Fasdah, Minbasha 5, 350 AOR
“Over fifteen centuries ago, in the year 1604 AOW—the Age of War—Elda’s first king, Arthur Crim, fought against the Goddess of Darkness and her army of demons and Divine Beings, using the power of Light magic to cause Lady Death to retreat. The war—dubbed Humanity’s Revolt—devastated much of Wyze, but also parts of Volmier, resulting in millions of lives lost. A year later, Arthur Crim would create Elda and become its first king, which paved the way for an era of peace. However, within the next decade, Bezalee Kroath Crim, the king’s wife, and Aldera’s first headmaster, was discovered tampering with Dark magic. As King Arthur had banned Dark magic in Elda following the war against Lady Death, such a discovery was considered worthy of death; so when he discovered his beloved wife tampering with the Dark Arts, he was uncertain as to what to do. Ultimately, with his great love for Lady Kroath, he chose to exile her from Elda, rather than execute her. King Crim’s efforts for peace would continue for another two and a half decades, but word soon spread of a new empire forming in the confines of the Hroth Mountains, one dubbed the ‘Kingdom of Witches.’ This didn’t cause many to raise a brow, at least until it was said that it was Lady Kroath who was the leader of this empire. When word reached King Arthur, he set out to reunite with his past love alongside his strongest Eldan Knights; unfortunately, when they reached the city, the king learned that Kroath was an empire that yearned to control Dark magic. Once he confronted Lady Kroath and demanded an answer, the Grand Witch made it clear that she only wished to control Dark magic so that she could protect the future she and her husband had secured. Traumatized and disgusted by the Dark Arts, King Arthur snapped before condemning his lover and demanding that she quit her pursuit of Dark Magic. When Lady Kroath argued against him, King Arthur brandished Elda’s Hope—a sword crafted from the gods, which has been passed down with each king—and stood against his love. Their fight lasted no more than ten seconds, for when King Arthur swung at Lady Kroath, so lost in her own anger, she used Dark magic to strike down King Crim in a single blow. His body withered, and upon realizing what she had done, Bezalee Kroath Crim killed herself as she held her beloved in her arms. It’s said that the two couldn’t even be separated after death, for their love was eternal, resulting in the star-crossed lovers finally finding solace in one another only after their untimely demise. After that, the Eldan Knights and Witches of Kroath fought one another in a battle that lasted just five minutes. On each side, a single knight and witch survived, and this is the story they shared.”
The ringing of the bell interrupted Professor Phion Thomala, an older gentleman who was rather short and wide in stature. He had told the class that he had come from the city of Sherma, proven by his darker skin tone and puffy black hair. He also wore a pair of large, round glasses that made his brown eyes appear three times as large as they were without them. Despite hardly ever using the word, much less regarding a man, Cal couldn’t help but think that his history professor was rather adorable—like a tiny little puppy trying its best to keep up with the rest of the litter.
“Oh! Looks like I’ve rambled again,” he lightly chuckled as he looked at the class. “Can’t help but get caught up in such wonderful history, right, class?”
The men in the class looked half asleep while the women in the classroom were wiping at their eyes. Even the usually cold-hearted Sylvest looked somewhat moved by the story as she leaned forward in her seat with a melancholic expression.
Professor Thomala turned with a smile and hum as he waddled toward his briefcase on a nearby table. “Well, class, have a splendid rest of your day, and I’ll see you all next week!”
The class of thirty filed out of the smaller classroom, and once outside, Cal was met with Ray and Sylvest. Like they’d been doing since the first day of classes—despite the lack of cordiality between the three members—the three made their way toward the dining hall for lunch. It was rather odd to Cal. In the week since coming to Aldera, he hadn’t seen eye to eye with either of his teammates, yet they were almost never not around one another. Perhaps having nearly similar schedules allowed for that. Regardless, with a clear tension lingering between Cal and Sylvest, and Ray doing his best to keep his teammates civil, Squad Eighteen was about as close as a cloud to the ground.
No matter what though, Ray always seemed to approach things in his usual positive manner…
“My mother loved that story—said it was one of her favorites. I think she loved romantic tragedies more than anything else. ”
“It’s a good story, but it’s rather twisted how the queen used Dark magic,” Sylvest said bluntly. “She fought in the war against Lady Death, yet she still used the same magic that killed her allies. It’s disgusting.”
“Yeah, putting her love for Grandpa aside, I don’t think Grandma was that good of a person. She was a hero in the war—even has a statue of her in Heroes Plaza—but then she turned her back on those she loved. Whether for Elda or not, going against the only rule at the time… it’s ridiculous. Uncle Silus—biased as he is, being her predecessor—always said that she was just a broken woman looking to protect what she loved, but I never really shared his sentiments. It was her actions that ultimately resulted in the tension between Kroath and Elda that’s lasted since the two empire’s inception.”
“Uncle Silus?” Cal inquired, speaking up for the first time that day as the three entered the dining hall.
“He’s actually a good friend of my father, enough so that he’s considered my uncle,” Ray chuckled and grabbed a plate, which was promptly filled with mouth-watering food prepared by the best cooks in all of Elda, second only to the king’s staff.
Reminiscent of Cal and Dirah’s relationship, Cal hummed in understanding before the three made their way to one of the many round tables within the dining hall. Light streamed into the cafeteria from the large windows that wrapped around the octagon-shaped room, dust floating every which way alongside the aroma of juicy chicken, freshly baked bread, and a bowl of vegetables. By the time the three were just a few bites in, Princess Availius, Grace, and Venella approached the table.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” the Elf Princess declared as Squad Seventeen casually filled the rest of the empty seats around the table. “How were classes?”
Ray, still chewing, threw up his thumb, getting a smile from the princess. She then turned to Sylvest. “Good. And you Anna?”
“Fine,” was her curt response as she scarfed through her food like it’d disappear if she didn’t eat it right then.
Cal scowled at the lack of manners.
The corner of Princess Availius’ lips turned down in a sort of angry pout, but it left just as quickly as it came, her attention then shifting to Cal. “Mr. Gray?”
Pausing right as his fork was to enter his mouth, Cal said, “They can be slow, but it’s beneficial I suppose.”
“I hear ya,” Venella groaned and pointed her fork at me. “But get this. There’s this lanky professor, and I bumped into him a few days ago. He was carrying his tea, and it ended up spilling on the reports he was also holding. Now he’s blaming me and has been using me as a test subject in class! That fool is out to get me, I tell you.”
“How unfortunate,” Cal halfheartedly responded, his attention returning to his food.
Her shoulders sagged. “Are you even listening?”
“Sort of.”
She exhaled. “What a cold man you are, Cal Gray.”
“Apologies.”
“Mhm,” she grunted.
A bump to his back caused Cal to lurch forward, almost into his food. When he looked behind him for the source, he saw a random student smirking with a handful of other students laughing behind the culprit.
“Sorry, Gray. I almost forgot how pathetic you are. I’ll be careful next time, yeah?”
Cal scowled and turned back to his food, ignoring the student as he recalled Airetore’s words from a few nights ago. It was during Airetore’s promised training, the one where he’d make Cal as miserable as possible. That night, Cal had learned a very important lesson: the handsome professor was not one to lie, nor hold back when he meant business. Once they were done, and Cal realized that he was going to have to ask Leafa for more healing wraps, he listened to Airetore as he lay huffing for air on the ground:
“Not only did you piss off your teammate on the first day of classes, but you also pissed off the second-most influential son in this kingdom. So guess what? You’re now a target, congratulations. You’ve been ousted as weak and incompetent, meaning that both Latiss and all your other peers will think you’re easy picking. Maybe you are, but the biggest takeaway from this whole shit show is that you need to be sure not to resort to your roots. You grew up a child soldier, a killing machine. You can’t do that here—you can’t kill off your problems. So whether physically or mentally, you’d do to hold yourself back, understood?”
“H-Hey!”
Cal’s gaze snapped from his food to the stuttering voice of one Grace Prath, who stood somewhat defiantly in front of the jeering student with her fists clenched at her sides. Any attempt to appear threatening to the student fell flat, however, as Grace simply looked like an angered puppy.
“What do you want, shrimp?” the student said, scowling.
Grace’s mouth fell open multiple times, eyes shaking before she met his eyes. “Apologize to Cal!”
The student, albeit with irritation swelling in his eyes, laughed. Hunching over and going so far as to grab Grace’s shoulder to further belittle the magess; however, that would prove to be a mistake as, not a second later, Venella was at his side, grabbing the student’s wrist with enough force to drop him to a knee. It was a given that such action wouldn’t deal with the situation, which was swiftly proven as one of the student’s friends drew their wand and pointed it at Venella, who was then backed by Princess Availius with her bow, followed by another student pointing their sword at Princess Availius.
You’re now a target.
The words repeated in Cal’s mind as he realized that, at the current rate, he wouldn’t be the only one. It only proved his theory: the closer they are to him, the more endangered they are. He hadn’t even known Grace for a full week—he had hardly even blinked at her—yet she still tried standing up for him, putting herself in a predicament that she never needed to in the first place. Now, she was in trouble—as were her teammates.
“… idiot,” Cal muttered, standing up to intervene, just to freeze as a considerable amount of mana exploded beside him.
Looking over, Cal’s eyes widened at the sight of Ray, who was shrouded by a dense amount of mana, eyes glowering as he slowly stepped toward the mass of students. The power brimming off of him was one that Cal had only really felt around Airetore, and as the potency of the mana flared, Cal remembered that he was in fact standing before a Proversum and Paragon of the Elemental Arts.
“Quit with this nonsense. All of you,” he spoke, his voice thick like the power swelling around him.
Just like that, weapons were sheathed and heads were bowed in the direction of the Prince of Elda. His sky-blue eyes darkened marginally before he glanced at Violet, who shied away from his glaring gaze. Then he turned around and sat down, returning to his meal like nothing had happened. The hushed whispers surrounding the dining hall soon turned back into normal conversation and laughter, but also prying gazes that settled on the backs of Squad Seventeen and Eighteen.
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Taking a bite of food, without looking up, Cal said to Grace, “Don’t speak for me.”
Head downturned and eyes crestfallen, Grace nodded mutely. However, the heiress didn’t seem to like his response as she glared at Cal.
“She stood up for you! There’s no need to be so cruel!”
“And she almost caused everyone trouble,” Cal retorted. “You don’t know me, and you don’t need to stand up for me. I’m perfectly capable of dealing with things by myself.”
“Like your fight with Latiss?”
The table hushed as Cal’s head slowly swiveled toward Sylvest.
“It’s been five days. You really want to bring that up?” Cal asked.
“What better time? We can’t talk about causing problems without bringing up the fact that we’re one hundred points short of where we were on Firndah because of you.”
“Why are you so stuck on getting points?” Cal groused. “Simply graduating from Aldera is enough to give you a good future.”
“I don’t need mediocrity! I need perfection!” Sylvest snapped as she stood up.
“Then get off your fucking high horse! I came here to protect what little left I have. You’re here out of some desire to be better than everybody else, you selfish—”
Sylvest’s hand swung at Cal’s head, but this time, he stopped her from slapping him. Her wrist in his grasp, Cal loomed over her. “Despite how much you tell me to stay away from you, you keep coming back. Stop… or I won’t be as agreeable next time.”
His teammate tore her arm out of Cal’s grip and spun around, leaving the dining hall with a disgruntled shout, her boots clicking against the marbled floors. Lips still twisted into a slight snarl, Cal turned around, grabbed his satchel, and moved to leave as well, only for Ray to grab his arm, expression surprisingly stern.
“Cal, this needs to stop.”
Cal scoffed. “Don’t lecture me. You’re no better, always trying to get into my business despite knowing me for less than a week. I don’t need you clinging to me like a lost puppy.”
The prince’s hold relinquished, enough sorrow in his eyes to almost make Cal apologize; however, he didn’t—he simply turned around and left the dining hall, though not before a sensation of being observed fell over him. it wasn’t like the inquisitive ones that always pestered him, but more like genuinely curious eyes that belonged to someone within his vicinity.
Having drawn so much attention in the many altercations that just occurred, it could’ve been anyone’s, but briefly skimming the room, Cal found them.
Alluring and olive green in color, the eyes watching Cal belonged to a girl with an attractive face and shoulder-length blonde hair. She was staring at Cal from a few tables away, and when his eyes met hers, she smiled softly and waved. The scowl he wore faltered, admittedly eased by the girl’s expression, but he dismissed the feeling as quick as it came and continued on his way out of the hall.
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The first hints of autumn showed itself in the falling leaves, star-shaped embers that slowly descended to the ground as the sister suns washed over the green forest of trees like a field of flames. Within those flames, however, was a clearing, one that was hundreds of feet wide and with a streak of blue swerving through it.
Having used all four of Aldera’s outdoor training grounds, Cal found Grounds Three to be the best. Not only was it the largest, but its large creek allowed for a relaxing place to cool off, both physically and mentally, after a strenuous training session or long day; today, it helped ease both. Having concluded a long bout of physical training in sprints, upper body training, and core training, Cal waded in the water, pants rolled up and his crimson button-up discarded for a black, form-hugging shirt. With his hair undone, the light brown tresses shone just a tone bit brighter as it wafted with the late summer breeze.
Sighing in relief, Cal took refuge on a small stone that stuck out the creek, sitting on it while keeping his feet in the water, where small, reptilian creatures swam without care. With no legs and multiple wing-like fins spanning their foot-long bodies, the doe eyes of the Zyphens glistened like gems among the creek’s stone bottom. Cal paid them a few seconds of his time before closing his eyes and tilting his head backward, allowing Vrexa and Yanola’s warmth to wash over him.
The tweeting birds, drifting creek, and whispering wind enveloped Cal in a calm that he hadn’t felt since leaving Markstead. The thought of home brought the image of his family to mind. Their smiling faces and hard-to-keep-up-with lifestyle. He was somewhat the same considering his past, but there was a sense of normalcy in their chaos, one that Cal frankly missed.
He’d need to write them a letter.
He’d amassed plenty of journal entries over his two-week journey to Elda, but since coming to Aldera, he hadn’t had the time to do so.
So he’d write in it and then explain everything for his family to read. Maybe he’d even include a few sketches of the flowers and creatures surrounding Aldera, the ones that couldn’t be found in Markstead and would surely make Eri happy.
The thought made Cal calmly exhale, content with his decision. Not a second later, however, the warmth of the sister suns receded. Fate was never kind to Cal Gray.
Grumbling at the lack of warmth, Cal opened his eyes, finding a pair of amber pools staring into his own.
“Hey, punk,” Venella Rafierre said with a grin before moving her head, allowing the two suns’ shine to blind Cal.
He winced and pinched his eyes shut. “What are you doing here?”
“We—” the heiress motioned to her teammates who stood at the creek’s bank— “were going to train. Found you here instead. So… what are you doing here?”
“Same as you,” Cal said.
“So join us,” Venella said, hands on her hips.
Standing up, Cal ran a hand along his nape. “Weren’t you mad at me earlier?”
She scoffed. “Uh, yeah. You’re a prick. That means that beating you up won’t make me feel too bad.”
“Please d-don’t call him that, Venella,” Grace squeaked out.
The heiress merely waved off the magess, turning to Cal and smirking. “So what do you say, Calvin?”
“That’s not my name,” Cal said, face deadpanned.
“Less complaining, more fighting, yeah?”
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“Alright. Being a simple spar, let’s keep things nice and civil,” Violet stated as Venella and Cal stood in a small dirt ring next to the creek—Grace watched from a small bunch of trees beside it. “No kill shots, no dirty moves, and with both of you using weapons, we’ll say no magic for this spar. Understood?”
From where Cal stood, daggers drawn and expression calm, he nodded. Venella’s bracelet turned into brass knuckles once again before she nodded as well.
“Good. With that—” Violet raised her hand—“Begin.”
At the drop of her arm, Venella launched herself at Cal, followed by a weighted punch aimed at his ribs. He dodged the attack, as well as three quick jabs to his face. With her arm still extended, Cal used his right blade’s pommel to bash the heiress’ wrist.
She groaned at the impact, though she recovered frighteningly fast by grabbing Cal’s left arm with her free hand, pulling him downward. Cal was met with a knee to the face that sent him reeling backward. He moved to defend myself after she followed up with an uppercut, which he succeeded in doing; unfortunately, that left his lower half open to a kick against his left leg.
He staggered backward, but Venella didn’t relent. Her constant bullying was agitating, and with his current weapons, Cal couldn’t properly fight against her destructive fists.
“Fuck it,” he ground out before sheathing his daggers and raising his balled-up fists.
Venella’s eyes flashed with approval before she re-engaged and threw her fist at Cal’s chest. He feigned catching it—hoping to throw her off—before wrapping his hand around her wrist and holding her in place. He then jumped upward and sent a kick into her side. In the same motion, he let go of her, which sent Venella rolling across the ring. When she stood, she seemed fairly pleased.
“You’re pretty reckless, Calvin. Going hand-to-hand with someone like me. Most would consider you stupid.”
“I get that a lot,” Cal said with labored breaths.
“The latter?”
“The former.”
She smirked. “Well keep it up. You might be a prick, but you know how to make things interesting.”
The pair launched at one another again before engaging in a close-combat fight in its purest form. Punches and kicks were shot out at one another, some connecting, but most being blocked or brushed away. Venella got a good hit to the side of Cal’s face, which he followed up with a kick to her thigh and two punches to her gut. But she was as sturdy as she was physically powerful, proven as she ate Cal’s punches, her body like a boulder.
Their fight surged on until it shifted into a grappling match. Both of their hands locked with the others, though after a moment of trying to push her back—and realizing he was going nowhere—Cal pulled her downward with a jerk of the hands. Her upper body went down as he had hoped, and as she did so, Cal twisted her around and pulled her against his chest. He wrapped an arm around her neck.
Of course, he wasn’t going to actually strangle her; he simply wished for her to surrender. Unfortunately, an elbow to the gut was what he got instead. Venella then turned, hit Cal with a barrage of quick jabs in his jarred state, and proceeded to throw Cal over her shoulder and onto the ground. She mounted his midriff to keep him pinned and then reared her fist back.
“You give?” she asked with a humorous glint in her eyes.
Cal sighed and nodded, knowing he was beaten and that his body was surely going to be covered in bruises by the next day. Venella smiled and tapped the side of his face. “Good boy.”
Cal grunted in annoyance and smacked the offending hand away before the heiress climbed off of him. Back on his feet with Venella’s help, Cal’s body nearly toppled over from exertion, just for Venella to throw an arm over his shoulder to hold him up.
“Thanks,” Cal mumbled while she walked him toward the shade, where Grace was clapping and Violet smiled, her mint green eyes shimmering in awe.
“Don’t mention it. It’s the least I could do after kicking your ass,” she joked, getting a scoff from Cal.
“You’re hilarious,” he scoffed.
Unperturbed, the heiress grinned. “I know.”
In the small grove of trees, Cal sat on a fallen log next to the rock Grace sat on. He hadn’t even been sitting for five seconds when the Princess of Everhold approached, hands clasped behind her back with an admittedly beautiful smile spread across her face. She leaned a bit over Cal, loose strands of silver fluttering in the wind.
“Would you care to spar with me as well, Mr. Gray?”
Cal let out a heavy breath. “Only if I can rest a bit… and if you don’t call me that. Call me Gray or something, like Sylvest.”
“She calls you that to insult you, so I’ll just call you Cal since everybody else does, yeah?”
Cal nodded, though he paused and looked at the princess, a single brow raised. “Is that true?”
The princess mirrored his expression. “What?”
“The thing about Sylvest…”
“Oh,” her mouth opened like a fish, clarity flashing across her face. “We’re roommates. She tends to mumble and rant while in the bathroom. She doesn’t like you that much.”
“What a shame,” Cal said with a roll of his eyes.
Violet wagged her finger. “Now, now, Cal. It’s that kind of attitude that makes no one like you.”
“How could you say that with such an innocent facade,” Cal muttered before standing up and looking down at the Elf Princess as she stood half a foot shorter than him. “Does that mean you dislike me, Princess Availius?”
She hummed, pressing a dainty finger to her chin. “Well… You don’t give people a reason to like you.”
“Good,” Cal said as he and the princess approached the ring.
Taking position on one side of the ring, Violet tilted her head in confusion. “Do you not wish to be liked, Cal?”
Cal stood opposite Violet. He drew his blades and twirled them in his grasp. “I don’t wish to be burdened.”
With a swipe of her hand, Violet’s bow was retracted and snapped outward before she held out her hand and a vine grabbed a silver and white quiver full of similarly shaded arrows from beside Grace. “Burdens make the shoulders heavier, stronger, Cal Gray. Please do consider that as we move forward together.”
“Together? Don’t get ahead of yourself, princess.”
Violet gave Cal a closed-eye smile. “Do not dismiss my inability to get what I want.”
“And what would that be?”
“Peace.”
The second the word left her lips, Violet drew an arrow from the quiver before nocking it and shooting at Cal. Had he been a second late, it surely would have pierced his shoulder; however, Cal shifted his body to dodge. There were only two seconds between the first and second arrow, the latter of which grazed Cal’s arm, tearing his uniform and causing a small gash. His lip twitched, but instead of growing flustered, Cal flung his dagger at Violet. The princess showed off incredible evasiveness, however, by flipping sideways, knocking another arrow, and shooting it while she was positioned upside down. Forced to parry the third arrow, Cal did so, though that left him open to Violet as she closed the distance and smacked the front of her bow into Cal’s face. Cal staggered backward. That then left him incapable of defending the princess as she jumped upwards and kicked both her feet into his chest. Breath stolen from his lungs, Cal flew to the ground, barely able to flip himself backward before two arrows landed where his thighs once were.
Violet was strong.
He didn’t have to experience such a beatdown to understand that. The determination she exhibited in her attitude and simply the way she carried herself was made much more clear with the way she fought too.
Agile and swift. Powerful, yet delicate. Smart, but also deceitful.
As the princess of one of Wyze’s Three Great Kingdoms, Cal should have expected her to be powerful in her own right—similar to Ray. Past the royal bloodline—ensuring almost insurmountable mana to the offspring of royalty—past the resources to become the best, and past the lavish lifestyle that enabled the training, it was still surreal to be utterly defenseless.
Cal Gray was not used to losing, yet… he was… again and again.
Was it anger that bubbled within his soul… or perhaps disappointment?
He picked himself up, only to be overwhelmed by another volley of arrows. He dodged a couple, but many more grazed him. It was after getting nicked by two more that Cal froze, and in the second he did, a third arrow sliced by his head, grazing his cheek and causing a small laceration.
It dawned on him…
Violet Availius was going easy on him.
He who had killed hundreds, he who had spent the last eight years devoting himself to the protection of his family, and he who looked down on being weak… was truly and only that.
Limbs going limp, Cal dropped the last dagger in his hand whilst the heavy realization caused his head to fall, eyes wide in shock.
“I yield,” he whispered.
Footsteps approached, and in the hazy recesses of his mind, he could make out that they were Violet’s. She stood a few feet in front of him. “I’m sorry?”
Again, defeated in every sense of the word, Cal whispered…
“I yield.”