Chul Asclepius
The air in the training grounds of the Hearth— that was actually just a single chamber I could be alone in—crackled with displaced energy as I brought my mace, Suncrasher, down in a two-handed arc. I gritted my teeth feeling the adrenaline surge through my body.
The impact against the rock monolith in front of me—a defiant chunk of the stolen homeland of my Clan dragged here by my complacent kin—sent a shockwave up my arms that rattled my teeth.
CRACK-THOOM!
The sound echoed like a miniature thunderclap in the secluded grove. White stone, impossibly dense, absorbed the blow without a scratch. Good. It needed to hold. It needed to be them.
Again. I hauled the heavy mace back, my muscles screaming in protest, pouring my frustration, my molten wrath, into every movement. The next strike was harder, fueled by the image burned into my mind's eye: not inert rock, but Agrona Vritra's face, or what I imagined his face to be.
The architect of my mother's imprisonment. The coward who'd taken her, a diplomat under sacred truce, and locked her away in some lightless Alacryan pit.
The vile Vritra who hid behind legions while true warriors… while warriors like those my clan used to be, the mightiest phoenixes in all of Epheotus… languished.
THOOM!
Another earth-shaking impact. Sweat stung my eyes, mingling with the dust kicked up from the vibrating ground. Around me, the tranquility of the Hearth felt like a mockery to my own existence.
Phoenixes, descendants of the fiercest hunters Epheotus had ever known, preened in manicured gardens or debated philosophy in sun-dappled clearings alongside the survivors of the Djinn race.
They'd traded talons for trowels, fire for fertilizer. Justice? Forgotten. Honor? A quaint notion. My mother rotted, and they tended roses.
"Unfair," I growled, the word lost in the grunt of exertion as I wound up for another blow. If only Mordain would lift his decree! If only he'd unleash me! I wouldn't need an army.
Just me, Suncrasher, and a straight path to Vritra's black heart. I'd shatter his citadel, his fortress or whatever was in Alacrya stone by stone, melt his servants to slag, and drag him screaming back here to face the justice they were too soft to deliver.
Gathering the dregs of my mana—pitiful compared to true asuras, but every spark honed by years of furious, futile practice—I channeled it into Suncrasher. The mace's head ignited, not just with heat, but with raw, white-hot magical fury, blazing like a captured star. With a roar torn from the depths of my anger, I slammed it down one final time.
KRA-KOOM!
The monolith didn't yield or shatter, but it sang. A deep, resonant vibration shuddered through the massive stone and up my bones, a physical echo of the impact that momentarily drowned out the buzzing in my veins.
I stood there, chest heaving, Suncrasher's heat radiating against my face, the familiar taste of ash and unspent violence thick on my tongue. This ritual of rage was my only reprieve, the only way to stop the walls of this white cage of marble from closing in completely.
Then, cutting through the ringing silence and the fading pulse of my own anger, Mordain's voice flowed into my mind, calm as a spring.
'Chul. My apologies for the intrusion, wherever your focus lies.' Always the polite one, even in thought. 'I believe the opportunity you have long awaited may be at hand. Please join me in the Roundtable Chamber. We have… guests.'
Guests.
The word hit me like an arrow, different from the mace's recoil. It stole my breath. Hope, sharp and dangerous and terrifyingly bright, flared in my chest, incinerating the lingering embers of frustration. Guests? In the Hearth? Seeking Mordain? It couldn't be coincidence. Not after decades of silence.
A fierce, predatory smile spread across my face, utterly at odds with the serene beauty of the Hearth around me. Training forgotten, Suncrasher's weight suddenly negligible, I turned.
The manicured paths, the whispering trees, the placid phoenixes—they blurred into insignificance. My entire world narrowed to the path leading to the Roundtable Chamber.
Opportunity. After an eternity of waiting, hammering at stone… opportunity had knocked. And I would answer with everything I had.
Corvis Eralith
The air in the Hearth corridors shifted as Grey spoke, his voice low but carrying a weight that seemed to momentarily still the ambient symphony of distant music and rustling leaves.
"This place... it feels more like Epheotus than anything I've seen in Dicathen. No it's exactly like Epheotus actually."
His eyes scanned the impossible gardens unfolding beside the path—a riot of color that defied the subterranean setting, vibrant blooms cascading from silver-barked trees, their perfumes layered and intoxicating yet very pleasant to the nose.
Mordain walked beside us, his presence a calming current against the undercurrent of tension radiating from Berna beside me and Grey to my right. Sylvie perched on Grey's shoulder, a vigilant white sentinel.
"Perceptive," Mordain acknowledged, his honey-warm voice flowing like water over stone. "Many of my kin brought fragments of our homeland here when we withdrew. Centuries of cultivation have nurtured this echo of Epheotus."
He gestured gracefully towards phoenixes in their human forms—some coaxing haunting melodies from instruments that seemed grown from living wood, others capturing the ethereal beauty on canvases woven from light, or sewing garments that shimmered like captured rainbows.
It was art, culture, serenity—a life diametrically opposed to the relentless drumbeat of war that had defined my existence. A pang of profound, almost painful yearning struck me—this was what we were fighting for.
Not just for mere survival, but the possibility of this.
"Almost like Featherwalk Aerie," Romulos murmured in my mind, his spectral form flickering beside me, a rare note of unguarded nostalgia softening his usually cutting tone.
Oh? The mighty Indrath heir doesn't pine for the Indrath Castle? I teased inwardly, earning a mental scoff.
"I had... connections. The Avignis Clan town held a certain appeal," he dismissed, but the lingering wistfulness was palpable. He, too, seemed momentarily disarmed by the Hearth's tranquility.
My attention snapped back to Berna. Her massive head was lowered, green eyes fixed on Evascir walking slightly ahead with Mordain. A low, continuous rumble vibrated deep within her chest, not aggression, but profound discomfort, a primal unease that thrummed through our bond.
"Lord Evascir," I ventured, keeping my voice respectful but firm, "may I inquire about Berna's connection to this place? If it's not an imposition?"
Evascir paused, turning his massive frame. His eyes, startlingly clear in his tattooed face, held a complex mix of resignation and old sorrow as he looked at Berna. She growled softly at the direct attention.
"Sel—" he began, then stopped as Berna's growl deepened into a warning rumble. "...Berna," he corrected, the name sounding foreign on his tongue. "As you call her now, was the bond of an old ally. A dear friend of Lord Mordain... and of mine. He vanished centuries ago."
He met my gaze directly, his voice dropping. "My earlier demeanor... I apologize. Guarding the Hearth requires vigilance, sometimes misplaced."
His apology, sincere and unexpected, momentarily stole my breath. This openness, this lack of the expected Asuran arrogance or suspicion, was disorienting.
Grey and I exchanged a fleeting glance—a shared moment of wary disbelief. We were braced for hostility, for condescension, not... this.
"Grey, Corvis, relax," Sylvie chirped, nudging Grey's neck with her snout. "It's going to be okay." Her simple faith was a tiny anchor.
Mordain chuckled, the sound like wind chimes. "Kezess's granddaughter speaks wisely." Sylvie immediately puffed up, fixing Mordain with a glare that could melt stone.
"Apologies," he amended smoothly, a genuine smile touching his lips. "What is your name, young dragon?"
"Sylvie!" she declared, puffing her chest out with pride. "Papa named me!" She nudged Grey's cheek affectionately.
"That makes sense seeing he is your bond," Mordain nodded, his ancient eyes holding a spark of amusement. "We will have more time for introductions shortly." He led us onward, finally entering a vast chamber.
Its centerpiece was a round table of luminous marble, veined with gold and silver. The walls were adorned with breathtaking paintings depicting celestial landscapes, mythical beasts, and serene Djinn figures—a visual chronicle of a lost world.
"So these are the guests you summoned me for, Mordain?" A young, vibrant, and strangely familiar voice cut through the chamber's solemnity. My gaze snapped to its source: a phoenix in human form, radiating barely contained energy.
Fiery red hair framed a face etched with intensity, his most striking feature being his mismatched eyes—one a burning amber, the other a deep, glacial blue. Chul Asclepius. The name echoed instantly in my mind, aligning perfectly with the novel's descriptions.
"Chul, you are prompt. Good," Mordain acknowledged, turning to us. "May I present Corvis Eralith, Sylvie Indrath, and Grey."
Chul's intense gaze swept over us, locking onto Grey. His mismatched eyes narrowed, blazing with sudden, visceral recognition.
My blood ran cold. Please, no. Don't sense it. Don't—
"Why is a Vritra here in the Hearth?!" Chul roared, lunging forward with predatory speed, his hand outstretched like a claw aimed at Grey's throat. Mordain moved with impossible grace, a hand resting lightly but implacably on Chul's chest, halting him mid-lunge.
"Peace, Chul." Mordain commanded, his voice retaining its calm but now layered with undeniable authority. "No one here intends harm to the Hearth."
Grey didn't flinch. He met Chul's furious gaze head-on, his own expression granite. "I am not a Vritra," he stated, the words flat, absolute, ringing with the truth only he and I fully understood.
"You are a lesser tainted by the blood of those basilisk bastards! Of course you are Vritra!" Chul spat, the hatred radiating from him like heat from a forge. It was a deep, generational loathing, raw and untamed.
"I share his distaste for the Vritra who killed my mother," Romulos interjected, his spectral voice a dry rasp in my mind, impossible to interpret. "But my 'beloved' Dad is Agrona Vritra, the very font of Chul's hatred. Fascinating dichotomy, isn't it?"
As the silent battle of wills crackled between Grey and Chul, I turned my focus to Mordain. "Lord Mordain," I began, forcing my voice steady, "did my Grandaunt Rinia inform you of my intention to seek an audience?"
"She did, Corvis Eralith," he confirmed, settling into a chair and gesturing for me to do the same. "However, that is not the primary reason I wished to speak with you."
"Chul," he then looked at the younger phoenix, Mordain's voice carried a gentle but firm reproach. "Please refrain from antagonizing our guests."
"I came because you said I had my chance to leave!" Chul protested, whirling towards Mordain, his voice thick with frustration and desperate hope. "To finally act! Not to sit here making small talk with the enemy!"
"Chul." Mordain's single word held the weight of mountains. It silenced the young phoenix instantly, though fury still simmered in his eyes. "I understand your pain. But Corvis and Grey are not our enemies."
Grey's patience, visibly thin from being labeled 'Vritra', snapped into sharp focus. "Then what is the reason you wanted to speak with Corvis?" His tone was clipped, demanding clarity.
Mordain's ancient, knowing eyes fixed on me. The air in the chamber seemed to thicken, grow heavier. "Corvis Eralith," he said, his voice dropping to a resonant murmur that vibrated in my bones. "What do you know... about Fate?"
The word struck like a physical blow. Ice flooded my veins. My stomach clenched, a wave of primal anxiety washing over me. Fate. The architect of my existence itself. The puppet master. The reason Romulos and I existed in this twisted tandem.
Romulos! Do you know something? What is this? I screamed inwardly.
Romulos materialized instantly, spectral and tense, sitting rigidly in the chair beside me, visible only to my eyes. His ruby gaze was fixed on Mordain.
"Yes," he confirmed, his mental voice tight, stripped of its usual sardonic edge. "Uncle Mordain knows what we are, Corvis. It was from him, time ago, that I first learned the term... the Thwart."
Grey's sharp gaze flickered to me. He was the only soul alive who knew the full depth of my burden—the Thwart, Meta-awareness, the terrifying awareness of narrative threads. Tessia knew fragments, Grampa less, but Grey knew everything except the specific origin of my Earthly memories.
Berna, through our bond, felt the surge of my panic, a low growl rumbling in her chest, her eyes fixed protectively on me. Sylvie tensed on Grey's shoulder, sensing the sudden shift.
"You mean my identity as the Thwart, Lord Mordain?" The words tumbled out, raw and revealing, driven by the shock of Romulos's confession and the suffocating weight of Mordain's gaze.
A rare flicker of surprise crossed Mordain's serene features. Evascir's eyebrows shot up. Chul stared, momentarily diverted from his hatred of Grey. "You already know?" Mordain asked, his voice laced with astonishment.
I nodded, the motion stiff. "I learned years ago," I managed, my throat dry. "In a Djinn ruin north of Elenoir. An... aspect of Fate manifested. The Mouth. It revealed my purpose." The admission felt like tearing open a wound.
"You know of the Djinn?!" Chul exploded, but Mordain silenced him with another raised hand, his focus entirely on me.
"Then let me rephrase my question," Mordain pressed, leaning forward slightly, his ancient eyes boring into mine, filled with an unsettling mix of curiosity and... pity. "What do you know of the nature of the Thwart, Corvis?"
Romulos, what haven't you told me?
Romulos met my mental gaze, his spectral face unreadable. "He doesn't know our full role, not as I suspected he might. But he knows something fundamental, something I only theorized. Something... essential."
"I know my role," I stated aloud, clinging to the one certainty I had. My eyes found Grey, a silent plea for understanding. "To stand by Grey's side. To guide his path. And I intend to fulfill it." The words were a vow, a lifeline in the suddenly treacherous current.
Grey's expression softened infinitesimally. A flicker of that deep, unwavering trust passed between us. Thwart or not, he was Grey, my best friend. The label didn't change that core truth.
"Pfft, this Vritra?" Chul sneered, the derision thick, but Grey ignored him, his attention fixed on me.
"Grey..." I started, the words catching. "I haven't... told him this..." The complexity of the Thwart, the aspect Mordain hinted at... Grey knew of it, but not the potential depths Mordain was probing.
"Told me what, Corvis?" Grey asked. His voice held no accusation, only concern, a steady anchor in the storm of revelations. That trust, undeserved and absolute, steadied me.
I hesitated, my gaze darting to Mordain. He was the best potential ally, yes. Wise, powerful, seemingly benevolent. But he was still Lord of the Asclepius Clan, an Asura with millennia of perspective and motives I couldn't fully grasp.
Was this the time, the place, to lay bare the terrifying metaphysical scaffolding of my existence? Beneath his gentle exterior, was there the calculating mind of a being who played games across centuries? Could I trust him with the truth that felt like a loaded gun pointed at my own head?
"I would prefer to hear what Lord Mordain wished to share," I deflected, forcing a semblance of calm onto my face, offering Mordain a strained smile. "We seem to be consuming his valuable time."
Mordain studied me for a long moment, that unsettling pity still in his eyes. "Did Fate," he asked, his voice dropping to a near whisper that nonetheless filled the chamber, "did it tell you what the Thwart is?"
He paused, letting the question hang. "Corvis... you are an elf. Rinia's kin. Corvis Eralith, flesh and blood. Yet... the Thwart is not merely a title. It is an aspect of Fate itself."
An Aspect of Fate? The concept slammed into me, stealing my breath. Not just a tool, but a piece of the architect? A fragment of the cosmic will that had woven my existence? No! The denial was instinctive, visceral.
Romulos! Is this true? The mental cry was ragged.
Romulos's spectral form seemed to solidify, his obsidian eyes wide with a dawning, horrified realization. "What... Uncle says... is true," he stammered mentally, his usual arrogance shattered.
"I died too soon... understood too little. But my hypothesis... I called it the Slave. The aspect representing Fate's inevitability, its binding chains. We are slaves, Corvis. Living shackles." The raw terror in his mental voice mirrored my own.
"What does that mean, Lord Mordain?" The question tore from my lips, laced with a fear I couldn't suppress. The combined weight of Mordain's revelation and Romulos's terrified confirmation threatened to crush me.
"Corvis." Grey's voice cut through the rising panic, sharp and grounding. His hand found my shoulder, a solid, real pressure. Not a reprimand, but an anchor. I'm here.
I took a shuddering breath, clinging to that anchor. "Thanks, Grey," I managed, the words thick.
Mordain nodded, a flicker of approval in his ancient eyes at Grey's support. He began anew, his voice grave, each word measured.
"The Djinn, in their unparalleled study of aether and the fabric of reality, uncovered many profound truths. One of the most significant, and perilous, was the existence of the Thwart. They discerned it not as a mere individual, but as a unique manifestation—a being fundamentally outside the established rules of our reality. A living anomaly utilized by Fate as a corrective mechanism. A scalpel wielded by the universe itself to excise errors, mend ruptures in the grand tapestry, and restore a perceived balance."
"And how," Grey demanded, his voice like cold steel, stepping subtly closer to me, "did you know Corvis was this... Thwart?" His protective stance was unmistakable.
The unspoken question hung heavy: who else knows knows it? Does Agrona?
Romulos answered before Mordain could. "No. Ji-Ae kept the nature of the Thwart secret, even from him. Always."
Mordain's answer echoed Romulos's silent assurance. "Divination," he stated simply. "And the deepest aether arts, capable of glimpsing threads of potential, tracing lineages of power, foreseeing cataclysms... they fail utterly when focused on Corvis Eralith. He exists as a null point in the web of prophecy, the walking blind spot of time. That is the signature of the Thwart."
"And why reveal this to him now?" Grey pressed, his gaze unwavering. "Why burden him with this knowledge here?"
"I wished him to understand the gravity of his own nature," Mordain explained, his gaze returning to me, filled with that unsettling compassion. "Fate has clearly endowed you with knowledge far beyond your years, Corvis. Knowledge that guided you here, to the Hearth. Knowledge no child, especially not one born of Dicathen, should possess."
He paused, his expression solemn. "Understanding the scale of the forces that shaped you... I believe it is necessary. And," he added, his voice softening slightly, "I believe aiding you, Corvis Eralith, aligns with the Hearth's deeper purpose. It may be our best path forward."
Should I ask for the keystone? For access to the Relictombs here? The thought was fleeting, desperate. But the war raged outside.
Time was a luxury we didn't have. And pushing too hard, asking for that ultimate secret after these revelations, felt like a step too far. Mordain's trust, however tentatively offered, was fragile.
"For that reason," Mordain continued, gesturing towards the still-fuming but now intensely curious Chul, "I believe Chul accompanying you would serve both our interests. He is headstrong, inexperienced in the wider world's complexities, but his strength is undeniable. Equivalent to any full-blooded Asura. And," he added, a note of practicality entering his tone, "my sources confirm Kezess has withdrawn his direct influence from Dicathen. Chul's presence with you will not unduly endanger the Hearth."
Chul surged to his feet, his mismatched eyes blazing, not with hatred now, but with fierce, eager purpose. "I want justice!" he declared, his voice ringing in the chamber. "Justice for the wrongs committed by the Vritra! Bring me to them, let me face them, and I will be your ally!" He fixed his burning gaze on me, the intensity almost physical.
"Y-yes. Of course," I stammered, momentarily overwhelmed by the sheer, raw force of his conviction. Before I could react further, Chul was in front of me, his hands clamping onto my shoulders with bruising strength. Berna shifted instantly, a warning rumble building, but Chul barely glanced at her.
"You look a bit... breakable," Chul stated, not unkindly, but with blunt assessment. "But don't worry! I will be the one to crush the Vritras! Just point me at them!" His enthusiasm was terrifying.
"He changed his tune quickly," Sylvie observed dryly from Grey's shoulder.
"Chul shares his mother's passionate and impulsive nature," Mordain explained, a hint of fond exasperation in his voice. "His fire burns bright, if not always wisely directed."
"Lord Mordain," I began, finding my voice again, steeling myself for the crucial appeal. I gestured around the chamber, encompassing the Hearth beyond. "I am deeply grateful for Chul's aid. But... the Hearth itself remains in danger, regardless of Kezess's current absence. If Dicathen falls..."
I paused, letting the grim implication hang.
"...Agrona will find this place. His hunger for control is boundless. He possesses legions, artifacts, and a mind that unravels secrets like threads. And if not Agrona," I added, meeting Mordain's gaze squarely, "then Kezess. If he decides Dicathen is lost, he will scorch it from the map rather than let it fuel Agrona's ambition. The Hearth would be consumed in that fire."
I saw Chul's grin widen fiercely out of the corner of my eye. Exactly! his expression screamed. Mordain remained impassive, but Evascir's posture stiffened.
"You have already defied Kezess once, Lord Mordain," I continued, my voice gaining strength, fueled by the desperate truth of our situation and the flicker of hope Chul represented. "You rebelled to save the Djinn, knowing the cost. Now, Agrona seeks to enslave all of Dicathen, and Kezess prepares to burn it. This cycle of tyranny and destruction will continue, consuming everything in its path, unless someone breaks it."
I took a step forward, my gaze locked with Mordain's ancient eyes. "I am not asking you to take up arms. I am not asking you to force your people—the Djinn who suffered genocide, the phoenixes who seek peace—onto a battlefield they abhor. But war is not fought only with swords and spells. There are countless ways to resist, to support, to preserve. Intelligence. Sanctuary. Healing. The forging of alliances based on shared survival, not just shared blood."
I paused, drawing a deep breath, pouring every ounce of conviction I possessed into my final words. "True strength, Lord Mordain, the strength that terrens tyrants like Agrona and Kezess, lies not in isolated might, but in unity. In the refusal to be picked off one by one. In standing together."
Silence descended, profound and heavy. Chul practically vibrated with restless energy, his fists clenched, clearly itching to depart immediately but holding himself back under Mordain's gaze. Grey stood silently beside me, a pillar of quiet support, pride radiating from him in warm waves that warmed my cheeks with embarrassment. Sylvie watched Mordain intently. Berna settled onto her haunches directly behind me, her massive presence a tangible shield, her low rumble a continuous note of vigilance.
Mordain sat perfectly still, his expression unreadable. Centuries of wisdom, loss, and enforced isolation seemed to war behind his serene eyes. He absorbed my words, the plea, the warning, the vision of unity against overwhelming darkness. The painted Djinn on the walls seemed to watch, silent witnesses to this pivotal moment.
Finally, he lifted his head. "You argue persuasively, Corvis Eralith," he acknowledged, his voice regaining its gentle timbre but carrying a new weight. "Your sentiments are... pure. Fired by a desire for preservation, not conquest. I see that."
"I ask for your patience. Allow me time to confer with my kin, with the Djinn elders. The path you suggest is not one we can tread lightly." He gestured towards Chul, who straightened like a hound catching a scent.
"For now, take Chul with you. Let him see your world, your fight. Let him lend his strength where it is needed. And," he added, his gaze holding mine with renewed intensity, "let him be our eyes and ears."
I understood instantly. Chul was both an asset and an emissary. A test, in a way. Mordain's way of gauging our worth, our cause, and the true nature of the threat, without fully committing the Hearth. It was logical. Prudent. Exactly what I would have done in his position.
For this first, fraught encounter, it was more than I dared hope for. The question of the Hearth's Relictombs access burned on my tongue, the potential shortcut to power and understanding it offered. But the moment felt too delicate, Mordain's tentative trust too precious.
To ask for that secret now, after the revelations about the Thwart and my impassioned plea, felt like greed. Like overreaching. Patience, I told myself, even as the strategist in me chafed at the delay. Build the alliance first. The keystone can wait.
"Thank you, Lord Mordain," I said, bowing my head slightly, the relief a cool wave washing over the lingering anxiety. "We welcome Chul's strength and perspective." I turned to the fiery phoenix, who was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. "We depart immediately. There's a war waiting."
Chul's grin was fierce, feral, full of the promise of long-awaited vengeance. "Finally!" he boomed, the sound echoing off the marble. "Point me at the enemies!"
As we turned to leave the Roundtable Chamber, the weight of the Thwart revelation still a cold stone in my gut, Romulos's spectral voice drifted through my mind, laced with dark amusement.
"You know, little brother," he mused, "for a cosmic anomaly destined to be Fate's slave, you possess an unnervingly potent gift for persuasion. Charismatic, even. Reminds me disturbingly of Dad. The two of you would either be the best of friends... or annihilate each other in a week." His chuckle was a dry rasp. "Not that I would let you two do it."