Kathyln Glayder
Watching Prince Corvis and Princess Tessia spar wasn't just a display of power or technique whatsoever; it was witnessing a sacred, brutal dance of predictions only twins could perform.
Each clash of emerald aura against shimmering vibration, each impossible dodge and retaliatory surge, resonated deep within me, stirring a complex cocktail of awe and a sharp, unexpected pang of envy.
It wasn't the envy of their strength, though that was undeniable, monstrous even considering their age. It was the envy radiating from the very core of their interaction—the profound, unspoken language of love and respect that flowed between them, as vital as the mana they wielded.
They moved with a synchronicity that spoke of a lifetime shared, a trust forged in childhood fires I could only imagine.
Tessia launched herself, a tempest of verdant fury, the aura of her Beast Will flaring, painting her usually gunmetal hair an eerie, powerful green. Corvis met her, not with overwhelming force, but with a startling, almost unnerving precision.
He wasn't just fighting; he was listening, anticipating her rhythms. Seeing Tessia's spell swords shatter under the focused vibration of his sound magic, seeing him tank the terrifying tsunami of her 'Wildsea' spell—roots, vines, and all—planted deep into the earth like an unyielding oak… it was breathtaking.
Inspiring. And it laid bare the stark contrast to my own reality.
My gaze flickered instinctively to Curtis, standing rigidly at my right. My brother. I loved him fiercely, that was an immutable truth etched into my heart.
But… but. He was the Crown Prince, years older, burdened with the weight of the Glayder name like an ancestral mantle he could never shrug off.
His love manifested as suffocating protectiveness, a constant vigilance that felt less like shelter and more like a loving cage. His pride in our lineage sometimes hardened into an unyielding wall, separating the Prince from the brother.
Could he ever spar with me like this? Could he ever unleash his full power, trusting me to meet it, to learn from it, to grow alongside him in the crucible of combat? The answer was a cold stone in my stomach.
No. Never. He would see only the sister needing shielding, not the mage needing testing. He would pull his punches, his worry a tangible barrier stronger than any spell.
And then there was Corvis himself. The image of him standing before my parents who contributed to his run across the continent, before Lance Bairon—the man who had nearly killed him after he'd saved not only Curtis, but Academy of Xyrus—offering forgiveness… it still felt unreal.
Unfathomable. He had been hunted, vilified across a continent, a victim of insidious plots, yet he'd found the strength to extend grace. Standing here now, watching the infamous 'coreless' prince wield magic not just competently, but with the startling proficiency of a Silver Core mage, that act of forgiveness seemed even more monumental.
It spoke of a depth of character, a resilience of spirit, that dwarfed mere magical power. He wasn't just surviving; he was thriving, revolutionizing magic itself while his sister mastered forces most mages—the few that put their hands on a Beast Will—wouldn't dare touch until adulthood.
They were both forces of nature, barely a year older than me, yet operating on a plane that made Elder Hester Flamesworth's—my guardian—proud pronouncements of my 'talent' ring hollow in my own ears. Inadequate.
The word whispered through my mind, cold and unwelcome. Compared to them, what was my carefully honed control? What were my practiced spells?
Tessia's magic was a spectacle—raw, green elemental power channeled through her Beast Will, turning the air thick with the scent of loam and crushed leaves, her plant spells erupting with violent, beautiful life.
Corvis's was the opposite: subtle, refined, almost surgical. He used few spells, but each one was a masterstroke, deployed with uncanny timing. A shield of compacted earth materializing precisely where Tessia's wind-augmented lunge would strike.
A slight shift of his hand, a subtle hum in the air I could barely perceive, deflecting a cutting gust as if it were a bothersome insect. Sound magic as vibration. It was unheard of.
I knew Lance Aya Grephin wove illusions with sound, whispers and mirages. Corvis used it as a physical force, a scalpel and a hammer combined. Why this restraint? His Silver Core pulsed with power far exceeding Tessia's Yellow; I could almost feel its potent hum even from this distance.
It wasn't ignorance. The confidence in his movements, the sharp focus in his grey eyes beneath the intensity of his focused state—he knew exactly what he was doing. He was choosing precision over pyrotechnics, efficiency over extravagance. It was a different kind of mastery, one that demanded immense control and understanding.
Strangely enough it looked like he was fighting not a duel, but he was preparing to fight dozens of enemies at the same time.
They were face-to-face again, the churned earth between them a testament to Tessia's Wildsea. Dust motes danced in the shafts of light piercing the canopies of the trees surrounding the training field in the Castle.
Tessia raised her wand-sword, not hesitating, and slashed the air. A focused gust, sharper than before, howled towards Corvis. He didn't flinch. He stepped —not away, but sideways, a fluid motion that seemed to anticipate the wind's path. When another gust threatened to catch him, his hand flicked out, almost dismissive. The air shivered around his fingers, and the gust veered harmlessly aside.
The sheer control, the casual mastery… it stole my breath.
Undeterred, Tessia's aura flared brighter, the green light solidifying once more into twin longswords of pure green—replacements for the ones Corvis had shattered moments before. She waited, coiled like a spring, her eyes locked on her brother, reading his micro-shifts, his balance.
Then she lunged, a blur of emerald and silver. The clash was instantaneous—her blades meeting a shield of earth Corvis conjured with a thought, the impact sending a dull thud echoing through the hall.
Before Corvis could bring his devastating vibrations to bear, Tessia was already gone, propelled backward by a controlled gust of wind, landing lightly several paces away. A tactical retreat, learned.
"You learnt from your mistakes, Tessia," Corvis observed, his voice calm, carrying easily across the space. A hint of genuine approval warmed the words.
"You just got your mana core, don't get cocky only because you're a Silver Core!" Tessia shot back, a playful edge to her voice. But the underlying tone… it wasn't malice, not even true annoyance.
It was pure affection, threaded with deep respect. A challenge issued with love, accepted in kind. That simple exchange, the easy camaraderie beneath the combat, was the heart of my envy. It was a bond forged in mutual challenge and unwavering support, a bond Curtis and I lacked.
If I had spoken to Curtis like that, even in jest during a spar, the worry in his eyes would have extinguished the fight instantly. He wouldn't see the spar; he'd see the risk to the sister.
The weight of my own family pressed down. My parents… I adored them, but I craved space. To breathe. To make mistakes. To be Kathlyn the mage, the future leader, not just 'the Princess,' their youngest child, perpetually swaddled in concern.
Especially now, with the—still unknown to the masses—shadow of war looming over Dicathen, a shadow my own family had inadvertently helped summon through past blindness.
The guilt, the responsibility—it was a crushing mantle. I didn't just want to be Princess of Sapin, dutifully presiding over functions. I burned to be a Princess for Dicathen. To stand strong, to protect, to lead alongside warriors like the twins, not sheltered behind them.
Tessia, just one year older than me, was already a powerhouse. Corvis, hunted and coreless, was now a Silver Core revolutionary. Where did that leave me?
Tessia tried again. A thick, whip-like vine erupted from the stone floor near Corvis's feet, seeking to ensnare him. But Corvis was already moving. He pivoted on the ball of one foot, his body a study in efficient motion, and simultaneously pushed with wind magic.
Not a blast, but a controlled burst that shot him upwards, arcing high above the grasping vine. My heart lurched.
"Corvis!" Curtis's shout was immediate, sharp with alarm beside me. He tensed, ready to surge forward, to somehow catch the falling prince. Instinctively, my hand shot out, gripping his forearm firmly.
"Wait," I breathed, my eyes fixed on the ascending figure. Curtis looked down at me, confusion warring with his protective impulse—he was probably feeling in debt for what Prince Corvis had done for him. But I held his gaze for a split second, then jerked my chin back towards Tessia.
Look at her. She wasn't panicking. She wasn't looking up with horror. She was bracing, her stance wide, her twin blades held ready, her eyes narrowed with fierce concentration, tracking her brother's trajectory. She expected this. She trusted him to handle it.
And handle it he did. As gravity began its inevitable pull, Corvis didn't just fall. He moved. Water coalesced around him, not in a torrent, but in shimmering, controlled ribbons.
They swirled, cushioning his descent, guiding him, turning a potentially bone-jarring impact into a graceful, almost weightless landing a few yards from his sister. Water magic.
Air, Earth, Sound… and now Water. Three elements? And a deviant manipulation of one? The sheer impossibility of it froze the breath in my lungs. The only person Curtis had ever described with such terrifying, multi-faceted mana control… was him.
The friend who'd vanished to the land of the gods. Grey. The name echoed in my mind, a whisper of awe and dread. A monster of manipulation Curtis claimed surpassed everyone he has ever seen.
As Corvis landed lightly, the water dissipating like mist, the silence in the training hall felt profound. Tessia lowered her blades slightly, a smirk playing on her lips. Curtis relaxed minutely under my grip, though his eyes remained wide.
———
The air still thrummed with the residual energy of the twins' duel, the scent of ozone and crushed greenery lingering like a phantom. Prince Corvis lowered his hands, the subtle vibrations humming around them fading.
"Okay, Tessia, we can end this."
Princess Tessia's emerald aura flickered, surprise widening her eyes. "What? Corvis! We just started." Her protest held genuine disappointment, the fierce joy of their contest still bright on her face.
Corvis shook his head, a faint, almost imperceptible tightening around his eyes—a flicker of annoyance, as if he'd just heard something profoundly irritating whispered only to him. He turned towards Curtis and me, his gaze sweeping past the churned earth and scattered motes of dissipating mana.
"'Just started' isn't the term I would use." His voice was calm, but carried a weight of practicality that cut through Tessia's exuberance. "We came here to train because Xyrus Academy is unavailable for obvious reasons. Yet," he gestured around the spacious, but clearly private, royal training hall, "we are monopolizing this space."
Tessia's mouth formed a perfect 'O' of realization. "Right!" She spun towards Curtis, genuine contrition softening her features.
"Curtis, I'm sorry! I promised you we would train together, yet I let myself go too much seeing Corvis so…" She shot her brother a sideways glance, the earlier playful challenge returning for a heartbeat. "...cocky."
My brother raised his hands in a placating gesture, though his eyes were alight with the reflected brilliance of the magic he'd witnessed.
"It's been incredibly useful, Tessia, truly. But, Corvis," he stepped forward slightly, eagerness replacing formality, "that sound technique! Using vibration to shatter spells and deflect attacks? That was terrific! How did you even conceive of it?"
Corvis seemed to flinch almost imperceptibly. "Ehm..." He ran a hand through his wind-tousled silver hair, a flicker of discomfort crossing his features, like someone searching for a plausible explanation for an impossible truth.
"It's... difficult to explain. I took example from augmenters who fight with gauntlets, focusing kinetic force. I just... wondered if I could achieve a similar disruptive effect, but layered with sound magic instead of pure physical augmentation." The explanation felt deliberately incomplete, a surface ripple hiding profound depths.
Curtis, ever earnest, nodded vigorously. "That's incredibly intuitive! Translating physical principles into pure mana manipulation…"
His words faded into the background as a sudden, nervous awareness prickled over my skin. Corvis's eyes, sharp and assessing, landed on me. It was my turn.
The vastness of the training ground suddenly felt immense, the familiar scents of polished stone and old wood now charged with a different kind of pressure.
This wasn't Elder Hester's meticulous, theory-laden lessons in controlled environments, nor the stiff, politically-charged sessions with court mages like Sebastian—thank the gods he was gone.
His oily insincerity and thinly veiled ambition had always made my skin crawl; his dismissal felt like shedding a heavy, ill-fitting cloak.
No, this was raw, unstructured, real. Training with peers. With people my own age who moved like forces of nature. My palms felt slightly damp.
"How are we going to train?" My voice sounded smaller than I wished. "I've never... gone through this kind of regime before." The admission burned slightly. Regimes implied warriors, soldiers, not princesses tutored in the theory of power.
What did they do? Bruise each other? Push until mana reserves screamed? The uncertainty was a cold stone in my stomach.
Corvis didn't hesitate, his gaze shifting analytically between Curtis and me. "Seeing that Curtis wants to better improve his close-quarters combat strength as an augmenter, and you are a water conjurer, Kathlyn,"—he said my name deliberately, firmly, not 'Princess' in this context—"you two are going to spar. Your elemental affinity makes you his perfect tactical opponent."
The logic was sound, impeccable even. On paper. But the reality slammed into me like Tessia's Wildsea. Spar Curtis? My protective, perpetually worried older brother? My heart sank even before Curtis reacted, the familiar script unfolding with weary predictability.
"Corvis," Curtis interjected immediately, stepping slightly in front of me, his posture instinctively shielding. "My sister is still twelve. Isn't this a bit—"
Corvis cut him off, not harshly, but with an absolute, unyielding authority that silenced the hall more effectively than any shout. His silver eyes locked onto Curtis's, radiating a confidence forged in fires Curtis couldn't yet imagine.
"You aren't going to kill each other, Curtis." The statement was flat, factual, dismissing the hyperbolic fear. Then came the hammer blow, delivered with quiet intensity that resonated deep in my own chest:
"Moreover, if you truly desire to improve yourself, to step beyond your current limits, you have to shatter your inhibitions. Both of you."
"Holding back, treating potential as fragility, serves no one. Least of all those you wish to protect."
The words hung in the air, potent and challenging. I saw the conflict warring on Curtis's face—ingrained protectiveness battling the undeniable truth in Corvis's words, the ember of ambition Corvis himself had ignited moments before.
Slowly, reluctantly, the resistance bled from his shoulders. He looked from Corvis's unwavering stare to my own face, where I desperately hoped he saw not a child to be shielded, but a mage waiting to be tested. A begrudging acceptance settled over him, a heavy sigh escaping his lips.
"Alright." The word was reluctant, but it was spoken.
As Curtis turned to face me, finally seeing me as an opponent and not just his little sister, a tremor ran through me. Not just nervousness, but a spark. This was it.
The loving cage door, held shut by love and fear, was creaking open. Corvis Eralith, the revolutionary prince forged in adversity, had just handed me the key. The first step onto the path beyond 'Princess' had begun.