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Chul Asclepius
It did indeed take several hours for the line to dwindle enough to allow the good people of the countryside into the city. I stayed with them, wary of some sort of cowardly strike from the noblemen from before. The Mayor of Men had explained to me in the aftermath that many nobles were callous and cruel to those they deemed lesser, and I had risked their wrath in saving that lone soul.
The way he described them made me think of how Soleil described the dragons of the Indrath Clan. With their holier-than-thou attitudes and upturned chins, the bearded phoenix had recounted to me how they held the other clans with a measure of disdain.
But the Flamesworth noble, I thought as I stared down at the bed in the rented room. He was different. Yet I do not understand how.
The Mayor of Men had graciously offered coin to an inn owner. Apparently, many of the inns and taverns within Blackbend were packed and crowded beyond belief due to the influx of refugees. The city itself seemed fit to bursting, even as many tents and campsites were arrayed outside the walls.
The Mayor of Men had counted himself lucky even being able to gain entrance to the city at all, a token of the Noble of Flames’ allowance. But once inside, it was nearly impossible to even walk.
People were everywhere, radiating fear and anxiety as they were packed like arrows in a quiver. More than once on my way to the inn, I had to measure my step so that I would not trample those smaller than I beneath my feet.
Now, I ate a small meal of oats and dried meat in the common room of the inn, keeping my bulky form in the corner and away from prying eyes. Suncrusher hung simply from my belt, her light low in the tense room.
The good inn owner had explained that rations in the city were low. With the farmers and countrymen being forced to cluster around the cities, food stores were dwindling rapidly as demand outpaced supply.
But I did not need great sustenance to maintain my body. Mana was the driving succor of the asura, and I was no different.
Still, as I tasted the humans’ strange concoction of oats–it was more bland than the fruits grown from the Hearth Trees–I let myself listen in on the conversations happening around the common area.
“Think you’ll be going back to the Wall, Nathan?” a bulky man asked a thinner mage. “I know your unit is technically here just for resupply, but there’ve been a lot of reassignments lately. What with all the… dangers of the countryside.”
The stringy one called Nathan sighed, sloshing a drink in his mug. “I don’t know, Saul. We are here for a resupply, but this feels different. The attacks on the Wall have started to slow, ya know?”
“They’re… slowing?” Saul said with uncertainty, leaning forward in his seat. “Didn’t hear anything about that from my garrison’s reports.”
“They’ve been slowing for months,” Nathan said sharply, his voice lowering. “We expected some sort of massive horde to attack us, so we prepared and geared up en masse for an assault. But it never came.”
“It did come, though,” the other responded quietly. “Just not at the Wall.”
The patrons around the common room jumped in surprise as Nathan slammed his mug into the table with the thunderous crash of a judge’s gavel. “What’s the point of it all?” he lamented, his voice breaking. With a start, I realized he must have been intoxicated. So early in the morning? “We built the entire fucking Wall to keep people safe, Saul! And still, people die!”
The inn common room–which had been bustling with steady noise–fell silent at Nathan’s outburst. All eyes turned to him as he stood, his flushed cheeks barely hiding the blurring tears. “We’re useless up on that slab of rock and stone! We’re all trying to save our families back here, but it’s useless!”
The man didn’t seem to realize that he’d captured the attention of the inn as tears started streaking from his eyes. “Now Darv has fallen! Our entire southern flank is just open! And we haven’t heard from the Council in over a week, and there are rumors that the Alacryans managed to attack Zestier itself! Have we lost already?”
The man slumped back into his seat like a sack thrown to the floor. “It’s just… What can we even do?” he asked, and I could almost sense the rest of the patrons asking the very same question.
I swallowed the last of my meal of oats in silence, then set the bowl on the table. The words of the Flamesworth noble rang in my head. That there was no such thing as true justice; only that the strong dominated the weak.
I stood up from the table in the corner, the scraping of the chair piercing the silence. I stood at seven feet tall, and as I pushed to my full height, all eyes in the room focused on me.
I looked over at the trembling mage, Nathan. He did not seem aware of my presence, but when I set a hand as large as his head on his shoulder, he jumped in surprise.
“Take heart, soldier of man,” I said gravely. “You suffer now, perhaps. But it will not last. There is always a Dawn.”
I made up my mind there. I would join these poor souls, helping them toward their victory against the wretched Vritra. I had seen the devastation the decaying beasts laid in their wake. I had borne witness to the plight of the common folk.
Mother taught me to stand for my ideals, I thought. And so I shall. I will not allow these folk to come to harm. The Vritra take mothers and children every day, beyond my own. So I shall see justice done.
Nathan looked down at my hand, blinking in surprise. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted when another man slammed open the doors.
The newcomer’s eyes were wide, his breathing uneven. His dress would have been considered tidy, but it was unkempt and covered in dirt. “A message from the Council!” he bellowed, his voice radiating with sound magic through the inn. ”All in the city are to gather in the central square of Blackbend, or near as you can! An announcement is soon to appear by projection artifact! All questions will be addressed there!”
The man flashed a symbol—likely the emblem of the Triunion Council—before running like the wind from the door. The people within stood in shock, but I was not so struck by stars. I moved to the door, peering my head out and watching as the messenger continued to go door to door and give his message.
The wide streets were already crowded, but I could foresee the true chaos that would soon unfold, the many humans crowding the streets as they tried to edge closer to wherever the projection artifact was.
I exhaled through my nose, then stepped out into the slowly congesting roads. I allowed the ambient mana to carry me aloft, disregarding the awe-struck stares of the many small dots below as I gradually rose into the air once more.
I oriented in the sky, watching the streams of humans as they pushed toward one point–no doubt the central square.
I wonder what this message may be, I thought as I pulled in my mana, hovering closer and remaining in the shadow of a great building. All questions would be addressed, the messenger claimed. But was his heart true in such words?
I had yet to witness this Council of humans, elves, and dwarves. But as my new resolution to assuage the ills of this land settled in my stomach—burning beside the desire to discover the whereabouts of my Mother—I realized I would need to know their hearts were I to join them in their quest.
I quickly pinpointed the artifact in question. It was large and bulky, easily great enough to match a score of men working together. Half a dozen humans darted around it, checking levers and performing tests. It was raised in such a way that it garnered great attention from the masses far below, and I found myself curious as to its workings.
The Hearth did not have much in the way of artifacts and mana tools. I knew of their existence, of course. Father had told me a great many wonders of his people when I was still a child, and no few of his wondrous stories were supplemented by the great items of the djinn. He waxed poetic about the great abilities of his people’s tools. How they eased the lives of all for millennia.
The humans do the same, I thought, watching as the mana within the artifact began to build. Father told me of the projection artifacts of his people. How they would display stories and memories for all to view and enjoy on panes of light itself.
Unbidden, I felt my heartbeat thunder in my chest as I stared down at the artifact, feeling my anticipation rise. I had doubts deep in my heart that this device could match the austerity of my late father’s people, but still. Hope bloomed.
I wonder what the great monarchs of this land look like, I wondered, already feeling a grin splitting my face. Will they be great and powerful? Wise and noble?They must be, to resist the Vritra so. I know not how an elf appears, nor dwarf. I have heard descriptions, though, and inquired on the names from the Mayor of Men. But–
The artifact snapped, and a panel of mana fuzzed into existence high in the sky. It stretched through the empty space, vast as any river. And I could see it. See the figure displayed prominently in the artifact.
My jaw dropped as I stared up at it, able to see the figures present.
A man with maroon hair like a world lion stood resolutely alongside a pale woman of dark hair and ephemeral grace. Their clothes were adorned with gemstones and silks of quality to match the oldest asura in my Hearth. I immediately knew these to be the human monarchs, Blaine and Priscilla Glayder. Their backs were straight and solid, their expressions graceful. Yet despite their majesty, I could see the marks of wear and battle in their postures.
At their side, another pair stood in stark contrast. With hair of silver and robes that flowed and curved rather than clung, the elven leaders radiated a sort of beauty that I knew not existed before today. But as I stared closer at Alduin and Merial Eralith, my wide smile began to diminish.
They hid it well, those elves. Even through the projection artifact, I wondered if there were any who could truly divine the emotions behind their eyes. I saw weariness. Exhaustion. Despite how strong they stood, something in their very being was trembling from the effort.
And finally, a dwarf stood by the side. He was not as short as I expected, but his body was packed with an honorable density of muscle. As I stared at his resolute form, I wondered what his training regimen was. Such a great physique could not be achieved by chance.
The crowd below cheered as the councilmembers were revealed, their dark backdrop making them stand out all the more in contrast. Yet I immediately felt my mood sour and my gut clench as my smile fell away.
These were not great and strong leaders as I had expected. They put on a valiant front for all who sought to know their hearts, but I could see it. See how they were barely able to stand. See how their hope was thin.
“War hurts everyone, Chul,” my Father’s voice sifted softly over my mind. “It is impossible to remain unaffected. To keep one’s soul clear.”
They look like my Father, I realized with growing fear. As he was when he allowed himself to lament my people’s fate.
The one named Blaine stepped forward, the act causing the many cheering humans in the crowd to quiet down.
“People of Dicathen,” he said, his voice loud and strong as he stared into the recording artifact, “It has not been long since we all addressed you like this. Not long ago, Commander Virion announced the appointment of a new Lance. Of a new power in this war.
“But since then, things have changed.”
The crowd stilled as Blaine’s eyes misted. “There has been much uncertainty in the war these past few months. I have received many a report of the lives taken from us. Torn from our people by the monstrous Vritra. And while we are being slaughtered, a faction of rebellious dwarves capitalize on our sorrow. They seek to aid the Alacryans while we weep over the innocents and dig graves more vast than any dug before.”
Blackbend had bustled and toiled, the sounds weaving through it always audible. But as a silence fit for a grave stilled the hearts of all, I felt my teeth clench.
“You have all been asking questions. Demanding answers of your leaders,” Blaine Glayder continued, his hands clasped behind his back. “And here, we give that. That and more.”
Blaine stepped back, his eyes shadowed as he said his part. The elven king was next, his light robes flowing with an ethereal wind as he stepped toward the recording artifact. His eyes were hollow, but simultaneously hard. “A week past, the Alacryans–already proven cowards by how they slink and hide from direct battle–finally showed their scales once more. They struck at the elven kingdom of Elenoir, seeking to hurt us deep in our hearts. They sought to tear the spirit of the Council asunder. Because they assaulted our Commander.”
The elven king looked up at the sky, seeming to sense the utter silence and shock that grasped the people of Dicathen. “Our Commander fought valiantly for all of you. In his battle, he felled two Retainers of the enemy, but he suffered for it. Even now, he lingers on the edge of death.”
When the elven king looked back down, his face was painted with such rage that it made me shudder. A swell went through the crowd as they collectively reared back, the sharp and thin features of the handsome king turned ghoulish and demonic from fury.
“They wanted to break us!” he snarled. “Break our hearts. Break our resolve. Tear apart our unity!” he yelled, raising a fist. “And do you know what we said in turn?
“We chose loyalty.”
A single step echoed from the recording artifact. The sound of boots on stone reverberated through me, seeming to echo across the entire city of Blackbend. They continued as Alduin Eralith stepped back, each resounding clack sending shudders through the crowd.
Never before did I imagine footsteps to be a thing of power. But the steady, measured sound of each step made my breath catch and sweat grow on my palms.
Each step built and built, but from where and what, I could not fathom. Like stone after laborious stone laid in the foundations of a great temple to the heavens, each of those footsteps seemed like little pieces working toward an impossibly great whole that I could not yet see. The monarchs stood solid and still as they stared gravely toward the artifact.
It has all led to this, I thought. The despair shown before in their eyes. The hope and anger they speak of now.
And then the monarchs parted like a curtain, moving aside for another.
It was a young man—younger than any in the frame. He bore hair the color of fall leaves, the locks brushing his shoulders. A dignified stubble traced his sharp features, and his sea-blue eyes seemed to pierce me where I stood. It was his footsteps that radiated with the power of an asura’s heartbeat.
And at once, I realized my mistake. It was not a temple that those footsteps built, but a throne.
His expression was severe, but there was a serenity to the deep azure eyes that made me freeze. His dress was simple in comparison to the other monarchs, with a close-fitting tunic that accentuated the power of his toned frame, while loose, dark pants allowed for ease of movement. A mantle lined with white fur sat neatly on his broad shoulders, and a beautiful rose with petals of silver was pinned to his shirt.
He did not wear ostentatious jewelry. He did not clothe himself in gemstones or fine silks. But somehow, he appeared more regal than any other.
Atop his head was a crown of gold. It was a simple thing, but there was a power in that simplicity.
But behind him… behind the young man, a monster lurked in the shadows.
I felt my eyes widen as I stared at the figure that trailed the new King. For I recognized the sharp, angled horns that thrust from her pale wheat hair. Knew the reptilian glimmer in her amber eyes. And though her mask was that of a beautiful woman in a void-black dress, I understood at once what plagued this continent’s steps.
A dragon, I thought, my fists clenching. Of the Indraths.
The new figure stared into the recording artifact, their expression reserved. “The last time I spoke to this continent as Lance Arthur Leywin,” he said, his voice an even baritone as it washed over me, “it was in a time of hope. Of belief in our people, where loyalty was strong. Where it was simple to cheer for our kings and queens as we wrenched victory from our defeated enemies.
“I come here to give no grand speech,” Arthur Leywin said, his head tilting. His eyes narrowed. “Only a two-fold promise. A promise to the people of Dicathen, and a promise to Agrona Vritra.”
And behind the king, the dragon began to glow a brilliant yellow, as if she were the sun itself. Her form became little more than light as she shifted and expanded, the crowd beneath me gasping in awe and shock as the disguise of a fair maiden fell away.
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She grew and grew and grew. Larger and greater she became, till her midnight wings eclipsed the entirety of the stage. Till the men and women beneath her great, scaled bulk were little more than ants.
The people far below cried out in awe and reverence as they beheld the sight. I heard many a cry for the false deities of the Indrath Clan. Many a lament that the asura had come to save them in their time of need.
But I knew better.
An earthshaking roar resounded from the recording artifact as the mighty dragon bellowed to the sky, yet I felt my anger rise in turn.
The dragon lowered her great skull beside the auburn-haired king, allowing him to run a hand along her graceful scales. Those intelligent, otherworldly eyes only served to make me churn.
“I have trained with the asura of Epheotus for years,” Arthur Leywin said softly. “When first the Vritra started their incursions on our home, I was taken from here to be molded. To be honed into what this continent needed. And now, that time has finally come.” The king looked away from the dark dragon’s skull as it bent before him, staring back at the crowd. “This I promise you, people of Dicathen. To fill the void left by Virion Eralith, I will be your Commander, for good or ill. Till the Vritra no longer threaten our shores. Till the monsters no longer ravage our countryside and it is safe to laugh beneath the sun once more.”
The crowd was silent, stunned into a stupor as they tried to make sense of the declaration. But my mind was spinning as I looked at the Good King.
Does he know what they are? I wondered, grinding my teeth. Uncle told me that the asura keep a guise of benevolence that they cast like a shroud upon the humans, elves, and dwarves. Does he know the dragon behind him is only poised to tear out his throat should he err?
I sensed no falsehood in the king’s promise—but it was just like the Indraths to groom a worthy puppet.
“That is my message to you, people of Dicathen,” he said sternly. “But I have another oath to give. One for Agrona Vritra’s ears.”
If the footsteps of this king were great and resonant, then the ones that came next were soft and ephemeral. And when the scene changed to show another elf approaching, I felt my heartbeat rise. Though the elven woman drew the gaze in her own right, it was the bound prisoner that they dragged behind them that made the crowd’s anger grow. Like mana thrown into a raging wildfire, the tumult of the crowd rose with fervor.
A Vritra lessuran was there, chained and shackled. Their twisted limbs showed the wretched shape of their soul, and though their horns were shattered, I could make out the pointed rows of their teeth. Even as they were hauled closer and closer to the looming dragon and waiting king, a wretched, knowing smile was plastered on its face.
The elven woman—her hair the same color as the long-eared councilmembers far behind her—threw the broken prisoner like a wet sack at the king’s feet. The king shared a look with her for a moment, before she turned, marching with the precision of a soldier to stand with the rest of the Council.
The Good King looked down at the groveling Vritra at his feet, his gaze cold as the thing shuffled to its knees. Its red eyes were mad and wide as they stared up at Arthur Leywin’s crown, no small hint of mocking there. “Wow, pup,” it ground out, its voice like nails on stone, “look at how far you’ve climbed! I never thought you had it in you, ya know? I’m so proud of you, falling back into old habits!”
The king ignored the wretch, turning to the recording artifact. His hands were clasped leisurely behind his back. “This is Retainer Uto. He was one of the Alacryans’ greatest forces. But now, he is little more than an ant.”
The Retainer turned his frazzled eyes to the recording artifact, noticing the king’s attention. “Wow, boy. You’ve set all this up for me? And they can alllll see it?” Its eyes gleamed malevolently. “I wonder what they’ll think when I tear out your throat for all to see!”
Suddenly, the Retainer lunged at the king, its mouth opened wide with teeth sharp as knives, each glinting in the sunlight. I could see its aim as it sought to bite into the king’s throat.
I sneered. Fool.
The king leaned back slightly, allowing the teeth to easily miss him, before he brought a solid knee straight into the lunging Retainer’s gut. The sound of bones crunching was audible even over the recording artifact.
The Retainer fell like a broken puppet to the stones, coughing out black blood as its insides were broken. I could no longer see its malevolent eyes as its dark, stringy hair shadowed its face, but I could hear the low timbre of its horrid laugh through the pain.
Arthur Leywin watched the wretch writhe on the ground, noting its pain as one might note a passing breeze. He slowly unclasped his arrms from behind his back, before holding one out to the side.
“This, Agrona, is my promise to you,” the Good King said. “You laugh now. You laugh like the creature at my feet. You mock this continent, thinking yourself fit to rise from the Hell into which you were cast.”
A purple blade shimmered into existence as if from nowhere, the edge sharp enough to cut space itself. The king gripped its matte-black handle as he stared in and through and past me. He raised his blade high, the edge glinting in the morning light.
“But when we are done?”
He brought down his sword with the judgment of an executioner. Black blood sprayed, and a grotesque head rolled.
“There will only be silence.”
Reynolds Leywin
Alice was quiet today as we walked from the Helstea Manor, but I could tell from the hunch of my wife’s shoulders that something was on her mind.
As we took the familiar pathways in the morning light, I allowed myself to relax slightly. Alice would tell me when she was ready. That was something I’d learned early in our marriage–that if I pushed, it would only push her away. I didn’t always understand why. But I didn’t always need to understand to help. So instead, I busied myself with thinking of the familiar streets.
A week ago, Alice—along with many of the emitters stationed at the Wall—were called away from the healing that they had been performing. Apparently, new methods of anatomy and medical knowledge important for improving the abilities of our healers had been extracted from the Alacryans, and many of the more talented emitters were being temporarily re-stationed from across the continent so that they might learn this knowledge.
And the preeminent center of learning in all of Dicathen was Xyrus Academy. Thus, my wife had abruptly found herself enrolled in school. I had followed her, of course. I would not place myself anywhere else but by her side, supporting her however I could.
But in this calm place, my core still itched for battle. My fists clenched with a desire to bury themselves into the skull of some horrid mana beast; to return the pain and suffering they had wrought on my home. On my family, and on my comrades.
And I had a feeling as to why my wife didn’t wish to speak just yet. The elf, Albold Chaffer, trailed us from a ways away, his gray eyes alert beneath his sandy blonde hair. And though I could not sense him, I knew Camus, an elder of Elenoir, was trailing us too.
Their stated reason for always shadowing us was that attacks on healers and emitters had increased recently, but I sensed a lie. If it were Albold Chaffer alone, perhaps I would have believed them. But I knew Camus’ type. The kind that only followed orders from really high up.
And finally, we stood before the gates of Xyrus Academy. The inside was bustling with students as they went about their normal classes, each blissfully ignorant of the horrors far outside. I watched them fondly, remembering the days of my long-gone youth.
Ah, what a fool you were, I thought simply, watching as a few noble kids kicked around a ball as they used their free time the best they could. All rough and rowdy, thinking yourself fit for greatness.
I chanced a glance down at my wife as she walked beside me, feeling warmth swell in my chest. I still didn’t really understand how I ever managed to entrance a woman as beautiful as her. With hair the color of autumn itself, a face so kind even the deities in Epheotus would melt at the warmth, and a heart great enough for the world, I sometimes wondered what made me so special. What set me apart from all the other unlucky men of the world?
Lucky man, I am, I thought, reminding myself once again. I could never let myself forget how blessed I had been, especially as the war dragged on.
If I did, I would lose myself.
My wife looked up at the gates with a strange sort of sadness in her eyes. “Rey,” she said slowly, leaning into my arm, “do you think Ellie would be here, if the war hadn’t started?”
I felt my throat constrict, but didn’t let it show. I needed to be strong. Strong for her. “Aye, I think she would,” I said after a moment. “I can imagine it, Allie. She’d prance around with her bond, Boo, terrorizing all the teachers!”
Alice chuckled lightly. “Now, Rey,” she said, “I didn’t raise someone disobedient. I don’t think our daughter would terrorize anyone.”
I huffed. “I said I could see Ellie here,” I said, rubbing my nose with a finger, “but she’s just like me, Allie. She’s got the heart of an adventurer beating in her chest. This small place couldn’t hold her for long at all.”
My wife hummed, but didn’t respond. And as she finally took the first steps toward the gate, I felt my mind drifting toward the last letters we’d received from Ellie about a week ago.
They were short and blunt, as they had been recently. Alice worried greatly about them. How could she know how our little archer was truly faring from only a dozen letters saying “I’m fine,” and “Nothing new?”
I didn’t worry. I’d gone through a similar phase myself when I first set out to become an adventurer as I sought to put the passing of my parents behind me.
I halted in my steps for a moment. Maybe I should send a more detailed letter back, I thought. Ellie knows we’re not dead. But we shouldn’t let her feel it.
I walked with my wife to the outside of her classroom, where a dozen other mages waited inside for a professor. I stood to the side, allowing her to enter with a solid nod of my head.
All the other emitters within didn’t have people willing to wait for them. That only made my resolution to be there for Alice whenever she went to and from her classes grow stronger.
I leaned against the wall, crossing my arms as I gave myself a bit of time to think. My body was still raging for combat. Raging for something to do to make a difference. But whenever I reminded myself of the good I was doing now, the boiling in my blood cooled somewhat.
I chanced a glance to the side, noting Albold Chaffer’s stiff posture as he stood ramrod straight by the doorway.
“Loosen your shoulders, son,” I said, nodding at his stance. “Can’t hit things with that spear of yours if your joints lock up.”
Albold forcibly relaxed at my words. We didn’t talk much, but I didn’t have anything against the lad. “Thanks,” he said, forcing his gaze forward.
My expression shifted as I noted the look in the man’s eyes. I’d seen it enough in my brothers-in-arms. Knew what it meant.
Battle shock.
“Lad,” I said slowly, looking at the young elf with a closer eye. He couldn’t have been much older than Arthur. Or Arthur’s body. “How many battles have you been in?”
The elf snapped me a glance. “I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “Too many. Or maybe not enough.”
I’d heard soldiers say they’d been in too many battles before, but not enough? “Why not enough?” I asked, curious.
The young man hesitated, his grip tightening on his spear. “Every one,” he said after a moment, his eyes going somewhere far, far away. “Every one, I’ve failed to really make a difference. And after every failure, I’m put somewhere else. Out of sight.”
“That’s a stupid way to think,” a familiar voice said as it approached. “Especially considering what you did a week ago.”
I turned, looking at Elder Camus. The older elf had long blonde hair pulled away from his face, a cloth band over his eyes. When he’d first been assigned to us, he had stunk to high heaven–but a thorough scolding from Alice had finally convinced him to take a shower. Or three.
“Elder Camus,” the young Albold said, bowing slightly in his direction. “It is an honor to see you.”
“I can’t say the same,” Camus replied nonchalantly.
Albold cringed.
Camus hesitated, seeming to realize how callous his words had sounded. “I do not mean to insult you, Albold. I simply cannot see.”
Albold swallowed, looking away. “Yeah. Thanks, Elder.”
I coughed into a fist, wanting to break the awkward tension. “Say, how about we–”
I was interrupted, however. A voice blared over a nearby loudspeaker, echoing through the ambient mana. “Everyone on Xyrus Academy grounds, report to viewing platform 3A,” it said. “Repeat: everyone within Xyrus Academy grounds, report to viewing platform 3A. The Council is making an announcement.”
Camus sighed. “It’s about time,” he said with annoyance. “It took him long enough to organize it all.”
“What’s going on?” I asked Camus as Albold turned away. “Is this about the fall of Darv? Does the Council finally have a response?”
The morale of the troops at Blackbend had been horrendously low at the news of Vildorial’s fall, which was only compounded by rumors of an attack on Zestier. I ground my teeth, my hands clenching unconsciously.
“That’s part of it,” Camus grunted with a shrug. “You’ll see soon. But you should prepare for what you see. It will shock you.”
Camus took the opportunity to walk away, going who-knew-where. Albold groaned, rubbing his forehead as if in pain.
Those ominous words cast my emotions into a dark pit as the emitters in the classroom behind us gradually shuffled out. Alice immediately looked at me, moving closer as her class–composed mostly of older men and women–began following the professor.
I inched closer to my wife as we walked through the crowded hallways. The chattering voices of a hundred academy teens echoed around us as other classes let out, each person desiring to know what the Council would say. Out of the corner of my eye, I was aware that Albold was trailing us silently.
“What’s this about, Rey?” Alice asked quietly, her hands trembling slightly. “An announcement from the Council? The last time we saw one was–”
“When Arthur became a Lance,” I said quietly, finishing her sentence. “But things have been bad on the waterfront, Allie. Really bad. People have been asking questions; needing answers. And they’re finally going to get some.”
Alice was silent as the world around us came alight with chattering students. “This feels wrong, Rey,” she said. “I can’t shake this feeling in my gut. That whatever this announcement is… It’s not what we expect.”
The Council won’t surrender, I thought with resolve. Darv might have fallen, but I know that they would not bend so easily or sue for peace. Arthur would never allow it.
That thought sobered me, but it also gave me a grim certainty. My last talk with Arthur had not gone well. He had been angry that we were willing to fight for our continent. He didn’t understand the loyalty we held for our comrades; didn’t know the drive we carried to fight for our homeland.
But I knew that my son—of this world or another—would never let the Council surrender to the monstrous Alacryans. For all of his faults, he wouldn’t let this continent fall.
I need to talk to him again, too, I thought, gritting my teeth and turning up my chin. I wrapped an arm around my wife, making myself a sturdy pillar of utmost support. Not just Ellie.
“Whatever comes our way, Allie,” I whispered, “we’ll get through it. Together, as we always have.”
Alice leaned into my arms slightly as we walked up and up, finally reaching the viewing platform. It was a wide space, clearly designed to host a great gathering. It was akin to an open-air auditorium, with half a dozen sigils and different banners of noble houses draped around the walls.
We waited nervously for a few minutes as noble kids filled in around us. I heard half a dozen theories and fantastical ideas only possible with the naivete of youth. Maybe we’d decimated the Alacryans in the most recent battles. Maybe we’d forced their surrender, or killed another Retainer.
They’re so hopeful, I thought, my eyes focusing on a young boy as he talked animatedly with one of his peers. It’s so strange to see.
I nearly jumped out of my skin, however, as a brush of wind caressed my ear, bringing a voice in its wake. “Prepare yourself, Leywin,” Camus’ voice said. “What you see will not be easy.”
I looked about, my brow furrowing as I tried and failed to locate the source. But my anxiety only rose further.
But finally, a display artifact snapped on, a bright panel of mana illuminating the open-air auditorium. The attention of the gathered students and professors finally centered on the projection. And I could just make out the figures there–the Triunion Council.
Minus Virion Eralith.
“Honey,” Alice said, her hands clenching around my jacket as her beautiful face twisted with growing anxiety. “I don’t want to watch. I don’t want to listen to this.”
I wrapped her in an embrace, only partly paying attention to the words of the Glayders as I held her. “You don’t have to watch,” I said, trying to be what she needed. “Just listen.”
Because I could sense it too. The other students around us all looked up with awe and reverence at the glory of their leaders, but there was something that seemed to whisper despair into my soul. As Alduin Eralith stepped up, appearing so different from when I’d met him, I allowed my wife to bury her face in my chest.
“We chose loyalty,” Alduin’s angrily resolved voice surged through the crowd.
And then a footstep. A single, dread footstep. And they built and built, one after the other as the monarchs parted for another.
And as I stared at the regal figure as they strode forward—garbed in simple silks and bearing a crown of startling gold—I felt the blood drain from my face.
Arthur would never allow it, I remembered thinking earlier. He would never allow our surrender.
I was right, after all. Arthur would never let us lose. He would never let his family come to harm. He would burn himself away to ashes before he risked a hair on our heads.
And as I stared up at the ghost of a man I called my son, bearing the crown of a king with the monarchs of the continent bowing their heads in submission, I felt my knees tremble in horror.
Alice wept.
Seris Vritra
“But when we are done?” Arthur Leywin’s voice echoed out as Uto groveled beneath him.
A smile twitched along my lips as the newly crowned king brought his blade down on the wretched Retainer’s neck.
“There will only be silence.”
The recording ended, the light fizzling out as I was suddenly enshrouded in shadow once more. My rooms were cold and dark, but my mind was alight with fire.
And it all comes together, I thought. This is the great shift in the Council.
When I had sent Toren on his journey to the Hearth over a week ago, I had expected our enemy’s leadership to crumble in a snowball effect. I had seen it happen before, and had orchestrated such internal divisions a thousand times amidst my political foes in Alacrya. I could see the trajectory of this war and how the Triunion would fracture and break.
Except instead of increasing disorder and chaos, something had changed. Many of my spies within the upper echelons of Dicathen’s hierarchy had suddenly gone silent, their reports fizzling out. The flying castle itself had ceased to send any sort of information out, going on complete and utter lockdown except for a few select orders and necessary functions.
I would have assumed this a last-minute attempt to staunch the critical wound that was Virion Eralith’s loss, but my intuition told me otherwise. It was too orderly, too linear. There was something else shifting. Something I hadn’t anticipated.
Impressive, I thought, standing and striding toward my desk. On it, half a dozen reports from my spies and subsequent stores of information lay. Not far away, Inversion rested serenely.
I reached a tentative hand out, brushing my fingers over the pale white horn. I focused my senses, feeling how the energies within the horn meshed and intertwined with my decay-attribute mana. It was as if the horn targeted the very darkness of my blood in its purest form, scouring it away at a fundamental level.
I retracted my hand, looking at the burns that stretched along my palm.
The fact that Arthur Leywin had so blatantly allowed his draconic bond to shift form for all the continent to see told me much. The authority he touted was sourced in his training in Epheotus and the dignity of the asura there, meaning…
Kezess Indrath had broken the treaty. The asura had intervened a week ago in some fashion, installing Arthur as a king. His announcement hinged entirely on that idea. That his right to rule was borne from the asura beyond him.
But it was an unstable thing. The people of Dicathen didn’t know Arthur Leywin was a King in a previous life, didn’t know his qualifications. His authority was tenuous and unsure for now. He made a statement by executing Uto, but he needed to cement his abilities in the eyes of the populace.
Why the asura of Epheotus had risked such intervention…
My mind flashed to Toren and his confrontation with Aldir Thyestes. It seemed that Kezess Indrath was taking any justification he could after the failure to break Taegrin Caelum.
I allowed my soulfire to wash over my wound, cleansing the flesh and leaving healthy skin. I looked down at a map of Dicathen splayed across my desk, my eyes tracing the many different points of territory held by Viessa, Arthur, and me.
If Arthur wished to endear loyalty in the people of Dicathen, he needed to prove himself to them beyond empty words. Which meant…
My finger brushed across the vast Beast Glades. I wondered if Viessa had any idea what was coming for her.
“A master play, King Arthur Leywin,” I said, a grin stretching across my face. “Maybe this war isn’t so close to ending after all.”