Corvis Eralith
The final line of the new Against the Tragedy matrix glowed with a soft, ethereal blue light before fading, leaving only the faintest tracery on my skin—an intricate, sprawling latticework covering my legs, torso, and arms barely visible if it wasn't active.
It pulsed gently in time with my heartbeat, a cool, humming counterpoint to the roaring silver sun now anchored in my core. Relief, profound and bone-deep, washed over me, momentarily eclipsing the ever-present thrum of dependency.
"I can't thank you enough, Alanis," I breathed, the words easier now, augmented mana flowing smoothly through the pathways Against the Tragedy had etched into my throat.
The week had been grueling—a relentless marathon of precise mana channeling, agonizing adjustments, and Alanis's steady, expert hands guiding the mana-infused needle.
She hadn't flinched at the complexity, only asked clarifying questions with her characteristic calm focus.
"It was my honor, Your Highness," she replied, offering a small, genuine smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes. She held out a simple, sturdy cane of polished darkwood.
"Use this while your body fully acclimates to the new pathways and the… intensity of your core's demands. It's a crutch, yes, but a temporary one."
I looked at the cane, then down at my own legs, encased in the familiar grey fabric of my uniform pants.
"I'm thirteen years old," I protested, a flicker of adolescent indignation sparking. "I'm not using a cane."
Pride warred with the stark reality of my new existence. I pushed myself off the edge of the bed I'd been working on, determined to stand unaided. My legs held… for a second.
Then, as I attempted to shift my weight, I poured a fraction too much mana into my right foot. It wasn't conscious; it was the desperate, instinctive urge of my body screaming for the power it now craved to function.
My foot jerked forward violently, overextending, and the world tilted. I stumbled, arms flailing, saved only by Alanis's quick reflexes as she steadied my shoulder.
Wordlessly, patiently, she held the cane out again. The faint, knowing smirk on her lips was infuriating, but undeniable. Heat flooded my cheeks.
Pathetic. The coreless prince who built Lance-level killing-machines, brought low by his own silver core. Shame warred with pragmatism.
"Fine," I muttered, looking away as I snatched the cane. The cool wood felt alien, humiliating, against my palm. A tangible symbol of the fragile, high-wire act my life had become. "I'll use it."
———
The training courtyard felt different. Sunlight streamed down, warming the stone, but the air crackled with unspoken tension and anticipation.
Tessia, Curtis, and Kathlyn stood waiting, clad in the practical, dark blue training suits of Xyrus Academy—a stark, mundane contrast to the intricate, steel-grey fabric of my uniform, woven with threads of many types of frabric and humming with latent power.
I leaned on the damned cane, the rhythmic tap-tap on the flagstones a constant, unwelcome reminder of my vulnerability. Cynthia's absence was noted; Tessia had explained she was knee-deep in the Xyrus reconstruction, her formidable power put to practical use.
"Corvis," Tessia asked, her green eyes scanning me with a mixture of concern and fierce determination, "what are we doing today?" Her gaze lingered on the cane for a fraction of a second before snapping back to my face, masking her worry with focus.
"I am flattered," Romulos's voice whistled sarcastically in my mind, a discordant counterpoint to the scene. "Truly. The pinnacle of children's training attire, held up against my design. It's almost touching."
Are you going to keep doing that? I mentally snapped, trying to concentrate on the subtle flow of mana through the new lattice on my arms, maintaining just enough augmentation to stand without collapsing.
"Yes," he replied, the mental whistle becoming deliberately more grating. "If you can maintain core stability, manage Against the Tragedy's siphon, and ignore my dulcet tones without combusting, then battlefield concentration will be child's play. Consider it… advanced conditioning. A gift."
Your methods of 'helping' never cease to amaze me, I shot back, the mental retort laced with weary irritation. I shifted my attention to Curtis. His usual confident posture seemed tempered, more grounded.
"Curtis," I asked, noticing the absence, "where's Grawder?"
Curtis shifted, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face before hardening into resolve. He met my gaze directly.
"Lucas defeated me so easily because I leaned too heavily on Grawder," he admitted, the words clearly costing him pride. "I got complacent. Slacked on my own training."
He glanced at the training dummy nearby, his jaw tightening. "If something happened to Grawder… I'd be helpless. Truly helpless. That can't happen again."
I saw Kathlyn's subtle reaction—a nearly imperceptible widening of her dark eyes, a slight softening of her usually impassive expression. Hearing her proud, often brash brother acknowledge such a fundamental weakness was clearly unexpected.
I gave Curtis a slow, respectful nod. That kind of self-awareness, born from brutal experience, was worth more than any innate talent.
"My sister," Curtis started, turning towards Kathlyn, clearly intending to explain her capabilities.
Kathlyn stepped forward smoothly, her movement fluid and economical. "I can speak for myself, Curtis," she stated, her voice calm and low, yet carrying effortlessly. She offered me a small, formal incline of her head.
"Prince Corvis. As my brother indicated, I am a water elemental conjurer." Her dark eyes held mine, steady and intelligent. "With an ice affinity." The air around her fingertips seemed to chill fractionally as she spoke.
Oh. Right. My own affinities. The sheer, brutal force of my core's violent awakening hadn't just crippled my body's autonomy; it had seemingly imprinted its chaotic potential onto my magical nature.
Meta-awareness confirmed it: I was a trial-elemental. Earth, Wind, Water. The maximum Elven triad, lacking Fire—the element that seemed perpetually out of reach for my people. Not a quadra-elemental powerhouse like Grey, then.
But potent. And… sound deviant. Not the expected plant deviancy most Elves excelled in. An unusual combination. My mind immediately raced to compensations. Gravity? Lightning? Could I replicate the effects of the Ineptrunes through dedicated artifacts?
A wand, perhaps, like Nico had used to—
"Don't." Romulos's voice cut through my thoughts like shards of frozen obsidian, laced with a venom so intense it made my augmented muscles momentarily seize. The sheer, primal hatred radiating from him was staggering, a physical pressure in my skull.
"Do not even joke about comparing yourself to Nico. I can tolerate your ineptitude, your sentimentality, your quirky personality, your comical dependence on that stick. But if you entertain the notion of emulating that worm, even for a second, you insult not only yourself, but the very beings we are. He is anathema."
The intensity of his revulsion was terrifying, a stark reminder of the ancient, burning loathing beneath his sardonic exterior. He not only despised Nico personally, actually Romulos hated the Vritra and their tools far more than he'd ever let on; his twisted love for Agrona was the only exception.
"Corvis?" Tessia's voice pierced the sudden, icy silence in my mind. She was frowning, taking a step closer. "Are you okay? Is it… the core? Having trouble controlling it?" Her hand hovered near my arm, ready to steady me.
Curtis blinked, snapping out of his own reverie. "Core?" he echoed, confused. He looked me up and down, his gaze sharpening. "Wait… your aura is different. Stronger. Sharper. I thought maybe you'd just upgraded those tattoos again—I saw the new patterns on your hands and arms. They look… intricate."
I sighed, leaning a fraction more weight onto the cane. The cane. The symbol. "Yeah," I admitted, meeting their curious stares. "The Mourning Pearl Lord Windsom gave me… it healed the condition that prevented me from forming a core." I gestured vaguely with my free hand towards my solar plexus.
"My body… well, it's having a difficult time adapting to the sudden change. Hence…" I tapped the cane lightly on the stone.
"The tattoos—Against the Tragedy—I redesigned them. They help manage the flow. Without them…" I left the grim alternative hanging.
Kathlyn's perceptive gaze swept over me, taking in the cane, the faint shimmer of the tattoo lines barely visible under my sleeves, the unnatural steadiness in my posture that spoke of constant, conscious effort.
"What stage are you at?" she asked directly, her voice retaining its calm politeness, but her dark eyes held a spark of intense, focused curiosity.
The question hung in the air. Tessia knew I had a core now, but not the magnitude. Curtis looked braced for surprising news. Kathlyn simply waited, analytical.
"Silver Core," I stated, keeping my voice as neutral as possible.
The reactions were immediate and varied. Curtis actually took a half-step back, his jaw dropping comically. "S-Silver?!" he sputtered, disbelief warring with awe. "But… but you just got it!" He ran a hand through his hair, looking utterly poleaxed. "We should probably just start training. I don't think I can handle any more news like that right now. My brain might crack."
Kathlyn, however, didn't flinch. Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly, a flicker of true astonishment breaking through her composed mask. She offered a deeper, more deliberate bow this time.
"That is… profoundly impressive, Prince Corvis," she said, her voice low and sincere, carrying genuine respect. "Very." Her gaze held mine, acknowledging the sheer, terrifying anomaly I represented.
Tessia, however, exploded. Her initial shock morphed into righteous indignation. She stomped her foot, pointing a finger at me. "SILVER?! And when exactly did you plan on telling me that, dummy!"
The worry was still there, beneath the outrage, but it was quickly submerged by her fierce, competitive spirit. A familiar fire ignited in her green eyes, the same fire that had driven her since awakening.
"Well, don't get too cocky! Silver core or not, I'm still going to show you how much better I am! Beast Will against raw power! Let's see it!"
A genuine smile, warm and unburdened despite the cane and the humming silver star within me, spread across my face. This. This was Tessia. Not diminished by my sudden power, but challenged, ignited.
"Alright, Tessia," I said, my voice steady, augmented mana resonating with a new-found confidence. "Show me." I raised the cane, not as a crutch, but as a makeshift baton, ready to begin.
The world narrowed to the surge of power radiating from Tessia. From the corner of my eye, Curtis and Kathlyn blurred as they stepped back—a wise retreat. That familiar, terrifying pressure bloomed around my sister as the second phase of her Beast Will ignited.
"Again using that?" Romulos's murmur, thick with mock surprise, grated like sand in an open wound. That bastard. He wasn't just observing; he was needling, deliberately stoking the fire of my annoyance. My jaw clenched.
Before I could retort, Tessia became a blur of emerald and silver, propelled by a gale-force gust straight at me.
"I am! Go Corvis!" Romulos bellowed, the command jarring. Focus. The complex harmonics of Accaron's vibrations surged into my mind.
Channeling it raw through sound magic, without the Ineptune's structure, was like wrestling lightning—terrifyingly freeing, staggeringly potent. The air around my hands thrummed with barely contained power.
Tessia's Sylvan Shard lanced towards my throat. Instinct and mana augmentation fused. My right hand became a streak, fingers lancing out impossibly fast. I caught the shimmering edge of her spell-blade between my index and middle finger. The impact jarred up my arm, a solid shock of colliding forces.
Then, I pushed. The sound magic vibration concentrated into those two points, a high-frequency scream only the spell could hear—metphorically speaking. With a crystalline snap that echoed painfully in my own ears, the Sylvan Shard shattered into dissipating motes of green light.
This speed... The thought was a gasp of wonder amidst the adrenaline storm. Mana augmentation wasn't just strength; it was liquid grace, a stolen fraction of time. Tessia's eyes widened in genuine shock, but it vanished instantly, replaced by a fierce, almost feral smirk.
She pivoted, the second Sylvan Shard already slicing a deadly arc towards my ribs. I twisted to jump, but my right foot slammed into sudden, unyielding resistance. A thick root, summoned from the unforgiving stone beneath us, snared me like iron shackles.
"I won't hold anything back, Corvis!" Tessia's declaration rang out, pure conviction cutting through the din. Her hand snapped forward. An air bullet, compressed to lethal density, screamed towards my chest.
Time stretched thin. My cane—that damned, flimsy thing Alanis had thrust upon me barely an hour past—was the only shield. I wrenched it across my body. The collision was brutal.
The cane vibrated violently, a splintering CRACK tearing through the air as the bullet detonated against it, shattering the wood into useless fragments.
"Lo and behold!" Romulos crowed, his voice dripping with theatrical glee. "Corvis broke the cane he received one hour ago!"
Fuck you! The silent curse was a venomous dart aimed straight at his smirking face. Earth magic surged through my trapped foot, not to break the root, but to move the ground beneath it. Stone groaned and shifted, just enough to wrench my ankle free.
"Do you remember you have Beyond the Meta, right?" Romulos's question was a patronizing barb. Of course I remember, you insufferable—I rolled my eyes hard, even as the command formed in my mind. I activated Beyond the Meta.
The world bled into stark, sterile grey. But now… now with the core blazing within me… it was utterly different. Before, it had been like peering through murky yet coloured glass; now, it was crystalline clarity—a reef of majestic colours.
I saw the marvelous orbw of mana woven into the very air, the pulsing currents of life force radiating from Tessia, the dormant potential in the stone floor. It was revelation. It was power. It was—
"Realmheart." Romulos supplied the name, the word resonating with the profound shift I felt. Yes. This was Realmheart.
Tessia's next words landed like a doom-knell: "Wildsea!"
The grey-scale world exploded. Not with color, but with terrifying, hyper-defined motion of green sparkles. Her spell wasn't just vines; it was a tsunami of furious life. Roots like serpents, vines thick as arms, razor-sharp leaves, choking flowers, and whipping grass—all woven into a single, monstrous wave of verdant destruction.
It filled the space between us, closing the distance with horrifying, implacable speed. Panic tried to claw its way up my throat. I raised my right arm, not just bracing, but commanding mana to flow—a torrent reinforcing muscle, bone, flooding through the fibers of my uniform, hardening it like scaled armor. Simultaneously, earth magic surged through my soles, rooting me deep, deep into the arena floor, stone flowing over my boots like liquid rock.
The Wildsea hit.
It wasn't a cut; it was a mountain collapsing onto me. The impact was brutal, blunt, a battering ram blow that drove the breath from my lungs and rattled my teeth. My augmented muscles screamed in protest, the rooted stance the only thing preventing me from being swept away like chaff.
The sheer, chaotic force of it was staggering. Accaron. The thought was a lifeline. Using it as pure sound magic lacked the Ineptune's surgical precision, but offered raw, adaptable power.
I focused the vibration into a shrieking shield inches from my skin. The largest roots and vines slammed against my augmented forearm and chest covered by the steel grey uniform, their crushing force met with trembling resistance.
The finer debris—the leaves, the thorns, the choking pollen—met the vibrating barrier. They didn't just deflect; they shattered, reduced to harmless dust inches from my face, the high-frequency hum a desperate counterpoint to the roaring green onslaught.
Time blurred under the relentless pressure. My world was reduced to the grinding weight against my arm, the shriek of my vibration shield, the taste of dust and ozone, and the terrifying grey vision showing the terrifying complexity of the spell trying to consume me. And then, as suddenly as it began, the tidal wave of green fury subsided.
The crushing weight lifted. Gasping, trembling, my arm throbbing, my boots still fused to the churned earth, I remained standing. Before me, through the settling haze of pulverized foliage, Tessia's determined face came into focus, her eyes wide, searching mine.
We stood, battered but unbroken, sister facing brother across the scarred training field.