Corvis Eralith
The heavy oak door to the strategy chamber thudded shut behind Aldir and Grampa, leaving a sudden, almost jarring quiet in the vaulted corridor. The weight of the debriefing—troop deployments, casualty reports, the relentless pressure on the Wall—still clung to the air like acrid smoke. But it was instantly shattered by the sight of him.
"Grey!" The name burst from me, louder than intended, echoing off the ancient stone. He stood near a tall, arched window, sunlight catching the silver streaks in his otherwise blonde hair, now slightly longer than I remembered. He was talking with Aldir and Grampa, likely just arrived from whatever hidden teleport gateway he'd used. He turned.
The physical change was subtle—taller, shoulders broader, the angles of his face sharper, marking his fifteen years. But it was the carriage that struck me. The perpetual wariness, the coiled readiness of a cornered animal that had defined him since Xyrus… it was gone. Not vanished, but relaxed, integrated. He stood with an unfamiliar ease, a quiet confidence that hadn't been there before. It was less like armor donned and more like a weight finally shed.
His eyes met mine, and a genuine, warm smile spread across his face, chasing away the last shadows of the war room. "Corvis!" He closed the distance in a few strides, and we embraced—a quick, fierce clasp that spoke volumes of relief, shared burdens, and the unspoken bond forged in fire. It was over too soon, replaced by a sudden, scaly weight landing on my shoulder.
Sylvie, grown but still compact enough to perch, nuzzled her head fiercely against my cheek, her tiny claws gripping my tunic.
"Un—Corvis!" she chirped, her voice bright, clear, and utterly enchanting. She could speak! A wave of pure joy washed over me, momentarily eclipsing the war's grimness. Instinctively, my fingers found the spot just behind her jawline, scratching gently where Romulos, had once mentioned she loved it most. She purred, a deep, resonant rumble that vibrated through my bones.
"You remember," Romulos murmured, his spectral form materializing beside us. He gazed at Sylvie, his expression uncharacteristically soft, filled with a brotherly tenderness that was both startling and profoundly moving. "That's good." His voice held a quiet ache, a longing for a connection he could never truly have again.
Aldir's calm, resonant voice cut through the tender moment. "I regret interrupting this reunion, but time is a luxury we lack. Grey requires an immediate update on the current… developments within Dicathen." His third eye remained fixed on Grey, assessing.
Grampa sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of command, yet I saw the genuine relief in his eyes, the subtle relaxation in his shoulders. He'd never say it aloud, but Grey's return was a tangible boost, a reinforcement he desperately needed. His gratitude likely extended beyond strategy—to Grey's influence on me, on Tessia, the anchor he'd become.
We moved through the Castle's grand halls, Sylvie now comfortably settled atop my head like a living crown. Grey peppered me with questions, his curiosity bright and focused.
"The Wall? The integration of the Guilds? How's Gideon's project with the underground supply lines I heard about?" His voice was animated, engaged. I answered, glossing over the brutal realities, the scorched earth tactics, the Krakatoa's lingering stench in my memory. I spoke of fortifications, logistics, the structure of the defense, not the blood that cemented it.
"Wait," he interrupted, stopping mid-stride, his eyes widening with genuine astonishment. "You developed a core? That's… Corvis, that's incredible!" His hand clasped my shoulder, firm and affirming. "I knew you could make it! I always knew!"
The pride in his voice, the unreserved warmth in his smile, was almost disorienting. This openness, this ease… it was a transformation as profound as any mana core. The guarded, often taciturn Grey had softened, matured in ways I hadn't anticipated.
I glanced at Romulos, hovering nearby. He was idly scratching the base of his right horn, a subtle, almost nervous gesture. Is something wrong? I probed silently.
He waved a dismissive hand, though his gaze lingered on Sylvie, now playfully batting at a stray sunbeam. "Nah," he projected, his mental voice unusually light. "Just… glad to see my sister is doing well. Thriving, even." But the tension around his spectral eyes, the way his gaze kept flicking back to Grey, betrayed a deeper unease.
Grey's voice pulled my attention back. "I saw Tessia before finding you," he said, his smile turning softer, tinged with admiration. "She's… changed too. Leading her squad clearing those corrupted dens… like a seasoned commander. She's grown so much." The pride in his voice was unmistakable.
Grampa, walking slightly ahead, coughed theatrically. "And what, pray tell, is that supposed to imply about my granddaughter, young Grey? That she wasn't capable before?" His tone was teasing, but the underlying affection was clear.
Grey chuckled, a warm, easy sound. "Only that she's inherited her grandfather's formidable presence, Elder Virion. And perhaps his stubbornness." The banter flowed effortlessly between them—jokes about Grampa's paperwork, playful jabs at Grey's time in Epheotus. It was… normal. Comfortable. A stark contrast to the strained formality or underlying tension that often marked interactions here.
I watched, mesmerized and slightly bewildered, while Romulos's expression mirrored my own confusion. He stared at Grey like a complex equation he couldn't solve, his brow furrowed, the usual arrogance replaced by profound, troubled contemplation. Romulos… Grey, he— I started to think, trying to articulate the strange dissonance.
Romulos cut me off sharply, his mental voice tight. "No." The word was final, almost defensive. "He is not Arthur. They share echoes, memories, fragments of a past life. Resonance, perhaps. But this is Grey. Not Art. No."
His insistence felt raw, personal. He'd always avoided speaking of Arthur Leywin too much, the original, the one whose shadow Grey now walked beside in this reality. The pain, the unresolved conflict radiating from Romulos now was palpable—a wound I hadn't fully grasped the depth of.
Seeing Grey, with his newfound ease and echoes of the past, was clearly reopening it. Worry, sharp and unexpected, pricked at me. Worry for Romulos. Was he seeing a ghost? Was this painful reminder of the friend he'd lost, or perhaps fought, threatening the fragile equilibrium we'd built?
He was right, of course. Grey was Grey. Arthur's memories were a layer, an influence, but not the core. Just as my Meta-awareness shaped me, but didn't define me entirely. We were distinct, just as Romulos and I, bound yet separate.
But seeing Romulos so visibly unsettled, grappling with echoes of his own tragic past reflected in Grey's presence… it added a layer of poignant complexity to the reunion.
———
Sunlight, warm and golden, dappled the secluded courtyard where we sat on a weathered stone bench. The frantic energy felt miles away. Birdsong, the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze, the distant murmur of the servants working in the Castle—it was a pocket of fragile peace. Grey stretched, leaning back, the tension of the war room seemingly melted away in the tranquil setting.
"Vice Commander Corvis Eralith," he said, a playful grin spreading across his face. "So, does this mean I report to you now? Am I your subordinate?"
A genuine laugh escaped me, the sound foreign but welcome. "Only if the 'once all-powerful and mighty King' can handle taking orders from someone who hasn't even ruled a school club," I shot back, the old camaraderie flickering brightly.
Grey's grin softened, his gaze turning thoughtful as he looked out over the sunlit gardens. "Honestly, Corvis? Sitting here… hearing the wind, feeling the sun… it's hard to believe the world's burning just beyond that Wall." He sighed, the weight returning for a moment.
"I don't know if I can be the sword that ends this, you know? Agrona… part of me thinks maybe it could work, but…" He trailed off, leaving the immense, terrifying implications hanging in the air.
"I know," I murmured, following his gaze. The simple beauty of the moment felt almost sacred against the backdrop of endless conflict. "Sometimes, peace feels like the real dream. The war… it's the nightmare we can't wake from."
"Corvis, I know this might sound preposterous," Grey began, his voice heavy with urgency. "But there's something I need to do, and you're the only person I can ask."
"You're my best friend, Grey. Always," I replied with a smile. But when I said those words—best friend—I caught a flicker of remorse in his eyes.
"How can I break a mind-altering spell?" he asked. "I need to free Nico from Agrona's grip."
I heard clearly Romulos scoffing in my had, but I only had eyes for Grey.
Nico? Nico Sever? Grey had told me he was here too, but—no, I couldn't condemn him.
Nico hadn't done anything wrong in this reality. He was being manipulated by Agrona, just like in canon. Using the person he loved against him, twisting his heart until he made stupid choices.
"Stupid is an understatement and an insult to stupid people!" Romulos snapped. "Nico, along with that brat Cecilia, are the most insufferable beings in existence!" I ignored my other self.
"The only way I know is to shatter one's core..." I said quietly, but Grey immediately shook his head.
"Sylvia broke Agrona's hold on me with a spell!" He grasped my shoulders, desperation written in his every movement. "Corvis, you're capable of anything—I know you are. Please."
Regret filled his gaze—the weight of his past life pressing down on him. The wrongs of King Grey haunted him, and now, he was begging me to help him make things right.
"Fine, Grey. I'll think about it," I said at last. A smile broke across his face as he pulled me into a hug.
"Thank you, Corvis. Thank you from the bottom of my heart."
A familiar rustle came from the flowering bushes lining the courtyard. Berna emerged, her massive brown form moving with surprising quietness for her size.
She sniffed the air, her intelligent green eyes fixing first on me, then on Sylvie, who was still perched regally on my head, surveying her domain.
"I sit on Uncle's head whenever I want..." Sylvie declared trying to ease the tension, then paused, her tiny brow furrowing in adorable concentration. She pointed a claw at Berna. "Corvis… what was her name again?"
Berna let out a low, deeply offended growl that vibrated through the flagstones. I stood quickly, moving to her side. "Berna," I said firmly, scratching behind her ears, soothing her wounded pride. "Her name is Berna. And she's been my guardian long before you decided my head was a throne, Sylv."
Grey stood too, a respectful smile on his face. He approached Berna cautiously but without fear. "Before I left Epheotus, I don't think I properly introduced myself," he said, extending his hand not to me, but directly to the massive Guardian Bear.
"You have a bond now, right?" He glanced at me for confirmation, and I nodded. "Then, nice to meet you, Berna. Truly. Thank you for protecting Corvis all this time." His gratitude was sincere, acknowledging her vital role.
Berna regarded his outstretched hand with regal suspicion. Then, with deliberate slowness, she extended her massive paw. As Grey's hand touched it, Berna's eyes flashed green. Suddenly, Grey grunted, his boots sinking several inches into the solid stone flags as if the very courtyard's gravity had focused solely on him. His muscles strained visibly.
"Yeah, yeah!" Grey gasped, a genuine laugh mixed with exertion. "Message received! You're strong! I understand!" He held her gaze, unflinching, meeting her challenge with respect. A moment later, the pressure vanished. Berna withdrew her paw, giving a satisfied huff. A silent understanding passed between them.
"Have you unlocked her Beast Will yet?" Grey asked, brushing dust from his pants, his eyes alight with curiosity. "When I saw Tessia, she was using her second stage flawlessly. She's become incredibly strong. It feels like a lifetime since we were all just at Xyrus." A wistful nostalgia colored his voice.
"Only the first stage so far," I admitted, looking into Berna's deep, ancient eyes, feeling the profound connection thrumming between us. "But it's… powerful. Her senses, her connection to the earth…"
Grey's expression shifted, becoming thoughtful. He reached into a pouch at his belt and pulled out a simple silver band—a storage ring. "Here," he said, offering it to me. "A gift. From Wren Kain IV."
I blinked, surprised. "Wren Kain? What is it?"
Grey's smile held a hint of amusement. "He was… intrigued. Said he was curious what you might do with some 'real materials, not that scrap he could find in Dicathen.' His exact words."
"That's… unexpected," Romulos murmured, drifting closer, his spectral eyes fixed on the ring with keen interest. "Let's see what the old crank deemed worthy of gifting."
Intrigued, I took the ring, focusing my will. With a soft chime of displaced air, a sturdy, unmarked metal crate appeared on the flagstones before us. I crouched down, Grey and Romulos both leaning in with palpable curiosity. Releasing the latches, I lifted the lid.
Inside wasn't weapon blueprints or enchanted artifacts. It was a meticulously organized alchemist's dream. Rows upon rows of crystal vials, gleaming glass bottles, and sealed ceramic jars filled the crate. Powders shimmered in hues unseen in Dicathen—iridescent blues, deep volcanic reds, verdant greens that seemed to pulse with internal light.
Liquids ranged from viscous, mercury-like silvers to clear, faintly glowing solutions. There were ingots of strange, lightweight metals, bundles of fibers that seemed to absorb light, and raw, uncut crystals humming with latent energy.
It was a treasure trove of exotic, undoubtedly Epheotan-grade raw materials. A master craftsman's ultimate challenge and invitation.
My fingers itched to explore, to understand the properties of each element, to imagine the possibilities. I reached for a vial containing a powder that seemed to shift color depending on the angle of the light…
"VICE COMMANDER!"
The shout shattered the peaceful moment like glass. A guard, breathless and pale, skidded into the courtyard, his armor clattering. He snapped a hasty salute, his eyes wide with urgency. "Alert from Burim! In the Nation of Darv! The enemy… they've breached our inner defenses! The city guard is overwhelmed!"
Grey was instantly on his feet, every trace of relaxation gone, replaced by the focused intensity of a blade drawn. "Breached? How? The fortifications…"
Damn it! The thought was a cold knife in my gut. Traitors? Had Elder Buhnd's meticulous oversight failed? Or… more likely, a hidden portal, an infiltration we'd missed amidst the chaos on other fronts. The 'how' was irrelevant now. The 'where' was catastrophic.
I stood, my own calm evaporating. "What are Commander Virion's orders?" My voice was clipped, authoritative, the Vice Commander surfacing instantly.
"The Lances are engaged on critical fronts—the Wall, Elenoir's border, the mutant surge in the Glades…" the guard panted. "Only local forces are available—adventurer parties and the city guards of Darv's other settlements. Reinforcements are hours away."
My mind raced, assessing the bleak picture. Burim was deep within Darv, a major hub. Its fall would fracture the dwarven nation's cohesion, sever supply lines, and open a gaping wound in our rear.
"Meaning," I stated, the implications settling like lead, "Grey and I are the only high-core mages within immediate reach."
The guard nodded grimly. "Aye, Vice Commander."
My hand tightened reflexively around my cane. The Barbarossa… it was a fortress, a siege engine. Unleashing it in the cramped, labyrinthine tunnels and dense urban sprawl of a dwarven city like Burim?
It would be catastrophic. Collateral damage would be immense, homes reduced to rubble alongside enemy forces. I couldn't fight that war. Not there. My eyes met Berna's. Her low growl vibrated the air, her massive head dipping in understanding. She was ready. We would fight as we had before the crimson giant—bonded Guardian and Prince.
"I need an immediate portal link to the nearest location to Burim," I ordered the guard. "Prepare it now. Grey and I depart immediately." I didn't look at Grey for confirmation; I didn't need to. The steely resolve in his eyes mirrored my own.
Grey stepped forward, the easy warmth of moments ago replaced by the cold certainty of a warrior. The storage ring and its precious, distracting contents were forgotten. A fierce, determined smile touched his lips, devoid of humor, filled with the grim acceptance of the task ahead. "Seems we have a war to win," he said, his voice low and steady.
I met his gaze, the weight of Burim, of Darv, of Dicathen's fragile hope, settling onto our shoulders. The peaceful courtyard, the gift of rare materials, the echoes of laughter—they belonged to another time.
Now, only the harsh reality of fire, blood, and desperate defense remained. I gripped my cane, feeling the reassuring thrum of Accaron within it, the primal strength of Berna beside me, and the unwavering presence of my returned brother-in-arms.
"Yeah," I replied, the single word heavy with the burden and the resolve. "We have." The tranquil sunlight felt like a farewell as we turned, leaving the sanctuary behind, striding towards the portal chamber and the inferno awaiting us in the depths of Darv.