Corvis Eralith
Once again the heavy oak door of Cynthia Goodsky's office clicked shut behind me, sealing us into a space thick with the scent of old parchment, faint ozone from ambient mana, and the weight of what yet remains unspoken.
The evening orange light streamed through the windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the beams, a deceptive serenity against the gravity of our meeting. We sat across her desk, two figures bound by secrets and the shadow of a continent poised on a knife's edge.
I finally could end the conversation I started with Cynthia few days prior.
"Did you and Tessia settle well in the dormitory?" Cynthia asked, her voice a deliberate counterpoint to the heavy silence, a gentle probe testing the waters and to make me feel calm. Her eyes, which last time were sharp and assessing, held a genuine warmth that had surprised me since the initial shock of my revelations had faded.
No wonder Tessia adores her, I thought, the observation softening the edges of my own guardedness. Across the room, perched silently on a high bookshelf, Avier's ancient, unblinking gaze remained fixed on me.
It felt less like scrutiny and more like the watchful presence of a sentinel, perpetually braced for the unpredictable spark my presence seemed to ignite. He still didn't trust me, but it wasn't like I could do something about it.
"Yes," I replied, forcing a semblance of normalcy. "Before I came here, Tessia was inspecting the dormitory from side to side, declaring which room was superior and complaining about the lack of vine curtains." The image brought a reluctant smile to my lips.
Cynthia chuckled, a rich, warm sound that momentarily dispelled the office's somber atmosphere. "She can act quite spoiled at times, can't she?"
"She does," I confirmed, the familiar exasperation laced with undeniable affection. "More often than not, frankly. It's her way to be herself and to cope with all the things that happened during her adventure woth Grey."
The light, almost familial exchange dissipated like smoke as Cynthia leaned forward, her expression shifting seamlessly from warmth to the focused intensity of the famous Director of Xyrus Academy. The playful glint vanished, replaced by the steely resolve of the former continent's spymaster.
"I have a few questions for you, Prince." Her tone remained gentle, almost conversational, yet the shift in her energy was palpable. It wasn't hostility fortunately; it was the focused pressure of necessity. Despite myself knowing it, a shiver traced its way down my spine, cold despite the sunlight.
Am I really so weak that talking to Cynthia unsettles me? The self-reproach was sharp, irritating. My Ineptrune felt cool against my skin beneath my sleeve, a reminder of hard-won power, yet the vulnerability of knowledge, of bearing burdens too heavy for my years, remained. I met her gaze and nodded, a silent assent.
Her first question was a scalpel, precise and swift. "Did you know about their spies here? Within Xyrus itself?" She hesitated slightly before finishing, the curse's invisible bindings tightening around the forbidden name.
I didn't wait. "Kai Crestless?" The name dropped into the silence like a stone. "You've found him?"
Her brief, sharp nod was confirmation enough. A flicker of understanding passed between us. Kai, a student, likely slipped through her initial nets not due to exceptional skill, but because Cynthia, beneath the cold spy she once was, was a passionate educator who struggled to condemn one of her own charges without irrefutable proof. The human cost of the war that was still yet to begin was already etching itself onto her.
I pressed forward, seizing the initiative before she could frame her next question. "He worked for the current spymaster operating here in Dicathen—your successor. Draneeve." I watched her eyes narrow fractionally at the name, a flicker of recognition? Perhaps distaste.
"Have there been any… radical movements stirring among the human nobles within the Academy?" The question was crucial. In the original narrative, Draneeve had fanned the flames of human supremacist sentiment, exploiting resentment towards the Tri-Union and integrated education. If such factions were already visible, it meant Draneeve had been given more time, more freedom to weave his poisonous web.
Cynthia shook her head, her expression carefully neutral. "Nothing overtly radical has coalesced into a significant movement… yet." The vagueness was deliberate, a dance around the curse.
She couldn't say more without triggering the rune's punitive magic. A thought sparked, fierce and dangerous: Could I deactivate it? The knowledge of Agrona's runes, gleaned from meta-awareness, suggested it was theoretically possible—a complex unraveling of layered magic commands. But the risk… Agrona himself held ultimate dominion.
Tampering could be like poking a sleeping dragon, alerting the High Sovereign directly to my existence and capabilities. The potential fallout was catastrophic. Not yet. Too dangerous.
My focus snapped back to Draneeve. "He's waiting," I murmured, thinking aloud. "The Tri-Union proclamation… it's the perfect catalyst. A public declaration of unity he can twist, fueling resentment, making humans feel their status is diminished." The strategy felt chillingly plausible, a dark mirror to Gideon's radio broadcast meant to unite.
"I see…" Cynthia's voice was low, thoughtful. The unspoken implications hung heavy.
Then, I took a breath, steeling myself. This truth was heavier, potentially more devastating. "There's something else," I began, locking eyes with her, ensuring she grasped the gravity. "The Greysunders are working with the Vritra." I paused, letting the name of the powerful human family sink in. "And it's possible… highly possible… the Glayders will follow."
Cynthia's composure cracked. Her eyes widened, genuine alarm flashing across her face, quickly masked but not fast enough. The Greysunders, led by the avaricious Dawsid, were perhaps unsurprising to her.
But the Glayders? Curtis and Kathyln's family? Pillars of the future Council, symbols of stability? "The Greysunders… Dawsid has always seemed a shady, greedy man," she conceded, her voice tight. "But the Glayders? Prince, that… that creates more problems than I anticipated." Her mind was clearly racing, calculating the political earthquake, the betrayal from within the highest echelons. The Glayders' influence was immense; their defection wouldn't just be a loss, it would be a dagger poised at the heart of the continent.
Why? The question burned. In the original, Agrona wanted Arthur delivered. Here? Grey was the obvious parallel. Or… Sylvie. Her unique lineage—half-Indrath, half-Vritra—represented genetic potential far beyond Grey's usefulness, especially if Agrona deemed Grey, while powerful, ultimately unusable due to his escape and hatred.
My own existence, my knowledge, might render Grey irrelevant in Agrona's grand designs, making Sylvie the only true prize. The possibilities were chilling.
At least, I told myself, a sliver of cold comfort, I can ensure my own parents remain loyal and not go against Dicathen.
Then came the most immediate threat to my sister. "The beast core Grey gave Tessia," I said, my voice dropping, layered with protective urgency. "It comes from a corrupted mana beast."
Cynthia was on her feet instantly, her chair scraping harshly on the stone floor. Concern, raw and fierce, replaced the calculating spymaster. "Corrupted? What do you mean by that...?" The implications for Tessia were horrifyingly clear as she clenched her jaw.
Seeing her genuine fear for Tessia sent a surprising wave of warmth through me, momentarily eclipsing the dread. She cared. Deeply. I lifted a hand, a calming gesture.
"I can fix it," I stated, the confidence born of meta-awareness and desperate determination. "And if I don't… I trust Grey will find a way." He had the potentual to; he just needed the knowledge, which I could provide.
My mind, however, churned with another monumental secret. Epheotus. The Asuras and especially Kezess Indrath. Should I tell her about the potential storm brewing on that horizon? About Sylvie's bond potentially drawing draconic wrath? The risk was immense.
Agrona was a known, active threat; I had strategies, however fragile, to counter him. Kezess was far more ancient god-king whose motivations were opaque and whose power was absolute. If he decided Grey was an abomination… there was no bargaining, no strategy. Only annihilation.
My only conceivable leverage, buried deep and perilous, was my theoretical knowledge of aether—a knowledge I understood how to utilize and for which Kezess wouldn't spare anything to put his hands on. Revealing the Asuran threat now felt like inviting an avalanche onto an already crumbling mountainside. Safer not to. For now. The secret settled like lead in my gut.
"You know how to remove the corruption?" Cynthia asked, her voice a mixture of urgency and intense curiosity. She sank back into her chair, leaning forward, her gaze sharpening with the analytical focus of a scholar presented with an impossible puzzle.
This was the moment. The reveal. Not just of a solution, but of my defiance. I met her gaze, took a steadying breath that did little to calm the sudden tremor in my hands, and slowly, deliberately, rolled up my right sleeve. The fabric slid past my elbow, revealing the smooth skin of my forearm. Focusing my will, I activated Against the Tragedy.
The intricate tattoo—the arrow fused with pine and crescent moon—flared to life, not with blinding light, but with a soft, ethereal silver luminescence. The air in the room seemed to stir faintly as ambient mana was drawn towards the rune, a subtle vortex invisible to normal sight but palpable as a pressure change.
Cynthia gasped, her hand flying unconsciously to her mouth. Her eyes widened, not just in surprise, but in profound recognition and shock. "That—" she breathed, staring at the glowing design. "The patterns… they resemble…"
"Alacryan runes," I finished for her, my voice calm despite the hammering of my heart. This was baring not just my arm, but my struggle, my vulnerability, my stolen solution. "Inspired by them, yes. But different. This is an Ineptrune." I kept my gaze steady on hers.
"This specific one, Against the Tragedy, allows me to siphon and contain mana. I'm developing others… so I can eventually function, in a limited way, like a mage." The admission hung in the air, a declaration of war against my own biology.
Cynthia leaned closer, her scholarly fascination momentarily overriding her alarm. Her sharp eyes traced the glowing lines, absorbing the complexity. "Very impressive, Prince," she murmured, genuine awe coloring her tone. "The craftsmanship, the conceptualization…" Then her brow furrowed, her perception piercing deeper.
"However… I don't feel the mana flowing through your body. It's… contained within the mark itself?"
I sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of my limitation. The exhilaration of the rune's function warred with the shame of its necessity. "How do I put this…" I searched for words she'd understand. "I'm allergic to mana. Or perhaps… autoimmune is a better term."
"Autoimmune?" She frowned, the unfamiliar word clearly puzzling.
Right. Medieval fantasy world.
"Simply put," I explained, forcing the words out, feeling the familiar sting of inadequacy, "my body fights against mana as if it were a disease. If it enters my system, beyond the strict containment of the Ineptrune… it makes me violently ill. Rejects it." I gestured vaguely at my coreless form. "This rune… it's a barrier as much as a conduit. It stores the mana externally, only releasing its effect upon command, preventing internal contamination."
Cynthia sat back slowly, her gaze never leaving my arm, then lifting to meet my eyes. A profound, bewildered sadness flickered within hers, mixed with that relentless curiosity.
"I've never heard of a case like that. Not in centuries of records both in Dicathen and you know where. You truly are a strange child, Prince."
Then, her lips curved into a small, unexpected, almost amused smile. It held no mockery, only a kind of weary wonder.
"But I suppose that runs in the Eralith bloodline… seeing who your sister and grandfather are." The shared burden of strangeness, of destiny, felt like a fragile bridge between us.
Relief warred with a new wave of anxiety. "Another thing…" I ventured cautiously. "Have you told Grey? About… my knowledge? What I shared?"
Her expression softened further. "Yes. He took it… better than I expected, if I have to say." A flicker of something like respect crossed her features. "Quiet. Thoughtful. Asked pertinent questions. He didn't dismiss it."
A genuine wave of relief washed over me, so potent it momentarily loosened the knots of tension in my shoulders. Good. Being in a good relationship with Grey wasn't just strategic; it felt fundamentally necessary. My entire existence was tied to him after all.
"Where is he now?" I asked, though I already suspected the answer.
"Out in the Beast Glades, as usual," Cynthia sighed, a mixture of exasperation and fondness in her voice. "Training. Pushing himself. Like a force of nature honing its edge."
She glanced towards the window, where the light was beginning to take on the golden hue of late afternoon. "But I think we are good for the time being, Prince." Her gaze returned to me, holding a complex mix of gravity, newfound trust, and a hint of maternal concern.
"Tomorrow is your first day of school. I wouldn't want to keep you too long here. Tessia will be wondering where you are, no doubt preparing a barrage of questions." A faint, knowing smile touched her lips.
I stood, offering a respectful bow, the movement feeling strangely formal after the raw intimacy of our exchange. "Thank you, Director. For listening. For… understanding." The words felt inadequate, but they were sincere.
"Be careful, Prince Corvis," she said softly, her gaze lingering on the sleeve covering my Ineptrune. "What we are walking is a dangerous path and while I hate to be relying on a child and now a student of mine, I admit you
I met her eyes one last time, acknowledging the warning, the shared burden. "I know."
Stepping out of her office, the corridor felt cooler, quieter. The weight of secrets shared, of dangers acknowledged, still pressed upon me, but it was a shared weight now. Cynthia was an ally, a formidable one.
As I walked towards the dormitory, the thought of Tessia's inevitable, energetic interrogation about my meeting with the Director brought a flicker of weary amusement. The mundane concern of a sister. A small, vital anchor in the maelstrom. After the depths plumbed in Cynthia's office, facing Tessia's pestering felt almost like coming home. I braced myself, not with dread, but with a fragile sense of normalcy, as I turned the corner towards our dormitory.