The platform was silent now, save for the faint hum of lingering mana that hung in the air like a distant echo of the battle’s fury. The scorched earth bore the scars of Arlan’s duel with Soketh, and the once-roaring rift had diminished into a faint shimmer, its chaotic energy subdued.
Arlan stood at the edge of the platform, his breathing labored and his gaze distant. The brilliance of his [Dragonlord] form had begun to dim, the toll of his victory against Soketh weighing heavily on him. Marie remained nearby, her arms crossed as she surveyed the scene, her sharp blue eyes lingering on Arlan’s weary posture.
“We should return to the others,” she said, her voice breaking the stillness.
Arlan didn’t look at her, his gaze fixed instead on a faint glow emanating from the center of the platform. “There’s one more thing we need to do.”
Marie followed his line of sight and saw it: a palm sized silver disk, faintly glowing and hovering just above the ground. Its intricate runes pulsed softly, as though alive, the object seeming impossibly serene amid the destruction surrounding it.
“The [Disk of Absolution],” Marie said softly, her tone tinged with a mix of awe and unease. “Soketh’s source of power.”
“And now its no longer his,” Arlan replied, his voice steady but low. “It’s much smaller than I thought.”
Marie arched a brow. “Well grab it and let’s return to the others.”
Arlan managed a faint smirk, his humor flickering despite his exhaustion. “Wonder if I’ll be hit by a thousand year curse?”
Marie sighed and muttered under her breath. “Idiot.”
As Arlan’s fingers closed around the artifact, it pulsed once, a soft wave of energy rippling outward. His grip tightened as he lifted the disk, its surface strangely warm to the touch. The platform beneath their feet seemed to hum in response, then fell silent.
“It feels oddly weightless,” Arlan said, exhaling in relief.
Marie now relaxed, stepping closer. “Thankfully no thousand year curse?”
“Imagine we went through all that just for me to die to a curse,” Arlan said with a faint grin, slipping the disk into a secure pouch on his belt. “Come on. The others are waiting.”
Marie reactivated her [Hellborn] and glided towards the edge and asked. “Will you be able to make it down?”
“Yeah… I can at least make it down,” Arlan replied as his draconic wings carried him over the edge.
The strike team was waiting on a nearby plateau, their figures silhouetted against the evening sky. As Arlan and Marie landed, Lucius approached with his usual measured stride, his piercing gaze locking onto Arlan.
“I can see the mana dripping from your belt,” Lucius said, gesturing to the pouch at Arlan’s side.
Arlan retrieved the [Disk of Absolution] and handed it over. “Hold on to it for now until I decide what to do with it.”
Lucius took the disk carefully, his expression a mix of curiosity and caution. “I’ll guard it with my life. I’ll examine it further when we return.”
Marie crossed her arms, her tone half-teasing. “Lose it and I’ll burn you alive.”
Lucius raised an eyebrow. “I assure you, Baroness. I’m more afraid of being burned alive by you then any foe in Althea.”
JD, leaning casually against a nearby rock, smirked. “No pressure, Lucius.”
“So… How do we get back down?” Akasha asked as she looked over the edge.
“Gryphon Knights would call for their noble steeds,” stated Frej happily while battered with blood and dirt on her face, “But… I’m not a full fledged Gryphon Knight.”
“Frej,” added Yuna with folded arms, “That’s nice and all but what good is that gonna do us?”
Savage hefted his greataxe over his shoulder and pointed at the center, “What if I just smash the center of the plateau downward really hard?”
“Everyone gather to me,” Niren stepped forward, his hands glowing faintly. “I’ll cast [Featherweight] and we can safely float back down to the ground.”
“Marie and I will just meet you down there,” stated Arlan as he jumped over the edge.
One by one, the strike team was enveloped in a soft golden glow, their descent to the ground gentle and controlled. Arlan and Marie landed first, their flight swifter but no less purposeful as they rejoined the Royal Army and the Banner of the Claw.
Arlan landed heavily, his boots striking the ground with a dull thud. The glow of his [Dragonlord] form faded completely, the dragonscales retracted completely from his entire body. Even so, his posture sagged, the exhaustion of the battle weighing on him like a heavy cloak.
Marie rushed under Arlan and swung his arm over her shoulder. “Easy Ar, I got you.”
Arlan gave her a faint smile, “Thanks, just one more thing I need to do.”
While supported by the Embercaller, Arlan raised his hand. A golden wave surged out as Arlan had activated [Blessings of the Crown]. Across the entire battlefield, fatally injured soldiers and adventurers were healed and renewed of their wounds. The cries of pain across the battlefield quieted as fatal injuries were mended and vitality was restored.
Chrysta approached as the golden light faded, her sharp eyes studying Arlan’s weary expression. “Anymore and you may drop dead yourself. Let us take it from here, Ar.”
“That was my final act,” Arlan replied softly. His eyes darkened as they shifted to the bodies of those who couldn’t be revived. “I just wish I could’ve done more.”
Marie held his chin and turned his face to hers, her tone firm but understanding. “You did enough, Arlan. More than anyone else could’ve.”
With his arms crossed, JD chimed in. “Yeah… I don’t think anyone on Althea can even do something like this. Many soldiers and their families are going to be very thankful.”
Arlan chuckled faintly, though his voice carried a note of sadness. “Let’s hope they talk about the sacrifices just as much as the victories.”
The Strike Team took their victory strolls back towards the Royal Army before them. The soldiers around them cheered heavily as a nearby lieutenant informed them that they were expected at the field headquarters.
Arlan’s weary steps carried him into the field headquarters, where the remnants of his commanders and allies gathered. The scent of ink, parchment, and sweat mingled with the smoke wafting in from the battlefield outside. Around the central map table stood Emmeline, Katalina, Duke Frank Lansley, Yozac, and Erin, their faces grim yet resolute as they awaited his arrival.
Emmeline was the first to approach, “Arlan, you did it...”
Arlan gave her a faint smile but waved off the comment. “No… We did it… But there’s still work to do. Where’s Dink?”
The princess folded her arms, a hint of exasperation crossing her face, but she didn’t press the matter. “Dink Rorschach sustained serious injuries early in the battle. He’ll recover, but he wasn’t in any condition to lead. So I stepped in to command the Royal Army. ”
Arlan nodded in acknowledgment, his respect for Emmeline’s capability evident. “Thank you. I knew I could count on you.”
Emmeline’s expression softened briefly before returning to the matter at hand. “The Royal Army loss around 2,000 soldiers. Likely a little more than that. A lot lower than we expected.”
Then Katalina stepped forward, her arms resting on the edge of the table as she spoke. “The 1st Galdo Banner lost roughly 800 soldiers. I feel as though it could’ve been much worse.”
Duke Frank Lansley added gravely, “I lost 1,200 of my men... Many of them were my seasoned knights. While the estimates are much lower than we expected, it still hurts nonetheless.”
Yozac pulled out a small parchment and added, “Around hundred adventurers were killed. They’ll be remembered as heroes.”
Erin stepped forward hesitantly. His voice was soft but steady. “The Banner of the Claw lost only sixty men.”
Arlan’s gaze swept over the table, his jaw tightening as the numbers settled in his mind. “Even one is too many,” he murmured. “But their sacrifices won us this battle and protected countless others.”
Emmeline straightened and firmly said, “I’ll see to it that a memorial is erected here. We have to honor the fallen… And never forget them.”
Marie nodded. “They deserve nothing less.”
“From the bottom of my heart,” Emmeline announced, her voice softer now. “Thank you… Each one of you has given your blood for this kingdom time and time again… Midland’s people will forever be in your debt.”
“Truly,” added Arlan in agreeance, “The amount of lives we’ve saved and the losses we’ve minimized.”
Duke Frank hesitated before speaking. “And Auron would’ve been sacked by these dark fiends if naught for you all.”
“There is one more task that needs to be done,” Arlan stated firmly. He turned to the strike team, who stood ready near the tent’s entrance.
The Iron Grotto was a husk of its former chaos. The air, once thick with abyssal energy, now felt still and empty. The rift that had spewed Soketh’s forces into the battlefield shimmered faintly, its wild, uncontrollable power reduced to a faint hum.
Frej led the way, her gryphon-shaped medallion clinking against her armor as she surveyed the area. “It’s quiet,” she remarked.
“Very.” added Marie as she summoned a faint orb of fire.
Lucius crouched near the rift’s edge, examining the faintly glowing runes carved into the stone. “Arlan, the rift is stable,” he said. “Are you sure that its necessary to check out the area?”
“We owe it to the fallen to make sure,” Arlan scanned the area, his instincts was still on edge. The Strike Team moved methodically, dispatching a handful of weak monster spawns.
Savage hefted his greataxe, glancing around. “Feels empty and nothing here is strong.”
“The dark mana here may be gone,” Akasha commented with the usual sharp tone. “But nothing seems different from before the dark mana.”
After a thorough search, the team regrouped at the entrance. Lucius adjusted his goggles as he stood and reported, “It’s done. There’s nothing left here but first-tier yellow core monsters.”
Arlan nodded, his expression unreadable. “Good work everyone.”
As they stepped out into the fading light of the battlefield, Arlan allowed himself a moment of quiet relief. The threat of the Dark Void was gone, and for now, the kingdom could breathe. But the weight of the day—and the sacrifices made—remained heavy on Arlan’s shoulders.
The ride back to Reeve Manor was subdued, the echoes of victory tempered by exhaustion and the memories of the fallen. The Banner of the Claw had set up their tents on the sprawling estate grounds, their movements orderly even in the aftermath of the grueling battle. Soldiers sat by campfires, some laughing softly as they recounted moments of bravery, while others rested in silence, staring into the flames.
Arlan dismounted from Kage as the group arrived at the manor. His steps were heavy, and JD was at his side.
“You should head straight to your quarters,” suggested JD, his tone brooking no argument.
“Not yet,” Arlan replied, glancing over the grounds. “I need to talk to Emmeline. Take care of the men for me?”
“Of course,” answered JD, “I’ll make sure everyone gets something nice to eat. I’ll reach out to Jovann.”
In the quiet of his quarters shortly after, Arlan sat by the window, staring out at the sea of tents below. The glow of lanterns cast flickering light over the estate grounds, giving the scene a strange mix of peace and restlessness.
Emmeline entered the room, her expression as sharp and poised as ever. Her gaze softened when it landed on Arlan.
“You still look terrible,” she said, closing the door behind her.
Arlan managed a faint chuckle. “Not exactly what I was hoping to hear, but fair.”
The princess moved to sit across from him, her gaze searching his face. “You’re thinking about them, aren’t you? The ones we lost.”
Arlan nodded, his hands resting on his knees. “I wonder how many more of our soldiers will die fighting against these threats to Midland.”
Emmeline’s voice was gentle but firm. “You did everything you could, Arlan. You always do. The fact that we came out of this with as few losses as we did is nothing short of a miracle.”
“I know… But it still doesn’t make it any easier.”
A moment of silence passed before Emmeline spoke again, her voice shifting to a lighter tone. “Is there something else bothering you?”
Arlan opened his eyes, meeting her gaze. He hesitated, then sighed. “It’s Marie.”
The princess arched an eyebrow but remained quiet, waiting for him to continue.
“Emme, I love you,” he said, his voice steady but conflicted. “But I can’t deny how I’ve been feeling about Marie as well. I don’t know what to do with that.”
“Oh… That’s all?” asked Emmeline as if she expected more. Her lips quirked into a small smile, and she reached out to place a hand over his. “Arlan, I love you too but you’re not on Terra anymore… Things are different here. Having a mistress isn’t unusual—especially for someone in your position.”
“It’s not just that,” he said, his brow furrowing. “Marie isn’t just anyone. She’s... important to me. To all of this. I don’t want to hurt you, Emme.”
She squeezed his hand, her smile softening. “You’re not. And you won’t. I want what’s best for you—for all of us. Marie loves you, Arlan. That much is clear to anyone who sees the way she looks at you. And I think you love her too.”
Arlan hesitated, then nodded slowly. “I-I do…. But I care about you just as much.”
Emmeline’s voice grew firmer. “Then let yourself feel that. Accept her. She needs you, Arlan, just as much as you need her. And if this helps keep her at her best and keeps her by your side, then it’s the right choice for all of us. She’s the most powerful archmage Midland has ever seen, and having her with us isn’t just a luxury—it’s a necessity.”
Arlan’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “I knew you encouraged it once before but I guess I’m just not used to you being okay with it.”
“I’m more than okay with it,” Emmeline said, her smile returning. “Just don’t make a habit of overthinking every decision. That’s what you have me for.”
Arlan chuckled, the tension in the room easing. “Fair enough.”
As the conversation shifted to lighter topics, the weight on Arlan’s shoulders felt just a little lighter. Outside, the campfires continued to burn, their glow a reminder of both the sacrifices made and the lives yet to be lived.
The night had deepened, the estate quiet save for the faint hum of activity from the encampment below. Arlan stood on the balcony of his quarters, the cool breeze brushing against his face. The stars above seemed impossibly bright, a sharp contrast to the darkness that lingered in his thoughts.
He leaned on the railing, his eyes scanning the sea of tents sprawled across the manor grounds. His men deserved their rest after the horrors they had faced, yet his mind refused to follow suit.
“Master Arlan.”
The voice came softly from the shadows, smooth and calm, with just a hint of amusement. Nightingale stepped out into the moonlight, her dark cloak billowing slightly in the breeze.
Arlan didn’t startle, his lips quirking into a faint smile. “You have a knack for showing up at the right time.”
“Its what you trained me to do,” she replied, crossing the balcony with quiet steps. She stopped beside him, her piercing eyes studying his face. “Though you make it easy to predict when you’ll be brooding.”
“I prefer ‘reflecting,’” Arlan said lightly, though the weight in his voice betrayed him. “I thought your report wouldn’t be for another two days.”
“My apologies, Master Arlan but its urgent,” Nightingale’s demeanor shifted slightly, her tone growing serious. “I figured you’d want to hear this immediately.”
Arlan straightened, folding his arms as he turned to face her. “Go on.”
“The Odian Court in the Firane Kingdom is stirring up because of recent Rhota Orc incursions along their eastern border. In response, Queen Alveri has deployed two armies of 50,000 each,” Nightingale began. “Committing the raids are at least 100 bands of 500 orcs each. Rumors have been floating of several Rhota Tribes uniting under a single banner.”
Arlan frowned, the implications sinking in quickly. “These are signs that an Orc Hero has appeared and has united the Rhota Orcs.”
“Precisely,” Nightingale concured. “I’ve already dispatched an Umbra to confirm this theory, but I thought you’d want to know.”
“Excellent initiative,” Arlan said with a nod. “What else?”
“The Free Cities of Yura are in disarray. Infighting between dwarven merchant factions has escalated. I surmise this was caused by the meddling of the-”
“Firane Kingdom.”
“Correct, Master Arlan,” added Nightingale as she continued, “The Musan Kingdom has deployed two fleets of warships to their northern sea where the Rhota Orc Tribes lands meet their waters.”
“I wonder how the Musan warships fare in battle,” Arlan muttered to himself.
“There’s more… Musan envoys have been sighted in the Free Cities of Yura and in the Firane Kingdom’s capital, Sylabell.”
Arlan processed the information as best he could. The pieces on the board were shifting rapidly, and the balance of power in Althea seemed as fragile as ever.
“Anything else?” he asked.
Nightingale hesitated, her gaze flicking toward the horizon. “There’s been no sign of the Malum Incarnate. It’s... unusual but I still believe that they have some hand in Firane.”
Arlan’s eyes darkened. “Well… they’re out there still. Its worse that they’re quiet.”
“It is,” Nightingale agreed. “But at least it gives us time to deal with other matters at hand. Do you want the Umbras to intervene in any way?”
“No, don’t act on anything just yet. I want you to continue monitor all movements and send a messenger pigeon if there’s anything urgent. I’ll be arriving in Sylabell in about 2 months, maybe less.”
“Understood.”
Upon acknowledging Arlan’s orders, Nightingale then phased into the shadows on the balcony’s floor and disapppear.
“Sophia,” Arlan thought, “Was that her new ability?”
“It was Nightingale’s [Shadow Walk] Mar-Tech that allows her to transform into a shadow and allows the user to move freely as a shadow would. Though it can be dispelled if enough light lands on the shadow.”
“Interesting.”
Arlan remained on the balcony, his thoughts churning. He closed his eyes, drawing in a steadying breath. Despite the weight of his responsibilities, he allowed himself a moment of calm under the starlit sky.
The morning sunlight poured into the study, bathing the room in a warm, golden glow. Arlan stood by the window, staring out at the bustling activity on the estate grounds below.
Soldiers of the Banner of the Claw were waking up for their morning training routine, their discipline a testament to their resilience. Emmeline had already left for the Alcazar to meet with her mother, the Queen. Then a quiet knock at the door broke the rhythm.
“Come in,” Arlan called.
Lucius entered, his posture as composed as ever, though there was a flicker of excitement in his eyes. In his gloved hands, he carried the [Disk of Absolution], its faint silver glow shimmering as though it had a life of its own.
“Arlan,” Lucius began, “I’ve had the chance to examine the artifact in greater detail last night.”
Arlan gestured for him to take a seat at the nearby table. “What can you tell me?”
Lucius placed the disk on the table with deliberate care, its runes faintly pulsing as though reacting to his touch. “The [Disk of Absolution] doesn’t generate mana on its own. Instead, it draws an infinite supply of mana from an external source—likely another plane of existence.”
Arlan leaned forward and examined the artifact. “Do you know how?”
“Not at this very moment,” Lucius admitted. “But with further study, I may be able to understand it.”
Arlan nodded, his expression thoughtful. “And Soketh used this to turn himself into a demi-god.”
“Exactly,” Lucius replied. “The power it holds is ridiculous. I’m glad we got to it before it fell into the wrong hands.”
Arlan’s gaze shifted to the artifact, his mind already racing through ideas. “And in the right hands?”
Lucius’s lips curved into a faint smile. “The possibilities are endless… If it could be used by any normal mortal and that’s where it’s difficult. There isn’t an instructions manual that can tell us how to utilize its power.”
After a moment’s pause, Arlan asked, “I see… What are your plans now, Lucius? Your temporary duty has been fulfilled to me.”
Lucius straightened, his tone resolute. “My place is with you, Arlan. The knowledge I possess isn’t meant for libraries or ivory towers—it’s meant to safeguard the world from the dangers these artifacts pose. And it seems you’ll be around them quite often.”
Arlan considered him for a moment, then extended his hand. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. Welcome, Lucius.”
Lucius clasped Arlan’s hand firmly, a rare smile breaking through his composed exterior. “Thank you, General Arlan.”
Arlan nodded. “When it's just us, just Arlan is fine.”
As Lucius departed, Arlan leaned back in his chair, his gaze returning to the glowing disk that Lucius left on the desk.
The Reeve Manor was quiet in the late morning, its grand halls still bearing the subtle hum of post-battle recovery. Arlan strode through the upper levels, passing portraits of the Reeve lineage and tapestries that whispered of Midland’s long history. His mind was preoccupied as he reached Marie’s room.
He knocked lightly but received no response. After a pause, he pushed the door open. The room was neat, though traces of Marie’s presence were evident—a satchel left by the bed, an open book on the nightstand, and her bed untouched.
“Not here,” Arlan muttered, closing the door behind him.
As he turned, he nearly collided with Katalina, who was walking down the hall with a stack of tomes in her arms. She steadied herself with a sharp glare before recognition softened her expression.
“Looking for someone, Ar?” she asked dryly.
“Marie,” Arlan replied. “Have you seen her?”
Katalina smirked. “She left for the coliseum this morning after breakfast. Said something about needing to blow off steam.”
“Makes sense.”
“I figured she’d be there all day,” Katalina added, shifting the tomes in her arms. “She looked... intense. You know how she gets when she’s working through something.”
“Thanks, Kat,” Arlan said, already heading for the staircase.
Katalina called after him with a teasing tone. “Good luck trying to talk to her when she’s in that mood.”
The streets of Auron were alive with the sounds of recovery and rebuilding. Merchants called out their wares, soldiers patrolled in pairs, and the occasional adventurer walked with purpose toward their next task. Despite the weight of the recent battle, the city buzzed with an undercurrent of hope.
Arlan’s steps quickened as he approached the grand coliseum at the heart of Auron. The ancient structure loomed above the surrounding buildings, its towering arches a testament to the city’s enduring spirit.
As he entered, the familiar sound of exploding fire spells greeted him. Training dummies lined the arena floor, many of them scorched and battered from relentless practice sessions. And there, at the center of it all, was the Embercaller.
Her movements were swift and calculated, her [Hellborn] form flaring as she unleashed a cascade of [Arcflares]. Each strike was precise, the heat from her magic palpable even from a distance. Her focus was absolute, her sharp blue eyes fixed on her targets.
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Arlan watched for a moment, leaning against a nearby pillar as she continued her relentless assault. The intensity in her expression reminded him of Marie’s will and determination.
Marie finally paused, her chest heaving as she surveyed the smoldering remnants of the dummies.
“I know you’re there,” she called out, as she remained unswayed.
Arlan stepped forward, “You’ve gotten better at controlling your flow of spells.”
Marie turned to face him, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Are you here to train as well?”
“Actually no, I’m not.”
A playful gasp was let out by Marie, “The world is truly ending, Arlan just turned down an offer to train.”
“Real funny,” Arlan replied simply. “I’m here to talk to you actually.”
“Oh, what a surprise… Are you here to talk about that?”
“By that you mean what I promised to talk to you about,” Arlan said, his voice soft but firm. “Then yes… We should talk about that.”
Marie hesitated, her gaze dropping for a moment before meeting Arlan’s eyes. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”
“Do you like thinking about it?” Arlan asked, his tone gentle.
Marie stiffened slightly, then sighed. “Of course… But wishful thinking isn’t too fun.”
Arlan stepped closer, his voice steady. “Marie, I… I do care about you. And… I’m sorry but I haven’t been forthright with you about how I feel.”
Her eyes widened, the sharp archmage momentarily disarmed. “What are you trying to say?”
“Back in Galmora, when you first opened up to me about how you felt,” Arlan said firmly. “I made a mistake by mislabeling my feelings for you as nothing more than camaraderie. But it didn’t feel genuine as I didn’t allow myself to recognize what I felt as anything more.”
Marie let out a shaky breath, her guarded demeanor cracking. “So you do… You do feel the same way I do?”
“Yes,” Arlan replied.
Marie’s lips twitched into a faint smile, though her voice was still uncertain. “You really talked to Emme about this, didn’t you?”
“I did,” Arlan said, his gaze unwavering. “And she made me realize something important—you matter to me just as much as she does. And I don’t want to pretend that I don’t see you for the woman you are.”
Marie’s smile grew, and for the first time in days, she laughed—a soft, genuine sound that echoed through the coliseum.
“You’re such an idiot,” she said, shaking her head.
“Yeah, I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.”
Marie stepped closer, her free hand resting lightly on his chest. “This is… something I didn’t expect...”
Arlan chuckled. “I’ve been known to subvert expectations.”
Their eyes met, and the unspoken feelings that had lingered for so long finally found their voice. When their lips met, it was a moment of understanding and connection forged through countless battles and shared struggles.
As they parted, Marie’s fiery determination returned to her gaze. “I’m in love with you, Arlan.”
“I’m in love with you too, Marie.”
“Ar, this isn’t our first kiss by the way.”
“I remember.”
“You were my knight-in-shining armor.”
Arlan stood with Marie and Emmeline in the castle courtyard, observing the steady flow of people heading toward the main keep, its towering silhouette casting a majestic shadow over the Emerald Lake. The grand Alcazar gleamed in the sunlight, its massive walls and intricate architecture promising an evening of splendor.
Emmeline adjusted her cloak with practiced grace, her regal bearing as natural as ever. She let her gaze linger on the castle for a moment, a soft smile gracing her lips. “The Alcazar… It’s just as beautiful as I remembered. My father and I used to visit often. He loved it here.”
Marie, clad in a stunning crimson gown, nodded in quiet agreement. Her voice softened as she replied, “Your late father would be very proud of you, Emme.”
“Shall we?” asked Arlan as he escorted the two ladies in.
The halls of Alcazar were filled with music and laughter as the celebration reached its peak. Tables laden with food and drink stretched across the grand ballroom, while banners of Midland’s great houses adorned the walls. Soldiers and adventurers mingled with nobles, their camaraderie cutting across social divides for the evening.
Duke Frank Lansley stood at the head of the room, his imposing figure commanding attention as he raised a goblet. His voice boomed with authority and warmth. “Tonight, we honor those who stood against the darkness and emerged victorious. Their bravery and sacrifice will not be forgotten!”
A roar of cheers erupted from the crowd, glasses raised high in unison.
Arlan sat with his strike team at a table near the edge of the room. JD was regaling Frej and Yuna with exaggerated tales of the battle, his animated gestures earning laughs and groans in equal measure. Savage remained quiet, his massive frame taking up more space than the chairs seemed designed for, while Akasha leaned back with a rare look of contentment.
“You look like you’re enjoying yourself,” Emmeline remarked as she approached Arlan, a goblet in her hand.
Arlan smirked. “For now. Until the Duke decides to pull me into the spotlight.”
Emmeline laughed softly. “He wouldn’t dare let you off that easily. But you’ve earned this, Arlan. Let them celebrate you for once.”
Before Arlan could respond, Duke Frank gestured for silence. “I have a special announcement,” he declared, his deep voice cutting through the chatter. “Grand Marshal Arlan Reeve, step forward!”
A groan escaped Arlan’s lips, though a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. As the room erupted in applause, he rose from his seat and made his way to the front.
“Try not to trip,” JD called out, earning another round of laughter from their table.
Standing beside the Duke, Arlan felt the weight of the moment. Frank clapped a hand on his shoulder, the gesture both paternal and firm.
“This man has given everything for Midland, time and time again,” Frank said, his voice reverent. “He has not only saved lives but also inspired hope in all of us. For that, I award him the highest honors.”
An ornate cache of adamantite bars was presented to Arlan as promised. Alongside it was a pouch of gold, its weight a symbol of Midland’s gratitude.
The crowd cheered as Arlan accepted the gifts, his expression humble but resolute. “Thank you,” he said, his voice steady. “But this victory wasn’t mine alone. It belonged to every soldier, every adventurer, and every person who stood against Soketh’s forces. This is for all of us.”
As the applause swelled again, Arlan returned to his seat, shaking his head at JD’s exaggerated bow of respect.
The atmosphere within the Alcazar’s grand hall was lively, the sounds of laughter and conversation weaving together in a melody of celebration. Arlan, however, found himself weaving through the crowd, his mind preoccupied with the weight of what still needed to be done.
Near the head of the room, Queen Margaret stood by a table adorned with Midland’s royal sigil. Her presence radiated authority, yet her posture betrayed the strain of leadership in the aftermath of Soketh’s incursion. Beside her sat Dink Rorschach, his face pale but resolute as he sipped carefully from a goblet, his injured arm wrapped in a sling.
“Your Majesty,” Arlan greeted, inclining his head as he approached.
Queen Margaret looked up, her weary expression softening at the sight of him. “Arlan, what a pleasure.”
“Pleasures all mine,” Arlan agreed, his tone warm. “I’m glad to see you well, despite everything.”
Margaret let out a soft sigh, her gaze flickering toward Dink. “Well enough, though the war took its toll on us all.” She gestured for Arlan to join her, offering a rare, small smile. “Walk with me, if you would.”
As they moved through the quieter edges of the room, Margaret’s voice grew more subdued. “The recovery efforts are progressing, but it’s an uphill battle. War of the Great Houses left devastation in its wake, and civil wars have the worst effects on a sovereign kingdom.”
Arlan nodded, his expression serious. “Duke Frank, Duke Louis, and Duke Nicolas have all stepped up. Their banners have held their territories together. Without their support, things would be far worse.”
“They have,” Margaret agreed. “And for that, I’m deeply grateful. But the strain is showing. Even Dink, as loyal as he is, has been overwhelmed. He means well, but his aptitude for governance leaves room for improvement.”
Arlan glanced back at Dink, who was now in conversation with a group of nobles. Despite his injuries, the Prime Minister carried himself with an air of determination. “He’s doing his best under extraordinary circumstances.”
Margaret nodded, a shadow of worry passing over her features. “For now, we’re still managing to gain progress on the recovery efforts. Midland cannot afford any missteps in these times.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of Duke Louis Reeve’s booming laughter. The towering Duke strode toward them, his arms outstretched in an uncharacteristically open display of affection.
“Arlan!” Louis called, drawing the attention of nearby revelers. He wrapped Arlan in a firm hug, clapping him on the back with a laugh. “I’ve been waiting all night to find you.”
Arlan chuckled, returning the embrace before stepping back. “Good to see you too, father. It’s been far too long.”
Margaret excused herself gracefully, leaving the two men to their conversation.
Louis grinned, his usual exuberance on full display. “Come on, let’s catch up.” He gestured toward one of the open buffet tables, and the two began to fill their plates.
As they happily chose luxurious and rich dishes, the chandelier reflected fine cutlery, Louis’s demeanor shifted slightly, his tone becoming more serious. “I owe you an apology, Arlan. I wanted to be there with you against Soketh, but there was another matter of national security I was dealing with.”
Arlan remained unphased as if he already knew of Duke Louis’ duties, “Don’t apologize, father. You’re doing all you can and more. I’ve only been told minor information but what of the details of this incursion?”
Louis sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “A unified horde of over 15,000 goblins, kobolds, and monsters surged from the wild frontier along the northern side. The attacks were too frequent and organized to be random. I managed to wipe out most of them before they could cause any harm with the 1st Reeve Banner but… something must’ve stirred them in the wild frontiers. I don’t believe they were trying to attack us per say… It just seemed like they were trying to run from something.”
Arlan’s mind immediately connected the dots. Nightingale’s report about the Rhota Orc Tribes and the growing unrest across Althea loomed large in his thoughts. “Nightingale reported disturbances to the east regarding the Rhota Orcs. They may be related.”
“It’s possible,” Louis admitted. “Anyway, enough about that. How’re you holding, son?”
“Oh you know… Just casually striking down a demi-god and saving my kingdom from ruin by an otherworldly evil.”
Louis let out a hearty laugh, “I expected no less.”
“But father, I must admit… Dealing with a demi-god from another world wasn’t as hard as navigating… women.” Arlan turned towards Marie and Emmeline who were enjoying themselves with Yuna and Chrysta.
Duke Louis immediately understood Arlan and reassured his son, “And here I thought you were invincible with your most recent achievement. Be careful Arlan, it is quite the dangerous prey standing there.”
“Were you sought after by many women as well?”
Before Louis could respond, Lord Commander Jermaine approached and saluted sharply. “Grand Marshal Arlan, my apologies for interrupting, but Duke Frank requires your father’s presence to discuss urgent logistical matters.”
Louis sighed but nodded. “Now what could that snob want with me? Oh well… it’s no matter. I’m sorry but we’ll have to pick this up another time. I’ll see you once more before I return to Tudora.”
As his father departed to confer with Duke Frank Lansley, Arlan’s gaze swept across the room. The celebration thrummed with life—nobles exchanging pleasantries, adventurers recounting exploits, and soldiers laughing over their cups of wine. Yet, even amidst the revelry, Arlan’s thoughts lingered on the challenges ahead.
“Arlan,” a familiar voice broke through his contemplation. Turning, he saw Duke Nicolas Stonemar, his trusted ally and the newly appointed head of House Stonemar. The burly duke’s expression was tempered by a mixture of responsibility and grief, a stark contrast to the lively atmosphere.
“Nicolas,” Arlan greeted, extending a hand. “I’m glad you made it.”
“As if I’d miss this,” Nicolas replied with a weary grin, shaking Arlan’s hand. “But I’d wager your mind isn’t entirely here.”
Arlan chuckled, his sharp brown eyes meeting Nicolas’s. “It’s true. There’s always another fire to put out. But what about you? How are things in the west?”
Nicolas sighed, his broad shoulders slumping slightly. “We’re holding on, but it’s been a struggle. The war drained us dry. High taxes to fund the campaigns crippled the common folk, and losing so many able-bodied men hit harder than we imagined. I managed to get Queen Margaret to exempt us from taxes for a year, but even that feels like patching a leaky roof in the rain.”
Arlan nodded thoughtfully. “And the southwest?”
“Far worse,” Nicolas admitted, his tone darkening. “With House Beaumont gone, there’s no leadership to stabilize the region. Bandits and deserters have turned it into a feeding ground. Every time we crush one group, another springs up. It’s like trying to hold back a flood with bare hands.”
“I’ll dispatch 25,000 soldiers from the Royal Army to assist you. Additionally, I’ll send 200 craftsmen from the Eastvale Trade Company, along with 1,500 gold and materials. Reconstruction can’t wait.”
Nicolas’s eyes widened in surprise, his usually stoic demeanor giving way to a brief flicker of gratitude. “That’s... that’s more than I expected, Arlan.”
“With Soketh defeated, I can properly distribute the Royal Army now,” Arlan replied firmly. “We cannot let the sacrifices made be wasted. Your people—and all of Midland—deserve a future.”
Nicolas hesitated for a moment, then placed a hand on Arlan’s shoulder, his grip firm yet sincere. “Thank you, my friend.”
Arlan studied him for a moment, his expression softening. “Nicolas,” he began, lowering his voice, “how are you? Really. It hasn’t been long since your father passed, and now you’re leading House Stonemar. That’s no small burden.”
For a moment, Nicolas’s carefully maintained composure faltered. His jaw tightened, and he glanced away, as if searching for the right words. “It’s... strange,” he admitted quietly. “Every decision I make, I wonder what he’d think. Whether he’d approve. He was the cornerstone of our house, Arlan. Losing him feels like losing a part of myself.”
“He was a great man, Nicolas. One of the finest leaders Midland has ever known. But you’ve proven yourself time and again, especially during the war. House Stonemar is in good hands.”
Nicolas looked up, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I appreciate that. It’s just... hard to fill his shoes. Harder still to not let the grief consume me.”
“It’s not about filling his shoes,” Arlan said, his tone firm yet understanding. “It’s about walking your own path while honoring his legacy. You have the strength to carry that weight, Nicolas. And you’re not alone in this.”
The two men stood in silence for a moment, the noise of the celebration fading into the background. Finally, Nicolas let out a deep breath, straightening his posture. “Thank you, Arlan. That means more than you know.”
Arlan offered a rare smile. “You’re welcome. Now, go enjoy the celebration. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a reason to smile. Our other friends should be around here somewhere.”
With a nod, Nicolas turned to rejoin the festivities, his steps a little lighter. As he disappeared into the crowd, Arlan remained rooted in place, his thoughts momentarily adrift. The hall’s vibrant energy swirled around him, but he stood steadfast, a pillar amidst the tide.
As the celebration carried on around him, Arlan made his way to the alcove where his strike team had gathered. Frej, Akasha, Savage, Yuna, and Niren stood together, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of nearby lanterns. Lucius, as ever, was slightly apart from the group, his keen eyes scanning the room with quiet vigilance.
Arlan stepped into their midst, his presence drawing their attention instantly. He clasped his hands behind his back, adopting the measured tone of a commander addressing his closest allies.
“Your service to Midland and to me has been beyond reproach,” Arlan began, his voice firm but carrying a note of warmth. “With the threat of Soketh vanquished, I want to know what each of you plans to do now.”
Frej was the first to step forward, her proud bearing and sharp gaze betraying a flicker of uncertainty. “Arlan,” she began, her voice steady, “I wish to remain in your service. I’ve fought by your side, and I believe in your vision for Midland. But...”
Arlan raised an eyebrow, encouraging her to continue.
“But I have unfinished business,” she admitted. “My father has always doubted my worth, and I want to prove to him that the honor of House Aikhan remains strong. I would ask that one day, you accompany me to my estate so I may show him the life I’ve built under your banner.”
Arlan nodded, his expression softening. “You’ve proven yourself, Frej. If earning your father’s respect is what you need, then I’ll stand beside you when that day comes.”
Frej’s lips curved into a rare smile, and she stepped back, visibly relieved.
Akasha was next, her glowing red eyes glinting with intrigue. The vampiric necromancer tilted her head slightly, her voice a soft purr. “I have no intention of leaving, General. Your essence... It strengthens me. My power grows the longer I remain at your side.”
Her words carried an undertone of amusement, but Arlan’s gaze remained steady. “Then you’ll stay. But remember, Akasha, your usefulness to me depends on your loyalty and contributions. Do not waver.”
Akasha’s smile widened, a mixture of charm and menace. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Keith “Savage” Grineer crossed his massive arms, his towering frame making him appear even more imposing. “I didn’t know this was a temporary arrangement,” he rumbled, his tone laced with mock indignation. “I intended to follow you from the start, Arlan. You’ve earned my loyalty.”
A flicker of pride crossed Arlan’s face. “Then you’ll remain?”
Savage nodded but added, “Eventually, though, I need to return to my homeland. My brothers... There is a blood debt that needs settling. But until then, I’m yours to command.”
Arlan extended a hand, which Savage clasped with his usual iron grip. “When that time comes, I’ll stand with you as you’ve stood with me.”
Yuna stepped forward, her expression calm but her golden eyes betraying a hint of vulnerability. “I wish to stay as your retainer, General,” she said softly. “But I have one request—I’d like to visit my mother before we move south. It’s been too long since I’ve seen her.”
Arlan’s voice softened. “You’ve earned that and more, Yuna. We’ll ensure you see her on our way to the southeastern border.”
Finally, Niren Dwain, the Chosen Apostle of Numen, stepped forward. His youthful face held the gravitas of one who carried divine purpose. “Numen compels me to remain with you, General,” he said, his tone solemn. “For now, my path is aligned with yours. But once your next endeavor is complete, I may need to return to my duties as one of Numen’s Chosen.”
Arlan nodded, fully understanding the weight of Niren’s responsibilities. “I’ll value your presence for as long as you can give it. When the time comes for you to return to Numen’s service, know that you leave with my gratitude.”
As each member of his retinue voiced their intentions, Arlan felt a renewed sense of camaraderie. These were not just soldiers or allies; they were family, bound by the trials they had endured together.
Arlan gave a small, satisfied smile. “Then it seems we’re all agreed. Together, we’ll face whatever comes next.”
The group raised their goblets in a shared toast, Savage’s booming voice breaking the moment. “So, what’s the plan, Arlan? Where do we go from here?”
Arlan’s gaze sharpened. “First, we return to Galmora for a month of preparation. After that... we set our sights on the Firane Kingdom.”
The weight of his words settled over the group, but none faltered. They had chosen this path, and they would walk it together.
The faint hum of the [Disk of Absolution] filled the chamber, its otherworldly glow casting rippling patterns across the polished stone walls. The artifact sat in the center of the table, an enigma that radiated both potential and peril. Arlan, Lady Dafni, Jin Alberra, Lucius, and Tebald circled around it, their expressions a blend of awe and unease.
Lucius was the first to speak, his voice sharp and analytical. “For all the time I’ve spent examining this artifact, its true nature remains elusive. We know it channels mana from an external plane, but we have no blueprints, no scrolls, no documentation to guide us. Its creators left us nothing but the artifact itself—a dangerous mystery.”
Jin leaned forward. “And therein lies the problem. Without understanding its construction or the mechanics of its power, every use is a gamble. This is no ordinary artifact, Arlan. It’s a force of nature condensed into a single object. We could harness it to achieve unparalleled feats—or we could doom ourselves in the process.”
Arlan’s sharp eyes flicked between them. “You’re saying we don’t even know what its limits are?”
“Precisely.” answered Lady Dafni with folded her arms, her silver hair glinting in the light. “The disk’s potential is limitless, but so are its risks. We’re not sure how much we can draw upon it at a time or if there’s even any limit at all. And if it were to fall into the wrong hands…” She let the thought hang in the air, her expression grim.
Tebald, standing near the edge of the table, hesitated before speaking. “But what if its creators didn’t leave documentation because they couldn’t predict its behavior either? What if the [Disk of Absolution] is incomplete—a prototype, that never got pushed to its limits?”
“If that’s true,” theorized Lucius, “Then we’re dealing with an even greater unknown. Prototypes are unstable by nature. The mana it channels could spike unpredictably, or worse, rupture the connection entirely. The only certainty we do know is that Soketh managed to harness it but how is still a mystery.”
“And yet, we can’t ignore it,” said Arlan as he thought of its potential, “The disk is here, and its power could tip the balance in our favor. If we don’t use it, someone else eventually will.”
Jin Alberra nodded slowly. “True. And that’s why we need to think strategically. We can’t simply wield the disk as it is. Without control, it’s a disaster waiting to happen. But if we were to incorporate it into something more stable, something designed to channel its energy…”
Lady Dafni’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Say… Arlan, aren’t you having a new weapon made from adamantite?”
“Yes, but I’m not sure how this would work.” answered Arlan perplexed.
Jin’s tone grew firmer, his confidence building. “An adamantium weapon, designed specifically to handle the disk’s power, could stabilize its energy flow and mitigate the risks. Think of it as creating a conduit—a vessel that focuses its raw potential into something usable.”
Lucius tilted his head, his skepticism clear. “That’s a bold proposition, Jin. Crafting such a weapon without blueprints or precedent is no small task.”
Tebald interjected, his voice tinged with excitement. “But it’s possible, isn’t it? With the right materials and the right team, we could create something unparalleled. A weapon that not only harnesses the disk’s power but refines it.”
“What would it take?” asked Arlan with piqued interest.
Jin’s response was immediate. “First, you’ll need a master bladesmith. Someone with the skill to forge a weapon capable of withstanding and channeling that much power. Wren is the obvious choice—his work on Starshadow proves he’s up to the task.”
Lady Dafni added, “Then there’s the matter of enchantments. We’d need to inscribe runes that stabilize the disk’s energy flow and prevent overloading. That will require expertise in high-tier magical theory, as well as access to rare materials.”
“I understand the risks,” admitted Arlan, “But the rewards outweigh them. If we can create a weapon capable of channeling the disk’s power, it could become the most powerful asset we have.”
Lady Dafni leaned closer, her silver eyes meeting his. “Then we’ll proceed. But remember, Arlan: this isn’t just about creating a weapon. It’s about taking responsibility for the power you’ll wield. The [Disk of Absolution] isn’t just a tool—it’s a symbol. If you misuse it, the consequences will be yours to bear.”
Arlan nodded, his voice steady. “I’ve borne heavier burdens. This is no different. I’ll have Wren begin the preparations as soon as I return to Galmora. Lucius—I’ll rely on your expertise to guide this process. We’ll make use of Marie’s regalia and Chrysta’s regalia for the runes.”
The group exchanged determined nods, the weight of their decision settling over the room. As they dispersed, Arlan lingered for a moment, his gaze fixed on the [Disk of Absolution].
The artifact’s glow seemed to pulse faintly, as if acknowledging the choices being made. In his hands, Arlan’s mind drooled at the unimaginable power he’d wield. A trump card that he could use to minimize casualties on his side.
As the conversation shifted, Arlan leaned back slightly, addressing Lady Dafni. “You mentioned earlier that the Mage Senate has been active. How are their efforts progressing?”
Lady Dafni smiled, her tone lightening but her words deliberate. “We’ve focused on two primary objectives: restarting the academies to train the next generation of talent and deciphering the newly discovered ancient scrolls residing at the Grand Archives. The scrolls may hold more knowledge about the Krea or lost arcana.”
“The reopening of Lancel High Academy,” agreed Jin, “Along with the three other major institutions, will be pivotal. In six months, we’ll see the first wave of students entering education again since the War of the Great Houses—a milestone in Midland’s recovery efforts.”
The mention of the academy caught Tebald’s attention, his youthful curiosity lighting up his face. “Will it be the same as before? Or are there plans to change the curriculum?”
Lady Dafni turned her gaze to him, her expression warm and proud. “The fundamentals will remain, but there will be significant changes. The Mage Senate has prioritized incorporating new subjects entirely, the responsible use of power, and an emphasis on practical applications.”
The group chuckled, but Lady Dafni’s next words brought a hush. “And if you continue on your current path, Tebald, you’ll likely be appointed to the Mage Senate as a researcher after completing your third year.”
Tebald’s eyes widened as he straightened. “A commoner like me?! To the Mage Senate? Truly?”
Jin chuckled at the younger mage’s astonishment. “With your potential, it’s only a matter of time. Your understanding of magical theory is already beyond most, and you’ve demonstrated an uncanny knack for the highest levels of mana manipulation. You’ll be ready.”
Tebald blushed slightly, looking down at his hands. “I never thought I’d have a chance to be part of something like that… And to receive such high praise from Lady Dafni and the Royal Court Archmage”
Lady Dafni placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “You’ve earned it. The academy will only refine your skills further.”
Jin Alberra then turned his attention to Arlan, a playful smirk on his face. “But what about you, Crown-Prince? Will we see you gracing Lancel High Academy’s halls next year?”
“Me?” questioned Arlan confused, “At the academy? What’s the point? I’m pretty sure I’d just waste my time there.”
Lady Dafni’s expression grew more serious, though her tone remained warm. “You’ve mastered much, Arlan, but the academy isn’t just about learning—it’s about legacy. If you intend to become king, completing your education there would send a powerful message. It would reinforce your credibility as a leader who values tradition, knowledge, and growth. And, let’s not forget, it would reflect well on Lancel High Academy itself to claim the Immortal General as an alumnus.”
Jin nodded in agreement. “Not to mention, it would allow you to connect with future leaders and thinkers of Midland. That kind of networking could be invaluable.”
Lady Dafni added with a small smile, “Of course, given your accomplishments, you’d start as a third-year student, skipping the second year entirely. The academy may be traditional, but even it can’t ignore practicality.”
Arlan paused, considering her words carefully. The idea of formal education seemed almost trivial compared to the responsibilities he already carried. But he couldn’t deny the political and symbolic weight such a decision would carry.
“It could be interesting,” he admitted. “Perhaps even fun.” He glanced at his retinue, standing quietly nearby. The corners of his mouth curled into a smile. “And what about them? Could you enroll my retinue as well?”
Lady Dafni laughed, a light, melodic sound that eased the room’s tension. “Easily. If Lancel High Academy boasts the Immortal General and his companions among its ranks, the other academies will have much to aspire to.”
Jin Alberra leaned back, his tone amused. “It would certainly shake things up. And it would give your retinue a chance to refine their skills in a more structured environment. Who knows? They might even learn something.”
The room laughed, and even Arlan couldn’t help but grin. “Then it’s settled. We’ll enroll when the academy reopens.” He glanced at Lady Dafni, his tone lighter than before. “Though, I expect you’ll find some way to make it challenging, even for me.”
Lady Dafni smiled knowingly. “I wouldn’t dream of it, General.”
As the group shared a laugh, the earlier gravity of their discussions gave way to a sense of camaraderie and hope. Even amidst the challenges ahead, there was room for growth, learning, and perhaps even a touch of normalcy.
The cool night air greeted Arlan as he stepped onto the balcony, the muffled hum of the feast fading behind him. The gentle lapping of the Emerald Lake added a soothing rhythm to the quiet scene, but Arlan’s thoughts were anything but calm.
He rested his forearms on the stone railing, his sharp eyes fixed on the horizon. The events of the day, the weight of the [Disk of Absolution], and the fragmented truths of his own existence swirled in his mind. The victory over Soketh was a moment to celebrate, yet all he could feel was the heavy burden of unanswered questions and impossible choices.
Sophia’s voice, soft yet regal, resonated in his mind. “My Liege, you seem troubled.”
Arlan exhaled, his breath misting faintly in the cool air. “You could say that. Too many pieces of this puzzle don’t fit. The disk. The rifts. The Malum Incarnate. It all feels… connected somehow, but I can’t see how yet.”
“You’ve faced uncertainties before, and you’ve always prevailed. These challenges are no different.”
“This is different, Sophia. It’s not just about strategy or strength. It’s about the very fabric of what we’re fighting for. The [Disk of Absolution]—its power could shape the future of Midland, or destroy it entirely. And the questions about my past... they’re not just whispers anymore. They’re growing louder.”
“You’re thinking about this body, aren’t you? The one who willingly surrendered so that Rove’s soul and core could inhabit it for the sake of Althea.”
Arlan’s grip on the railing tightened. “I am. I’ve been avoiding it for years, but I can’t anymore.”
“It was not a decision made lightly, my liege. The original Arlan believed in something greater—a cause, a future, perhaps even in you. To surrender his body was to ensure that Rove’s power could persist and be wielded by someone capable of using it for good.”
“But the process… it wasn’t just the body, was it? It was everything—his memories, his connections, his essence. All gone, so I could stand here now.”
Sophia paused before answering. “Yes, but not entirely. The threads of his existence remain within you, not as a merging of souls, but as echoes. His sacrifice did not erase him, my liege—it transformed him into something greater. His will, his hope, lives on through you.”
The words offered some comfort, but not enough to quiet the storm in Arlan’s mind. “If that’s true,” he said quietly, “then why do I feel like I’ve lost something I never had?”
Sophia’s tone grew firmer, though still tinged with empathy. “Because you carry the weight of what was given to you. It is not guilt, but responsibility. And you’ve borne it well. But, my liege, I sense this isn’t the only thought that troubles you tonight.”
Arlan was silent for a long moment, the wind tugging gently at his cloak. When he finally spoke, his voice was measured but laced with curiosity. “Sophia, if the original Arlan’s body was offered to me as my fifth resurrection… Would that mean it’s possible that someone else other than me is resurrected?”
“It is not impossible,” answered Sophia with uncertainty, “but it is fraught with risks. To retrieve a soul requires bridging the planes—something few have ever attempted, let alone succeeded in. And the vessel, my liege... it must be compatible and willingly surrendered, just as this body was.”
Arlan’s brow furrowed. “The Avens power bridged planes and so can this disk. Soketh has managed to jump planes as well. Could I… wield the power to bridge planes together?”
“It is true, my liege, that the power of the Avens has allowed for extraordinary feats. Emmeline’s journey into the plane of your mind was one such act—a rare bridging of realms, achieved only because of the Avens lineage.”
“The Avens’ power lingers within me even now. I felt it when I saw those who had passed—faces I thought I’d never see again. They were with me during the final battle against Luther.” His voice grew quieter, as though speaking the words aloud might summon the memories. “For a moment, it was like they were still here. Like they never left.”
Sophia’s reply was measured. “The Avens wielded power that defied mortal understanding, my liege. Their abilities allowed them to transcend barriers that others could only dream of. The visions you experienced, the fleeting connection with those who have departed, were echoes of that same essence. It is not resurrection, but a glimpse into what lies beyond.”
“If the Avens could bridge planes so seamlessly, then their power holds the key. The disk channels mana from another plane that could be the catalyst. Soketh tore through dimensions to invade Althea. The pieces are there, Sophia.”
“And our lack of understanding is precisely why you must tread carefully, my liege. The Avens’ mastery over planes was not simply a matter of raw power—it was an ancestral gift granted to them by a powerful entity.”
“You said the [Disk of Absolution] isn’t precise enough to bridge planes but only draw mana one way. But it’s a start. With the Avens’ power within me, and what we know about Soketh’s methods, I could learn. I could control it.”
Sophia’s tone shifted, a blend of regal authority and caution. “Control, my liege, is a fragile illusion when dealing with forces this vast. The disk is a conduit for raw power, and the Avens’ power within you is still uncontrolled. But if there was someone on Althea who could do it… It’d definitely be you.”
“If I could harness the disk and the Avens’ power together—it should be possible.”
Sophia’s silence was heavy, the weight of her hesitation palpable. Finally, she spoke, her tone quieter now. “You would risk losing your own powers for such a chance? If you fail, your core would nearly deplete and you’d lose your regalia.”
“If it meant that I could keep to my promise…”
“I understand your sentiments and why you would risk it all. If you could ascend your core to tenth-tier gold-core without the black draconian cuirass… You’d ascend as your rightful place as the God-King. You may be able to attempt it then.”
The wind tugged at Arlan’s cloak as he stared out over the quiet expanse. His mind raced with the implications of Sophia’s words, the pieces of the puzzle beginning to form a faint picture. The disk, the Avens’ power, Soketh’s transgressions and even Nithala’s words—they were all connected, threads of a greater tapestry he couldn’t yet see in full.
The sound of footsteps drew his attention back to the present. Emmeline stepped onto the balcony, her presence calm and grounding. She offered him a soft smile as she approached. “Arlan, the others are starting to wonder if you’ve disappeared. They’re asking for you.”
Arlan turned to her, forcing a faint smile in return. “I’ll be in soon.”
“Whatever you’re thinking about… don’t let it consume you.” said Emmeline worried, “We’ll be inside if you need us.”
“Thanks, Emme.”
As the princess returned to the warmth of the banquet, Arlan lingered on the balcony a moment longer. His thoughts swirled, a storm of possibilities and questions. The weight of the Avens’ legacy pressed against the growing resolve in his chest.
Would Iris come back? Or maybe even Noah?