Corvis Eralith
The stale, chemical-tinged air of the basement workshop of our dormitory hummed with focused energy.
Three days. Three days of meticulous calculations, delicate enchantment etching, and the faintly unpleasant smell of refining that slug-like mana beast flesh—Gloamgrub, Vincent's notes that accompanied the shipment of supplies finally supplied the name.
My fingers, stained faintly blue from mana-infused solvents, carefully adjusted a miniature rune cluster under the magnifying lens. Across the cluttered workbench, Emily's brow was furrowed in intense concentration, her tongue poking slightly from the corner of her mouth as she peered into the depths of a complex mold.
The mana contact lens project was teetering on the brink of success. If we could just decouple it from the unique demands of my prosthetic magic… the implications for Dicathen's mages, for the looming shadow of war, were staggering. Precise mana perception, potentially replicated? A tactical advantage Agrona couldn't anticipate.
A faint sigh escaped me, less about the delicate work and more about the ticking time bomb upstairs. Tessia. Three days of covert basement operations were pushing our luck. If she discovered I'd been holed up alone with Emily Watsken, inventor extraordinaire… well, the resulting tantrum would likely register on seismic scales across Xyrus.
The mental image of her storming down here, eyes flashing with protective fury, was almost enough to make me fumble the tweezers.
"Prince!" Emily's sudden exclamation shattered the focused silence. Her voice vibrated with pure, unadulterated triumph. She carefully extracted a small, impossibly delicate disc from the mold—the finished lens.
It glimmered faintly under the basement's lights, translucent and slightly iridescent. My left eye twitched in phantom sympathy, remembering the nerve-wracking moments Emily had wielded sharp calipers perilously close to it for measurements. "I think… I think we have it!"
Using the finest tweezers Vincent's treasure-trove of supplies provided, I lifted the lens. Under the scrutiny of Beyond the Veil, its intricate structure sprang to life. The micro-enchantments for image capture were flawlessly aligned, humming with latent power. Nestled within was a breathtakingly tiny replica of my Inept Rune core, a marvel of Emily's miniaturization skills. Theory had solidified into tangible reality.
Only one step remained.
The heavy SLAM of the ground-floor door reverberated through the ceiling beams, followed by Tessia's voice, sharp with impatience and a hint of worry, cutting through the house:
"Corvis! Where are you?"
Panic, swift and familiar, flared. Like hiding contraband candy, I practically dove to return the precious lens to its protective mold casing, snapping it shut just as rapid footsteps descended the stairs.
Tessia burst into the basement workshop, her eyes scanning the chaotic scene—beakers, tools, glowing crystals—before snapping onto Emily, then me, then back to Emily. Her expression cycled through confusion, dawning horror, and settled on a look of utter betrayal.
"Y-you," she stammered, pointing a slightly trembling finger, "you brought another girl home?!" The accusation hung in the air, thick and absurd.
Beside me, Emily emitted a tiny, choked gasp. Her face instantly flamed crimson, matching the glow of a nearby heating rune. She buried her face in her hands, shoulders hunching as if trying to vanish into the workbench.
Oh, for the love of… My internal groan was monumental. I understood the hormonal chaos of early adolescence, truly I did, but mentally? I was navigating waters far deeper than my physical age suggested.
Bringing a girl home? The very concept, in this context, was ludicrous.
"I—Ehm... I, we were..." Emily tried, emerging slightly from her hands, her voice a flustered whisper lost in mumbled syllables. Each incoherent sound only seemed to fan the flames of Tessia's indignation.
"Listen, Tess," I interjected, my voice deliberately calm, cutting through the rising tension. I held up the mold, popping it open to reveal the lens resting innocently within. "Emily was helping me with my prosthetic magic. This is what we were working on. She's the genius behind the image projection artifact. I needed her expertise."
Tessia's eyes widened, momentarily distracted by the shimmering lens. "Wait, she invented that?!" Genuine awe flickered across her face, a brief eclipse of suspicion. But it was fleeting. Her protective instincts roared back, fiercer than ever.
"No, wait! You're both inventors… that means…!" Her eyes narrowed, scanning between Emily and me as if witnessing a conspiracy unfold. "No! I refuse! Corvis is my twin brother, and he is far too little! He's still a kid!"
The sheer, hypocritical absurdity of it was too delicious to ignore. A slow, knowing smile spread across my face. "Then what about you and Grey?" I asked, my tone dripping with innocent curiosity.
"You are my age too, Tessia. We are twins. You said it yourself." I watched, immensely satisfied, as a furious blush exploded across her cheeks, rivalling Emily's earlier hue.
"That's… that's different!" Tessia spluttered, flustered. "Grey is… Grey is our friend…!" Her protest lacked conviction.
Seizing the momentary distraction, Emily suddenly surfaced fully, her social awkwardness manifesting as abrupt, formal efficiency. She snapped upright, extending a slightly grease-stained hand towards Tessia.
"My name is Emily Watsken! Nice to meet you, Princess!" she announced, her voice overly loud in the small space, as if only just registering the presence of royalty.
Tessia blinked, momentarily thrown by the sudden shift. She eyed Emily's hand, then her earnest, still-flushed face. A fraction of the suspicion eased, replaced by wary assessment. "Yes…" she replied slowly, accepting the handshake with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "Tessia Eralith."
As the two girls navigated the awkward standoff—Tessia radiating protective skepticism, Emily radiating nervous genius—I saw my chance.
While Tessia began a subtle interrogation: "So, Emily… you're just helping with artificing? You're sure you're not anything like that other… brother-stealer, right?"
Claire, she definitely meant Claire.
I deftly retrieved the lens. With practiced care, I positioned it on my left eye, blinking slowly to settle it against my cornea. The initial sensation was cool and slightly gelatinous, but comfortable. My vision remained perfectly clear. Phase one: success.
Then, I activated Beyond the Veil.
The world transformed.
It wasn't just seeing mana anymore; it was perceiving it, woven seamlessly into my natural sight. Before, it had been like looking through a specialized, albeit powerful, visor. Now, it was innate. Mana wasn't an overlay; it was the fundamental fabric, revealed in breathtaking, intricate detail.
The ambient motes of energy weren't just coloured sparks; they were distinct entities, their movements and densities instantly comprehensible. I could see the vibrant, swirling core within Tessia, a miniature storm of wind and life, and the calmer, deeply complex core within Emily, humming with structured potential.
My gaze swept across Against the Tragedy etched into my forearm; its internal mana reserves, a complex tapestry of elements, were laid bare—I could instantly quantify the exact proportions of fire, ice, and every type of mana contained within.
My eyes flicked instinctively to the corner where Sylvia's Mana Core rested, shrouded in protective wards. Through the lens, its vast, dormant capacity was starkly visible, a cavernous vessel currently holding less than a tenth of its potential, despite weeks of careful feeding with mana crystals from Vincent. The sheer scale of it was humbling.
My attention snapped back to the girls. Tessia was mid-interrogation: "...and you definitely prefer working alone, right?" Emily fumbling for answers. I saw it all—not just their words, but the intricate dance of mana within them. I saw the subtle pathways light up, the flows shift with intention.
"Tess," I said, cutting through her questioning. "Use a spell."
She whirled, momentarily distracted from Emily. "What? Corvis, magic using outside the school grounds is strictly prohibited," she retorted, her tone adopting a mock-sternness that didn't fool me for a second.
I fixed her with a look that combined deep exasperation with utter familiarity. "Are you trying to make me lecture you on situational ethics," I deadpanned, "or are you just trying to annoy me? Because it's working on both fronts."
She huffed, a flicker of amusement in her eyes despite herself. "Maybe both. What spell do you need?"
"Something random. Don't tell me what it is." Anticipation thrummed through me. This was the real test.
Could I predict?
"Sure thing!" she chirped, a mischievous glint replacing the suspicion.
The instant she decided, I saw it. A distinct, localized surge in atmospheric wind mana, drawn towards her palm. Simultaneously, a specific channel within her core flared, preparing to shape and compress it. The proportions, the intensity—it mapped perfectly in my enhanced perception. Small wind sphere. Palm.
And just as predicted, a miniature vortex of air coalesced above her outstretched hand, spinning gently. Triumph, pure and exhilarating, surged through me.
"Did it work, Prince?" Emily asked, her earlier awkwardness forgotten, eyes wide with eager hope.
"It did," I confirmed, unable to keep the grin off my face. "I knew exactly what spell Tessia was going to cast before she even formed it."
"What?!" Tessia shrieked, the wind sphere dispersing in her surprise. "No way! That was a fluke! Let's try again!" Her protest wasn't malicious, I knew. It was partly competitive spirit, partly genuine disbelief, but mostly… it was a transparent ploy to reclaim my attention, to pull me back from Emily's orbit.
I sighed, the sound fondly exasperated, as I prepared to observe her core once more. What a wonderfully, impossibly possessive sister, I thought, the chaos of the workshop momentarily forgotten in the glow of scientific victory and familial absurdity.
The lens was more than a success; it was a window into a world of potential, momentarily framed by the hilarious drama of teenage protectiveness.
———
The awkwardness hung thick as curdled milk after Emily finally escaped Tessia's laser-focused scrutiny. "Bye, Emily," I managed, my voice stiff under the weight of my sister's unblinking stare boring into the space between us.
Her eyes held a potent cocktail of suspicion and territorial possessiveness that would make a dragon hoard look welcoming.
"Bye, Prince," Emily murmured, her cheeks still flushed crimson as she practically fled out the front door, the soft click of it closing sounding unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet.
I turned, bracing myself. Before Tessia could launch into another round of 'protective sibling interrogation', a different question surged up, unbidden and sharp with an undercurrent of unease.
"Where is Grey?" The words came out flatter than intended. Was it finally happening? Had Windsom, that elusive dragon messenger, finally cornered him and Sylvie? About damn time, the pragmatic part of my mind grumbled.
"I don't know," Tessia admitted, her brow furrowing, momentarily distracted from her Emily-induced vigilance. "He was with the Disciplinary Committee this morning, but I haven't seen him since. Didn't you have Deviant Magic Theory together today?"
"Neither have I," I confirmed, the simple statement amplifying the quiet worry coiling in my gut. Grey wasn't one to vanish without word, not completely.
Tessia sighed, the sound heavy with shared concern, then seemed to deliberately shake it off. "Should we have dinner? It's getting late. If Grey doesn't show, it's his loss."
"Sure." The word felt inadequate.
The familiar ritual of preparing a simple meal in the dormitory's small kitchen provided a temporary anchor. Sitting across from Tessia at the worn dining table, the clink of cutlery against plates the only sound for stretches, felt strangely poignant.
I was about to bridge the silence, perhaps ask about her day beyond glaring at Emily, when a flicker at the edge of my vision snagged my attention.
A figure. Tall, impossibly lean, draped in a stark white coat that screamed clinical detachment. Long black gloves. A splash of blue at the throat—a sash clipped by a sapphire brooch that glinted with cold light. Blond hair, impeccably styled.
It stood just beyond the doorway to the hall, a silent observer. My head snapped around, heart giving a startled lurch against my ribs. Nothing. Empty space.
"Corvis?" Tessia's voice cut through my confusion. She was watching me, a spoon halfway to her mouth, concern replacing the earlier guardedness. "Is something wrong?"
"No, nothing," I lied automatically, my voice tight. The lens. Had pushing my prosthetic magic perception to integrate with my natural sight finally crossed a line? Was it feeding phantom images into my optic nerve? A cold trickle of apprehension ran down my spine. I need to take it out. My hand instinctively rose towards my left eye.
"Don't." The voice was firm, resonant, and utterly devoid of warmth. It seemed to emanate from the empty air beside me. "Or if you do, remember to replace it swiftly. I dislike wasted time."
My breath hitched. Slowly, deliberately, I turned my head. He was there. Lounging in Grey's usual chair with an indolent grace that bordered on insolence. One elbow rested on the table, his chin propped negligently on a gloved hand.
The clinical white coat, the black gloves, the sapphire brooch—all present. But it was the posture, the sheer, effortless arrogance radiating from him, that struck a terrifyingly familiar chord.
Kezess Indrath.
The resemblance was bone-deep, a chilling parody… except for the sleek, black elk-like horns curving back from his temples, stark against the blond hair. An impossibility. A violation of the room's reality.
Tessia continued eating, utterly oblivious. She hadn't flinched, hadn't glanced his way. This was an hallucination.
"To answer that," the figure said, his lips curving in a smile that held no warmth, only detached amusement, "me."
He emphasized the word, making it a declaration. "You are fracturing, young Prince. Going schizophrenic, one might say… from the sheer weight of the runes you insist on carving into your very being."
What? The Ineptrunes were designed for integration, for harmony! They prevented internal rejection, channeled the mana safely…
"I didn't mean it biologically," he sighed, the sound conveying profound disappointment, as if explaining basic arithmetic to a dullard. "Schizophrenic in the etymological sense. A splitting of the mind. Your lesser intellect struggles to understand, I see."
He's… reading my thoughts? The realization was an ice bath. Pure, primal terror, colder than any ice spell, locked my muscles.
"I can," he confirmed casually, as if acknowledging a trivial fact. "But this… domestic tableau… bores me. Let us converse elsewhere." It wasn't a request. It was an order woven into the fabric of the air itself.
Mechanically, my body moving on autopilot while my mind reeled, I pushed back my chair. "Just… need a moment," I mumbled to Tessia, whose expression had shifted back to wary confusion. I didn't meet her eyes. Stumbling slightly, I retreated towards my room, the phantom footsteps of the horned figure echoing only in my perception.
He was already there when I entered, standing near the window, his back to the city, a silhouette framed against the settling sun. He turned slowly, the horns casting long, distorted shadows on the wall. The detached amusement was gone, replaced by an unnerving stillness.
"I suppose introductions are customary," he stated, his voice a low thrum that vibrated in my bones. That chilling smile returned. "Myself." A gloved hand gestured with languid arrogance. "My name is Romulos Indrath. And I am the son of Agrona Vritra."