Corvis Eralith
The polished marble table in the Council chamber vibrated under the force of my slammed palms. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the sudden, stunned silence. Aldir's impassive face, his third eye a lidless, unblinking orb of judgment, remained unmoved. My knuckles stung, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the white-hot fury and helplessness clawing its way up my throat.
"What do you mean I am not allowed to fight at the Wall?!" My voice was raw, stripped of the carefully cultivated Vice Commander's calm. It was pure, undilicated Corvis—desperate, angry, terrified for those standing in the path of a hurricane.
"Lord Aldir! A Scythe is marching! Not an army, not a Retainer! A Scythe! With who knows how many troops breathing down his neck!" The image of Dragoth, horns like obsidian spears, eyes burning with sadistic glee, slaughtering soldiers like playthings, burned behind my eyelids. Tessia was there. Grey. Claire. Albold. My people.
Aldir's voice was a glacier scraping stone. "No, Corvis. The decision is final. Agrona has marked you. You are not merely a soldier, an artificer or the Vice Commander; you are a goal for him in this war. We will not deliver you willingly to one of his strongest, most vicious attack mutts."
His third eye seemed to pin me to the spot, dissecting my defiance with chilling precision. "Your place is here, coordinating, strategizing. Not on the front line against Dragoth."
I gritted my teeth so hard my jaw ached. My gaze flickered to Romulos, who stood spectrally beside Aldir, observing the confrontation with unnerving detachment.
Romulos, what does this mean? If Aldir is this adamant, locking me away like a precious, fragile artifact… he must be hiding something. Does Kezess suspect? Does he know about Meta-awareness?
"No." Romulos's mental voice was a monolithic slab of certainty. "If Grandfather knew about Meta-awareness, truly grasped its potential and its threat to the dragons' aether monopoly… you would already be dead. Reduced to atoms, just like the Djinn. Suspicion is not knowledge. And Kezess values potential pawns… until they become inconvenient."
He paused, his spectral form tilting its head, observing Aldir as if the asura were an intriguing specimen. "However," he continued, his tone shifting to analytical coldness, "despite your clever restraint in not visibly tinkering with aether—especially now under Epheotus's watchful eye—do not mistake caution for stupidity on Grandfather's part. He is arrogant, profoundly short-sighted regarding anything beyond draconic supremacy, and emotionally stunted… but he is not stupid. He suspects. He senses the anomaly you represent. He just hasn't decided yet whether you are more valuable alive as a potential tool against Agrona, or too dangerous to keep breathing. Aldir's orders reflect that precarious balance. You are an asset Kezess isn't ready to risk losing… or revealing."
Romulos's cold logic was bizarrely reassuring. It offered a perspective rooted in draconic ruthlessness, a framework I could understand, even if it chilled me to the bone. It made Aldir's edict less about protecting me and more about protecting Kezess's interest in me. But the cold comfort did nothing to quell the volcanic panic erupting within me. Knowledge didn't stop the Scythe. It didn't shield Tessia.
"Lord Aldir," I forced my voice into a semblance of reason, though it trembled on the edge. "I understand the concern. Truly. But I cannot remain here, locked in the Castle like a bird, knowing the devastation a Scythe can unleash. You saw the Barbarossa! And you saw what I accomplished at Burim! My presence, my abilities, Berna—they make a difference. They save lives! Let me contribute! Let me help!"
Aldir's gaze remained implacable. "Your talents are recognized, Prince Corvis. Even by us asuras, that's true. The Barbarossa is a marvel, your strategic mind is sharp. But recognition does not alter reality. You remain a silver core mage. A supremely talented, uniquely dangerous silver core… but still fundamentally vulnerable to the sheer, overwhelming power a being with Vritra blood wields. Agrona would relish the opportunity to capture or eliminate you personally. Your presence at the Wall would be a beacon, drawing his most devastating force directly towards our strongest defense. It is not merely unwise; it is strategically catastrophic. Your duty is here." His final words were a dismissal, a tombstone sealing my fate.
He was right. The brutal, humiliating truth of it slammed into me. Against a Scythe, even with the Barbarossa, even with Berna… I was outmatched. Speed, power, experience—Dragoth operated on a different plane compared to me.
My defiance was noble, perhaps, but ultimately suicidal and potentially disastrous for the entire Wall defense. The fight drained out of me, replaced by a crushing wave of helplessness that left me lightheaded. My shoulders slumped. I lowered my gaze, unable to meet Aldir's third eye any longer, the polished wood of the table blurring before me.
"I… understand, Lord Aldir," I managed, the words ash in my mouth. "If you'll excuse me." I turned and walked out of the chamber, the heavy doors closing behind me like the gates of a prison.
The defense plans were already in motion. Varay, Bairon, Mica, and Alea—the Lances were converging on the Wall. Aya guarded the flanks. Tessia was there. Grey was there. Claire and Albold, my sparring partners, my friends, were there. And I was trapped here, in the echoing sterility of the Castle, a chess piece deemed too valuable to risk, yet feeling utterly useless. Kezess's pawn, dancing on Epheotus's strings. The taste of copper filled my mouth—I'd bitten my cheek.
"In my Grandfather's defense," Romulos mused, materializing beside me as I strode down the corridor, my footsteps unnaturally loud in the tense silence, "from a purely tactical, cold-blooded perspective, sending an asset the enemy demonstrably desires directly into the line of fire of their heavy weapons… isn't the wisest deployment. Keeping you here denies my Dad a high-value target and potential intelligence coup."
On whose side are you on, Romulos? The mental question was a snarl of pure frustration. Are you Epheotus's strategist now or… what?
He stopped walking, turning to face me directly. His spectral form seemed more substantial, his expression uncharacteristically devoid of mockery.
"My allegiance is complex, Corvis. But ultimately, it lies with my family. And that definition… has evolved." He paused, his gaze intense. "Do you remember our first conversation? When I explained my research wasn't just about power, but about the nature of connection, sparked by encountering Arthur for the first time?" He didn't wait for an answer.
"I've reached a conclusion about us. We share the same core essence—the spark and... role... of the Thwart. But we are molded by vastly different experiences, different lives. We are two distinct entities forged from the same fundamental potential. We are not the same person. We are… brothers. The purest definition of it. Shared origin, divergent paths, inextricably linked."
The declaration hung in the air, heavy and profound. There was no sarcasm, no hidden agenda in his tone. Just a stark, simple statement of fact that resonated deep within my fractured sense of self. Brothers. The word echoed, challenging everything I thought I knew about the cynical, manipulative dragon soul sharing my mind.
That… that doesn't exactly help me right now, Romulos! I retorted, the frustration bubbling over as I reached my quarters and began pacing like a caged beast. The luxurious room felt suffocating, the symbols of my rank mocking my impotence. People are going to die! Tessia could—
"Corvis," he interrupted, his voice cutting through my panic. "The point is this: do whatever you believe you must. I will support you in the ways I can. If you choose to defy Aldir, defy Kezess, and plunge yourself into that battle… I will be there. With you. Not as an observer. As your brother."
But… how? The thought was desperate. Aren't you stuck? Trapped in my mind? What can you actually do?
"I could withdraw completely," he stated flatly. "Become a silent passenger. Or worse, actively hinder you. But I won't. The point, Corvis," he emphasized, stepping closer, his spectral presence radiating a fierce, unfamiliar protectiveness, "is that whatever path you choose, whatever storm you walk into, I am with you. Not just sharing space. Fighting alongside you. Believing in you."
The raw sincerity in his words, so alien to our usual dynamic, struck me dumb. I stopped pacing, leaning heavily against the cold stone wall, the fight momentarily draining out of me. I had always viewed Romulos as a necessary evil, a dangerous cohabitant with a mysterious agenda that occasionally aligned with my survival.
A powerful, sardonic, often infuriating coworker bound by circumstance. The idea that he… cared? That he saw us as family? It was disorienting, terrifying, and yet, a fragile warmth bloomed against the icy dread in my chest.
"Damn it, Corvis," Romulos sighed, the familiar exasperation creeping back, but softer now. "You are quite possibly the most emotionally oblivious person I've ever encountered. And I grew up in Epheotus—hardly a bastion of emotional intelligence."
A choked, humorless laugh escaped me. Fair point, Romulos. The word felt strange, powerful. I… I need to think. Clear my head. I pushed off the wall. I'll walk.
———
The vast, vaulted corridors of the Castle amplified the emptiness. My footsteps echoed like the ticking of a doom-laden clock, the sound bouncing off marble floors and towering stone arches. The usual thrum of activity was subdued. The noble children were likely sequestered with tutors, their lessons a surreal bubble of normalcy.
Guards stood at rigid attention, their eyes tracking me with respectful wariness. Servants moved with hushed efficiency. The Council members were likely buried in war rooms, feeding information to the Wall. But the heart of the Castle felt hollow, a monument to power rendered impotent by distance and decree.
Even Curtis and Kathyln, kept far from the Scythe's direct path but still present, still contributing to the defense, had been deemed less of a risk, less of a prize, than me.
The injustice of it burned. Agrona knew our strength—mostly. Grey, post-Epheotus, and I, with Meta-awareness, were the only wild cards. If he was sending Dragoth alone, confident in his victory, it meant he believed the Scythe could achieve his objective despite our forces.
What objective? Demoralization? Testing the Wall's limits? Eliminating specific targets? The uncertainty was a gnawing rat in my gut.
Romulos remained a silent, spectral presence at my shoulder, radiating a watchful energy that was both comforting and unsettling. His earlier declaration hung between us, a seismic shift in our relationship.
It was clear now: both Agrona and Romulos (and by extension, Kezess) were intensely interested in how I would wield, or fail to wield, Meta-awareness under extreme pressure. This battle wasn't just about the Wall; it was a crucible for me.
Agrona, chillingly, seemed to grasp the potential rules of Meta-awareness—its resistance to forced extraction, its reliance on the wielder's mental state. Had he deduced it from Romulos's possession? From observing my actions? The ease with which he might have unraveled this terrified me. Was he too somehow watching me?
He couldn't torture the knowledge out, but he could orchestrate events to break me, to push Meta-awareness to its limits and observe. Dragoth was more than a weapon; he was a probe.
No. I can't act on hypotheses. I need to act on what I know. On who I am. The thought crystallized as I turned a corner, drawn by the familiar, comforting pulse of Berna's bond.
The sound of youthful frustration reached me before I saw the courtyard. "Berna! Give it back! I can use it! I promise I won't hurt myself!" Eleanor Leywin's voice, laced with equal parts indignation and pleading.
Leaning on my cane, I stopped at the archway. Berna, majestic and immense, stood like a furry monolith, holding a simple training bow high above her head, easily out of Eleanor's determined leaps. The girl, small and fierce, glared up at the bear, hands on her hips.
"It seems your plan of fostering companionship between Ellie and Berna has borne fruit," Romulos observed, his tone softer, almost… fond? "A good thing. Berna is a far more suitable guardian than that runt Boo ever was."
What do you mean? I asked, picking up on the subtle edge beneath his words. It wasn't just saltiness.
"When Windsom bestowed Boo upon the Leywins," Romulos explained, his gaze fixed on Eleanor's determined face, "it was a calculated gesture. A show of 'benevolence', yes, but also control. He deliberately chose a weaker, less potent strain of Bear Guardian. You've witnessed Berna's true strength—capable of challenging even a white core mage. Boo? He was a glorified pet, a symbol, not a true shield. Grandfather or the Grandus Clan would never risk a Guardian of Berna's caliber falling into lesser hands, especially not Arthur's family which Grandfather needed as a leverage. It might have given them… ideas. Independence."
The casual cruelty of Kezess's manipulation, even in something as seemingly kind as gifting a bond, made my stomach churn. You're saying Boo was deliberately neutered? A placebo protector? The confirmation was sickeningly plausible.
"Precisely," Romulos confirmed. "A Bear Guardian of Berna's lineage, fully matured and bonded, can pose a significant threat even to inexperienced asuras. Durability is their hallmark. Epheotus does not hand out such potential lightly. Especially not to those they deem pawns."
Then why haven't they recalled Berna? The question sprang unbidden. If she's such a powerful asset, why leave her bonded to me?
Romulos gave a mental shrug, though his spectral eyes remained on Eleanor. "Berna's will is a factor. She chose you, fiercely. Recalling her forcibly would be… messy, potentially damaging. And perhaps…" He paused, a flicker of something complex in his expression. "Perhaps it serves Grandfather's current interest to have her fully protect you. To keep you alive and out of Agrona's grasp. For now. The calculus shifts, Corvis. Always."
"Your Highness." Eleanor's voice cut through the internal dialogue. She'd spotted me, Berna turning her massive head towards me. The girl approached, executing a respectful, if slightly hurried, bow. Her eyes, wide and earnest, held a shadow of the war's weight. The separation from her parents, the constant low hum of fear—it had etched lines of premature seriousness onto her young face.
"Hi, Eleanor," I said, forcing a genuine smile onto my own tense features. I looked pointedly at Berna. "Is Berna being a nuisance? Stealing your things?"
Eleanor's eyes widened in alarm. "Oh, no, Your Highness! Not at all!" She misinterpreted my teasing entirely, rushing to Berna's defense. "She's just… worried. But I can handle the bow! I've been practicing!" The desperate need to prove herself, to have some semblance of control, was painfully evident.
"I believe you," I said gently, my gaze shifting back to Berna. The great bear huffed, a sound like stones grinding together. "But Berna," I continued, my tone firm but affectionate, "stealing possessions, even with the best intentions, isn't kind. Especially from someone under your protection." I gestured. "Give it back, please."
With a low rumble that might have been a bear's sigh, Berna lowered her massive paw. The bow tumbled gently onto the grass at Eleanor's feet. The girl scrambled to pick it up, clutching it protectively to her chest.
"Thank you, Your Highness," she whispered, her voice thick with unexpected emotion. She looked down at the bow, then up at Berna, her eyes shimmering. "And… thank you for letting Berna stay with me… sometimes. It helps." The unspoken fear—the fear for her parents, for her world—hung heavy in the air. She was barely twelve, and the war had already stolen her childhood.
"Don't worry," I said, the words feeling inadequate. "You can spend as much time with her as you like." I met Berna's intelligent eyes. The Guardian Bear gave a slow, deliberate nod, her gaze conveying unwavering understanding.
I want to go to the Wall. I need you. The thought screamed in my mind. But looking at Eleanor, small and vulnerable, finding solace in Berna's immense presence… the words died.
What am I doing? A wave of shame washed over me. Am I using Eleanor as an excuse? Am I just scared? Scared of facing Dragoth? Scared of failing?
The internal conflict raged—duty to orders, duty to family, duty to Dicathen, the terrifying power of the Scythe, the crushing weight of Kezess's interest, Romulos's unexpected brotherhood, and the simple, heartbreaking need of a child clinging to a symbol of safety. It coalesced into a single, crystallizing moment.
"Eleanor," I said, my voice low but clear, cutting through her quiet relief. "Berna might… teleport away suddenly. Very soon."
She blinked, confusion replacing her tentative smile. "Teleport? What… what does that mean, Your Highness?"
I crouched down slightly, bringing myself closer to her eye level. The scent of grass and the faint, warm musk of Berna filled the air. "There's a battle," I said, the word heavy. "A very big, very dangerous battle happening at the Wall. Right now. I'm… technically… not supposed to go."
I saw the dawning understanding in her eyes, mixed with a flicker of that same fierce determination she'd shown Berna. "But I can't… I won't… stand back here, safe, while my sister, my friends, and so many people who are counting on me… are fighting. While they need me."
The confession, spoken aloud to this child, felt like tearing off a bandage. "Berna will stay with you, keep you company, for as long as she possibly can. But if she vanishes suddenly… it means she's coming to me. Because I've gone to fight."
I didn't know why I was telling her this. Perhaps because she represented the innocence we were fighting for. Perhaps because, like Tessia years ago, Eleanor deserved honesty. Perhaps because, in her fierce spirit, I saw a reflection of the defiance I needed to embrace. From the novel's memories, I knew her frustration at being sidelined, her desperate desire to matter. This was my attempt to give her a role, however small. To make her a part of it.
Eleanor stared at me, her young face grave. She looked from me to Berna, then back to me. The fear was still there, but it was overlaid with a sudden, fierce resolve. She straightened her small shoulders, clutching her bow tighter. "Then I will keep an eye on her!" she declared, her voice surprisingly strong. "Until she has to go! I'll make sure she's okay until then!"
A lump formed in my throat. Her simple, unwavering courage was a beacon. "I count on you, Eleanor," I said, my voice rough with emotion. I placed a hand briefly on her shoulder, feeling the fragile strength beneath. "Thank you."
I stood, meeting Berna's gaze once more. The message passed silently: soon. Be ready. Berna gave another slow, deliberate nod, a low rumble vibrating in her chest—a promise.
As I turned and walked back towards the Castle's depths, my path now clear, Romulos fell into step beside me. The spectral air around him crackled with anticipation.
"So," he asked, his voice a low thrum in my mind, devoid of judgment, filled only with a brother's unwavering support and his usual unmovable curiosity. "Have you made your decision?"
My cane tapped firmly on the marble floor. My steps, moments ago echoing with helpless frustration, now carried a new rhythm. Purpose. Resolve.
I turned down a corridor not leading to my quarters, but towards the heavily guarded hangar where the Barbarossa waited.
Yes, I sent back, the word ringing with finality in the shared space of our minds. We are going to join the battle. The fear was still there, cold and sharp. But it was overshadowed by a fiercer fire. I couldn't care less about Epheotus's interests, Romulos. Or Kezess's calculations. Or even Agrona's games. I only care about Dicathen's regard. About protecting my family. My home.
We go to war.
Romulos's spectral form solidified beside me, not in mockery, but in grim solidarity and expectation. His draconic red eyes gleamed with predatory focus. "Then we go to war, Corvis," he affirmed, his voice a lethal whisper that resonated with the gathering storm.
"Let us show that disgusting lessuran what happens when a real Vritra decides to fight."