Corvis Eralith
The triumphant echoes of the Tri-Union proclamation still vibrated in the very stones of Xyrus City. The radio network, my brainchild entrusted to Gideon, had performed flawlessly, broadcasting the historic moment across the continent with crystal clarity.
While in Xyrus' centre there was the magical projection all around the city the people that either didn't made it in time or couldn't find a position to see the projection rallied around the few radios that were already in the town's strategic positions.
A palpable wave of relief and cautious optimism washed over the Academy grounds. Years of integrated schooling had borne fruit; the atmosphere wasn't just tolerant, but genuinely celebratory. Elves, humans, and dwarves mingled, their differences momentarily eclipsed by the shared banner of Dicathen.
Walking back towards the dormitory, I felt a shift within myself. No longer merely Prince Corvis of Elenoir, but Corvis Eralith of Dicathen.
The distinction was subtle, perhaps symbolic, but it carried weight. It meant the constant, watchful scrutiny solely focused on my elven heritage had lessened, replaced by a broader, if still demanding, expectation.
The hassles of royal duty remained—the weight of expectation, the unspoken politics—but now they felt shared, distributed across a nascent unity. It was… something. A fragile foundation, perhaps, but a foundation nonetheless.
The unexpected suspension of classes for the day of celebration offered a rare reprieve. My mind immediately turned towards the sanctuary of the dormitory I shared with Tessia, the intricate schematics for the next phase of Against the Tragedy already unfurling in my thoughts.
Refining the Ineptrune ink, testing containment matrices, pushing the boundaries of my prosthetic magic—the work was urgent, a desperate race against an unseen clock. The quiet solitude of our shared dorm promised precious hours of focused progress.
Rounding the corner towards the familiar dormitory entrance, however, my planned trajectory abruptly halted.
The sight before me was unexpected, pulling me sharply from the realm of theoretical runes and mana containment. Tessia stood bathed in the afternoon sun, her silver hair catching the light, but it was the figure beside her that commanded my immediate attention.
Grey.
He stood with his characteristic stillness, a quiet intensity radiating from him even in repose. Perched on Tessia's shoulder, Sylvie in her fox form nuzzled affectionately against her neck, a picture of pure contentment that seemed almost jarring against Grey's reserved demeanor.
"Corvis!" Tessia's voice, bright and welcoming, broke the momentary stillness. She waved enthusiastically, whatever earlier frustrations she had with Grey seemingly forgotten.
"Look who decided to grace us with his presence! Grey has come to visit us." Her smile was warm, genuine, a testament to the bond forged in their shared adventures.
Grey offered a curt, almost awkward wave in my direction, his eyes meeting mine for a fleeting second—a gaze that felt like it could strip away layers of pretense. Before I could formulate a greeting, Tessia turned back to him, her expression shifting to playful concern.
"Have you seen Goldberg and the others?" she asked, referencing their former adventuring companions shw has mentioned to me.
"They are still alive and doing well, if that's what you are asking," Grey replied, his tone characteristically flat, devoid of inflection.
I understood the intent beneath the starkness—a simple statement of fact, meant to reassure. Efficiency over warmth. But Tessia, attuned to nuance, winced slightly, her brows knitting together.
"Grey," she chided gently, a hint of exasperation colouring her voice, "does that really seem like the best way to say it? A little warmth wouldn't hurt!"
A flicker of something akin to confusion crossed Grey's impassive features. "I didn't mean to make you mad," he stated, the words sounding almost rehearsed, revealing his continued struggle with the labyrinth of social interaction.
The observation struck me: How many genuine conversations has this child-king truly had in eleven years? His world seemed defined by survival, training, and the profound connection of Sylvie's bond.
His focus then snapped back to me with unsettling directness. "I need to speak with Corvis," he declared, bypassing pleasantries entirely. He turned to Tessia. "May I borrow your brother?"
Borrow? The word, so casually applied, sparked a flicker of dry amusement amidst my surprise. What about my permission? What about asking me? Yet, the underlying seriousness in his gaze banished any thought of refusal. This wasn't a social call. This was the reckoning I'd both anticipated and dreaded since Cynthia revealed she'd told him everything.
Tessia laughed, the sound light and musical, oblivious to the sudden tension coiling in the air between Grey and me.
"Yes, yes, of course you may borrow him," she said, waving a dismissive hand, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she looked at me. "But bring him back in one piece, Grey!"
Her joke landed softly, but it underscored the strange, perilous path I walked, a path Grey now sought to tread alongside me. The weight of his attention settled on my shoulders, heavy with unspoken questions and the terrifying potential of shared secrets. The quiet work on my Ineptrunes would have to wait.
———
We basked in the sunlight in a secluded place near our dormitory as the weight of the world settling onto my shoulders as I faced Grey.
His eyes, old and assessing despite the youthful frame, held mine with unnerving intensity. Sylvie's absence, left with Tessia, made the space between us feel vast and charged. This was it.
The moment I had both craved and dreaded since learning he existed. The fragile trust Cynthia had built by telling him something hung in the balance. I couldn't lie. Not to him. The stakes were cosmic, and deception now could fracture everything later.
"I have a lot of things to tell you," I began, my voice sounding steadier than I felt. The scholar mage uniform felt suddenly constricting. "So don't interrupt me. Let me speak. When I'm finished, I'll answer everything."
The stipulation was necessary, a dam against the flood of questions I knew my revelations would unleash. Omitting my own reincarnation was the only shield I allowed myself. For now.
Grey regarded me silently for a heartbeat, his expression unreadable. Then, a single, curt nod. "Sure. Go ahead."
I took a deep breath, the air tasting thin. The first truth was the keystone, the one that could shatter his perception of reality. "First things first," I stated, locking onto his gaze. "I know you are reincarnated. I know why you were reincarnated—even though you probably already have your own suspicions." The words hung heavy in the sunlit corridor.
Grey didn't move, but his eyes—those windows to a soul far older than his body—widened almost imperceptibly. A flicker of shock, raw and primal, flashed through their dark depths before being ruthlessly banked.
I saw the muscles in his jaw tighten, the subtle clench of fists at his sides. Seething questions radiated off him like heat haze, but true to his word, he remained silent. He's not furious. Not at me. The relief was a cool trickle down my spine. His hatred, I knew with bone-deep certainty, was reserved solely for Agrona. Compared to the High Sovereign's betrayal, my knowledge might seem merely… startling.
"Cynthia probably told you my family has a history of divination magic," I continued, pressing the advantage of his silence. "That I glimpse the future. That's… not entirely accurate." I paused, searching for the right words, the ones that skirted the precipice of the ultimate truth without plunging over.
"Fate. It's… not simple to explain. It's through Fate, through its… structure, its design… that I know everything." It was a half-truth wrapped in cosmic mystery, a deliberate obfuscation that felt like ash on my tongue but was necessary.
Telling him about the true nature of his existence, about the deities and the prison, about Sylvia's final message… that knowledge was a burden he wasn't ready for. It belonged to the Integration stage, to the potential shattering of his core and the confrontation with it.
"Thanks to Fate," I forged on, "I know of Alacrya. Of Agrona. And his plan." The name of his tormentor hung in the air.
Grey flinched, a micro-movement quickly suppressed. "What does Agrona want?" The question burst out, sharp and urgent, before he visibly caught himself, his hand rising slightly as if to physically push the words back. "Sorry." The apology was clipped, almost mechanical.
"Don't worry," I managed a small, strained laugh. It was going better than I'd dared hope. "Agrona wants to reincarnate the Legacy into this world. To do that, he needs two anchors. You… and a former friend of yours—"
"Nico?" Grey's voice was a low growl, the name dropping like a stone. His face darkened, shadows pooling beneath his eyes. The controlled stillness vanished, replaced by a palpable tension, a storm barely contained.
"That explains… so much. Nico… he always wanted Cecilia back…" The conflict on his face was a heartbreaking tapestry: raw anger warring with profound confusion, a flicker of ancient grief, and beneath it all, a steely determination hardening like tempered steel.
He didn't just suspect; he knew, deep in the marrow of his kingly soul, the terrible shape of Nico's obsession.
"Yes," I confirmed softly, acknowledging the pain etched onto his young features. "However, Agrona's plan can't work. Because of me. I am the Thwart. My existence prevents the ritual Agrona needs to bring the Legacy fully into our world." The declaration felt audacious, yet utterly true.
Grey absorbed this, his analytical mind visibly churning. "Agrona was bringing many girls to train with me and Nico in Taegrin Caelum," he stated, connecting the dots with chilling precision. "Does that have to do with it?"
"A vessel," I nodded. "The Legacy needs a specific vessel, one bonded to both its anchors. Those girls… they were potential candidates." The casual cruelty of it, the reduction of lives to mere containers, sent a fresh wave of revulsion through me.
His next question cut straight to the heart of our peril. "What about the future? When will Agrona arrive?"
This was the treacherous part. My knowledge only provided the framework, not the precise schedule of a war accelerated by butterfly wings.
"Agrona already has portals in the Beast Glades. His agents are here, Grey. The war isn't coming; it's simmering. We might delay the full eruption if we cripple their ability to bring in reinforcements. Sever the conduits."
His gaze sharpened, becoming predatory. "Where is the Retainer of Vechor? Where is Uto?" His voice was colder than glacial ice, devoid of anything but lethal intent.
"In the Beast Glades," I confirmed, the image of corrupted mana beasts swarming the Wall flashing behind my eyes. "His task is corruption. Preparing the monsters and turning them into weapons for the invasion."
"I need you to help me find him," Grey stated, absolute conviction ringing in every syllable. "So I can kill him." No hesitation. No doubt. Just the stark declaration of an executioner.
My blood ran cold. No. "G-Grey, that's too dangerous!" The protest tore from me, fueled by visceral memories of Uto's sadistic power.
"You can't go against Uto. Not yet!" Grey was strong, terrifyingly so for his age, fueled by Vritra blood and kingly skill. But against a Retainer? A being honed by of decay magic and Agrona's favor?
At Silver Core, even with Sylvie, he wasn't a contender; he had been prey. And the image of that happening here too was unbearable.
He cut me off, his eyes blazing with an intensity that brooked no argument. "A Retainer is nothing compared to a Scythe. A Scythe is nothing compared to a Wraith. A Wraith is nothing compared to a Sovereign. And a Sovereign…" His voice dropped to a whisper thick with loathing, "…is nothing compared to that bastard himself. You said it, Corvis. We don't have time. I need your help. Please."
The raw sincerity beneath the flat delivery was undeniable. He wasn't boasting; he was stating a hierarchy of horrors he understood intimately. And the please—a word likely foreign to the king he was—struck deeper than any demand.
My mind raced. I couldn't endorse this suicide mission, but outright refusal might fracture the trust we were building. "Agrona and the Sovereigns," I countered, shifting tactics, "they won't intervene directly against us. Not yet. If they did, they'd risk provoking the Asuras of Epheotus."
"Asuras of Epheotus?" Genuine confusion flickered across his face. Agrona, the manipulator, had kept him utterly in the dark about the larger chessboard.
"Yes," I explained, stepping onto another minefield. "The Vritra are part of the Basilisk race. One of the Asuran races. Others include the Dragons, led by the Indrath Clan." I gestured vaguely in the direction Sylvie and Tessia were. "And Sylvie… she is an Indrath."
Grey's reaction was instantaneous and utterly unexpected. He stared at me, the intense focus momentarily shattered. Then, a sound escaped him—a short, sharp bark of disbelief that morphed into genuine, if dark, laughter.
"Corvis," he managed, shaking his head, a flicker of wry amusement in his eyes, "out of all the things you've told me, I haven't doubted a single word. But this? That Sylvie, my Sylvie, is kin to the Vritra? One of these… Asuras? That has to be a joke." He chuckled again, the sound strangely incongruous in the gravity of our conversation.
My cheeks flushed. "No! I am serious!" I insisted, flustered. The urge to blurt out Sylvie's true parentage—daughter of Agrona—was strong, but again, the timing felt wrong. That revelation belonged to Sylvia's message, to a moment of greater strength and understanding.
"Seeing that she is Sylvia's daughter…" Grey murmured, the laughter fading as quickly as it came, replaced by thoughtful consideration. He met my eyes again, the amusement gone.
"Yeah. I believe you. Sorry for doubting." The easy acceptance, the immediate course correction based on logic and trust, was startling. He was far more… reasonable… than the brooding, vengeance-driven figure I had half-expected.
Stop being so on edge, Corvis, I chastised myself. He's listening. He's believing.
But the immediate danger remained. "Grey," I said, my voice firm, pleading, "if you go after Uto now, you will die. And I can't let you do that."
He tilted his head, a flicker of genuine curiosity in his gaze. Not anger, not impatience, but simple inquiry.
"Why do you care so much whether I live or not?" The question was devastatingly reasonable. On the surface, we were near-strangers, bound only by Tessia and shared secrets. To him, my vehemence might seem disproportionate, even… unsettling.
The truth surged up, raw and unvarnished, bypassing strategic calculation. It wasn't about prophecies, him being the protagonist of the novel this world once was to me or about saving the world. It was about me.
"Because you are Tessia's friend," I said, the words tumbling out. "And mine too. Already." I met his gaze, letting him see the sincerity, the desperation. "With all this knowledge… this burden… I wanted to do something. Something meaningful. I wanted…"
My voice caught slightly. "I wanted to not let anyone die on me. Not if I could help it. And that includes you, Grey."
It was the plea of a boy who had spent twelve years staring at visions of catastrophe, determined to rewrite the script—whoever the person I was before reincarnating has probably died completely right now... I couldn't help but wonder jf that was Fate's design.
"A friend, huh?" Grey repeated softly, the word seeming foreign yet strangely fitting on his tongue. Then, the most unexpected thing happened. The severe lines of his face softened, just a fraction.
The corners of his lips lifted, not into a full smile, but into a subtle, undeniable curve. A glimmer of warmth in the ancient depths of his eyes.
"Yeah…" I mumbled, suddenly self-conscious, scratching the back of my neck. "I don't have that many—" I stopped, correcting myself. "What I mean is: trust me. Trust me when I say we will defeat Agrona Vritra. Together. Just… not by charging into the Beast Glades after a Retainer today."
My voice rang with every ounce of conviction I possessed, forged in twelve years of silent preparation, fueled by the fierce desire to shield those I cared about.
Grey regarded me in silence. The seconds stretched, filled only by the distant sounds of celebration filtering through the stone walls. He weighed my words, my plea, my offer of alliance against his burning need for vengeance and action. I saw the conflict in his eyes—the king's instinct for decisive action warring with the nascent trust in this strange, knowledgeable but naive prince. The weight of his decision pressed down on the corridor.
Then, slowly, deliberately, he extended his hand. Not the hand of a king to a subject, but an offer between equals. Between potential allies. Between… friends.
"Fine," he said, the single word carrying immense weight. His gaze held mine, steady and clear. "I will trust you, Corvis."
The wave of relief and pure, unadulterated joy that crashed over me was overwhelming. It wasn't just the avoidance of a suicidal mission; it was the validation, the forging of a bond I knew was pivotal.
A grin split my face, wide and genuine, the kind I hadn't felt since childhood. I grasped his offered hand, my grip firm, mirroring his. His hand was calloused, strong, yet fitting perfectly in mine. It wasn't just a handshake; it was a pact.
A promise whispered in the silent language of shared purpose. The ecstasy wasn't just meeting a hero; it was finding a partner in the daunting, terrifying, exhilarating fight for our world. The path ahead was darker and more perilous than ever, but for the first time, I wasn't walking it alone.
I had someone I could trust with my most intimate secret.