Corvis Eralith
The final bell's chime felt less like liberation and more like a summons to the crucible. Tessia's frustrated lecture still echoed in my ears, a counterpoint to the rhythmic thud of my boots on the stone corridor leading towards the secluded training room Cynthia had allocated for me and Grey—she also asked for Gideon future help as I helped her convince him.
Grey walked beside me, a silent pillar of contained energy, his presence both grounding and subtly unnerving. The weight of Dawn's Ballad, hidden within my pouch, pulsed against my hip like a second heartbeat.
The room was blessedly empty, cool and echoing, smelling of ozone, polished wood, and the faint, metallic tang of exertion. Sunlight streamed through a windowed ceiling, illuminating the ample space we have been provided. Without preamble, I pulled the unassuming black rod free and tossed it towards Grey.
He caught it mid-air, his reflexes unnervingly swift, his eyes instantly assessing its weight and form.
"And what is this supposed to be?" he asked, turning the rod over in his hands, curiosity warring with skepticism.
"Unsheathe it," I instructed, my voice low and intent. "But only with your Beast Will active."
A flicker of concentration passed over Grey's face. The air around him seemed to thicken, shimmering faintly as the first phase of his draconic will manifested—an invisible pressure, a sense of ancient power awakening.
He gripped the rod, and with a smooth, almost effortless motion, drew forth Dawn's Ballad. The teal blade gleamed like captured azure sky trapped inside a crystal, impossibly sharp and humming with latent power.
"It's… peculiar," Grey murmured, testing the balance with a few experimental wrist flicks. "Although a bit unbalanc—"
His words cut off abruptly as the blade seemed to shift subtly in his grip, its weight distribution altering minutely, perfectly aligning with his body, his stance and his very essence. He stared at the blade, then at me, genuine surprise replacing the skepticism.
"I retract what I just said. How did you get this?"
"Found it gathering dust," I replied vaguely, the complexities of the Helstea Auction House transaction unnecessary now. "It's an Asuran Weapom. A sowrd forged by one of their master craftsmen."
Grey's gaze returned to the blade, reverence mingling with fierce appreciation. "I don't think I've ever held something so… perfect," he breathed, executing a fluid sequence of slashes that blurred the air.
"There's no other word. It feels like an extension of my own intent." Watching him wield it, the blade moving with lethal grace, was both mesmerizing and a stark reminder of the chasm between his power and my own carefully constructed artifice.
I then took out the second crucial item: the Elderwood Guardian's beast core, pulsing with a green light I couldn't see but knew emanated corruption.
I had… liberated it from Tessia's room earlier, a necessary theft. Thankfully, her Student Council duties had delayed her assimilation plans.
Grey's focus snapped from the blade to the core, his expression shifting instantly. "The beast core? Tessia hasn't absorbed it yet?"
"It is... corrupted." Then, understanding dawned on him, chased by a wave of horrified guilt that cracked his usual stoicism.
"No... I. I am sorry! I didn't mean to—I just wanted to give her something powerful, something useful!" His voice was uncharacteristically raw, stripped of its kingly detachment.
Seeing him vulnerable, genuinely distressed over potentially harming Tessia, struck a deep chord. This wasn't the detached weapon of Agrona or a former king seeking vengeance; this was a boy who cared, fiercely—just like... just like me.
"Grey," I said firmly, stepping closer, meeting his anguished gaze. "Don't spiral into guilt. We can fix it." My voice held absolute conviction, forged in meta-knowledge and sheer, stubborn will.
"Fix it?" His voice was heavy with doubt, shadowed by his intimate knowledge of Agrona's cruelty. "How? That bastard is obsessed with his twisted experiments. His corruption isn't easily purged."
"I have my ways," I stated, tapping the concealed Ineptrune on my forearm. "But I need your eyes. Specifically… can you activate Realmheart?"
Confusion flickered across his face. Right. He didn't know the names for the phases of his power. "Your second phase," I clarified quickly. "The one that enhances your mana perception and control. It changes your appearance—"
"Yeah, yeah, I understand. Professor Eralith." A hint of dry humor returned, a fragile shield against the guilt, as he cut me off.
Then, without further prompting, the air around him crackled. His silver hair lengthened, turning stark white. Intricate golden runes flared to life across his skin, swirling with ancient power. His eyes blazed an intense, otherworldly lavender. And then, the horns—two ebony curves erupting from his temples, stark and undeniable against the white hair. A wave of immense, focused power radiated from him, making the air hum.
"Oh," I breathed, momentarily transfixed by the sheer, alien majesty of it.
Grey grimaced, a flicker of bitter shame crossing his transformed features. "I can't hide these… disgusting horns in this form," he admitted.
"No matter how hard I try." The hate in that admission was palpable, a raw nerve exposed. "Anyway," he pushed past it, the lavender eyes locking onto mine, "what do you need me to do, Professor?"
The teasing title was back, but softer now, laced with a newfound trust born of shared purpose and vulnerability.
"Look at the core," I instructed, holding it out. "Tell me what you see. Not just the core, but the mana within it."
"Particles?" he queried, his head tilted, the horns catching the light ominously.
"Describe them. The colors, the behavior."
"Green… vibrant plant deviant mana I think. But intertwined…" His brow furrowed, the runes on his forehead pulsing faintly. "Sick. Like a plague. Rotting the green from within. Sickly green, almost… greyish decay. Wait!" His lavender eyes widened in realization. "Decay mana particles? The Vritra's signature?"
I nodded grimly. "Exactly. This is the corruption." Grey deactivated Realmheart with a visible shudder, the horns and runes vanishing, leaving him looking younger, paler, burdened. "So it's true…" he murmured, staring at the core with fresh horror.
"When I killed it, I was focused on the threat, not… this."
"As I said," I reaffirmed, drawing Against the Tragedy into view, the arrow-pine-crescent moon design stark against my skin. "We cleanse it. Before Tessia touches it. But for that…"
I activated the Ineptrune. A soft silver glow emanated from the tattoo, and the air around my hand shimmered faintly as it began drawing in ambient mana, storing it within the intricate pattern.
"I need to be the surgeon. I can manipulate mana with extreme precision through this. I can isolate and extract those decay particles… if I can see them, but obviously I can't. For that, J need your eyes, Grey. Your Realmheart perception."
Understanding sparked in his eyes, followed by a fierce, focused determination. He saw the plan: his vision guiding my control. He saw the potential in my strange, coreless power. A slow, genuine smirk touched his lips—not mocking, but appreciative, intrigued.
"Then let me be your eyes, Corvis," he declared, the earlier guilt hardening into resolve. "Tell me where to look."
What followed was an ordeal of intense concentration and fragile coordination. Grey reactivated Realmheart, the horns and runes reappearing, his lavender eyes fixed unblinkingly on the pulsating core.
I focused entirely on the Ineptrune, feeling the stored mana respond to my will, extending fine, invisible threads of control towards the core, guided solely by Grey's terse, precise instructions.
"Focus on the lower quarter-half… the decay clusters there, like knots of rot…"
"Slower… the life mana is resisting, it's fragile there…"
"There! A thick vein of decay, burrowing deep… careful, it's trying to spread…"
It was like performing intricate surgery blindfolded, guided only by the voice of someone describing the landscape through a distorted lens.
Grey's perception was alien, filtered through Realmheart Physique's senses. My control, while precise, was a prosthetic, lacking the innate feel of a mage.
Frustration flared when a thread slipped, causing a flare of sickly energy. Exhaustion gnawed at me as the minutes bled into hours, the stored mana in the Ineptrune depleting, demanding constant, draining focus.
Sweat beaded on Grey's brow beneath his horns, the strain of maintaining Realmheart and his intense focus evident.
Yet, through the strain, a strange camaraderie solidified. We weren't just prince and reincarnated king, or strategist and weapon.
We were two outliers, one wielding stolen godly power he couldn't fully hide, the other wielding stolen knowledge and forged conduits, working in perfect, desperate sync against a common enemy's poison.
Each successful extraction, guided by his sharp command and executed by my unwavering control, felt like a small victory shared. A glance exchanged in a moment of shared effort—his lavender eyes meeting mine over the glowing core—held a spark of mutual respect, a silent acknowledgment of the other's unique strength.
Sylvie's soft snores from a corner were the only other sound, a reminder of the simpler bond watching over us.
Finally, with a gasp that was part relief, part exhaustion, Grey slumped slightly. "It's… done. The decay is gone. The core feels… clean. Vibrant." He deactivated Realmheart, the horns vanishing, leaving him looking utterly drained but satisfied.
I deactivated Against the Tragedy, the glow fading, leaving my forearm feeling strangely cold and empty. The core in my hand pulsed with a pure, healthy emerald light, the sickly taint eradicated.
A profound wave of relief and accomplishment washed over me, mingling with the bone-deep fatigue. "We did it," I breathed, the words thick with shared effort.
Grey stood, stretching his arms, the tension of hours melting away. Then, his eyes fell on Dawn's Ballad, leaning against the wall. A different energy sparked in him—not the focused intensity he had before, but the eager anticipation of the warrior inside him.
With a swift motion, he activated his regalia—an intricate, shifting sblacm metal flowing over his arm—and forged a simple, sturdy practice sword. He tossed it towards me.
I fumbled, catching it awkwardly. The weight was unfamiliar, the balance strange. "What is this for?" I asked, bewildered.
"To spar, obviously!" Grey declared, a fierce, almost boyish grin spreading across his face as he hefted Dawn's Ballad. The teal blade caught the sunlight, humming with lethal promise. "I want to test this properly. And you need to learn how to defend yourself, manaless or not."
Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through me. Spar? With Grey? With the being who could channel draconic power, had basilisk blood and wield an Asuran blade?
"G-Grey, I—" I stammered, my mind flashing to images of being effortlessly disarmed, humiliated, or worse.
He cut me off, his grin turning slightly patronizing, but his eyes held a surprising warmth. "No excuses. Tessia told me you took sword lessons. Extensively. And hiding behind knowledge won't save you if you find yourself in face of an Alacryan."
He took a ready stance, Dawn's Ballad held low, its point aimed unerringly at my heart. "Knowledge is power, Corvis—that I understand. But so is knowing how to use a blade. Even if it's just to buy yourself time to run."
The teasing glint was back, but underneath it laid a layer of genuine concern, a king's, no, a friend's understanding of the necessity of survival skills. He wasn't just indulging curiosity; he was offering training. Protection. An investment in my survival.
Looking at him—the reincarnated king offering a practice sword, the boy who had just shared the exhausting intimacy of purging corruption, the warrior eager to test his new blade with me—the panic receded, replaced by a dawning realization. This wasn't just about the sword or the lesson.
It was about trust solidified in shared struggle. It was about him seeing me not just as a source of knowledge, but as someone worth training, worth protecting. Someone who belonged on the same side of the battlefield, however differently armed. The weight of the practice sword in my hand felt different now. Less like a sentence, more like an invitation.
A challenge, yes, but one offered by a friend. Taking a shaky breath, I adjusted my grip, mirroring his stance as best I could, my heart pounding not just with fear, but with a fierce, burgeoning determination.
"Alright, Grey," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "Show me what Dawn's Ballad can do." .