Corvis Eralith
The air in the Palace thrummed with a forced, glittering energy that grated against my nerves like sandpaper.
I hated parties.
The sentiment was a familiar anchor in the swirling, discordant sea of preparation unfolding around me. Servants darted around like dutiful workers, draping garlands of luminous moonflowers and shimmering frost-crystal vines over every archway and balustrade.
Musicians tuned instruments in a corner, the discordant notes sharp as splinters against the low murmur of staff. The scent was overwhelming—cloying sweetness from mountains of sugared pastries, the rich, fatty aroma of roasting boars, the sharp tang of exotic fruits piled high on silver platters, all mingling with the heavy perfume of forced-bloom roses. It was a sensory assault, a pageant of excess that felt grotesquely out of place.
We had never celebrated like this before. Birthdays were quiet affairs—a special meal, a small, thoughtful gift, time with my family. Comfortable. Real. But for our twelfth, Mom and Dad had decreed something "worthy of royalty."
Their words, laden with pride and perhaps a touch of guilt echoed hollowly in the opulent chaos. This wasn't celebration; it was a great performance. A display for nobles and dignitaries, a political statement wrapped in festive paper.
The sheer waste of resources, of time, of energy, when I knew the storms gathering beyond these gilded walls… it was a physical ache, a knot of frustration tightening behind my ribs. I was born to this palace life, its rhythms ingrained, but these spectacles? They were its most alienating facet, a gaudy cage.
My gaze, instinctively seeking refuge, found Tessia near a towering ice sculpture sculpted into a leaping forest stag. Mom was fussing over her hair, carefully adjusting a delicate silver circlet woven with tiny sapphires that caught the light. Tessia stood patiently, a small, genuine smile playing on her lips as Mom murmured something.
That smile… it was a fragile, precious thing. A spark of actual joy amidst the orchestrated frenzy. At least one of us, I thought, the tightness in my chest easing a fraction. Her happiness, however derived from this extravagance, was a balm I couldn't begrudge.
"Lost in the grandeur, Corvis?" Grampa's voice, rich with familiar, infuriating amusement, cut through my brooding. He was beside me, leaning casually against a marble pillar, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he surveyed my stiff form.
"You know," he drawled, stroking his beard thoughtfully, "you remind me strikingly of myself at your age in those clothes. Though," he added with a theatrical sigh, "naturally, without my legendary charm and effortless charisma. A pity, really."
I glanced down, the movement stiff. The suit was a masterpiece of royal tailoring, undeniably. Impeccable white fabric, heavy and smooth as cream, fitted precisely over my frame. Silver buttons marched like soldiers in a parade down the front reminding me of polished coins, each catching the light.
Intricate golden embroidery, subtle yet undeniable, traced the edges of the lapels and cuffs, whispering of my status. The long swallowtail jacket felt a bit uncomfortable on my shoulders, an unnecessary flourish emphasizing formality. Matching trousers, razor-creased, and azure cufflinks shaped like miniature crests completed the ensemble.
It was elegant. Regal. A costume designed for a prince playing his part. And utterly, profoundly stifling. It felt less like clothing and more like armor I had not chosen, constricting movement and breath alike.
"Pfft," I muttered, the sound escaping before I could stop it. I focused intently on a distant tapestry depicting a mythical hunt, avoiding his knowing gaze. "I hate this." The words were barely audible, but I knew he heard. The fabric itched. The collar felt like a vise. Every rustle of the expensive material was a reminder of the role I was being forced to play.
Maybe I was exaggerating things... Mom and Dad did this for us. Not for someone else... But—I stopped the thought and turned to Grampa.
His chuckle was low and warm, utterly devoid of sympathy, thoroughly enjoying my discomfort. "Oh, it builds character, lad. Teaches you to bear the unbearable burdens of… looking dashing."
Before I could muster a retort, Mom turned, her radiance momentarily cutting through the oppressive atmosphere. Her smile, warm and genuine, encompassed both Tessia and me. She glided over, the scent of her familiar, softer perfume momentarily displacing the heavier aromas.
"Oh, don't be so grumpy, sweetheart," she chided softly, reaching out. Her cool fingers gently brushed my cheek, then Tessia's, her touch infused with a love that was much too real amidst the artifice. "My children," she breathed, her voice thick with emotion, "you look… simply adorable together."
Her gaze lingered, taking us in—Tessia glowing in her finery, me undoubtedly resembling a disgruntled statue in mine. Then, her expression shifted to bright, almost teasing enthusiasm.
"Now go!" she urged, giving us both a gentle, insistent nudge towards the gathering hall where the first guests were beginning to filter in. The music swelled, a lilting, formal melody. "Mingle! Enjoy! This is your day, after all!"
Our day. I repeated in my head, she was right. Looking around to the—still way too many for my tastes—guests I saw only faces I have already seen even of one or two times. But Tessia seemed to know much of them.
I sighed. I have been a little too apocalyptic—like always.
———
The stifling heat of the crowded ballroom pressed in, a tangible weight after the delicate latticework of political niceties.
Finally extricating myself from the throng of nobles whose interest felt less like admiration and more like appraisal, I sought refuge near a towering arrangement of delicate fruits. Their cool scent was a balm.
"Your Highness." Alea's voice, warm and familiar, cut through the lingering buzz of meaningless chatter. She materialized beside me, her gaze sweeping over my undoubtedly strained expression before settling on my formal attire. "You look… charming."
"Thanks, I guess," I managed, the words feeling thick. My eyes traced the elegant lines of her face, the genuine warmth in her smile. A pang, sharp and cold, pierced the momentary respite. Alea. Her presence, usually a comfort, now felt like a ticking clock.
Had my warning to Cynthia accelerated unseen gears? Would Uto's shadow fall upon her sooner? The image—vivid, unwanted—flashed: not the vibrant woman before me, but broken, lifeless…
No. The denial was a physical recoil within my chest.
No plans for the day! Listen to Mom. Enjoy yourself! The mental command was a whip-crack, desperate and stern. This was Tessia's day, Mom's joy, Dad's pride. I couldn't let the specter of the future poison the present. Not here and definitely not now.
Alea's smile softened, tinged with a quiet perceptiveness. "You have truly grown up, Your Highness, you know?" Her voice held a gentle pride that resonated deeper than the hollow flattery of the court. "I am very happy, seeing the good person you are becoming."
Good person. The words landed like stones in still water, sending ripples of uncomfortable dissonance through me. Good? What goodness laid in calculated moves, in hidden agendas spun from fearful knowledge? My effort—the fragile network with Gideon, the desperate gambit with Cynthia, the careful dance around Grey— they were gambles on a future battlefield, not acts of inherent virtue.
I hadn't saved anyone yet. I hadn't stopped the bleeding. The "good" she saw felt like a borrowed cloak, ill-fitting over the reality of my fear-driven machinations. I offered a smile, thin and fleeting, hoping it masked the turmoil.
"That's… kind of you to say, Alea."
The party swirled on, a kaleidoscope of silk, jewels, and forced laughter. After exchanging a few more pleasantries with Alea, feeling the weight of her sincere regard like another layer of the ornate jacket I wore, I made my escape.
My target: the sanctuary of a balcony overlooking the palace's inner gardens. The promise of cool night air, the scent of damp earth and night-blooming flowers, the blessed silence… it was a siren call. Just a few moments to breathe, to let the mask slip.
But Fate, or perhaps just the relentless machinery of royal expectation, intervened. Before I could reach the glass-paned doors leading to freedom, a figure stepped smoothly into my path.
"Prince Corvis." The voice was smooth, confident, carrying the polished inflection of high elven breeding. I looked up into the face of Feyrith Ivsaar III. A couple of years older, his blonde hair was meticulously styled with those signature twin bangs framing sharp features. The smile was cocky, yet carefully calibrated to remain within the bounds of respect. "Long time no see. I find you well."
The recognition was instant, pulled from the archives of meta-awareness and my life as Corvis. Tessia's friend, both in this reality and the in the perfect instance.
"I think we met only one time," I replied, keeping my tone neutral. "Feyrith." The name felt strange on my tongue, an identifier from a story, not a lived acquaintance.
His smirk widened fractionally, a spark of satisfaction in his pale eyes. "But still, you remember my name, Your Highness." He spread his hands slightly.
"It shows the strength of the bond between House Ivsaar and the Royal Family, wouldn't you agree? That we become friends after meeting but once." The statement was delivered with practiced charm, a subtle weaving of flattery and assertion.
Friends. The word felt heavy, artificial. I remembered his name not from camaraderie, but because he was a named piece on a... chessboard... I was desperately trying to rearrange.
Rudeness would be counterproductive, another variable to manage. An ally, however superficially claimed, was still preferable to neutral or hostile nobility. "Yes," I conceded, the single syllable feeling like a small surrender to the necessary charade. "I think so."
The thought surfaced, unbidden: Feyrith should be at Xyrus. The Academy, opened earlier to all three races in this altered timeline, would logically place him there. Likely a soon-to-be third year, given his age.
This wasn't just idle curiosity; it was reconnaissance. If Xyrus's student body remained largely consistent with the canon I knew, despite the political shifts I'd inadvertently caused, it offered a sliver of predictability in an increasingly chaotic world.
"Feyrith," I began, shifting the conversation onto this potentially useful ground, "you attend Xyrus Academy, right?"
His reaction was immediate, the cocky grin returning full force, tinged with genuine, if self-satisfied, pleasure. "I'm flattered, Your Highness, that you remembered that as well—" He paused, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Had he actually mentioned it during our single, forgotten meeting? Probably. Another detail lost in the fog of royal functions.
"—and yes," he continued, puffing his chest out slightly, "I am indeed a student at Xyrus Academy. One of the very best, if I do say so myself." The boast was delivered with the casual arrogance of youth accustomed to privilege and talent.
Before I could formulate a suitably princely response to Feyrith's boasting or make another bid for the balcony, a familiar, impatient voice cut through the din like a silver bell.
"Corvis!" I turned seeing Tessia waving her hands excitedly, rushing toward me. "Grey has arrived! I told you he'd make it!"
"Prince—" Feyrith started, but before he could finish, Tessia grabbed my hand and pulled me away, leaving him behind with his mouth hanging open in disbelief.
If Grey had come, that meant he cared enough about Tessia to be here. That thought warmed me more than I expected.
We found Cynthia and Grey near the entrance of the ballroom, though Cynthia was immediately intercepted by nobles eager to engage with her. Given her status as a key diplomat between Sapin and the other races, it wasn't surprising.
While traveling back from Xyrus, Grampa had told us that the official proclamation of the Tri-Union would be held in Etistin at the start of next month.
If he had shared this with both me and Tessia, it meant that the diplomatic talks were finally over. But that also meant... the Greysunders—
Stop. Planning.
"Tessia, Corvis," Grey greeted, his presence calm as Tessia wrapped him in a hug.
"I knew you'd come! But… Sylvie? Where is she?" Tessia asked, glancing around.
Grey turned slightly, then paused. "She should be—" His expression shifted. "Where is Sylvie?!"
I had a pretty good idea of where Grey's bond had disappeared to. Scanning the buffet, I checked if the cakes were still intact.
And there she was.
Sylvie had dove straight into one of the smaller cakes, her tiny form buried in cream, happily devouring it.
"There," I said, nodding toward the disaster zone.
Tessia giggled at the sight while Grey simply sighed in resignation.
Seeing them like this—laughing, exasperated, sharing in something so simple—made me realize just how much I had worried about Grey's mental state after discovering his Alacryan origins.
But he seemed to be holding himself together.
"Before I forget, I have a gift for both of you," Grey announced.
"Oh, Grey... you really didn't have to," I said, though Tessia's eager expression made it clear she disagreed.
"What is it?!" she asked, practically bouncing with excitement.
Grey pulled out his dimensional storage ring, retrieving two items. The moment I saw the beast core in his hands, I recognized it instantly.
He handed it to Tessia, and my suspicions were confirmed—it was the Elderwood Guardian beast core, the same one she possessed in the original timeline. Its swirling roots and deep green hue were unmistakable.
Was it corrupted by the Vritra? The thought lodged itself in my mind. If it was, I would need to find a way to purify it. Whether Grey would come across a mourning pearl or not, I couldn't leave it to chance. Beast Wills would likely become my next field of study.
Tessia's eyes widened as she took the core. "T-this is a Beast Core?" she asked in awe. "I should have expected a gift like this from you." Despite her surprise, she accepted it without hesitation.
"Thank you, I'll make good use of it."
"It still holds plenty of mana—I only used a small portion," Grey explained. "It should help you break into the next stage. Plus, it might have a Beast Will."
Tessia flushed slightly. "Yeah, I know how Beast Cores work!" she said, a mix of embarrassment and pride in her voice.
If the mana was strong enough, she would likely reach light orange before heading to Xyrus.
Grey then turned toward me, holding out a pendant. My meta-awareness registered it immediately.
"A Phoenix Wyrm Pendant?" I asked, my voice betraying my surprise.
Grey's brows lifted. "You know about this item?"
"Yeah," I nodded. "How did you get it?"
Was Gideon involved? Probably. He was the one who invented them after all.
"I asked an artificer for help," Grey admitted. "He said he knew you."
Yes. Definitely Gideon.
I narrowed my eyes slightly. What was he up to? Was he trying to curry favor with me? Or did he have some deeper plan?
"Gideon doesn't take commissions so easily," I pointed out. "How did you convince him?" Please, Grey—tell me you didn't hand him the plans for a steamship.
Grey's tone was flat, unreadable. "I can be rather convincing when I want to be."
Alright, that was a little unsettling.
"Grey… you didn't do anything bad, right?" Tessia asked cautiously.
Grey scratched the back of his neck, looking away. "No comment."
Tessia frowned. I wasn't sure if I wanted to know the details.
Still, I studied the pendant in my hand. With this, I could conduct more reckless experiments.
"Corvis, what are you thinking?" Tessia asked warily. "I don't like that look on your face."
I forced a casual expression. "Nothing, nothing."
Redirecting the conversation, I turned to Grey. "Now, I assume you want to retrieve your bond before she eats everything on the buffet."
Grey followed my gaze, spotting Sylvie mid-destruction, buried in cream and cake crumbs.
"Right," he muttered, immediately hurrying over to rescue what remained of the dessert table.