The morning air was crisp, the scent of salt thick on the breeze as the ship sailed toward Arcaia. The deck was mostly quiet at this hour, save for the rhythmic sounds of boots scuffing against wood and the occasional grunt of exertion.
Ori and Rylan stood near the bow, circling each other like wolves testing for weakness. Their training had started light, more of a warm-up than a real fight, but as time dragged on, Ori felt frustration gnawing at the edges of his patience.
He was keeping up, but that was it.
No breakthroughs. No surge of power. Just swinging, dodging, blocking, and feeling exactly as strong—or as weak—as he had the night before.
Rylan danced just out of reach, his footwork as fluid as ever. He didn't look tired. Hell, he barely looked winded.
Ori clenched his jaw. He was stronger than this. Or at least, he was supposed to be.
"Something wrong?" Rylan asked, swaying slightly on the balls of his feet.
Ori exhaled sharply through his nose, lowering his axes for a brief moment. "I don't know. It's like…I'm moving, I'm reacting, but nothing's changing. I don't feel any different. I'm not getting better."
Rylan hummed in thought, stepping back and eyeing Ori with mild curiosity. "Yeah… I was wondering about that."
Ori frowned. "What?"
"You're moving fine. Blocking fine. Keeping up just fine—but that's the problem." Rylan tapped his temple. "Your Mantle isn't reacting. It's not adapting. It's just sitting there."
Ori didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing.
Rylan studied him for another second, then his face lit up. "Wait."
Ori's brows furrowed. "Wait what?"
Rylan grinned, the kind of grin that suggested he was about to do something Ori was not going to like.
"Wanna go again?" Rylan asked.
Ori narrowed his eyes. "What are you planning?"
Rylan wagged a finger at him. "Ah-ah, no questions. You'll ruin it."
Ori folded his arms. "Ruin it? What are you on about?"
Rylan sighed, shaking his head in faux disappointment. "I could tell you… but I think it's better if you just experience it."
Ori crossed his arms tighter.
Rylan smirked. "Fine. I'll say this—you might wanna Mantle up for this one. And you have to promise we'll still be friends after."
Ori let out a small laugh, waving him off. "What kind of weird question is that? You're acting—"
Rylan's grimoire began to glow.
The book, strapped to his hip, flared to life, its pages flipping violently as if caught in a storm. The symbols upon them shimmered, shifting like they were alive until the text landed on one particular page.
The diagrams—fists. Hands. Constructed entirely of light.
Rylan's smirk widened. "Okay… you were warned."
Ori's instincts screamed at him, and that was enough for him to react. His Mantle surged to life, golden energy flooding his limbs just as two silver glyphs materialized on either side of him.
His stomach dropped.
Then—
Two enormous fists of pure light punched inward, slamming against him from both sides.
Ori barely managed to get his arms up in time. His Mantle flared, absorbing most of the impact, but the sheer force of the hit sent him skidding backward, boots screeching against the deck.
Before he could even breathe, another glyph formed in front of him.
"Oh, come on—"
A fist launched from the sigil, crashing into his chest and sending him flying across the ship. He landed on his back, tumbling to one knee with a quick roll, almost knocking the wind from his lungs.
He tried to rise—
But the second he moved, another glyph flashed beneath him.
Ori's eyes widened.
"Oh, sh—"
The fist shot upward, catching him square in the chest and launching him into the air.
Higher than the sails. Higher than he had any right to be.
Wind roared past his ears. He barely had time to process how high he was before yet another glyph snapped into existence above him.
A final fist slammed into his chest, rocketing him down—hard—and sending him over the ship's railing into the open ocean.
The world went cold.
The ship vanished from view as he plummeted beneath the waves. Silence swallowed everything, the force of the impact momentarily stunning him.
Above deck, Rylan winced as he peered over the railing. The water settled, waves rolling calmly.
"…Did I go too far?"
The cold wrapped around Ori's body, dragging him down. He gritted his teeth. Not like this. Not because of some stupid training session. The glyphs still flickered in his vision. Mocking him. Limiting him.
The water trembled. Then came a golden light bursting outward.
Up above, on the deck of the ship, the silence lingered. Then—
The ocean rumbled.
A pulse of golden energy rippled through the water.
Rylan's smirk returned. "Oh, there he is."
A burst of light exploded from beneath the waves.
Ori shot out of the ocean, his Mantle blazing around him, his entire body radiating golden energy. He was drenched, fuming, and very, very ready to hurt someone.
Rylan tilted his head. "Oops."
Ori growled, lifting his axes, energy crackling around them as he descended. "You little—"
Rylan laughed, already summoning another glyph in front of him. "Did I go too far with that one?"
Ori's axes pulsed with power as he lunged, aiming right for him.
Rylan waves a hand over his grimoire.
A glyph formed just in front of Ori's path, another glowing fist appearing to intercept him.
"Not this time!" Ori didn't hesitate.
He met the attack head-on, crossing his axes and swinging down in a single, devastating strike.
There was a blinding flash. The impact shattered the glyph entirely, sending shockwaves through the deck.
Ori kept moving, the force only slowing his descent slightly. He was still coming.
Then—
A gunshot rang through the air.
Ori's power vanished as his concentration broke.
He hit the deck behind Rylan, stumbling slightly as his energy faded.
Elira stood near the ship's helm, smoking pistol in hand. She blew away the thin trail of smoke curling from the barrel before raising a brow at them.
"We've spotted land. Which means we'll be arriving in a few hours," she said flatly. "So maybe stop wrecking the ship."
Ori, still trying to catch his breath, glared at Rylan. "What the hell was that about?"
Rylan, ignoring the question entirely, grinned. "Nevermind that. Your Mantle—what does it say now?"
Ori opened his mouth to argue—then stopped.
His vision flickered.
At the top of his sight, where his Mantle's status lingered, a number had changed.
Augment Output: 13%
Ori blinked. "The number—its gone up."
Rylan beamed. "It worked? It actually worked!"
Ori's frustration faltered. "…I don't understand."
Rylan spun toward him. "Your Mantle! It may work differently now, but its functionality is still the same. It feeds off willpower. You wanted to hit me so bad, it gave you more power to do it."
Silence.
Then, Ori and Rylan grinned at each other like two siblings who'd done something mother wouldn't approve of.
Elira's voice cut through their excitement. "Take a break. Don't need either of missing a limb before we even arrive."
They turned toward the approaching landmass, but Ori couldn't shake the feeling that something had just changed—for the better.
Hours later—
The sun hung high over the ship, sparing nothing from its golden touch. Ori sat cross-legged on the deck, a half-eaten apple in his hand as he listened to Elira recount a tale so wild, he struggled to keep a straight face.
"—and just as the beast lunged, horns first, I dropped to the ground and slid under its belly. Sliced it open from chest to tail, and it collapsed right over me. By the time the dust settled, I was covered in blood and holding its still-beating heart."
Rylan's eyes were as wide as dinner plates. "You're lying."
Elira smirked, twirling a stray lock of hair around her finger. "Believe what you want, little king."
Kirin leaned against the mast, a rare smile tugging at her lips. "It was a sight to see. The merchants in Riverbend still tell stories about it. They call it 'The Heart of the Horned Demon.'"
Ori squinted, biting back a laugh. "I mean, come on. Did you really kill a monster by crawling through its guts, or are you just trying to scare Rylan?"
Elira gasped with exaggerated offense. "Are you calling me a liar, Ori?"
"Not a liar," he said with a smirk, "Just a very creative storyteller."
A soft hum reverberated in Ori's mind, like the pluck of a harp string. Then the Mantle's voice, cool and unwavering: "Scanning subject: Truth detected."
Ori's smirk faltered. He straightened, blinking as if to clear his head. Truth?
How do you know? he asked silently.
"Extended exposure to an individual's speech patterns enables truth analysis. Subject Elira's vocal cadence, microexpressions, and consistency of narrative align with truthfulness."
Ori's fingers tightened around the apple. "English please…"
"The more you are exposed to someone's speech; the easier it is to tell if they are being truthful or lying."
He shot Elira a sidelong glance. She was back to lounging against the ship's railing, Rylan still prodding her for more details about the supposed demon.
That's…good to know. I guess.
But the thought left a pit in his stomach. How often had he been lied to without realizing it? He pushed the thought to the side for now, attempting to keep the anxiety at bay. They were docking soon, and he wanted to have in head on straight.
Soon, they pulling into the port of Marival. A wondrous city that stands as a breathtaking fusion of magic and architecture, a city sculpted by both regal ambition and arcane ingenuity. Perched along the glimmering coastline, its crystalline banners catch the light of the sun, refracting colors across the city like prismatic veils. Each banner, emblazoned with the crest of Arcaia, flutters atop poles of pure, enchanted crystal, humming softly with latent energy.
The city's architecture is unlike any other. The buildings, crafted from smooth, iridescent stone, take the form of elegant domes and oval-like structures, their curved surfaces catching the shifting hues of the sky. Suspended above them, floating magical symbols—glowing in gold, silver, and deep sapphire—serve as markers for each establishment. A flick of the hand and the glyphs illuminate further, revealing additional details for those seeking directions.
Beneath the glass-paned roads, rivers of pristine water flow, their currents weaving between buildings like the veins of the city. As people walk, sea creatures of all sizes glide beneath their feet—from shimmering schools of fish to the graceful movements of manta rays and the occasional glimpse of a massive leviathan, its bioluminescent patterns glowing softly in the depths. Bridges of crystalline metal arch over these waterways, while gondolas manned by robed navigators ferry travelers through the liquid streets.
At the city's heart, the Royal Palace of Marival dominates the skyline—a colossal array of tall and short domes, layered in spiraling formations, their surfaces infused with enchanted glass that reflects the stars even in daylight. At its peak, a great arcane barrier radiates outward, covering the city in a near-invisible dome of protection. The shield shifts in color depending on the time of day, a soft lilac at dawn, a golden hue at noon, and a deep indigo at night, like the city itself breathes with the sky.
Marival is as diverse as it is grand. Traders, scholars, warriors, and nobles walk side by side, their origins as varied as the goods flowing through the city's ports. Elves dressed in long, flowing robes weave spells into their fabrics, giving their attire an ethereal shimmer. Dwarven artisans, despite their traditional mountain-dwelling reputation, have adapted to the coastal life, running forges infused with water magic, their craft blending the elements of fire and sea. Beastkin sailors—some with fur-lined cloaks, others with sea-serpent scales—bark orders at dockhands in a variety of tongues. Even the mysterious tideborn, a people said to have the blood of deep-sea spirits, move among the populace, their skin adorned with faint, luminescent markings like rippling tides.
As the sun sets, glowing lanterns hover along the streets, pulsing like fireflies while the rivers beneath reflect the constellations above, making it seem as though the city is floating between two mirrored skies. Music spills from grand amphitheaters where floating platforms shift with the performance, and laughter mingles with the rhythmic chant of distant sea hymns.
Marival is not just a port—it is a beacon of magic and culture, a city where land, sea, and sky intertwine, where even the ordinary is touched by wonder.
The first step off the ship nearly made Ori stop in his tracks.
Marival was a marvel. Ori wasn't easily impressed. But this?
This was something else.
Rylan caught his expression and grinned. "Not bad, right?"
Ori huffed, forcing himself to look unimpressed. "It'll do."
Rylan barked a laugh. "That's the most approval I've ever heard from you."
"Don't get used to it."
But even as Ori said it, he couldn't stop looking.
The Royal Guard of Arcaia stood waiting at the docks, their armor polished to a mirror sheen. But Ori barely paid them any mind, because at their center stood a man whose presence immediately commanded the space—tall, refined, and carrying himself with the practiced ease of someone who had spent years at the helm of a kingdom, even if he did not wear the crown.
His uniform was crisp, deep navy blue trimmed with gold, and he had the kind of silver-threaded hair that somehow made him look dignified rather than old.
Then he smiled.
"It seems our royal highness has returned."
The young king lit up instantly. "Alric!"
He all but jogged the last few steps, embracing the older man without hesitation. The ease in which he did so told Ori everything—this wasn't just a political mentor. This was someone Rylan actually trusted.
Alric clapped his back before pulling away, examining him with sharp, assessing eyes. "You've gotten taller," he said, as if checking for proof.
Rylan grinned. "You say that every time."
"And every time, I mean it." Alric shook his head with an exasperated sigh. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You left here a boy, and now look at you—a clone of your father. I'm relieved to see you healthy and whole."
Rylan laughed lightly. "I missed you too."
Alric's gaze flicked toward the rest of the group. His expression was open, easy—genuinely welcoming. "And these must be your traveling companions. I see you've added another to your ranks as well."
Rylan gestured enthusiastically toward Ori first. "This is Ori."
Alric turned his attention fully to him. "Ah," he said, his voice dropping into something more thoughtful. "I've heard your name in the past months, though I admit the stories vary wildly depending on the source."
Ori raised a brow. "Hope you're a good judge of character, then."
Alric smiled. "I like to think so."
Then, unexpectedly, he offered a short, respectful bow of his head. "I am truly sorry for your loss. The fall of Loc is a tragedy, and though I cannot undo what has been done, you have my word that Arcaia will stand by you against this menace."
Ori wasn't expecting that.
Usually, condolences were empty formalities, the kind that came pre-packaged with pity and meaningless reassurances. But there was something about the way Alric delivered the words—steady, measured, like a man speaking a promise rather than just a sentiment.
Ori simply nodded. "Appreciate it. We'll be needing it—I'm sure."
Alric turned to the rest of the group. "You are all welcome in Marival, of course. There have been no strange happenings to speak of I'm afraid, but while the guard unloads your things, I would be happy to show you the city."
Elira and Kirin exchanged looks before Elira spoke. "We have business elsewhere," she said.
Ori hesitated, but Rylan perked up instantly. "I'll go! Ori, you should come too."
Ori considered. He didn't exactly feel like sightseeing. But… something about this city—its history—made him curious.
"Sure, why not," he said. "I'll bite."
Alric smiled. "Then it's settled."
Marival was a city of stories. That much became clear as Alric led them through the streets, narrating with the ease of a man who had told these tales many times before.
He showed them the grand murals woven with magical thread, depicting the rise of Arcaia, the first teachings of the First Sage, and the dawn of enlightenment.
He pointed out the great monuments, including the towering Sage's Monument, marking the place where the First Sage first lifted his scepter and cast light upon the world.
Ori's Mantle hummed softly, recording everything. Storing the knowledge in a hidden archive.
Finally, they reached the statue of King Seraphis Marquest—Rylan's father, standing in the grand plaza—a likeness carved from pristine white stone, his expression forever noble, eyes carved so intensely that they seemed to follow those who walked beneath them.
Ori slowed his steps.
He glanced at Rylan, who had been talkative the whole way here, but now?
Now he was quiet.
Ori spoke first. "I'm sorry about your father."
Rylan gave a small, tired smile. "Thanks."
Ori turned back toward the statue. "What…happened?"
Alric exhaled softly, still looking at the statue. "An archaic illness," he said. "Likely from a lifetime of wielding magic for an entire kingdom. Even the strongest rulers are not immune to the burdens of power."
Ori didn't question it.
Not at first. But then—he felt it.
A pulse. A shift.
His Mantle flashed in his vision.
Discrepancy Detected.
Ori tensed.
Alric's words hung in the air, but his voice, or cadence—it didn't match the truth apparently.
Ori swallowed hard, his expression carefully neutral, but something uneasy coiled in his chest. He was unsure of what to do now. What could he do? Rylan loves this person—trusts him. According to Rylan; this was his only ally in a kingdom that deemed him unworthy. He had to be careful until he was sure of what this meant.
The tour continued despite his unease. Soon they had made their way to the castle steps. Ori had been quiet, trapped in a buzzing hive of anxiety within his mind. Rylan hadn't noticed—too excited about being home and with familiar faces. Elira and Kirin stood waiting by the gates just at the top of the stairs, done with whatever errand that had pulled them away. They'd noticed Ori's disposition. Something was off, but they wouldn't get the chance to inquire. Not yet.
That's when Alric called out to him, breaking him away from the racing thoughts.
"If you don't mind me asking—young Ori. What excactly happened in Loc on that fateful night?"
Ori's muscles tightened. He was reluctant to say anything to the man after the mantle's warning. He gave him a brief and compact recount of the events, unable to look at anything other than the ground while doing so. Alric let out a reflective sigh.
"Demon armies appearing seemingly out of nowhere in the dead of night. It seems even the all-illuminating scepter has its blind spots."
His words sounded genuine. But as Ori looked up, meeting his gaze, Alric's eyes seemed to linger on him as if he knew Ori couldn't trust him—shouldn't trust him. The feeling he had in his chest from a glance that seemed too long, felt almost deliberate.
The moment was broken by stirring of the gates. Two large doors, controlled by magic devices, pushed open steadily. Alric invited them all in. He'd instructed the guard to show everyone to their rooms. A welcomed turn for Ori, who was desperate to be alone with his thoughts. They were all separately escorted to their own rooms, where they stayed until nightfall.
Finally alone in his chamber, Ori exhaled, allowing himself to process what had happened.
He pulled up the Mantle's recorded log, scanning the memory.
The moment Alric spoke about Seraphis's death, the Mantle had flagged it.
Statement Inconsistency Detected.
Speech Pattern Analysis Confirms: Likely Falsehood.
Ori's heart sank.
King Seraphis Marquest did not die from illness.
Alric lied.
He was attempting to process it all when he heard a knock at the door, then it opened. It was Elira, stepping in slowly with concern on her face. He was barely able to look at her, unable to pull himself out of the wormhole of dread. He stared into nothing as she approached him.
"Ori…is everything alright? You seem not yourself ever since we all met at the castle gate."
His head went down as he rand both hands through his hair. "I'm…fine."
"You don't look fine," she said—leaning against the wall. "Something's eating at you. I don't need my mantle to see that."
Ori quickly stood up from the bed, walking around Elira to check out in the hall before shutting the door. He paced for a moment—wondering how he should say—if he should say it at all. Finally he glanced up at Elira while grabbing the back of his neck.
"I'm not sure how to say this, but Rylan…" He paused, sighing in frustration. "He may be in danger."
Elira glanced at him with slight confusion. Then she smirked nervously. "He's suffered scrutiny over the inheritance of his mantle, sure but…"
"No not that." He said, cutting her off. "It's Alric. He's hiding something."
"Hiding what, Ori? What is this all about?
Ori swallowed before speaking. "I think…Alric murdered Rylan's father."
Chapter End—