Four Days Until the Hunt
Tor was a soldier at heart. While it might be a stretch to say he missed fighting for his life, a part of him yearned for the simplicity the war with Nladia had brought. In his days stationed across the strait, his days had been filled with rigorous training, brutal conditions, and hellish battles. Still, misery loved company, and he missed the simple moments in the barracks, and the bonds he’d forged through blood, sweat, and of course, complaining about incompetent officers.
Beyond that though, there was a sense of purpose on the warfront. If you didn’t train, you were more likely to die in the next battle. If you didn’t repair the walls after a bombardment, the next would kill you in your sleep. In war, every action had more meaning, and as a soldier, he carried less responsibility.
It was harder to find purpose like that back home. So while plenty of men he knew retired, started families, and tried to leave the battlefield behind, he kept going. After all, he was only thirty-four, why retire? The danger was less, but traveling across Aeora, slaying monsters, training men—it was rewarding.
But power had its own problems—namely, paperwork.
Oh how he loathed paperwork. Mountains of it, as endless as they were pointless. Oh you recruited men from a local village? Fill out these four acquisition forms. You authorized the firing of one of the enchantments to vaporize a horde ahead of schedule? Justify the expense in this report. It was just all so absurd, a bunch of bureaucrats determining what needed to be done in order to slay a colossus across the continent. Some days he wished he was in an independent squad, but no third class knight would be selected for one of them.
To make things worse, he couldn’t even suffer with someone else, as besides him in the garrison, Nereus was humming contentedly as he flew through report after report. In fact—kings! He had already finished, those were personal notes!
Tor slapped his quill down, against the wooden desk. He could complete them discreetly later.
“I’m finished. Are you ready to go?”
The mage looked up from his documents. “Let us head off then.” He stood, brushing off his already-clean robes and began to make for the door.
They stepped out into the empty streets—empty for the sun had yet to rise. Still, both men could see without issue, even in the dead of the lightstones. Tor through a technique, and Nereus with his lens.
“Any news on the necromancer Nere?” Tor asked into the morning silence, his mind wandering to the next leg of their expedition.
The mage sniffed. “Nereus. And he’s moving east, still only considered a low gold-ranked threat.”
“Nothing terrible then. Still, best we move quickly after we’re finished here. You know how necromancers are.”
“Of course, though I’m curious if we’ll even be needed. I heard several gold teams had taken up the bounty.”
“Eastern gold?”
“No, western.” Nereus rolled his eyes.
“Well either way,” Tor continued, ignoring him. “Necromancers are hard to pin down, if the adventurers can do it then all the better, but I doubt they’ll be able to box him in with their numbers. We’ll have better luck with the skiff and box tactics.”
“You don’t have to lecture me on strategy.” Silence fell again after that—the two truly lacked for shared interests—until Nereus broke it once more. “How goes Corrin’s training?”
Tor glanced over. Nereus was smaller in both stature and presence than a warrior, such was the nature of mages, and though he didn't like them, Tor couldn’t deny their usefulness at the very least. “Odd of you to take an interest, but I’d say things are progressing smoothly.”
“Is that so? I assume you’re trying to teach him a simple technique, yes? Binding?”
“That’s not exactly ideal for a fresh ash channeler, it’s too enduring, and not exactly in line with its intent.”
“It could be, I’m sure you’ve heard of implosions. Attraction can destroy as much as repulsion, but I see your point. Still, he must learn to have his aura endure if he hopes to develop as a channeler.”
“Eventually, but I figure he can worry about that later.”
The mage adjusted his glasses, a bit annoyed. “Well? Out with it. A division technique then?”
“I gave the boy a waster and told him to cut a log,” Tor laughed.
Nereus slowed. “Sage wood for the waster?”
“Bilo. Standard issue.”
The mage finally paused, his footsteps ceasing as he stared at Tor. “That’s a cruel joke you’re playing.”
“Oh, do you have a problem with my methods? Would you have me coddle the boy?” Tor stopped as well, flashing a grin at the mage. It was fun to egg Nereus on.
“I would have you give him a task that isn’t impossible. It’s not even a matter of skill, he doesn’t have the strength to control a mantle like that yet.”
“He can already mantle it halfway.’
Nereus’s eyes narrowed. “You’re kidding.”
“By the king’s themselves I’m telling the truth. He’s broken three wasters already, his aspect is strong.” Tor chuckled. “I told you he was talented. And think, if he just uses his head, and gets a real sword…”
After a moment’s consideration, Nereus continued walking again, shaking his head. “The spirits don’t give blessings equally to all.”
“No, they do not,” Tor agreed.
“Still, that log is Aatava wood no? It doesn’t sound like his is concentrated enough to split it even if he could mantle it fully.”
“That’s a problem he’ll have to figure out for himself. But that’s the thing about these genius types,” Tor looked ahead at the dock. He could hear the sounds of the two boys clashing on the deck of the ship. “All it takes is a little inspiration.”
Three Days Until The Hunt
“Something’s gotta give here Woody,” Corrin whispered to his sword, ‘Woody’, as he turned him over in his palm. Technically he was on Woody the fourth—his ash aura had steadily destroyed the previous three, rendering them unusable—but Woody didn’t need to know that, it would only scar him.
Progress was progress, and Corrin had made plenty of it, but progress wasn’t the same as success. It had gotten to the point where he could get his aura to climb almost halfway up the blade, but no further. The worst of it was, even if he struck with the bottom half of the blade, the area coated in mana, he still couldn’t cut into the log more than an inch—not nearly enough. No no, there was a trick to it, he was certain. He just didn’t know what.
His spars were similar. He’d gotten to the point where he could fight evenly with Emryn now that he was used to her style, but Reiss and Ayden were still just barely beyond him. With those two goals taking up his time, he hadn’t even been able to think about developing a technique, whatever that would entail. Really, he was just hoping it would come to him once he figured out the rest.
“That’s a terrible idea,” Wyn remarked as Corrin explained it to him. “You can’t just hope you figure it out right at the end.”
“Yeah yeah, give me the damn water,” Corrin reached out his hand toward the cup Wyn was holding. His friend seemed to be carrying water around all the time now, which was a bit odd, but Corrin was parched, so he wasn’t going to complain.
Wyn handed over the drink, and Corrin downed it gratefully. As he did, he noticed a smirk on Wyn’s face. “Something funny?”
“No no,” Wyn shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”
Corrin squinted at the water, then back at Wyn’s face. Something wasn’t right, but the water tasted amazing, almost as good as the water in Straetum. Not one to be suspicious of a gift, he shrugged and finished it.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“So, are you just going to sit here all day?” Corrin asked. He glanced up at the sun, it was midday and the ship had gathered even more people than normal. Of course, there were the sentinels, who joined Corrin on the skiff daily, and Wyn, who had taken his usual day off with permission from Nereus, but more than that, a crowd had started to gather.
The Sentinels weren’t the top team in Veldia for nothing, and other adventurers had started to notice their absence. It seemed word had gotten around, and soon dozens of weaker channelers had shown up to watch the top talent in The Grass Sea sparring on the skiff. He was pretty sure they’d even started gambling on the outcomes.
Wyn stretched slowly. “I figured I’d watch a bit longer—I’m not doing much today. Were you planning on getting any rest at all before we fight the giant city-destroying monster?” He raised an eyebrow.
“I’m not suicidal,” Corrin said. “I’ll take it easy the day before. I’ll use the time to try and think up a technique—I only need to have it, not master it.”
Stolen story; please report.
“In that case, who am I to stop you?”
Corrin grinned. “How’s your stuff coming along?”
That finally got a smirk out of Wyn, who glanced up at the sky slyly. “Oh you know? It’s coming. I might not be able to see mana yet, but I’ve got something in the oven.”
“From your studying with Nereus? Or your—you know…” Corrin nudged him a bit. Wyn had told him to stay tight-lipped about his blessing for the time-being, and even if he didn’t quite get why, Corrin wasn’t about to spill his best friend’s secret.
“Honestly the stuff with Nereus isn’t too practical,” Wyn shook his head. “I can maybe help you with your technique a bit when you’re ready to try and develop it, but honestly that’d just be basic explanations. Most of what he’s teaching me isn’t useful for combat yet.”
“Gotcha, so I assume it’s from your ‘you know what’ then? Going to bust out a new secret move for the hunt?”
Wyn chuckled. “You don’t have to be that secretive. And spirits I hope not. I’ve got one useful idea, but I don’t know if it will actually work.” His head tilted to the side and he nodded, listening to another voice. “Hey you’re right! The nets work perfectly! But do I really want people thinking I’m trying to—you know…”
“Tell Eia to butt out,” Corrin said, sticking his tongue out. Even if he couldn’t see her, he knew she could see him.
“She says she’s not going to listen to anyone who smells as bad as you,” Wyn relayed. Then he grimaced. “And well, seriously man—you probably could use a bath.”
Corrin raised an arm and sniffed.
Oh.
“I’ll take one tonight,” he sighed. But by the sound of things... “You out?”
“For now,” Wyn said. “I’ll be back later. We’re going to hang out at the inn tonight—whether you like it or not… After your bath.”
Corrin grinned. “Enjoy your day off nerd.”
“Good luck with your hard wood problem.” Wyn shot back. “Oh, and don’t forget to drink enough water.” He winked and gestured to the cup beside Corrin. Unbelievably, it was almost half full.
But that was impossible, Corrin had drunk the whole thing only a few minutes earlier, and he definitely hadn’t seen Wyn refill it.
“The hell? How did you—?” But Wyn was already gone. Corrin didn’t miss it though—a lone water spirit drifting through the air, completely out of place.
“Something’s in the oven huh?” Corrin chuckled to himself, then he grabbed the sword and got to his feet.
I’m not letting you catch up.
He pointed the tip of the sword towards the nearest adventurer on the docks. “Hey you! With the ponytail!”
A man only a few years older than Corrin turned at the sound of his voice. He didn’t have many distinguishing features other than his hair, and he was carrying a sword at his hip. He pointed to his own chest. “Me?”
“Yeah, get your ass up here. We’re sparring!”
He seemed confused and hesitant at first, but with a little more prodding, Corrin got him onto the skiff and fitted with a wooden sword of his own. Then, he shouted louder.
“Listen up! All of you!” The chatter fell to a hush, leaving only the sound of the wind rustling the grass. Even Ayden stopped his forms, turning to see what Corrin was saying. “I challenge you! Each and every one of you! If you’re going to sit here and watch, then at least you can pay for the entertainment by serving as my practice!” He turned back to the man who had joined him on the skiff, and he pointed his waster at the man’s chest. “You’re up first. I’ll give you the first strike.”
And as the man pulled himself up, preparing for the duel, many of the gathered adventurers settled on the idea as well. After all, an opportunity like this didn’t come often, it would be a shame to pass it up.
If you wish to grow stronger, then fight! Those were the words of the spirit knight Torvin Helric, and they sounded more appealing to Corrin than hacking away at wood all day long.
Each and every adventurer present was a channeler or mage in some capacity. How many amongst them could mantle? He wasn’t sure, but he was going to find out. After all, practical experience was always how he’d learned best.
He just needed a little inspiration.
Two Days Until The Hunt
As Lars looked around the inn, he couldn’t help but feel that he was at least a little responsible for the events of the evening. Half the patrons across the room were asleep, passed out on tables or the floor. Molluk’s milk had some fantastic results when mixed with sugar and alcohol, but he may have gone a bit overboard this time.
What a disaster.
Of course, the few people that were still awake didn’t make things much better.
“No no no,” Kei slurred, jamming her finger into her friend’s chest. “I’m telling you, my brother is one of the best duelists in the capital! He’d mop the floor with you!”
The boy, no doubt a little shaky himself, straightened up at the comment. “Now listen here Kei… Listen here alright cause I’ll tell you… I’d kick your brother into next week! In fact, I’ll take on anyone here! C’mon who wants me?” He shouted it out to the whole room, looking around for a challenger, but no one responded.
“See?” He beamed. “I’m unstoppable!”
He took another swig from his mug before slamming it down onto the table. Then he took one step, and tripped over a chair. He didn’t get back up, snoring against the floor.
Kei prodded his body with her foot. She let out a giggle. “Whoops, he’s dead…”
A few minutes later, she was slumped in a chair as well, and Lars finally let out a sigh of relief as the inn fell quiet save for the crackling of the hearth. Things had been so rowdy the last few nights it was getting hard to sleep—it was exactly what had spurred his idea for the milk in the first place. If you mixed it right and served it warm, Molluk’s dream worked great as a sleep aid. He’d added too much alcohol, so some of the benefits would be lost—too much put-down power, and it wouldn’t be nearly as restful—but it worked nonetheless. He’d warned everyone, but once the party got going it seemed most didn’t care.
Quiet footsteps clacked against the wooden floor of the inn breaking him from his thoughts. It was the other of Kei’s friends. His name was… Wyn, yes. A bartender had to remember names, it was important.
“Can I help you?” Lars asked softly, but the boy simply smiled and shook his head.
“No need, I just wanted to say thank you. The drink was good, and I think everybody needed an opportunity to relax considering.” He placed an empty mug down gently on the bar, smiling faintly. “I apologize for my friends, I didn’t realize they were such light-weights. I’ve never actually seen Corrin get drunk. Please, allow me to get them out of your hair. Which room is Kei staying in?”
Lars eyed the boy—taller than he was, with a handsome face and stormy gray eyes. He’d finished more than one mug, but his body betrayed not a single marker of drowsiness nor intoxication. He glanced at Kei, sleeping peacefully with her head against the table.
“It’s no trouble at all.” Lars said. “Everyone’s working hard lately. A night to unwind isn’t such a bad thing. Let me help you.” It couldn’t hurt to be careful, even if this was one of Kei's friends. This was his inn, and in the absence of his wife—who had retired to bed early after drinking too much herself—he’d make sure nothing went amiss within it.
The young man gently prodded her awake and pulled her to her feet, leading her, half-asleep, up the stairs.
“Wyn,” she mumbled, clutching him to help her stay standing. “Remember that chicken stew in Cliffside? That stew was so good, Wyn…” Her eyes started to water. “I loved that stew so much.”
Lars chuckled. “Was the stew really that good?”
“I didn’t get to try it,” Wyn smiled. “Now I’m a little jealous.”
Despite more mumblings, they were able to drop her off in her room without issue, and Wyn took his other friend out of the inn as well, heading off towards wherever they were staying. Lars hoped it was somewhere nice, but with the town in the state it was in, who could say?
In the morning, Kei and Corrin would both mumble the same words, though the benefits of channeling had one of them feeling distinctly better than the other.
“Ugh… I’m never drinking again.”
One Day Until The Hunt
Surrounding the central island of Estin, stretched between it and the pillars were a series of large nets. They were practical without a doubt, as the rope bridges that connected the isles could be swayed by strong winds, and several of the streets ran right up against the edge. All of that was visible at a glance, and was easy to grasp and appreciate.
What Wyn hadn’t known was that falling into the nets triggered alarm bells that rang out loud enough to wake a good chunk of the nearby town. And the guards had not been happy to pull Wyn out of them in the middle of the night, putting up with his weak excuse about tripping in the dark.
Suffice it to say, testing his theory wouldn’t be as easy as he’d thought. It would probably have to wait until after they left Estin and they were back on the road. He’d tried to find Ven to take him out into the sea, but the captain hadn’t returned the previous night, at least before Wyn had fallen asleep, and then he’d had to return to his apprenticeship with Nereus.
Despite the approaching deadline, the mage was in high spirits, taking to their research and lessons with the same energy as always, as though the colossus hunt was no more than a distraction. The rest of the town seemed to see things differently. The docks were as busy as ever, but the noise that had once been ever-present had fallen to a dull murmur. The deadline was approaching, and everyone could feel it. Workers and soldiers moved with purpose, loading veldstriders efficiently as laughter and chatter had all but left the town.
Wyn could feel the tension himself, but he was focused on other things, keeping him distracted while he waited for the gathering call. It wasn’t his circles he worked on—though he’d done that earlier—they wouldn’t help him in battle, but rather, his new, unnamed power to contract spirits. The sun was setting, and the first light spirits were beginning to appear, which was perfect since they already knew their effects. When Eia formed a contract with a light spirit, she could direct it around, and that was about it. Not a particularly flashy power, but something to note nonetheless.
In anticipation of sunset, she’d already formed a contract with a water spirit from the river which apparently ran beneath the town. He could feel the subtle weight of it in his mind, like carrying a small stone mentally—the number of spirits he could bond was inconsistent, though it seemed to depend on their power, with stronger spirits ‘weighing’ more.
“Alright, go for that one there.” He pointed across the saddle to where a light spirit was drifting lazily through the air. Eia nodded and floated over, grabbing it with both hands. It seemed ‘physical’ contact was necessary for her to create the bond, which was a slight limitation along with the time it took, but she thought she could get better at it with time.
A minute later, Wyn felt another weight settle into his mind, light spirits weighed so little it was almost impossible to tell, but he was getting better at noticing the—
Eia started to hurl.
Of course, being an incorporeal being, there wasn’t actually any vomit, but for a moment Wyn really thought there would be. She doubled over, clutching her stomach as she made a loud retching noise and fell over in the air, her floating losing any sense of grace whatsoever.
The weight of the light spirit evaporated and she seemed to slowly start to recover. Shakily, she got to her feet. “Nope, nope, no way. Not doing that again. Two is out of the question.”
“Are you alright? What happened?” He swept her into his hands and began to burn a bit more spirit fire. The water spirit above his head twirled happily as he did.
She held a hand to her head and groaned. “I think we could do it if you could form the bonds on your own—one for you and one for me—but with both of them running through me there’s just no way. It’s almost like my vision is getting pulled in two directions at once, but with all seven of my senses. I don’t even want to try that with a stronger spirit.”
Wyn uncrossed his legs and got to his feet. “Well, that’s good to know. I’m close, I can feel it. Any day now I’ll have my senses.”
He wasn’t simply referring to sensing mana either—he’d become convinced that the ability to feel mana and see his bond were linked somehow. If he could learn one, he’d learn the other, and he was close. Each day as his soul was flooded with Tor’s aura, he was able to feel it a bit more clearly, and each time his spirit fire came screaming to confront it. Only a couple more attempts and he felt he’d have it for good.
“You’re running low on time though,” Eia said, a hint of worry in her tone.
Wyn smiled though, reassuring her. “It’ll be alright Eia—”
The bellowing of a horn broke the air, startling him. Wyn turned his head towards the central island, where the noise had originated. As he did, more horns joined it, sounding in unison. But the horns didn’t join harmoniously, they were slightly off, creating a discordant, heavy note that seemed to warn of impending danger all on its own.
All across the docks, a hush fell, and the slight chatter that had been present evaporated as every head looked inwards.
Wyn took a breath. “I’ll figure it out.” He reassured her, and he hoped he would be able to deliver on that promise.
He began to walk towards the horns.