Corvis Vritra
"The aether contained within these crystalline structures you have just gathered is not viable for standard spellform integration," Ji-Ae's voice chimed from the open suitcase, her tone as sterile and factual as a laboratory report.
"The aether contained within is inherently volatile. Attempting to channel it would result in catastrophic feedback, akin to forcing unrefined ore into a precision engine."
So that was why Arthur, even with his aether core's unique ability to absorb ambient energy, had opted for the more… visceral option of consuming the millipede's flesh.
It was a richer, more stable source. A shiver of revulsion passed through me at the thought. Still, practicality won out. I carefully collected several of the larger, pulsating crystals, their internal light casting shifting blue patterns on my hands.
"They remain crystallized aether," I countered, turning one over in my palm. "Even unrefined and of poor density, potential exists. I can conceptualize at least three applications."
The engineer in me, the part that had once designed the Barbarossa with his brother and weapons alongside it, was already sketching schematics in my mind.
"Such as?" The question came in unison. Leon materialized, leaning against a crystal formation with theatrical curiosity, while Caera looked up from where she was carefully feeding dried kindling from our salvaged supplies into a small, contained fire.
The pouch we'd found, miraculously preserved within one of the crystals, was a treasure trove for our current selves—Alacryan campaign rations, enchanted against spoilage by a powerful Insitiller.
A powerful tool for war, indeed. The thought was a cold splash of reality, pulling me from theoretical magic back to the brutal conflict raging in Dicathen. The fear of what I would find upon my return was a constant, low hum beneath my every thought.
"I theorize they could be used to exponentially increase the storage capacity of my spatial rings," I began, forcing my focus back to the present ignoring the rest.
"Their innate ability to contain aether suggests me they could act as stabilizers and amplifiers for dimensional compression items. Furthermore, their energy signature could make them ideal bait for creatures that hunt aetheric energy. And most importantly…" I held the crystal up, watching its light dance. "They could form the base for a new kind of runic ink."
"Like the ones that cover your entire body?" This time, the synchronized query came from Caera and Ji-Ae, with Leon fading slightly, a spectator ceding the floor.
"Precisely," I confirmed, a flicker of ambition cutting through the fatigue. "The final iteration of Against the Tragedy. An ink that incorporates both mana and aether. A synthesis of the two fundamental forces. If I can source the right catalytic agents…"
The idea was intoxicating. A rune that didn't just protect or enhance, but truly synchronized with the dual nature of reality.
"If the High Sovereign's theoretical framework regarding Meta-awareness holds validity," Ji-Ae interjected, her voice taking on a lecturing quality, "your physiology should be predisposed to natural rune manifestation. Prolonged immersion in a high-aether environment like the Relictombs, coupled with profound insight, could catalyze the formation of a spellform without artificial inscription."
"How does that work?" Caera asked, her crimson eyes alight with genuine, scholarly curiosity. It was the same thirst for understanding that had once driven her to stalk Arthur through these very dungeons. The desire to know about aether, the mysterious force that interested her brother so much.
"Alacryan runes are imprinted via the bestowment ritual—an external grant of power," I explained, falling into the familiar role of instructor. It felt… normal. "The ancient Djinn, however, believed true understanding could manifest the form. The insight becomes the rune."
"What Corvis describes is largely theoretical," Ji-Ae clarified. "All Djinn spellforms were meticulously crafted. Spontaneous generation through insight alone is a property we believe is unique to the phenomenon he calls Meta-awareness."
"I see." Caera nodded, absorbing the information, her gaze distant as she processed the implications.
What Ji-Ae said wasn't exactly correct, or at least she lacked one case... Destruction. The name echoed in my mind. Arthur's first Godrune, born not of a ritual, or a complicated process through a keystone, but of a moment of pure, apocalyptic comprehension.
If I were to gain such a thing… would my mind, already a fractured mosaic of two souls, survive the whispers of such a power? Would my elven body, lacking an aether core, even be able to interface with it? The doubts were a cold chain.
No, I couldn't rely on chance. I needed control. I needed my ink. The ink for what I had once called Ineptrunes. But now… would such a rune, a creation capable of harmonizing mana and aether, be worthy of a greater title, maybe even the Godrunes I envied so much as a child? A shiver, this time of awe, not fear, went through me.
Against the Gods. The name felt right, a defiant promise. But names could wait. First, I needed to survive. I needed sleep.
———
"Corvis! You said we just needed to avoid peeking in the holes!" Caera's shout was a blend of exasperation and adrenaline-fueled panic as we sprinted across the vast, surreal meadow.
The zone we were in—the one after the jungle one—was a paradox of beauty and terror. The ground was a carpet of soft, bioluminescent blue grass that yielded underfoot, and giant, pulsating flowers cast a gentle, multicoloured glow, illuminating the expanse in a dreamlike radiance.
It should have been peaceful.
Instead, it was a nightmare.
"I thought that would be enough to avoid them sprinting out of their lairs!" I shouted back, pouring mana into my limbs to augment my speed.
It was a desperate effort to keep pace with Caera, whose body, enhanced by the Legacy's passive optimization and years of Ascender training, moved with a fluid, terrifying grace I couldn't match.
Behind us, the thunder of hundreds of clawed feet churned the beautiful blue grass into mud. The pack was a seething tide of fur, muscle, and gnashing teeth—each rat the size of a warhorse, their eyes glowing with mindless, ravenous hunger.
In the novel, Arthur had only attracted this horde because of Regis's provocation. We had done no such thing! We had been meticulously careful.
Damned Relictombs! The thought was a furious snarl. The collective intelligence governing these zones, the shared consciousness or whatever it was, was adapting. It was learning that I possessed foreknowledge and was rewriting the challenges to counter it.
If this continued, we would soon be in territories completely unknown, even to me. The one advantage I had was being systematically erased.
"Corvis, over there!" Caera's hand suddenly closed around mine, her grip firm and sure. She didn't just shout a direction; she pulled, her instincts and the Legacy's heightened senses guiding her.
She was learning to read the vibrations in the ground with sound magic, a skill she'd picked up just from watching me. A second later, the ground where we'd been erupted, a monstrous rat bursting forth, its jaws snapping shut on empty air.
The save was so seamless, so trusting, it left me breathless. My own Foresight, activated through Beyond the Meta, flared a warning a heartbeat later. Another ambush, from the left. I didn't have time to shout. I slammed my free hand down, channelling earth magic.
The soil in front of us solidified into a brief, hard plate, and the second emerging rat cracked its skull against the unexpected barrier with a sickening thud.
"I wonder what kind of song would suit this situation," Leon mused, his spectral form gliding effortlessly beside us, utterly unbothered by the life-ending pursuit. "I have it!" he declared, and then, in a clear, theatrical voice, began to sing:
"And if a ten-tonne rat kills the both of us~! To die by your side~! Well, the pleasure, the privilege is mine~!"
Leon, I am not in the mood for a British band from the 80s! I mentally screamed, slicing the head off a rodent that tried to flank us with a precise blade of wind. Caera, without missing a step, gestured, and a rat leaping from the right was engulfed in a sudden, silent conflagration of red fire, reduced to ash in mid-air.
"Deep down, you like this," Leon chirped, entirely too cheerful. "You're not going to die, my man. Not while I'm here."
Wow, very useful! I retorted, ducking under a swiping claw.
"Hey! Musical accompaniment is vital for morale!" he insisted.
"Corvis! The portal!" Caera's voice cut through the chaos, sharp with hope. She pointed ahead. There it was, our salvation: a shimmering gateway of light. But between us and it lay a yawning chasm, at least thirty meters wide—a gap that, for now, the Relictombs had forgotten to edit out.
There was no time for hesitation. I turned, my arm snaking around Caera's waist, and kicked off the ground with every ounce of power my white core could muster. Flight was still a novel, demanding skill, but panic was a potent fuel.
We shot over the abyss.
The horde of rats reached the edge behind us, a screeching, clawing wave of frustration. They piled into the chasm, a few attempting to leap and falling short, plummeting into the depths. Caera, held tight against me, twisted in my grasp and thrust a palm back towards the ledge.
A torrent of blazing red fire erupted, scorching the edge and sending more rats tumbling back with terrified squeals.
We landed on the other side in a stumbling heap, the solid ground feeling like a blessing. I released her immediately, my heart hammering against my ribs, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
"That was… adrenaline-filled," Caera panted, pushing a strand of navy hair from her face. A faint smile touched her lips, though her eyes were still wide with the aftermath of the chase.
I managed a nod, leaning on my knees. "We aren't that far from a Convergence Zone now." The words wiped the smile from her face, replacing it with a familiar, wary tension.
"What's the plan if we find other Ascenders?" she asked, her voice low. "They're obligated to report to the Ascenders' Association. Our secrecy… it would be over."
The implications hung heavy between us. An elf and a Vritra-blooded Highblood denizen, travelling together? Our descriptions would be unmistakable.
My very existence was a punch in the eye to any Alacryan; elves were a myth, a symbol of the enemy continent. And if Dad discovered we were alive, it wouldn't take him long to deduce that the Legacy's transfer had succeeded. Highblood Denoir would be signing its own death warrant.
"I… have no idea," I admitted, the admission tasting like ash. My vast knowledge felt useless in the face of this simple, social problem. "Maybe Ji-Ae can divert us. Take us somewhere else…"
It was a desperate hope. Ji-Ae had acted as our Simulet, interpreting the Relictombs' paths. Perhaps she could influence the destination of the next portal, steering us away from a Convergence Zone and its potential witnesses.
"I really hope so," Caera whispered, her gaze fixed on the shimmering portal ahead. It was no longer just an exit; it was a gateway to another kind of danger.
We shared a long look, the unspoken trust between us solidifying in the face of this new threat. Without a word, we stepped forward, together, into the unknown light.
The journey had forged a bond between us—a mix of shared survival, intellectual curiosity, and a slowly blooming, unacknowledged affection that made the terrifying prospect of what laid ahead feel just a little less daunting.
———
The air left our lungs in a synchronized gasp from the sheer, oppressive weight of the nothingness that swallowed us.
The Relictombs, it seemed, had finally had enough of my knowledge and foresight. It had grown tired of my ghost-map laid over its realities, my cheat-sheet of horrors. In response, it had changed the game entirely. We stood not in another combat zone, not in a puzzle room, but in a void given form.
The sky was a blackness so complete it felt like a physical shroud, a dome of absolute negation. No stars pricked its surface, no moon cast a sickly glow, no sun promised dawn.
The only source of light in this profound dark was a single, stark beam—a lighthouse.
It stood sentinel at the precise center of this impossible space, its light a pure, unwavering white that cut through the blackness like a blade. It illuminated not water, but the outlines of a… city.
"A city? Down here?" Caera's voice was hushed, instinctively matching the tomb-like silence. She turned to me, her crimson eyes wide, reflecting the distant beacon. "You… you don't know where we are, do you? This place isn't in your mind."
The question was softly spoken, yet it felt like a needle plunged into a carefully constructed facade.
"Was it that obvious?" I asked, the reply automatic, a deflection. I had perfected the performance of a dutiful, frightened son in the lion's den of Taegrin Caelum, my every word and expression meticulously crafted to deceive a god. How had she seen through me so effortlessly here?
"The answer is pretty obvious to me…" Leon murmured, his spectral form shimmering with a teasing light that seemed blasphemous in this gloom.
The truth was, the role I played for Agrona was a armor I could don and remove. With Caera, the performance had become… thinner. Perhaps I was simply too tired to maintain it. Or perhaps, against my will, I had begun to let the guard down.
"This place is even more eerie than the jungle," Caera continued, her gaze sweeping over the silhouettes revealed by the lighthouse's slow, sweeping beam. "It's not just empty. It's a ghost town."
As the light passed, it painted fleeting details. The architecture was unlike anything in Dicathen or Alacrya. It was stark, functional, yet possessed of a severe, mathematical beauty.
Buildings were cubes and rectangles, all sharp angles and flat planes, constructed to maximize space with an economy of form that spoke of a profound, advanced intelligence. There was no ornamentation for its own sake, only a harmonious balance of line and volume. It was efficiency elevated to an art form.
We began to walk, our footsteps unnaturally loud in the profound silence, the beam of the lighthouse our only guide. The ground was smooth, seamless, like polished stone but without the coldness. As we drew closer to the structures, Caera reached out, her fingers brushing against a wall.
"This is nothing like I have ever seen," she murmured, her voice full of a scholar's curiosity warring with a soldier's caution. "The material… it's not stone. It's not wood. It's…"
"Concrete," I finished, the word feeling alien on my tongue. "Reinforced with steel. And glass."
The key components of a world I'd only known through spectres of an unknown past life and Grey's own world. The German Bauhaus movement surfaced from the depths of my Earth-knowledge—a human attempt at this very same philosophy of form following function.
But this was no imitation. This was the origin. And then, the final piece clicked into place with a chilling certainty. I had seen this city before. Etched into the surface of a table in the Hearth, a decorative map under a meal shared with a dragon.
"This is Zhoroa," I breathed, the name itself feeling heavy with history. "The ancient Djinn capital. The city upon which Etistin—the human capital in Dicathen—was built." Ji-Ae would have the answers.
Caera tried to conjure a flame in her palm—a simple mage-light. Her brow furrowed. Nothing happened. She focused, the Legacy within her stirring, but her hand remained dark.
"It doesn't work," she observed, her puzzlement laced with the first threads of alarm.
I attempted the same, reaching for a simple water-orb. The mana flowed smoothly from my core, condensing into a shimmering sphere above my palm. "It's not all mana," I deduced, letting the water dissipate. "Just fire. It's being suppressed."
"To prevent wildfires?" Caera hypothesized, her mind latching onto the logical.
"Yes," I said, a memory surfacing from the Arson of Xyrus City: when Draneeve burnt the town. "Xyrus City—another city in Dicathen—had similar dampeners in its floating infrastructure... beofre jt was burnt to the ground. The Djinn built them into their most important places."
The connection was clear. The Djinn of old had engineered their cities with a foresight and precision that still dwarfed modern efforts.
As Caera tested the boundaries of the invisible suppression field, I retrieved the suitcase. The latch echoed like a gunshot in the silence.
"Ji-Ae," I asked, my voice low, "was it you who brought us here? To this replica of Zhoroa?"
The question was necessary, but the implication was unsettling. If the Djinn fragment could override the Relictombs' navigation so completely, her assistance came with a terrifying level of control.
"Negative, Thwart," Ji-Ae's chime-like voice was a jarring contrast to the surrounding desolation. "I have no involvement in your and the Legacy's translocation to this zone."
Perfect. So it was the dungeons themselves. I looked back at the lighthouse, its beam a relentless, cyclopean eye. It was the most obvious trap imaginable, a beacon in the darkness screaming 'ambush.'
But the Relictombs were adaptive. They challenged Ascenders based on their strengths. For Caera and me, that meant a battle of wits, of knowledge, of psychological fortitude. An obvious trap was… too obvious.
Was this a double bluff? A triple? The layers of potential manipulation were endless, a hall of mirrors designed to drive the logical mind to paralysis.
"Corvis, you are overthinking. Again." Caera's voice cut through the spiraling calculations. Her hand found mine, her grip firm and real, a anchor in the sea of abstract threat. Her touch was warm, pulling me from the cold depths of meta-analysis.
"Your lady is more than right," Leon chimed in, unhelpfully. "That Asuran mind of yours isn't the perk you think it is down here. It's a cage."
This 'Asuran mind' is the reason I escaped Taegrin Caelum, I shot back, the retort sharp and defensive. It's the reason I didn't lose my sanity, coreless and bleeding, in the Convergence Zone with Caera feverish and unconscious at my side.
"Do you want my opinion?" Leon asked, his tone shifting, becoming uncharacteristically patient. The false politeness grated on my nerves.
Speak your mind or shut up. Don't ask for permission, I snapped mentally.
"You're living in his shadow. That Romulos'. Your brother's." The words were simple, delivered without malice, but they struck with the force of a physical blow. "You are trying too hard to be like him."
Yeah. I know. The response was flat, final. And that's good. I felt the surprise ripple through our connection.
What did you think? That I haven't realized it? That I'm unaware I'm a pale imitation trying to live up to a giant? I am not Corvis Eralith anymore. I can do a bit of introspection.
Without him, I am nothing but a scared child with too much knowledge and not enough strength. The admission, even just to myself, was a bitter pill. But it was the truth.
"Sorry, Caera," I said aloud, gently squeezing her hand before releasing it. "Let's go."
We continued our solemn procession down the main thoroughfare, a wide avenue that split the silent city in two.
Under different circumstances, with light and time, I would have given anything to explore this place, to learn its secrets, to walk the halls of the civilization that had come closer than any other to true understanding. Now, it felt like a museum of the dead, and we were unwanted visitors.
"Ji-Ae," Caera asked, her voice soft, "what is that lighthouse? What is its purpose?"
"It is a structure indigenous to the Relictombs, not originally affiliated with the city of Zhoroa," Ji-Ae explained, her tone as placid as ever. "The city's central palace, the seat of its governance, is absent from this reflection. It has been substituted by the lighthouse."
"Sae-Areum's palace?" I asked, recalling the Djinn woman who had treated with the Indrath Clan, the last, desperate negotiator before the end of her people.
"Lady Sae-Areum was one of many Pashas who governed Zhoroa," Ji-Ae corrected gently. "She was the last, prior to the annihilation of our people and our culture."
A heavy, uncomfortable silence descended. Caera looked away, a flicker of pain in her eyes. The casual, factual tone Ji-Ae used to describe a genocide was deeply unsettling.
The Djinn were Dicathians. Our ancestors. And they were not even the first. Just how many civilizations had Kezess Indrath scoured from the face of my home continent? How many cultures, how many libraries of knowledge, how many millions of lives had been erased to maintain his stagnant, tyrannical status quo?
Dicathen wasn't a natural continent; it was a curated garden, a playground for the Indrath Clan, its history rewritten, its past inhabitants reduced to dust and forgotten whispers—the Ancient Wraiths being the first.
And ironically the Djinn were the exception—the ones who had survived long enough to be noticed, to be systematically exterminated.
In a perverse way, they were the lucky ones; they were at least remembered as a footnote in the Asuras' bloody history—a secret of the Indrath Clan. They were the only ones who reached Alacrya, they were the only ones who will survive the test of time.
Not even Agrona ever knew about the civilizations before the Djinn, both in the novel and in Romulos' reality. Probably here too.
A wave of disgust, cold and profound, washed over me. And then, a more chilling thought followed, one that carried the cold, pragmatic stamp of Romulos' influence: and yet, from a purely strategic perspective, it was a masterstroke.
Kezess secured his dominion, eliminated a potential rival, and maintained the illusion of Asuran benevolence. Ruthless. Efficient.
I felt sick for myself.
"Corvis. Ji-Ae." Caera's voice was a tense whisper. She had stopped, her body rigid, pointing down a cross-street. "What is that?"
The lighthouse beam swept across the intersection. And in its fleeting illumination, we saw it. A figure. It was monstrously tall and roughly humanoid, with skin the color of a deep, bruise-like purple. Glowing, intricate runes pulsed across its form like sad, captive stars.
Its face and whole body was a distorted, tragic caricature of the Djinn's elegant features—a mask of profound grief frozen in a silent scream. It moved, not with menace, but with a slow, ponderous grace, crossing the street from one shadowed alley to another, utterly silent.
"That is a Mournful," Ji-Ae's voice chimed, holding a note I had never heard before—something akin to reverence, or perhaps a deep, immeasurable sorrow.
"They are manifestations. Constructs born from the collective grief, the despair, the unending lamentation that saturated the Relictombs after the destruction of their creators. They are the Relictombs' way of mourning. Of never forgetting."
"Are they aggressive?" The question was tactical, automatic, a product of a life spent assessing threats.
Caera's hand shot out and pinched my arm, hard.
"Corvis," she hissed, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and something else—outrage. "Have some respect."
She understood. She saw not a monster, but a monument to pain. A walking, grieving memorial. And I had asked if it was hostile. My Asuran calculus had failed me utterly.
"No," Ji-Ae answered anyway. "They are not. Unlike other denizens, the Mournful are pacific. They are… witnesses."
And then, we heard it. A sound that seeped into the bones. A low, shuddering, heartbroken weeping. It wasn't loud, but it filled the immense silence, a sorrow so vast and ancient it felt like the very city itself was crying. It was the sound of a civilization's death rattle, given form and voice.
I gritted my teeth, my jaw aching with the pressure. Damn it. This wasn't a test of strength or knowledge. This was psychological warfare of the most insidious kind.
The Relictombs weren't trying to kill us; they were trying to break our hearts, to make us feel the weight of the atrocity we walked through.
Caera instinctively moved closer, her hand finding mine again, her fingers lacing through mine and gripping tightly. Her other hand clutched at the fur of Sevren's cloak around my shoulders, seeking comfort in its tangible reality. Her side pressed against mine, a solid, warm presence in the chilling void.
"This scene would tear out anyone's stomach," Leon whispered, his usual levity gone, replaced by a hushed, horrified awe. "It's perfectly normal if you want to cry. The darkness, the silence, that… thing… and its tears. It's a grief so pure it could drive a person mad just by standing in its presence."