Corvis Eralith
I walked out of the auditorium as I had to attend my first lesson, History of Mana Theory. I could probably skip it as I needed to give Gideon the new blueprints—that could be a valid excuse.
Xyrus Academy had a pretty large library, maybe I could find books who taught me the practice instead of theory.
Then I heard a vain voice bragging about himself, voice I immediately recognized despite never hearing it, but the personality, the fake superiority masking one's own inferiority complex.
I saw walking ahead of a group of other human first years who clearly were nobles Lucas Wykes. Why was he already in Xyrus, wasn't he supposed to be still adventuring?
The shift in Lucas Wykes' presence at Xyrus felt wrong—a clear deviation from the timeline I remembered. Why was he here now, a full year early?
Something had forced his return. An event I wasn't aware of.
My eyes followed his movements as he walked ahead of a group of human nobles, his posture exuding false confidence, his voice filled with empty bravado. I didn't need to have met him before to recognize the type—obnoxious, arrogant, superiority masking deep insecurity.
Exactly as expected.
The urge to act burned within me.
If he even dared to pull the same heinous stunt as in the perfect instance, I would kill him myself.
Consequences be damned.
But I forced myself to take a breath—to step back.
Judging someone before they committed a crime was dangerous thinking. Even if I knew what he was capable of, if I had seen the extent of his cruelty, I wasn't here to preemptively eliminate threats.
At least, not yet.
Instead, I silently vowed—I would keep an eye on him.
This shift in Lucas' trajectory meant there was potential overlap in his past actions. Had he met Grey earlier than expected? Had something happened during his adventuring career that had forced him to return prematurely?
Was it mere coincidence? Or was there something missing—something that tied him deeper into the unfolding chaos than I originally anticipated?
I didn't have enough information. Not yet.
But then another concern surfaced.
If Cynthia formed the Disciplinary Committee earlier, especially given what I had told her about Kai Crestless, Lucas would likely be involved.
Without Grey, there would be nothing stopping him from worming his way into a position of authority.
That was unacceptable.
A guy like Lucas, granted power, wielding control over others—it was a nightmare I refused to let materialize.
Even if I couldn't stop the Committee from forming, I could influence who held power within it.
I could ensure Lucas never had the opportunity to abuse it.
But that battle was for another day.
For now, I quietly withdrew, ensuring I wasn't noticed.
There were far more pressing matters to focus on than wasting time with a deranged child.
———
The rhythmic click-clack of my boots on polished marble echoed too loudly in the suddenly empty corridor between classes. Professor Gideon Bastius was a whirlwind trapped in human form, muttering fiercely to himself, one hand buried in his perpetually messy grey hair, the other gesticulating wildly at an invisible problem. His back was deeply arched, his entire posture radiating intense, frustrated concentration.
"Professor Gideon," I called out, my voice cutting through his internal monologue.
"Who is both—" he snapped, spinning around with an irritated glare that instantly evaporated when he recognized me. His bushy eyebrows shot up.
"Oh! It's you, Prince." A gruff chuckle escaped him. "Managed to infiltrate these hallowed halls, eh? Though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, standard procedure obviously doesn't work woth you." His sharp eyes, however, held a flicker of genuine respect beneath the habitual grumpiness.
I unshouldered my leather school satchel, the scholar mage uniform already feeling stiff and cumbersome after only a morning. Reaching inside, I pulled out the carefully rolled parchment. "I believe this might be pertinent to your current… predicament," I said, offering him the blueprints.
His annoyance vanished, replaced by the voracious curiosity of a true artificer. "Oh? Another gift for little old Gideon?" He snatched the roll almost greedily, unfurling it with surprising delicacy despite his rough hands.
His eyes darted across the intricate lines and notations. "A repeater?" He whistled, low and appreciative. "Is that what this beauty is called? Ah, this is really perfect!" He tapped the parchment. "And here I was, brute-forcing it, just about ready to beg mages to stand around and enlarging the radio cover every ten leagues!"
Relief and excitement warred on his face. The sheer scale of the problem he'd been wrestling with had clearly been a monstrous weight, and my solution was a lever capable of moving it.
The success of the radio project felt personal. It wasn't just technology; it was a lifeline for Dicathen, a weapon against isolation in the coming storm. "How is the implementation going?" I asked, unable to suppress the eagerness in my voice. "Any significant hurdles besides range?"
Gideon's face split into a wide, almost boyish grin, momentarily erasing the lines of stress. "Prince, it's… it's the dawn," he breathed, his voice hushed with awe. "A revolution in communication, unfolding right under our noses! I've already convinced the monarchs to fund it properly. You'll see it in action tomorrow." He beamed, radiating triumph.
"Tomorrow?"
Gideon blinked, then chuckled again, a dry sound. "Oh yeah. Forgot you royal types don't always get the memos straight from the war room. Your parents haven't mentioned the proclamation of the Tri-Union has been… anticipated?" He waved a dismissive hand, utterly unconcerned about discussing state secrets in the echoing, potentially eavesdropped hallway. His mind lived in schematics and solutions, not intrigue.
"No," I said, my voice carefully neutral, though my mind raced. Anticipated. Why? Pressure from the Greysunders? Glayder maneuvering? Or simply urgency? Each possibility carried different threats. "I was unaware." The acceleration tightened the knot of anxiety in my chest. Time was compressing.
Gideon just shrugged, already re-rolling the blueprint with reverence. "Well, now you are. Anyway," he glanced pointedly at the ornate clock ticking above a nearby doorway, "shouldn't you be dissecting mana theory or learning proper technique or something equally scintillating?"
"And shouldn't you be imparting wisdom upon eager young minds, Professor?" I retorted smoothly, though my own truancy was purely for delivering the critical repeater design. The blueprint wasn't just helpful; it was essential infrastructure, worth the potential detention.
His eyes narrowed playfully, but he clutched the rolled parchment protectively to his chest. "What are you saying , Prince? Is that a threat?" He feigned outrage poorly.
"Of course not," I replied, a small, genuine smile touching my lips despite the undercurrent of tension. Gideon's enthusiasm was infectious, a rare spark of uncomplicated progress in the gathering gloom. "Consider it motivation."
He barked a laugh. "Motivation heaped upon motivation! You've just guaranteed I won't sleep for a week, lad. Enough work here to keep three artificers busy." He patted the blueprint fondly. "See you around."
With a final, distracted nod, he turned and shuffled off, already muttering to himself again, the repeater design absorbing him completely, the weight of the accelerated proclamation seemingly forgotten in the face of a new technical challenge.
I watched him go, the echo of his footsteps fading. The brief warmth of the interaction cooled, replaced by the familiar chill of responsibility. The repeater was handled, the radio network pushed forward. Good. But the accelerated proclamation was a wild card.
The thought solidified, cold and urgent. I needed space. Proper, secure space. Not a dusty dungeon cell repurposed, but a dedicated laboratory within the Academy.
Somewhere I could refine the Ineptrune ink, test containment fields, push the boundaries of my prosthetic magic without bringing down ancient stonework or alerting every mage in a five-league radius.
Xyrus pulsed with latent power from the Djinn's times; it was the ideal place, potentially the safest place, to develop the tools I desperately needed before the fragile peace shattered.
Because mine and Gideon's radio might announce unity tomorrow, but I knew with cold certainty that the shadows were already moving. And when the enemy will struck Xyrus, I couldn't afford to be unprepared.
The clock wasn't just ticking for the Tri-Union; it was ticking down to the moment my stolen knowledge and hard-won defiance would be put to the ultimate test.
Grey
The fading light painted the forest floor in stripes of gold and deep shadow as I watched Sylvie. Her small, vulpine form was a blur of silver fur and focused intensity, claws and teeth making quick work of the World Lions' beast cores we'd just harvested.
The faint, crystalline crack as she consumed their condensed mana echoed in the quiet glade. Satisfaction radiated from her through our bond, warm and pure, a stark contrast to the cold dread coiling in my own gut.
'Papa, what are you thinking so hard about?' Her mental voice, bright and curious, brushed against the heavy walls of my contemplation.
I am thinking about what Corvis told Cynthia, I sent back, the mental words feeling heavy. About the spies. The sheer number confirmed… and proven. Sylvie's own sharp senses had pinpointed several lurking presences during our hunts, their auras subtly wrong against the natural mana flow of Dicathen.
Cynthia's corroboration had sealed it. Yet… Why are they being so passive? The question gnawed at me, a splinter under the skin. Agrona wasn't known for restraint if it meant reaching his goals.
He even killed and experimented on his betrothed.
If he had this many agents embedded, why wasn't Dicathen already burning? Why weren't legions pouring through portals? The strategic inertia felt wrong, a predator playing dead.
My gaze lingered on Sylvie, her small head tilted as she crunched the last remnants of a core. And in that innocent, fierce profile, I saw her mother. Sylvia.
The memory slammed into me, visceral and agonizing. The cave I have appeared in after she sent us away.
Her voice, weak but resonant in a message she has sealed in my core, echoing in the chamber of my soul: "You will know everything… when you are strong enough. Stronger than white core in this world's measure."
A promise, a burden, a map with its destination deliberately obscured. Stronger than white core. Dicathen's pinnacle felt impossibly distant, a mountain shrouded in storm clouds I hadn't even begun to climb.
In Taegrin Caelum, under Agrona's cold gaze and Nico's… Nico's hatred… we had been forged into weapons meant to initiate Scythes.
We mastered decay mana arts, fought by Alacryan rules—brutal, efficient, suffused with the Vritra's tainted power. Since arriving here, I had deliberately shed that skin.
My sword felt familiar in my hand, my core pulsed with pure, untainted energy, channeled with the disciplined focus honed over my former lifetime as a king. But was it enough? Was clinging to the past hindering the strength Sylvia demanded? The doubt was a cold serpent in my chest.
What was Agrona plotting? The silence from the shadows was more terrifying than open war. It spoke of intricate webs, of patience, of a trap being sprung when least expected.
Nico knew. Nico knew and yet he refused to tell me.
I felt it in my bones, a certainty forged in the strange, fractured camaraderie and bitter enmity of our shared imprisonment.
Even with memories locked, the venom in his eyes when they landed on me… it was personal. Deeply personal. What did I do? No, what does he think I did?
The unknown reason for his hatred was another knot in the tangled mess Agrona had woven. Nico held a piece of the puzzle, and he'd die before giving it to me.
I shook my head sharply, the physical motion an attempt to dislodge the spiraling thoughts. Xyrus. Tessia. Corvis. The answers, or at least a path towards them, laid there. Tessia's brother… that quiet, unnervingly perceptive prince.
The kid knew things. Impossible things. Cynthia trusted him enough to relay his warnings. His knowledge wasn't just power; it was the whetstone for my vengeance against Sylvia's murderer, the shield for Sylvie's future, the safeguard for the fragile sense of belonging I had found in this world, embodied by Tessia's stubborn loyalty and even Corvis's guarded presence.
Sylvie, let's go. We're heading back to Xyrus, I sent, the decision solidifying into action.
'To see Mama?' Her response was immediate, brimming with pure, unadulterated joy that momentarily eclipsed the surrounding gloom.
Mama? The word hit me like a physical blow, derailing my grim train of thought. Confusion warred with a strange, protective pang. Sylvia… she never knew Sylvie. Who could she possibly mean? My mental query was a jumble of surprise and sudden, irrational tension.
'Mama Tessia!' Sylvie's mental voice chimed, clear and utterly certain, as if stating the most obvious fact in the world.
Tessia? The image of the determined child elf, fierce and occasionally infuriating, flashed in my mind. Mama? Sylvie's absolute conviction was… bewildering.
A connection forged in shared battles, perhaps? A projection of affection? It felt too simple, too profound. Whatever, I dismissed it mentally, the complexity of Sylvie's bond with Tessia a mystery for another time.
The immediate priority was the hunt for answers, not dissecting my bond's peculiar familial designations. With a sigh that was part exasperation, part reluctant amusement, I felt Sylvie's familiar weight settle onto my head, her tiny claws gently gripping my hair.
Mounting the waiting horse, I nudged it towards the distant teleportation station, the forest shadows deepening around us as we moved towards the city, towards Xyrus.