XXXIII.

Etherian

Cedric stepped forward toward the young Rithi. He thought he might reach his hand out for him, but stopped short.

"Hello, old friend." he muttered.

"He's not real." said Ithlo'vatis, glowing in the corner.

Cedric glowered. "I know. You think I don't know that?"

"I know not what you do and do not know. I merely wished to rouse you of your delusions, before they overburden you."

Cedric scoffed and stepped out of Rithi's way. The younger Rithi moved to the boy's bedside and offered him a cup of water. The boy drank it hurriedly.

"Rithi knew Throkos..."

"Rithi knew Falskar." Ithlo corrected again. "Falskar was the boy's name before his Etherian took him."

There was a moment in which the two muttered to each other beside the bed. Gentle platitudes, a check-in, nothing more. Even at their low volume, the words were crystal clear in each of their minds.

"He's taking care of him." Cedric noted.

Ithlo nodded.

Okella finished wiping away her tears, and watched along.

Rithi finally stood and said, "Should you need anything else, just give the word."

"Thank you." said Falskar.

The door squealed shut behind Rithi again on his way out. Cedric stared at the young boy. He held no resemblance to Throkos as he was now; no dreads, no green eyes, no black clothes or respirator stuck to his mouth... Just tan skin. Dark hair. Dark eyes.

"What happened to him?"

Ithlo tipped his helm and walked through the steel door like it didn't exist. When Cedric followed into the chamber of glowing ice beyond, he explained: "This is an expansion of my ability Truth. Though we know not what happened through Throkos' eyes, we can discover it through the eyes of the world."

"Hopefully different eyes than that of Tartys?"

"Indeed." The walls and floors beyond the chamber were all made of ice. There stood an icicle figure some few paces away, with Rithi stood beside him. "This ability uses assumptions of all we know, all of the knowledge in all of our minds, to construct an accurate picture of what happened here. This should answer some of our questions."

"Have you attempted it, yet?" asked the figure of ice.

Rithi sighed and shook his head. "The disease has been activating too quickly. To get the antidote started, we need someone with a slow burn. I'm fearful that Falskar will be our last chance."

"Such a young boy... we'd best hope you're right. We're out of options."

Rithi nodded solemnly. The figure walked away.

"Falskar was sick?" asked Cedric. "I didn't know it worked like that. Then, did I receive Serkukan's... 'blessing' because I was angry? And Faunia received Tirolith because she's kind?"

"Your theory falls apart when you remember that Tirolith is here, now. And you were not sad to receive Okella, or intelligent to receive me."

"Ouch." he joked. "But what about Ivalié?"

Ithlo tilted his head. His face remained disinterested.

"Is he not wise enough to receive your blessing?"

"I was captured by him and Akvum during the Second Kylinstromi Era. I did not bless him with my abilities."

"Captured by mortal men... I'm sure that was embarrassing."

"You've yet to be introduced to the sel. Then you'll understand."

"Oh?"

But Ithlo walked on, plunging deeper through ice, deeper into the dreamworld. Cedric and Okella followed. "Either way, they're working on something. And I fear it is more sinister than Falskar is deserving of."

"His ley is buried deep." Okella remarked. She hugged her arms and shivered.

"He's locked his mind away beneath the weight of all of his actions and inactions. His memories still haunt him. And this inciting incident... This is where it all began."

Cedric said, "Unlike Ivalié, who was only haunted by a memory of Liara. He protected his ley only with his Etherian... you, I mean."

He nodded. "He is not one to conceal himself, nor his intentions, as Throkos is." Soon, the walls of ice all around began to darken. The walls became dark and gray again, and soon they saw the windows form up above them, and they were back in the same chamber, with a dull sunlight just barely illuminating them all.

"Another memory?" asked Cedric

Rithi was there in the center, kneeling on the floor around a circle he'd drawn in some sort of green chalk. Throkos sat across from him.

"Are you ready to begin?" asked Rithi.

Cedric's eyes shot open. The circle was the same as the one he'd used to contact Azafel in Thelani — a communion circle! They're calling out to an Etherian!

And the ring began to glow...

X

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It was the job of the Orphans to take the body for inspection, after the sel proved too prone to desecration, and the azar proved too imprecise. The only information they were sure of was that the sel ‘antithesis’ worked well enough to shut the man down, Etherian or not. So they’d been tasked with discovering that difference.

“Knife, there.” Lezat grumpily pointed.

Eson took a knife and handed it to Percival. Percival protested it, denied it, declined it, then took it and handed it off to the round-faced girl with a short black bob besides himself, named Ana. She pouted, but then excitedly plunged the knife into the cracks of the armor.

“Too deep!” Lezat shouted.

“Sorry, sorry!” she apologized. The knife was bloody.

Faunia stepped back a few paces and sighed. The tent was much more claustrophobic than their barracks; she could barely move with the five of them already, nevermind the four more soldiers encircling the table. Beside the body's wooden table was a smaller table with a metal tray atop it, which held all of their surgical tools.

Why the medics weren’t assigned this job, I’ll never know. As for that matter, I’ve seen not a single mage or healer in these squads. What a pity, for all the good they'd do.

She wiped the sweat from her face.

Eson must have noticed her discomfort, because he wandered over beside her soon enough.

"Getting squeamish?" he whispered.

She shook her head. "There are so many questions. None will be answered by this inspection."

"Perhaps we'll come out with more questions still.

She nodded. There was no doubt in her mind that this would open up even more pressing queries as to who their enemies were, and the tactics they used.

“Look at that!” Ana proclaimed.

Faunia raised her head.

“Twelve fucking hells…” Lezat gasped.

Her eyes went wide. Black tattoos were carved all over his muscled body, swirling from neck to chest to back to stomach.

“He’s not an Etherian,” she said, “he’s Sylvet!”

Lezat pulled at his mustaches and beard. "Sylvet, here? What's this all about?"

Cedric would have a better idea. Wouldn't he? But then, I was alongside him in fighting other Sylvet warriors — shouldn't I know?

She thought of Rog, the Sylvet leader who once raised Cedric — Lorik — as his own son. Only after killing his parents and burning down his village.

They all exchanged careful glances to each other.

"Was this the one raising the dead?" asked Lezat.

Ana nodded. "It stopped after his breathing did."

"How very glib." remarked Eson.

Percy gagged and stepped outside the tent.

Lezat shook his head. "We should bring this to the war room. Bring this to Kyvir."

"No need." said a new voice. A red-skinned sel had entered the room with his two guards, all wearing brilliant red tabards with golden trim and the visage of a dragon. The leader of their battalion, with messy, short black hair and one of his horns severed at the base. The other wasn't too round, tapering off in a forward point like a goring ram.

"Master Kyvir!" Lezat stammered and fell to a knee. The rest of the Orphans followed, with Faunia slow to react.

His eyes scanned them. Then he waved for them to come out of their kneels.

"What have you found?"

"He's a member of the Sylvet," explained Eson, "a group that once did war with The Hunters in Kylinstrom. They're followers of the God of Chaos Azafel."

"Mhm. And he casts with these tattoos?" Kyvir had approached the body and begun to touch it with his steel gauntlets.

"Indeed. Natural magic. Not Etherian magic—"

"—but this was 'Etherian' magic." He glared at Eson. "Wasn't it?"

None replied.

"Or did somebody feel a pull upon the lines? Forget to announce it? A better question, did natural magic always allow manipulation of life and death?"

Faunia narrowed her eyes. Speak plainly, bastard. You know something.

"There's been a development related to this. We've found one of their encampments."

"Oh, twelve hells!" Lezat cheered.

Kyvir turned his nasty glare upon the old marshal. "We're raiding it tomorrow at noon. It's a cave off the west side of the Tyvian Lake. We should expect Etherians and Calamonians alike."

"Shouldn't there be a formal briefing?" asked Faunia.

"There's been one. Apologies that the Orphans were not invited. Halm."

The group all saluted with their palms to their foreheads. Faunia followed late, again.

With that, Kyvir turned his back to the group and exited the tent.

Lezat snorted, but did not speak. None spoke for a long moment, waiting until he should be far enough away.

“Pretentious dick.” Faunia said once enough time had passed.

“Shhh!” Lezat hissed. “We’ll give him our respect while he’s our commander. We’re all in the same boat.”

“And we’re drinking the sea…” Eson chuckled.

Lezat swatted the back of Eson's head.

Faunia said, "It's not fair that they treat us as lesser. Because we're human?"

Eson shook his head whilst rubbing the back of it, "Because we're Kylinstromi. We are not from this edge of the world. They'd treat us worse if we were Calamoni — just look at how Kasval fares."

Kasval. The ambassador of man to the Alisan Capillary.

Lezat filled in what she wanted to know: "Killed him the instant the war was declared, right in their grand hall. Alvaki, they call their royal guard, the only men of Alisa allowed to know magic — they stabbed him to death in public, during open court."

Eson hung his head. Faunia's teeth clamped tightly against each other.

"Have no doubt: Alisa is perfectly able to win this war with ruthlessness alone. We'll be, eh… a footnote."

"I'm fine without even a mention so long as Kogar is in a grave by the time my blood runs out." declared Faunia, and she stormed out of the tent…