Corvis Eralith
The world swam into focus like oil on water—thick, sluggish, distorted. A ceiling of rough-hewn stone swam above me, damp and oppressive. Cold seeped through the thin pallet beneath me, biting into my bones. Then, a face eclipsed the grim view. Star-filled eyes, ancient and utterly alien, scrutinized me from an impossible height. Windsom.
"Corvis, wake up." His voice was smooth, devoid of inflection, yet it carried the weight of mountains. "Good. The Mourning Pearl I used on you didn't seem to take effect for a while. A testament to the… unusual strain you placed upon yourself."
My tongue felt like leather in my mouth. Awareness crashed back in shards: the searing agony of Anti-Matter backlash, the terrifying numbness, the lightning strike of Bairon's fury, then… nothing.
A dungeon cell. Stone walls, heavy door, the scent of mildew and despair. The Castle. So, the Asuras finally deigned to intervene. A bitter taste flooded my mouth. Not out of concern. Merely timing. Snatched from the precipice just before Agrona's shadows could claim me. Convenient.
"You truly have Fate smiling upon you, Corvis," Romulos remarked, his phantom form coalescing beside Windsom's imposing figure. His voice was a familiar, unwelcome rasp in my fractured mind. "Finally, I see the light! Peering through the cracks in your consciousness was becoming dreadfully monotonous."
"Lord Windsom," I managed, the words scraping raw against my throat. I forced my wary gaze to meet his impassive one. The effort sent a fresh wave of exhaustion through me, deeper than muscle fatigue, a weariness of the soul. "What happened? Is Xyrus safe?" Tessia. The question screamed silently behind the spoken one.
"Yes," Windsom stated, his tone as unyielding as the stone walls. "Your actions, and Grey's—while undeniably brutal—proved instrumental in preventing the city's fall into Alacryan hands." A curt nod, like a judge delivering a verdict.
"You were near death after the lesser Lance's… intervention. I stabilized you with a Mourning Pearl." He paused, perhaps expecting gratitude. "A powerful Asuran elixir."
Yeah. I know what it is. The knowledge was cold comfort. My gaze flickered to Romulos. You're still here? After all your dire warnings about breaking Meta-awareness, shattering the rules… I thought unleashing that might have finally shattered you too.
Romulos chuckled, a dry, rustling sound in the confines of my skull. "Oh, I'm not going anywhere, little me. I've invested far too much time and… speculation… in you." His phantom form tilted its head, observing Windsom with open disdain.
"True, if Windy here and General Aldir hadn't swooped in, we'd be enjoying Father's rather… intense hospitality by now. But…" He shrugged ethereal shoulders. "I suppose the anticipation makes the eventual reunion sweeter. I can wait. For now."
"Thank you, Lord Windsom…" The words felt like lead weights forced past my lips, thick with a resentment I carefully veiled behind a mask of shock and exhaustion. Windsom, thankfully, mistook the struggle for trauma, not the simmering fury Romulos stoked within me—fury at his opportunism, his cold calculations.
"I will take you to your family," Windsom announced, turning towards the heavy cell door. It groaned open without visible mechanism. "You will remain with them until further instructions arrive. Another Asura will contact you." He gestured for me to follow.
"Even my parents?" I asked, my voice filled with immense hope.
"They are being momentarily substituted by your Grandfather in the Council so you can see them."
I pushed myself up, the world tilting precariously. Shackles—cold, heavy manacles—bound my wrists, a tangible reminder of my precarious status, innocent or not. Beyond the physical weight, the deeper exhaustion pressed down, a crushing fatigue woven with the phantom burn where For the Catastrophe had self-destructed on my forearm.
Yet, thanks to the Mourning Pearl's magic, the life-threatening wounds were gone, leaving only the profound inner scars and bone-deep weariness.
As we walked through the grim, torch-lit corridors of the Castle dungeons, the question gnawed at me.
"What about the Greysunders? The Glayder?" I asked, my voice low but steady. "They were collaborating with the Vritra. Orchestrating the frame against me."
Windsom didn't break stride. "The Greysunders have been executed for treason," he stated flatly, the finality chilling. "Your innocence is formally recognized. The Glayder… has been spared."
I simply nodded, the movement stiff. Justice, Asuran-style. Swift, brutal, and politically convenient.
"Although you believed yourself isolated in the Grand Mountains," Windsom continued, his voice echoing slightly in the stone passage, "Epheotus maintained surveillance. As I assured you previously: as long as you remain an asset against Agrona's machinations, Epheotus will ensure your safety from him." The promise felt less like protection and more like a leash, but I knew that already.
"Even when you unluckily had to kill one of the dwarven lances even tho it seemed he wasn't loyal to your continent." Windsom stated. So the asuras at least discovered about Rahdeas? That was something.
"Oh, this opportunistic, viscid wyrm is even more insufferable than I remembered," Romulos sneered internally, his phantom form keeping pace beside Windsom, radiating contempt. "The sheer, unadulterated gall of claiming protection while treating you like a pawn on their board…"
"I see…" I murmured, the words hollow. "Thank you for telling me, Lord Windsom." Then, the only question that truly mattered clawed its way out: "Is my sister safe?" The fear for Tessia, momentarily buried under shock and politics, surged back, raw and urgent.
"She is," Windsom confirmed, stopping before a section of blank wall. Relief, so profound it momentarily stole my breath, washed over me, a warm counterpoint to the dungeon's chill. Tessia was alive. Whole? I didn't dare ask. Alive was enough. For now.
"Now, follow me through this portal." Windsom raised a hand. Spatium aether, dense and complex, shimmered around his fingers. The air before the wall rippled, then tore open, revealing not darkness, but a swirling vortex of silver and blue light—a tunnel through space itself.
"This will take you to your sister and your companion, Grey," Windsom explained, his starry eyes fixed on the portal. "He departs shortly for specialized training in Epheotus alongside Lady Sylvie."
Training in Epheotus. The implications slammed into me. For Grey? A Vritra-blooded human? The Asuras wouldn't invest such resources unless... war wasn't looming anymore; it was crashing down upon us earlier than supposed. Fast and brutal. The fragile peace was irrevocably shattered.
"And we," Romulos purred, his mental voice dripping with dark anticipation as he gestured towards the shimmering portal, "will finally get to play continental chess with Dad."
Since when did I agree to play your sadistic 'continental chess' with Agrona, you sadistic lizard? I shot back internally, the familiar, grim rhythm of our antagonism a strangely grounding counterpoint to the monumental shift happening around me.
"Get inside the portal," Romulos commanded, his tone brooking no argument.
Taking a deep breath, steeling myself against the lingering ache in my soul and the ominous pull of the spatial tear, I stepped forward. The silver-blue light swallowed me, carrying me away from the dungeon's chill and towards an uncertain reunion, leaving behind the stark reality: the game had changed.
———
The portal's silver-blue light dissolved like spun sugar on the tongue, replaced by the crisp, pine-scented air of Elshire Forest and the familiar, ramshackle silhouette of Grandaunt Rinia's cottage. Before my eyes could fully adjust, a wall of dense hazel fur and overwhelming warmth slammed into me.
Thump.
The air whooshed from my lungs as Berna enveloped me. Not a hug—an enclosure. Her massive arms, thick as ancient tree trunks, wrapped around me with a force that felt like the mountain itself claiming its own. Her low, rumbling growl vibrated through my chest, a sound less of greeting and more of profound, grounding reassurance.
The scent of damp earth, wild herbs, and pure, uncomplicated bear filled my nostrils, washing away the lingering dungeon stench of mildew and despair. For a moment, the world narrowed to this: the crushing, comforting pressure, the steady thunder of her heartbeat against my ear, the simple, animal certainty of her presence. Home. Safety. Berna.
"Oh, look who we have here, our bear companion." Romulos murmured, a phantom flicker of amusement in my mind. "Looks like Windy finally managed something vaguely useful."
"I'm sorry, Berna," I choked out, my voice muffled against her thick fur. The guilt was a sharp stone in my throat. "I didn't mean to lie… about coming back soon." The memory of leaving her alone in the workshop, the desperate promise whispered to an empty cavern, felt like a fresh wound.
Windsom's smooth, detached voice cut through the moment. "I retrieved the stranded Bear Guardian you found. You call her Berna? I doubt she recalls any former designation."
His observation felt clinical, dissecting the bond into mere data. Berna, sensing the dismissal in his tone, finally loosened her embrace, though she kept one massive paw firmly resting on my shoulder, a silent anchor. Her green eyes, intelligent and deep, studied Windsom with wary distrust before settling back on me, radiating pure, uncomplicated loyalty.
Then, the world tilted again.
"Corvis!"
The voices struck like twin bolts of lightning, jolting me out of Berna's grounding presence. Mom and Dad. They stood near the cottage door, their faces etched with a terrifying blend of desperate hope and crushing relief. Mom's hands were clasped over her mouth, tears already streaming down her cheeks, cutting tracks through the worry lines.
Dad stood taller, but the tremor in his frame, the raw anguish in his eyes, betrayed the stoic facade. The shackles on my wrists felt suddenly heavier, a visible brand of everything they'd feared, everything they'd been powerless to prevent.
"Mom! Dad!" The cry ripped from me, primal and instinctive, before conscious thought could catch up. My legs, weakened by exhaustion and the lingering echo of Anti-Matter's violation, nearly buckled as I stumbled forward.
They met me halfway, their arms wrapping around me with a force that rivaled Berna's, but layered with human desperation, the frantic need to confirm I was real, whole, theirs. Mom buried her face in my hair, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Dad's embrace was fierce, trembling, one hand cradling the back of my head as if I were still a child who'd scraped a knee, not a prince who'd danced with annihilation.
Romulos went utterly silent within me. Not mocking, not observant. Just… absent. As if the raw, unfiltered torrent of parental love and grief was a force even his cynicism couldn't penetrate. It created a strange pocket of pure emotion, untouched by his commentary.
Grandaunt Rinia watched from the cottage porch, her ancient eyes sharp and unreadable. Beside her stood Grey, his posture tense, his eyes fixed on me with intensity. Sylvie, perched on his shoulder in her fox form, waved her fluffy tail frantically, a burst of pure white joy against the tense backdrop.
The warmth of my parents' embrace was a balm, but a cold dread quickly seeped through the cracks in the relief. I pulled back slightly, frantically scanning their faces, the cottage door, the surrounding trees. "W-where is Tessia?" My voice was rough, edged with panic. "Is she…?"
Mom cupped my face in her hands, her thumbs brushing away tears I hadn't realized were falling. "She's fine, sweetheart," she whispered, her voice thick but firm. "She's safe. Resting inside. Still recovering… but she's whole. She's alive." Her gaze held mine, pouring conviction into the words. "Thanks to you."
Alive. Whole. The words slammed into me with the force of Windsom's portal. The icy knot of terror that had resided in my chest since seeing Lucas drag her limp form finally, finally loosened. A sob tore from me, raw and ragged, born of weeks of helpless rage and the crushing weight of potential failure lifting.
I hadn't just survived; I'd protected. After the deaths I'd caused, the blood on my hands that felt like permanent stains, I'd finally shielded someone I loved. Mom pulled me back into the hug, rocking me gently as the tremors wracked my frame.
Dad's hand settled heavily on my shoulder. When I looked up, his eyes, usually so commanding, were swimming with tears he refused to let fall. "I am sorry, Corvis," he said, the words rough gravel. "I failed… again. I couldn't protect you… from any of it."
"It's alright, Dad…" I managed, my voice thick. "You couldn't do anything." It was the truth, but seeing the flicker of profound pain in his eyes before he forced a shaky smile—a valiant effort to shield me—was almost worse. The burden of a king, a father, powerless against cosmic predators.
We lingered in that fragile bubble of reunion for precious minutes—murmured reassurances, wordless embraces, the shared warmth a temporary shield against the world's harshness. Berna remained a silent, comforting presence nearby, radiating quiet vigilance.
Eventually, the need pulled me towards Grey. As I approached, Sylvie launched herself from his shoulder with a delighted chirp, landing lightly against my chest before scrambling up to nuzzle fiercely against my cheek, her tiny claws pricking through my tunic. Her pure, uncomplicated affection was another balm. Berna, a few meters back, huffed softly, a rumble of playful jealousy vibrating the air.
Grey met my gaze. No words were needed. His eyes held a universe of understanding: the shared horror of Xyrus, the burden of secrets, the chilling glimpse of Agrona's shadow, the relief of Tessia's safety, the exhaustion that went bone-deep.
"Grey, I am sorry," I began, the words tumbling out simultaneously with his own, "Corvis, I am sorry."
We both paused, a flicker of awkwardness breaking the intensity. A ghost of a smile touched Grey's lips.
"Me neither," he admitted, echoing my earlier thought to Romulos. The distance of my isolation, the chilling objectivity with which I'd sometimes viewed him during those desperate months in the mountains, hung unspoken between us.
"Windsom told me you captured Draneeve?" I asked, genuine surprise cutting through the awkwardness.
Grey nodded, his expression hardening. "I did. The bastard kept trying to recruit me while I was fighting him, babbling about Vritra supremacy. I took him alive so he could rot for the crimes they pinned on you." His gaze held mine. "Clear your name properly."
The simple statement, the tangible proof of his unwavering loyalty despite everything, stole my breath. "Thank you…" The words felt inadequate. "I don't deserve your thoughtfulness."
Grey reached out, his grip surprisingly gentle but firm as he lifted my chin, forcing me to meet his intense gaze. "You're my best friend, Corvis," he stated, the words simple, absolute. "Protecting you, Tessia, Sylvie… that's the priority." He glanced towards the cottage. "And you saved the others from Lucas too… Curtis, Claire…"
He trailed off, the unspoken weight of the Disciplinary Committee's ordeal hanging in the air. "That's more than enough."
"I guess that's enough about sentimentalities," I mumbled, recognizing the slight discomfort tightening his shoulders. The comparison to Arthur felt like a lifetime ago, a foolish simplification. Grey was Grey. Complex, burdened, fiercely protective, and uniquely him. Just as Romulos and I, sharing the same soul, were fundamentally different entities. The realization was strangely liberating.
"I see you finally reason and realize this guy isn't Art," Romulos chimed in, his mental voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "That means you have no lingering obligations. You can finally—"
I tuned him out, focusing solely on Grey. The fear I'd confessed only to Virion in a desperate letter surged forward, demanding voice. "War is coming, Grey…" I whispered, the words tasting like ash. "I—I'm scared. So scared that—"
I faltered, the confession about my contingency—siding with Agrona over Kezess's annihilation—lodged in my throat. Was this the moment? With Windsom potentially listening? With Grey leaving?
"I am too," Grey admitted quietly, his gaze distant, seeing battles only history books in his old world had described. "King Grey fought duels. The wars here… they're different. Vaster. Crueler." He paused, then shifted gears, a deliberate lightening. "Anyway, that Meta-awareness… does it give you knowledge of Earth's ancient fiction?"
Relief warred with the lingering fear. He'd seen it. "No," I explained, grasping the lifeline of normalcy. "In the future, Gideon and Wren Kain IV create exoform units—the Beast Corps. I took… inspiration." I omitted the desperation, the sleepless nights fueled by fear and Romulos's goading.
"Oh," Grey nodded, understanding dawning. "I see."
As we spoke, a strange sensation prickled beneath my skin. Not pain, but a profound wrongness, a deep-seated fatigue that the Mourning Pearl's magic hadn't touched. A chilling emptiness where the power I'd channeled had briefly resided. Romulos, am I having lasting drawbacks from using… that?
"First," he snapped, irritation lacing his thoughts, "don't dignify that crude imitation with the name Anti-Matter. It only worked because the brat was practically pickled in demon leech serum. Second, no. Windy's Mourning Pearl should have patched you up completely."
His tone held a forced certainty that did nothing to ease the disquiet crawling in my veins. Should have.
"Corvis?" Grey's voice sharpened with concern. He stepped closer, his hand gripping my shoulder. "Are you feeling alright? Is it Bairon's lightning? Lingering pain?"
I forced a shaky breath, pushing the unease down. "No, no. I'm fine." The lie felt brittle.
Windsom reappeared then, stepping smoothly from a newly formed portal beside the cottage. "Grey. Are you prepared?"
Grey gave me a final, searching look, then nodded, scooping Sylvie gently from my shoulder. She chirped a soft goodbye, nuzzling my hand one last time. The finality of the moment pressed down.
"One last thing, Corvis," Grey said, his voice low and earnest. "Please tell Tessia… I wanted to see her. Before I left."
The unspoken words—the apology, the worry, the affection he couldn't voice directly—hung heavy in the air. "I will," I promised, the weight of the message settling onto my already burdened shoulders.
He turned, Sylvie a white beacon on his arm, and walked towards Windsom and the shimmering gateway to Epheotus. He didn't look back. The portal swallowed them whole, the silver-blue light winking out, leaving behind a sudden, echoing silence.