was pretty sure I hadn’t told anyone about–
Rinia pressed that purple mote of energy into Sylvie’s chest. My dragon gasped as the purple particle sunk in, her hands clenching around my shoulder as her eyes widened.
“Sylvie, are you okay?” I asked, trying to find any note of discomfort over our bond.
“Yes, I’m… fine. It’s just that the aether felt so warm. Not quite like Spellsong’s, but close, I guess,” Sylvie said, still staring at her chest in wonder.
“That spell is gone now,” Rinia said, her shoulders slumping as she leaned heavily on her cane. “Agrona will know of me now, though. He’ll be watching for how I alter things. Change the future.”
It was only at that moment that I fully comprehended what exactly a seer was; how she was able to manipulate aether at all. “Aevum,” I whispered, keeping my hands in a stabilizing posture on Sylvie’s shoulders. “You control aether, don’t you, Rinia?”
Rinia snorted contemptuously, and I got the feeling she would’ve whacked me upside the head with her cane if she could. “I don’t control anything, Arthur. It would be so much easier if I could. But things have changed so, so much,” she said tiredly. “There are still things I can’t tell you. There are more things I must keep secret from you than I can ever reveal. But I will say this, Arthur: not a year ago, Dicathen had no hope of winning this war. There wasn’t even a chance.”
The elven diviner looked into my eyes as I held my bond close, something uniquely endless in the depths of her pupils. “But something changed. Something broke Fate. And now? Now we have hope.”