Corvis Eralith
Lilia Helstea.
The recognition was instant, followed by a sharp pang of empathy that stole my breath. The raw frustration, the despair radiating from her small frame… I knew it.
Not just observed it, but felt it resonate deep within my own existence. Without Arthur's intervention in this timeline, her mana core remained dormant, a locked door she couldn't find the key to. And the narrative offered no guarantee she ever naturally would.
A wave of protective sadness washed over me. If I could help, I would. Grey could guide her, just as he had before. The thought solidified into intention.
"Excuse me," I said softly, not wanting to startle her further.
Lilia gasped, her head snapping up. Her eyes, red-rimmed and wide with surprise, locked onto mine. "S-sorry! I wasn't doing anything wrong..."
The automatic denial faltered as she registered my unfamiliar face, my silver hair, my pointed ears—clearly not her parents. Confusion replaced alarm. "I-I'm sorry, you are?"
"My apologies for startling you," I said, keeping my voice gentle. "I am Corvis Eralith. I was granted access to search for something specific. I didn't mean to intrude." I gestured vaguely towards the piles behind her.
"Eralith?" Her flush deepened from embarrassment to mortification. She scrambled to her feet, hastily wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Your Highness! Forgive me, I'm deeply ashamed you witnessed..." She trailed off, unable to articulate her distress.
"Please, please there's nothing to forgive," I insisted, the pang of shared vulnerability sharp. "The intrusion was mine. May I ask… were you attempting to absorb mana from that crystal?"
The question felt clumsy even as I asked it. Hypocrite, my mind whispered. You tinker with forces that could level cities, yet you lecture her on delusion?
"Y-yeah," she admitted, her voice small, thick with unshed tears. She looked down at the crystal in her hand as if it were a personal failure. "But... it's pointless. I'm not a mage. I'm just... delusional." The self-loathing in that word twisted something inside me.
Don't say that. The plea screamed silently in my head. Aloud, I managed,
"I'm not a mage either, Lilia." The name slipped out, a calculated risk based on meta-knowledge. "Yet I spend considerable time studying mana crystals, devising ways to interact with their energy. Does that make me delusional?"
It was a flawed comparison, bordering on dangerous, but I needed to offer something, anything, against the tide of her despair.
Her head jerked up, eyes wide with disbelief. "You're not a mage? But... you're an elf! And an Eral—" She cut herself off, horrified. "Forgive my impertinence, Your Highness!"
"Excused," I said gently, understanding the pressure crushing her. The solution crystallized: Grey. He could help her, as he already had. But my gaze drifted past her shoulder, drawn to a jumbled pile of discarded items half-covered by a dusty cloth. A familiar, unassuming shape protruded—a simple, dark rod. My breath hitched.
There you are Dawn's Ballad, I said to myself.
"May I?" I gestured towards the pile. "I believe the item I seek might be among those."
"Of course, Your Highness! Please, take all the time you need!" Lilia immediately stepped aside, pressing herself against a stack of crates to give me ample space.
I approached, heart pounding with a mixture of triumph and reverence. Moving aside a cracked shield and a bundle of tarnished cutlery, my fingers closed around the cool, smooth sheath of the rod. Pulling it free from the ropes and junk holding it, I beheld Dawn's Ballad.
It looked utterly mundane, a black practice stick, yet holding it sent a faint, almost imperceptible thrum through my palms, a whisper of contained, ancient power. A wide, genuine smile spread across my face.
An Asuran weapon. With Grey's Beast Will, its secrets could be unlocked. This was the key to Acclorite—my most yearned object. If I could replicate it and equip the Lances with one of each—exclused Olfred for obvious reasons—Dicathen's defensive power could soar.
Wren Kain might still provide Grey's piece… but if not, I'll forge one for him myself, hoping it would end up being Regis nevertheless.
"Thank you—" I stopped, remembering protocol. "May I ask your name?" A formality to cover my slip.
"L-Lilia Helstea, Your Highness," she stammered.
"Then, thank you, Lilia," I said sincerely, the weight of the rod a tangible promise in my hand.
We exited the storage together, Lilia trailing slightly behind me, her earlier grief replaced by a shell-shocked awkwardness. The transition from dusty gloom to the Auction House's brighter interior felt abrupt.
"Lilia! There you are!" Tabitha Helstea's voice, laced with maternal worry, cut through the quiet foyer. She hurried towards us, her gaze sweeping over her daughter before settling on me. "What are you doing here instead of home? And… Your Highness!" Her expression shifted to polite surprise.
"Nothing, Mom," Lilia mumbled, staring at the floor.
Vincent materialized almost instantly, a testament to his uncanny awareness of his domain. "Your Highness," he greeted smoothly, his eyes taking in the rod I held with polite curiosity but no recognition. "I trust you found something of interest?"
"I did, Mr. Helstea," I confirmed.
"And I see you've met my daughter, Lilia," Vincent added, his tone carefully neutral. "I hope she was not an inconvenience."
"On the contrary," I replied, meeting Lilia's downcast gaze for a fleeting second. "She was helpful." The words felt inadequate, but they were true.
Her presence, her struggle, had anchored me in the moment. I reached into the pouch at my belt, withdrawing a heavy bag that clinked softly. "Here. For the inconvenience, and as a token of my deepest gratitude."
I extended the bag containing a hundred gold coins—a king's ransom for a 'junk' item, but a pittance for the potential within Dawn's Ballad, and a fraction of the excessive allowance my parents had provided.
Vincent's eyes widened considerably. "Y-Your Highness! I couldn't possibly accept so much! That item… I don't even believe it possesses magical properties! Please, consider it a gift, a small welcome to Xyr—"
I cut him off, my voice firm but respectful. "Mr. Helstea, I would be disrespecting the integrity of your establishment and the value you place on every item within it if I simply took something without fair compensation. This is the minimum I deem appropriate." I held his gaze, the unspoken command of royalty underpinning my words. "And I do not accept refusal."
Vincent swallowed, the conflict between business sense and royal decree playing out on his face. After a moment, he bowed deeply, accepting the heavy bag with both hands. "Of course, Your Highness. Your generosity is… overwhelming. Thank you."
As I turned to leave, Dawn's Ballad a cool, potent weight in my grasp, a different chill traced my spine. Resources. Vincent Helstea, with his vast network and discretion, could be invaluable.
Acquiring materials for my research through him would avoid straining Elenoir's treasury and, more crucially, minimize the risk of the Greysunders or Glayders noticing unusual expenditures.
If they reported such anomalies back to Agrona… The image of becoming a specimen in one of the High Sovereign's labs, dissected for my meta-knowledge and defiance, was a terror colder than any dungeon stone. I pushed the thought down, focusing on the promise held in the unassuming black rod.
Progress, however perilous, was being made.
Lilia Helstea
Heat flooded my cheeks, fierce and sudden, as Mom's teasing words landed. "Were you lurking around trying to charm a Prince, Lily?" Her eyes sparkled with playful mischief, but it felt like salt rubbed into a raw wound.
"N-no!" I stammered, the denial too quick, too loud in the quiet foyer. "I just… found him in the storage room." The words felt flimsy, inadequate against the whirlwind of thoughts Prince Corvis Eralith had stirred.
Prince Corvis Eralith. The name echoed in my mind, layered with shock and a strange, piercing envy. He wore the impeccable uniform of a Xyrus scholar mage—a symbol of belonging I craved with every fiber of my being.
Yet, he had confessed it freely, almost casually: he wasn't a mage either. The contradiction was staggering, a crack in the rigid world I understood. Not even the heirs of Sapin's oldest, wealthiest families could bypass that fundamental requirement. It was like demanding a fish climb a mountain. Impossible. Unthinkable.
But he was there. He walked those hallowed halls. A fragile, treacherous hope flickered in my chest. If he did it… could I? The thought was a wild, dangerous bird taking flight before I ruthlessly caged it.
Stupid, Lilia, I berated myself inwardly, the familiar weight of inadequacy crashing back down. He's a prince. Heir to Elenoir. And he's clearly brilliant. He probably navigates politics and history like you navigate… well, nothing. You can't compare dust to starlight.
"Oh, found him in the storage room, did you?" Mom's chuckle was light, oblivious to the turmoil churning inside me. She nudged me playfully. "And what exactly were you doing all alone down there in the dusty dark, hmm?"
I bit my lip hard enough to sting, scrambling for any excuse that wasn't the pathetic, shameful truth: Stealing scraps of hope. Trying to force magic from a crystal because I'm desperate to be more than just Vincent Helstea's ordinary daughter.
The words choked me. "I-I didn't have anything else to do..." I mumbled, cringing at the sheer weakness of it. The excuse sounded as hollow and worthless as I felt.
Mom just laughed again, misinterpreting my burning cheeks entirely. "Ah, I see! Found yourself a handsome Prince to pass the time with, Lily!" Her tone was warm, teasing, meant to be affectionate. But it felt like another layer of misunderstanding, another way my reality was being ignored.
"Mom, stop!" The whine tore from me, sharp with a frustration that wasn't just about the teasing, but about the magic that wouldn't come, the path that seemed forever closed, and the impossible prince who somehow walked it anyway.
It was the cry of someone drowning in their own limitations while watching another breathe effortlessly just out of reach.
Corvis Eralith
The dormitory door clicked shut behind me, the sound swallowed by Tessia's immediate, sharp voice cutting through the quiet common area.
"There is the other troublemaker!" She stood, hands planted on her hips, silver hair seeming to crackle with indignation. Her gaze pinned me, a mixture of frustration and sisterly exasperation. "Corvis, you can't just dodge classes whenever you find them boring!"
I flinched inwardly, the weight of Dawn's Ballad hidden within my dimensional storage ring suddenly feeling heavier despite it being technically impossible.
Other troublemaker? My gaze flicked past her to where Grey sat, unnervingly calm, reading a dense-looking tome. A faint smirk touched my lips despite the reprimand.
"Other? I guess that makes us two?" I deflected, aiming for levity. The necessity of retrieving the Asuran weapon warred with the undeniable truth: the classes were mind-numbingly tedious, a luxury of normalcy I couldn't afford.
Tessia wasn't fooled. "Don't try to change the subject!" she snapped, her voice rising. "But since you asked about Grey? He's been picking fights! Actual fights, Corvis! Even with professors!"
A weary sigh escaped me. I had my doubts Grey actively sought conflict; his default setting seemed more like a force of nature reacting to obstacles. But picturing him surrounded by arrogant students or condescending instructors, that cold, kingly disdain flashing in his eyes… yeah, I could see it ending poorly.
Bad habits die hard, I thought grimly, recalling the relentless targeting Arthur endured in the narrative. Unfortunately for Xyrus, Grey possessed the power to make such targeting a catastrophic mistake.
"I promise I'll do better," I offered, the words tasting like ash. Appeasement was the only path forward, for now.
"Please do, Corvis!" Tessia pleaded, her earlier anger softening into genuine distress. She stepped closer, her voice dropping, laced with embarrassment. "Do you know how humiliating it is when professors come to me, the Student Council President, complaining that my own brother is skipping classes? They think… they think you're exploiting your position! That you think being a prince, being my twin, means the rules don't apply to you!"
The hurt in her eyes was a physical blow. She was fighting for respect, forging her own path, and my actions were undermining her, painting her with the brush of nepotism.
She wasn't wrong. From the outside, my behavior was disrespectful, arrogant. It grated against the image of responsibility I tried to project. The larger mission felt like a suffocating secret I couldn't share.
"I will, Tess," I said, the resignation heavy in my voice. The promise felt like shackles. Looks like I'd be trading vital research time for the exquisite torture of Fundamentals of Mana Theory.
The boredom was a small price, perhaps, compared to the cost of Tessia's hard-won credibility, but the walls of the classroom suddenly felt like they were closing in. Survival, it seemed, required enduring more than just impending war.