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Aldir Thyestes
The mana arts of the pantheon race were unlike the other races of Epheotus. While the hamadryads focused on cultivating nature and its powers, the sylphs glided freely across the infinite winds, and the leviathans mastered the deepest of unknown depths, the pantheons embraced something more fundamental.
I shifted my feet a fraction of an inch as the head of a spear, red as a shear-thorn rose’s petals, flashed less than an inch from my face. The single eye I kept open tracked its perfect, glimmering edge as if it were moving underwater.
The spear retracted, quicker than a snapdragon wasp’s stinger after a successful kill. Yet the point of this weapon was no unerring stinger. I used minimal movements–bare adjustments of my feet, waves of my hands, and changes to my position–to ward off any and all attacks from the spear.
For most asura, they would have only witnessed a blur as Taci Thyestes’ weapon flashed toward me, attempting to draw lines and cuts across my being. Yet I was graceful as the wind. I was as fluid as water. I was hot as fire, and I was sturdy as earth.
And in truth, I was none of those. I was force itself–every incarnation it could possibly be.
I grabbed the haft of the weapon just as it neared the dark plates of my armor. And then, with the barest exertion on my part, I shifted, pulling the weapon inward and toward my center of mass.
My sparring partner tumbled forward as I pulled him off balance. Taci lost his grip on his weapon as he was forced to raise his arms in front of himself, rolling and readjusting with incredible grace as he shot past me with equally incredible force.
I simply turned, inspecting the young asura with my sole eye as he reoriented, planting his feet firmly on the soft grass beneath our feet once more. The young pantheon’s two eyes narrowed as he fought to suppress an irritated scowl.
I inspected the spear in my gauntleted hand, admiring the craftsmanship. It was one of the eminent creations of the greatest weaponsmiths of the asura, Wren Kain IV. Though the rigid titan had disappeared not long ago, the exquisite workmanship remained.
“The pantheons are blades, Taci Thyestes,” I said calmly, looking my young protege’s spear up and down. “We are the finest weapons, honed until we cut better than any other. It is in our blood to pursue the martial path, to make the most of our gifts. We are force incarnate, young warrior–but you do not seem to understand this.”
We were currently stationed within Castle Indrath, looming over the slopes of Mount Geolus. As the young warrior had partially succeeded in training within the aether orb–he was extracted every few months and allowed time for his mind to adjust before re-entry–now he was granted permission to test himself across the back of the last Great Catastrophe. Few of the rising generation of asura ever achieved such a privilege, even within the Indrath Clan, which spoke to the enormity of my protege’s skills.
The spear shimmered, disappearing from my grip. In an instant, it reappeared in Taci’s outstretched hands. His knuckles were whiter than Lady Myre’s scales as he snapped them shut like a vise.
“You’ve repeated this a dozen times, master,” the young asura said with restrained agitation. He wasn’t even out of his teens–practically a child for an asura. Even with a decade and a half within the aether orb so far, his lack of emotional control was understandable. “But I do not yet understand what you mean. I have been told by many that the force of my blade is exceptional. What am I doing wrong?”
I restrained a sigh. Taci had grown fast, even for an asura. The young warrior had not been given the time to digest the philosophies of our clan, for he outstripped all near his age in martial prowess–and many who were far beyond his age, too.
I locked my hands behind my back. “Come, Taci. Strike at me with all that you have. We are warriors–so let me show you by the blade, rather than simple words.”
Words had their place–but for one as young and brash as my protege, I suspected I’d need to alter my tactics. Adapt and shift to the circumstances, rather than attempt brute force.
Taci settled back into stance, his martial robes shifting. Yet I noticed an air of uncertainty in his olive-yellow eyes. He stood nervously far away from me, clearly worried to strike with everything in his arsenal.
My third eye narrowed slightly as I allowed my chin to raise slightly. “Do you hesitate, Taci Thyestes? Do you fear to swing your blade?”
That was enough. Taci’s eyes hardened into cold amber as he swung his spear, engaging the unique force-type mana arts of the pantheon race. Several invisible arcs of mana rocketed toward me, easily larger than I was. They carved sheer divots through the compacted earth of the training ground, silently humming with power.
I shifted to the side, allowing one to slip just past my nose as I weaved like a sylph through the winds. As the second slice of force approached, I stretched my arms out, twisting as I engaged a current of invisible pressure around me in turn.
Like a rigid rock caught in a slipstream, Taci’s spell was caught in the riptide of my mana. I spun, moving the current along with me like a guiding hand. Like a fish with nowhere else to go, the crescent arc of force-type mana followed my directions as I twisted.
And then I released my encapsulating current of force, having completed a full rotation. The spell was redirected back toward its sender, glimmering angrily as it surged toward the final spell.
Taci’s two arcs collided in an explosion of sound. They obliterated each other in a fracture of glimmering white, as iron meets iron. Wind whipped at my long, white ponytail as the force traveled outward. My third eye narrowed.
I raised a single finger as Taci erupted from the interplay of force, his sheer mana barrier protecting him from the churning energy. His teeth were gritted and his eyes were almost wild as he thrust his spear toward my chest.
As gentle as the winds that rolled across the Cerulean Savannah, I raised a single finger. As Taci’s spear neared my sternum, I pressed it against the underbelly of his weapon, lifting it up with a bare application of force.
The weapon shifted upward, slowly diverted from its course by the slightest breeze before I finally released a spell of my own. Starting from the roots of my feet, a concentrated nova of force traveled along my legs, gained momentum in my chest, and then surged along my arms like a racing dragon, before erupting from the tip of my finger in a wave of translucent power.
Inborn Force–one of the sole remaining secret techniques of the Thyestes Clan. By building momentum in our physiques from the furthest points in our bodies, we could multiply it exponentially upon impact if we were precise. As a simple straight punch engaged power from the twist of the hips, so too did Inborn Force draw strength from the rest of the body.
Taci’s weapon flipped into the air, a spinning arc of bloody red as it tore itself from the young pantheon’s hands once more. Yet before Taci could even comprehend what had happened, I shifted my legs, sweeping them across his broken stance. At the same time, I pushed his chest backward.
Like sticks in stormwind, he buckled, falling flat on his back as his power was diverted. Taci wheezed as the breath was driven from his lungs, a crater opening beneath him as the momentum of his charge was turned against him. The stone rumbled and cracked as Taci blinked, disoriented and dazed from how I’d shifted him.
I held an open hand over Taci’s face as I stared down at him.
“You understand brute force, Taci Thyestes,” I said calmly, “but brute power alone does not a weapon make. We are force incarnate, Taci–and that means all aspects of force.”
I snapped my fist closed. Taci’s blood-red spear, which had arced back down after surging into the sky, was halted from driving straight through his widened eyes as I caught it by the haft.
“A sword will break if one strikes it with a hammer,” I said in explanation. “Steel can only flex so much before it warps and breaks–and such is the nature of all things. So a warrior must angle their blade to divert force, to redirect it. Not once in our spar did I strike you true–I merely redirected you as a swordmaster parries a cut.”
I flipped the spear, holding the bright red haft out to my young student. He stared at it in quiet awe for a barest moment, before reaching trembling hands out to grasp it.
“I think I understand, master,” he said as he pulled himself to his feet, covered nearly head to toe in dust and dirt.
“No, you do not,” I countered simply, brushing off a stray bit of grass from Taci’s shoulder. “But you will in time.”
“As great a teacher as ever, Aldir,” a familiar voice said from the side, the muted sound of applause echoing out. “I see you have only honed the edge of your blade these past millennia. The path of the pantheon is one to be respected, old friend.”
I turned to regard Windsom, the barest smirk gracing my face. The envoy of Kezess Indrath was dressed in his typical dark military uniform, his close-cropped, wheat-blonde hair reflecting the light of the training yard.
Taci’s eyes sharpened as he snapped into a stiff martial bow of respect, his spear ramrod straight at his side.
“It is my duty, and Taci is a worthy student. Though it may be many decades before he blossoms as a true warrior, that is but a blink in the eyes of those such as us.”
Windsom’s cosmic eyes sparkled as he observed Taci with interest. “Come, walk with me. I have some news of the outside world that must be addressed.”
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Sensing the serious nature of my old friend’s words, my expression hardened. “Continue your drills, Taci,” I said sharply, marching toward where Windsom waited expectantly. “We will continue this at another time.”
I left my student to trail next to one of my oldest friends among the Indraths. Though he had spoken his earlier words with an air of levity, I knew Windsom well enough to detect the undercurrent of tension in his voice.
We meandered about the castle for a time, going in no particular direction–or so I thought. But as we finally reached a specific tapestry, I knew the purpose of this meeting.
The famous tapestry displayed Kezess Indrath–young, or as young as the asura could fathom him–at council with his former best friend, Mordain Asclepius.
The Lost Prince.
“You are certain that Aurora Asclepius lives?” Windsom finally asked. “And that she influenced the Lance artifacts?”
I stared at the tapestry, my eye tracing the outline of Mordain’s leisurely form.
And beneath, the golden plaque. Let Rest.
It wasn’t widely known that Mordain and Kezess had fallen out over the topic of the djinn, but more well known was their collaborative effort in the wake of their meeting and resting of animosities between dragon and phoenix clans. The Lance artifacts were one of the sole creations ever jointly constructed by both Indrath and Asclepius, an ingenious melding of opposing viewpoints of aether.
And the artifact that remained in my possession–intended to bind the Lance, Olfred Warend to my will–had been severed at the root.
“I saw her shade,” I said honestly, remembering the ghostly form of the long-gone phoenix defying my attempts to enable the artifact; to slay the one who had dared tamper with the connection. “I know not if she truly lives, but her consciousness persists, tied to a lesser being.”
Aurora Asclepius was one of the few warriors I treated with the highest respect. Her plasma arts–a unique expression of power even among the asura–had garnered her true prestige amongst the martial artists of Epheotus.
Windsom’s eyes narrowed as he continued to inspect the tapestry. “Our spies in Alacrya have reported back hints of a rising power. A lesser called Spellsong recently rocked the stability of the continent, before being sent to war. Lord Indrath believes that this Spellsong is the lesser that you witnessed, and that Aurora Asclepius has somehow… anchored herself to him. Or perhaps subsumed him entirely.”
I remembered as the shade forced me back, her will matching mine as I lost ground in the mental struggle. “You will not halt my son, Aldir Thyestes!” a phantom cry burned across my mind. “His will is mine! And you shall not touch him!”
My hands tensed behind my back. “I believe that the first option is more likely,” I offered. “Though we cannot know the true depths of this. Of what it means.”
Very, very few knew that Mordain had left Epheotus with his clan after discovering the extermination of the djinn. Rumors were intentionally circulated that the Lost Prince had left to join Agrona himself, but those at the pinnacle of politics knew this to be a lie.
Except now a phoenix was sighted, working to further Agrona’s goals. Perhaps the ruse had some truth to it, then?
And now Wren Kain has vanished, I thought with a growing sense of unease. Vanished without a trace or word on his whereabouts. And even with Kezess’ calls for him to return, we have heard no word.
It was well-known that the eccentric titan had a fondness for Aurora Asclepius–better known as Lady Dawn. And in that moment, I thought there might have been some sort of connection.
Aurora Asclepius, I thought, my fists clenching behind my back. There were very few among the asura that I considered the greatest warriors, but Lady Dawn was among those precious few. We had not known each other well, but we bore a mutual respect and understanding for the accomplishments we’d each achieved. Her martial style bore echoes of the pantheons’ philosophy of force, yet she had come to such mastery of her own accord.
Windsom sighed. “Lord Indrath has already decided a path forward to respond to this new development in the lessers’ war,” he said. “If Agrona fielded an asura of his own, even one reduced to a shade, that warrants a response.” His eyes darkened slightly. “For the first time, Agrona himself has broken the treaty. The treaty barring any direct intervention of asura into the war.”
I observed my friend as he turned to me, his head tilted. “Our lord knows what action must be taken next to meet this breach. But I suggested that you, as the eminent warrior and trainer of our youth, would be able to offer input toward this matter.”
I nodded slowly, understanding his implications–and agreeing with them. Almost immediately, my mind flashed to a young warrior who wielded a red spear and knew nothing yet of true force.
But he could certainly learn.
Chul Asclepius
Suncrusher was hot in my palms. That much was normal. As one of the few weapons the Asclepius Clan still bore, it needed to surge with the power of a star.
Yet right now, I could feel the sweat slick on my palms more than just the heat of my weapon. My fingers trembled and my breath was short, each inhale seeming to take more of my strength.
I’d finally resolved myself. Finally determined that enough was enough. My Mother was out there somewhere–and my uncle refused to take action. All the phoenixes in the Hearth refused to take action.
Many times I’d come upon this final doorway, asking myself if I would finally take the step I needed to go out into the unknown. And too many times I’d turned back, too… too afraid.
I glared at the exit to the Hearth. A tall set of black wooden doors were inlaid with silver vines that had seen the rise and fall of ages, a graceful phoenix emblazoned in orange metal. Those doors had remained forever shut, locking me in this prison. Keeping me from the truth. They mocked me, taunted me for my fear. You think you can just leave? they said. Oh, look at little Chul. Look at his cowardice!
“I am no coward, fool door!” I suddenly shouted, the yawning shadow of the vine-clutched wood growing too dark. The sound traveled through the thin cavern walls, echoing in a mocking way. The eyes of the phoenix flashed with contempt.
I am no coward! the stones trilled in their flickering shadows. No coward! No coward! they echoed down and down and down.
Coward! Coward Coward! the doors finally said at last, showing their true beliefs, painting my world in shades of yellow.
I took a single faltering step back as I felt my arms tremble and my core ache, until–
“You are right about that, Chul,” a soft, familiar voice said. “You’re no coward.”
My head snapped to the side, my hands tightening on Suncrusher as I spotted the one who had spoken.
My uncle, Mordain Asclepius, lounged at the edges of the room. His ember-burned eyes watched me with a measure of… sadness, I thought.
“You can not halt my flight,” I said, puffing my chest out as my mana flared. “You made an oath to deliver news of my Mother, and you have failed. I bear every right to leave this place,” I continued sharply.
Mordain sighed wearily, striding toward the ancient doors to the Hearth. I could not sense it, but I knew that nature magic wreathed the doors in a cloaking tangle. The spells woven into the very doors protected the phoenixes of my clan from discovery.
My uncle brushed a slender hand across the doors, almost as if he were a father caressing a child. “I’m not here to stop you, Chul,” he said softly. “I’ve never used force to try and halt you. Only words.”
“Then I must go,” I said, feeling my resolve swell once more. None would stop me from reaping my vengeance; from learning what had become of my Mother. “You claim you do not stop me, so move aside, uncle. Do not darken my path with fell omens.”
My uncle’s hand fell. “I must implore that you stay,” he said solemnly. “Please, Chul. I can promise you that if you remain here, then you will have your answers in time. But you must have patience.”
“Patience!” I yelled, stalking forward, forgetting in that instant the power my uncle kept leashed. But his words had sparked a long-simmering bonfire in the depths of my chest that made my heart thunder with fury. “Always, you tell me to refrain! To watch from the boundary and make informed decisions!”
I marched up to my uncle, my chest heaving with anger as it boiled forth. “But my Mother has been dead for uncountable years! Within this prison of a Hearth, I know not even how long she has been slain, how long her murder has gone unaccounted for! Decades have passed since I have last borne witness to her face because you always demand I wait! And when I question you–as you have always instructed me to do–you tell me that you know not the answers, or that the answers will come! You speak to me in riddles meant to confuse and baffle, and then act surprised when I wish to find another path!”
Mordain weathered my tirade as a solemn monk sits out a storm. When I was done, my body was trembling and my aura quaked. Yet the Prince of the Asclepius Clan simply stared up at me with sad eyes.
“Kezess Indrath rules Epheotus through concrete rules and iron-fisted strength,” he finally said, and it was not the response I had expected. “When one disobeys or moves outside of his vision, they are beaten back into line. And if they are foolish enough to express true individual thought, then they are removed entirely–because there nothing can be suffered outside of Kezess’ vision.”
I blinked, surprised by this train of thought. My uncle rarely spoke of his old comrade, Lord of the Dragons. At any other time, I might have been eager to hear such a story.
But now I saw only another confounding riddle. “I am leaving this place, Uncle,” I spat, marching past the man who had raised me in absence of my father. I stepped before those mocking doors, ready to make my way into the world. I matched gazes with the inlaid phoenix as it shimmered with autumn fire. “You cannot stop me.”
“I thought Kezess’ methods just, once,” my uncle said behind me, his tone soft. “It took me a long, long time to understand how unjust they were. To force another to your whims because they simply cannot understand, or see the same as you… that is the mark of a tyrant. Of a monster.”
Internally, I cursed myself as I paused, unable to wrench myself out of his words. Mordain had a way with stories–a way of drawing me into them even when I wished to escape. Like the torrent of a whirlpool that slowly pulled you in, every word he said made you want to listen.
Mordain waved his hand, tossing something to me. I caught the item, staring at it in uncomprehension. It was a simple bracelet of woven silver vines, but the spells entrenched within were deep with nature magic and confounding mazes. “What is this, Uncle?” I demanded, feeling uncertain from holding the item.
“The Dicathian war hinges on a lack of asuran intervention. That bracelet is woven with effects that will mask your nature as an asura to all who try to pry,” he said softly, turning away. “I will not stop you from leaving, Chul. You are free. You always have been. But you will not find what you seek out in the great, wide world. I hope you will return to us when your understanding has grown.”
I blinked, feeling as if I had been forced into a wrong-footed stance during a spar. I felt as if any words I uttered would be turned around to bite at me, so I simply closed my fist around the silver vines.
Then I gnashed my teeth, my fear of the outside world clashing with my desire to turn around and hurl petty insults at my uncle once more. But too long had I been caged. Too long had news of my Mother’s Fate been withheld from me.
I wrapped the braided band around my wrist, immediately sensing as a sort of filter wove around and through my mana signature. I scoffed, then laid my hands on the ancient doors to the Hearth. The wood was coarse to the touch, grating and biting–just as I’d expected.
I pushed the doors open, ready to enter the world. To reap vengeance on the Vritra and to discover the truth of my Mother.