Corvis Eralith
The sharp crack of shattering ice echoed across the training grounds, followed by the gentle hiss of vapor. Kathlyn lowered her hands, a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead despite the cool morning air.
"Thank you again for your time, Corvis," she said, offering a small, respectful bow. Her eyes, however, held a tiny spark of competitive frustration as she regarded the dissipating remnants of her spell—a precisely aimed ice lance I had just dismantled not with a shield, but with a focused pulse of vibration channeled through the black ebony cane resting lightly in my grip.
"It's nothing," I replied, shifting my weight slightly, the cane taking the familiar, necessary pressure off my protesting leg muscles. The polished wood felt cool and solid, a reassuring counterpoint to the phantom aches.
"I'm also learning how to properly wield this." My fingers tightened fractionally on the smooth shaft. It was more than support; it was an extension of my will, a conductor for the sound magic of Accaron.
Since Tessia and I had cleared that corrupted den near the Castle—a festering wound too close to home—the urgency had spiked. Scouting orders for dungeons near the Alacryan border had multiplied tenfold.
Grampa was already deep in negotiations with the Adventurer's Guild, weaving their disparate strength into a nascent defense network. The political landscape, thankfully, had stabilized somewhat. Elder Buhnd, a compromise candidate acceptable to Darv, now represented the dwarves on the Council, a crucial step in preventing their potential drift towards Alacrya.
Far to the south and up north, the skeletal beginnings of fortifications scarred the Grand Mountains and the Elshire Forest's edge, precursors to the daunting Wall yet to rise.
And I? I had crafted myself a new limb, figuratively and literally. This cane. It wasn't just carved wood; it was a carefully engineered focus. Inspired by utilitarian elegance, it echoed a Victorian walking stick: sleek black ebony, polished to a deep, light-absorbing sheen, crowned by a substantial, intricately worked silver pommel.
The true magic laid within the varnish covering it—not mere lacquer, but a painstakingly prepared suspension infused with the pulverized core of a sound-attuned mana beast. When light caught it just right, the cane seemed to hold captured starlight within its darkness, a subtle, resonant shimmer hinting at its purpose.
Placing the tip firmly on the flagstones, I rested both hands on the cool silver pommel. A low, almost subsonic hum vibrated through the wood and into the stone beneath my feet. Accaron. Kathlyn's eyes widened as her next attempt, a flurry of razor-sharp ice shards, disintegrated meters before reaching me, shattered into harmless glitter by the invisible, controlled resonance radiating from the cane's point of contact.
She was diligent, Kathlyn, pushing herself relentlessly in both studies and combat, seeking out Tessia or me whenever possible for sparring, a quiet determination burning beneath her almost frightening composed exterior.
"Don't you have a meeting with the Council soon, Corvis?" Romulos's voice cut through the focused silence, lazy and incongruous.
He materialized sprawled on a stone bench nearby, his unnerving, black elk-like horns seeming to absorb the weak morning sunlight, casting long, distorted shadows. His spectral form was a jarring contrast to the physical exertion around us.
I know, I thought back, my gaze still on Kathlyn, who was resetting her stance. But it's due in an hour. I still have time. Presenting myself in my practical, steel-grey combat uniform would hardly project princely authority, but efficiency had been my mantra.
Every minute counted.
"Wrong," Romulos countered, his mental voice sharpening. He didn't move from his lounging position, but his spectral eyes pinned me.
"Even if they are lessers, I won't let you be anything less than the perfect embodiment of authority. Especially today. Aldir will be observing." His tone brooked no argument.
And since when does the Sovereign of Epheotus care about my image? I shot back internally, a flicker of irritation rising. The politics felt like another battlefield, one I was less equipped for.
"I was my Grandfather's heir for decades, Corvis," Romulos retorted, a hint of icy hauteur entering his tone. "There isn't a soul alive, mortal or asura, who understands the performance of leadership better than I. Now, stop this charade you call training and go get ready."
He vanished from the bench, reappearing leaning against a pillar near the entrance to the inside of the Castle, radiating impatience like a physical force. It was true, Romulos had been… different lately.
Less overtly hostile, his barbs sometimes lacking their usual venom—when directed solely at me. He still possessed the arrogance of a god, the casual cruelty of his lineage, but there was a strange pragmatism in his interactions, a focus that felt new.
Almost… genuinely invested and not only curious.
"Starting to realize how fantastic I am?" His comment slithered into my mind, laced with familiar arrogance, yet carrying an unsettling undercurrent. "I took everything from my Dad, just so you know."
The reminder was deliberate, a cold splash of reality. Yes, beneath the shifting surface, he was still Romulos Indrath. The viper hadn't changed its nature, only perhaps its immediate target.
"Kathlyn," I said aloud, the resonance from the cane fading as I lifted it. "I think I have to stop here for today. I have a Council meeting in an hour." She immediately straightened, the focused intensity dissolving into surprise, then chagrin.
"I didn't know," she said quickly, color rising slightly in her cheeks. "I'm sorry for keeping you so long."
"There's no problem," I assured her, offering a genuine, if slightly tight, smile. "Your control is improving. Keep practicing the mana flow for those ice lances—smoother channeling, less burst."
She nodded, her expression shifting back to studious determination as she began dissecting her technique.
———
The dressing room felt alien. The familiar, comforting weight of my steel-grey uniform was gone, replaced by fabrics that whispered of a world I rarely inhabited. Under Romulos's exacting spectral gaze, I had transformed.
First, the base: crisp, blindingly white linen shirt, its collar stiff against my throat, contrary to the protective yet comfortable high collar of my uniform.
Silver buttons, each etched with a minute, abstract pattern resembling interlocking gears, marched precisely down the front. Over this went the centerpiece: a coat of astonishingly light azure wool, the color of a high mountain sky just after dawn.
The cut was immaculate, nipping sharply at the waist before flaring out slightly over my hips—it was much heavier and warmer than ny uniform, but it obviously didn't have its mana strengthening which made it an armour.
The coat's fabric had a subtle sheen, catching the light as I moved. Silver thread, matching the buttons, traced delicate piping along the lapels and cuffs, a restrained flash of opulence.
My wrists were confined by solid silver cufflinks, simple discs engraved with the symbol of the Eralith family—a concession to heritage Romulos had surprisingly approved, although I was sure that if it was for him he would have chosen the Indrath's mark, but obviously Corvis Eralith couldn't wear that.
Below, dark blue trousers of a finer wool than I was accustomed to hugged my legs, ending in polished black leather shoes, their laces a sober grey. The shoes felt strange, restrictive compared to my usual boots.
Then, the hair. Gunmetal strands, usually pulled ruthlessly back into a practical tail that reached my shoulder blades, now fell freely, cut shorter so the ends just brushed the nape of my neck. It felt exposed, vulnerable. I ran a hand through it, the texture unfamiliar.
"Everything," Romulos stated, materializing beside the full-length mirror. He examined my reflection with the critical eye of a master sculptor assessing his work. "Everything on your person speaks. Clothes. Posture. Tone of voice. The items you choose to carry." He gestured towards the ebony cane resting against a chair.
"That, especially. It's not a crutch today. It's a scepter. A symbol of focused power, not weakness. It makes you look deliberate, grounded… authoritative without being overtly threatening or challenging. Perfect for facing Aldir and thhe monarchs of Dicathen."
I stared at the reflection. The figure staring back was undeniably princely. The azure coat lent an unexpected sharpness to my features, the silver accents gleaming like frost. The dark trousers and shoes anchored the brightness, creating a stark, formal contrast.
The free hair softened the severity slightly, but the overall effect was… imposing. Regal. Utterly unlike the fugitive prince or the battle-scarred artificer. I grimaced, shifting uncomfortably. The fabric, though fine, chafed in ways my uniform never did. The collar felt like a vise.
"It feels… restrictive," I muttered, adjusting the cuffs.
"Comfortability means nothing in politics, Corvis. Actually they might as well be contraries." Romulos stated flatly, his spectral form shimmering with intensity. "You are a Prince, yet you've spent your life running, hiding, or fighting. You haven't truly partaken in the arena where power is wielded with words and appearances. This," he gestured at my reflection, "is your armor for that battle."
Why? The question burned in my mind, directed solely at him. Why are you doing this? Why the sudden investment in my presentation?
His spectral gaze met mine in the mirror, a flicker of something complex—ambition, scientific curiosity, calculation, perhaps a sliver of genuine care—passing through his eyes.
"I told you," he replied, his mental voice low and precise. "I intend to play continental chess with my Dad. For that, the pieces need to be positioned correctly. You need to be heard. Respected. Feared, even, in the right measure. Those lessers on the Council, and Aldir especially, they need to look at you and see a force to be reckoned with, not Virion Eralith's wayward grandson playing soldier. Even your grandfather and parents, who trust you implicitly, even Virion who heeds your warnings… they still see the fourteen-year-old boy who fled and was scarred by that hunt. Today, you shatter that perception."
His tone hardened. "Aldir needs to report back to Epheotus—to Grandfather—not about a traumatized child, but about a potential pwan for his plans."
Of course, I thought, the bitterness sharp. Always Agrona. Always your family. That's the only reason behind any of your actions.
"That's right," Romulos hissed, leaning closer, his spectral presence suddenly radiating a chill that had nothing to do with temperature. His voice dropped to that familiar, viperous whisper, the devil leaning in to share a secret.
"My family, and my research into the boundaries of life, death, and relationship… those are the only things of true importance to me. And you, Corvis, are currently the most fascinating key to both." The possessiveness in his tone was unnerving. "So play the prince. Play it perfectly."
A firm, respectful knock sounded at the door, shattering the charged silence. "Your Highness?" Alanis's voice filtered through the thick wood. "The Council and Lord Aldir are assembled and ready to receive you."
Taking a deep breath, squaring my shoulders beneath the unfamiliar cut of the azure coat, I reached for the ebony cane. Its familiar weight, the subtle thrum of the beast core powder within the varnish, was an anchor. "I am coming," I called out, my voice steadier than I felt.
I opened the door. Alanis, ever composed, stood ready. Her eyes, however, flickered with unmistakable surprise as they took me in, traveling from the polished shoes, up the dark trousers and striking azure coat, to the silver accents and finally, my face framed by the shorter, loose hair.
Her gaze lingered for a half-second on the cane held not with the grip of need, but with the casual authority of a prop. A slight, almost imperceptible intake of breath. It was the briefest reaction, swiftly masked by her professional demeanor, but it spoke volumes. The image Romulos had crafted had its intended effect.
"Shall we, Your Highness?" she asked, recovering smoothly.
"We shall," I replied, stepping forward. The cane tapped a firm, resonant note on the stone floor as I walked, the sound echoing my own thudding heartbeat. The performance had begun.
The soldier was hidden; the Prince, meticulously constructed under a viper's tutelage, was walking to meet his fate.