Corvis Vritra
The weight of the quill felt like a lodestone, the ink bleeding onto the paper not just pigment, but the very essence of my fractured soul.
"...Common enemies bring the most diverse people together..."
The words stared back, stark and pragmatic, a cold truth anchoring the storm of identities warring within. This is what I wrote before entering the chamber of Ji-Ae. It was a reminder, a compass point.
At first I wanted to turn her into Google, into a mindless machine—the impulse had been sharp, born of Romulos's ingrained contempt, his protective fury twisted into a desire to dominate and control.
Probably due to Romulos' hate for everyone around Dad, people who betrayed him in the end. His ghostly presence resonated with ancient bitterness towards the Sovereigns, the Scythes, the entire apparatus that served a corrupted shadow of the father he revered.
However Corvis—the core of my being—overpowered the pessimism of Romulos, his cynicism and hate for this world. The compassion, the belief in understanding even the flawed, refused to be extinguished.
Even thinking about Nico who Romulos despised so much brought me only pity and understanding—the broken man obsessed with a lost love, manipulated by the same force that now held me.
And even gratitude if he and Grey succeeded in reincarnating Cecilia separating her from the Legacy. That fragile hope, the possibility of saving one soul from the cosmic machinery, was pure Corvis.
What a pitiful hypocrite you are Corvis, I told myself.
But this fragile and hypocritical hope applied to Ji-Ae. She wasn't an enemy; she was a survivor, a repository of knowledge forged in genocide. To reduce her to a tool would be a betrayal of the very ideals I fought for, the ideals Romulos ultimately sacrificed himself to preserve within me.
Hate didn't bring anywhere.
A wave of profound gratitude washed over the calculation. Really Romulos only gave me his best traits. His defiance, his intellect, his strategic brilliance, his terrifying self-control—but crucially, not his consuming hatred or his isolating cynicism.
What a good brother I had. The thought carried a pang of grief so sharp it threatened to buckle my knees. He didn't want to change my personality entirely, he only aimed at easing my pain, fear and worry. His final gift wasn't replacement, but reinforcement.
Armor for my fragile spirit. If I didn't have his sense of self-control I might even cry thinking about it. The tears burned behind my eyes, a pressure held in check only by that inherited Vritra discipline.
He'd given me the strength to stand in the wolf's den without shattering.
Ji-Ae was one of the last Djinns, the survivor of a literal holocaust. The sheer magnitude of her loss resonated in the shielded vault of my own grief. She helped Dad because she thought he was the only one worthy of the Djinn's knowledge and the one who will avenge the Djinn—even considering the hypocrisy.
She saw in Agrona's intellect and his enmity towards Kezess a reflection of Djinn values turned to violence, a necessary evil for righteous vengeance. Dad wasn't better than the Indrath Clan, he was just as ruthless and egoistic.
The truth was stark, undeniable. Both dragons and basilisks saw lesser beings as tools, pawns in their ancient, petty feud. But Ji-Ae didn't care about this. Survival. Vengeance. The continuation of knowledge, even through a flawed vessel.
Just like I wrote common enemies really bring people together, no matter how different. Our alliance, if forged, would be built on shared opposition to the dragons, but also on a deeper, shared tragedy.
I wondered if Dad could be redeemed. The thought felt traitorous, naive. Ji-Ae would never accept to help me kill him and neither I wanted to. The love, implanted and inherited, warred with the cold assessment of his actions.
If when I read 'The Beginning After The End' I would have witnessed a redemption arc for Agrona I would have considered it unsatisfying, lazy and out of character. Fiction demanded neat resolutions; reality was messy, stained with irrevocable choices.
Redemption felt like a narrative cheat for a being whose path was paved with calculated cruelty. But Dad was real now, he was my Dad even if not exactly the one I loved. The distinction was agony. Loving the ghost of Romulos's father, grieving the potential, while fearing and despising the shadow that wore his face.
I imagined what Romulos would have said. His phantom voice was sardonic, cutting through the sentimentality. "How are you going to explain that to your best friend?" He would ask.
Grey. Would Grey feel betrayed? Absolutely. I'd surrendered myself, played into Agrona's hands, abandoned Dicathen in its hour of need. Would Sylvie, Tessia? My family? Virion, Merial, Alduin, Rinia… their faces swam before me, their expressions likely a mixture of crushing disappointment and profound hurt.
Probably, but I didn't consider myself worthy of their forgiveness. The admission was a cold stone in my gut.
What I had done, abandoning them even under Agrona's threat, was awful. Necessary, perhaps, in the brutal calculus of war, but awful nonetheless. A leader doesn't abandon his people. A son doesn't abandon his family.
If when I got back to Dicathen the Council wanted my head for treason I wouldn't complain. The thought held a grim acceptance.
I wasn't afraid of dying anymore; Romulos's sacrifice had burned that fear away, replacing it with a defiant clarity. I was afraid of not saving my people. Failure was the only true death I feared now.
Enough about that. Sentiment was a luxury I couldn't afford in Ji-Ae's sanctum. I needed to think on what to tell Ji-Ae. The strategy crystallized: honesty, framed as scientific curiosity. Leverage her Djinn nature against Agrona's corruption. Offer knowledge for cooperation. Appeal to the scholar, not the vengeful ghost.
The door to her chamber slid open silently, revealing the white room—clinical, sterile, devoid of ornamentation typical in Taegrin Caelum save for the crystal on a pedestal on the centre.
It pulsed with a soft, complex light, the prison and vessel of Ji-Ae—or what remained of her as she was a remnant, not a real Djinn like the ones in the Hearth. A consciousness salvaged, preserved, but irrevocably altered by loss and integration into Agrona's machine.
"Hello Ji-Ae." I said, my voice steady, echoing slightly in the pristine space. The lack of immediate alarms, the absence of Agrona's furious presence, confirmed my gamble.
If Dad wasn't already on me ready to do who knows what kind of torture on me to punish my insubordination it meant Ji-Ae wanted to talk with me—with the Thwart.
She had chosen curiosity over immediate loyalty. I had to thank Lord Mordain for telling me the Djinn knew about the Thwart; that information alone could save Dicathen. A debt owed to the phoenix.
Introductions were key. Establishing identity, authority, and common ground. "I am Corvis, Corvis Vritra and as you might have understood I really am the Thwart."
Stating the cosmic fact, the undeniable resonance she must feel. Then, the crucial bridge: "Would you like to talk to me from scientist to scientist?" I asked.
It was a direct appeal to her core, the essence buried beneath centuries of service and vengeance. Ji-Ae despite the corruption and hate seething in her after the slaughter of her people was still a Djinn, and the most insightful Djinn to have ever lived. She was a scientist, a real one or at least she had been. I needed to reach that buried scholar.
Not like Dad who only cares about understanding the world to achieve his goals, I thought, the distinction vital. He didn't seek knowledge for knowledge's sake: the peak of science.
Science for the sake of science, the chasing of knowledge devoid of any secondary means that's not the improvement of one's life. Agrona sought power; the Djinn sought understanding.
Like the Djinn peaceful communion with knowledge. I was betting everything that this fundamental difference still resonated within her crystalline core.
Her response was measured, echoing with ancient power. "Thwart," Ji-Ae's voice echoed throughout the chamber. "To what do I owe the chance to speak with Fate itself?"
I needed to ground it, assert my individuality. "Fate? Even though I am an aspect of it, I have nothing to do with them."
I replied, the frustration at the cosmic label leaking through. Being unable to really see my interlocutor didn't make me able to gauge Ji-Ae's reaction, forcing me to rely on tone and the resonance of truth.
"Yes, I spoke with Fate; they told me of who I am as the Thwart, but apart from that I have no affiliation with them."
"Comprehensible." Ji-Ae replied, her tone unreadable. "Yet you are able to influence the reincarnation of the Legacy, that's proof enough of your bond with Fate as you can't use aether."
She pointed to the observable phenomenon, the undeniable evidence of my connection.
"I never said the contrary." I replied, conceding the point but refusing the deification. "I, Ji-Ae, am here solely to discuss." The shift was deliberate. Scientist to scientist.
"I seek your help, to stop Dad." The starkness of the request hung in the air. No euphemisms. No hiding the target.
She caught the name. "You are asking much Corvis Er—" The correction was immediate, a reinforcement of the identity I needed to project here.
"Corvis Vritra." I said seriously. "And I am not asking anything from you lightly." I softened the demand, injecting the understanding Romulos's memories afforded me.
"I do not want to harm Dad; I love him—I truly do." The admission was raw, painful, utterly sincere. It was the vulnerability I hoped would resonate. "But true love means to know when to stop someone."
"Dad won't be able to avenge the Djinn; he and the Indrath Clan will destroy each other leaving nothing but ashes behind, destroying Alacrya, Dicathen and Epheotus too in the process. Even the Relictombs and the last remnants of the Djinn."
Her question was inevitable, the scientist demanding data. "How can you possess such knowledge?" Ji-Ae asked. Her voice held a tremor, the first crack in her composure. "You come here like you walked through your own home, you knew my name, knew about my High Sovereign's plans and the truth behind the Djinn. How is that possible?"
"You seek a rational explanation to everything." I stated, acknowledging the Djinn paradigm. "My reason to possess such knowledge, however, is not rational. It goes beyond anything you know."
Meta-awareness defied conventional understanding. It wasn't magic; it was knowing.
"And what's that reason?" Ji-Ae obviously asked. The fundamental question.
Now came the leverage, the gamble. "Oh, and I don't get anything in return?" I asked, injecting a note of pragmatic negotiation. "For what matters Dad might burst in from that door any second from now."
I gestured vaguely towards the entrance, heightening the tension.
"You could use the Harvester to gather enough mana to obliterate me from existence." The name drop was deliberate, a calculated detonation.
She probably didn't expect me knowing about the Harvester too, the machine meant to take mana from every Alacryan and use it to bring Epheotus crashing down on the world. Revealing knowledge only she and Agrona should possess shattered her assumptions of control.
The silence stretched, thick with the hum of her crystalline core processing, recalculating.
"What do you want?" Ji-Ae asked after some seconds of pondering—seconds that felt like epochs where probabilities flickered and died. Which for her might have been hours of infinite calculation. The sheer processing power focused on this moment was immense.
I laid out the terms, precise and achievable. "Your help, your help in stopping Dad." I said. Clarifying the scope: "I am not asking to harm him, to do something to his real body,"—another destabilizing revelation, confirming knowledge of Agrona's deepest secret—"or do something to Taegrin Caelum."
"I want you to help me with two things: freeing Lady Dawn from her cell and helping me and the future vessel of the Legacy to flee into the Relictombs." Specific, actionable objectives leveraging her unique access and control.
I could almost feel the whirlwind of calculations—risk assessments, loyalty protocols, vengeance algorithms. Before she could solidify a refusal based on Agrona's primacy, I offered the counter-proposal, the unique bait only I could provide.
"In exchange I offer you another possibility." The words hung, charged. "Not only will you have Dad to be the successor of the Djinn knowledge, but also me." Positioning myself as a second vessel, a second chance. "I will take a part of you, a shard of your consciousness—something completely feasible—"
Romulos's knowledge confirmed the possibility of consciousness partitioning within a Djinn remnant even though I didn't know how he could possess such knowledge.
"Then you will be able to follow me and judge yourself about my worthiness." The ultimate scientific opportunity: firsthand observation of the Thwart. "If you value me as a fraud then you will be able to reconnect with yourself in Taegrin Caelum and tell everything to Dad."
Minimal risk, maximum potential gain for knowledge. An offer she, as a scientist, could scarcely refuse.
It was a gamble yes, but the potential success was too high and Ji-Ae didn't desire my imminent death at least. She saw value in the anomaly. I was at the same time powerless and in power in front of her. Powerless in raw strength within her domain, but wielding the ultimate power: knowledge and the allure of understanding Fate itself.
The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring. Then, the crystalline hum shifted, resolving into a single, clear tone of decision.
"I will do it." She declared.
"Perfect." The word felt inadequate for the magnitude of the agreement forged. "Now where is Dad?"
"I want to spend some time with him." I said. The statement was layered. Part genuine, twisted desire—the Corvis Vritra identity craving paternal connection, the Romulos-infused part needing to observe, to gather intelligence. Part strategic—maintaining the facade, reinforcing the "loyal son" persona before Ji-Ae potentially reported anything anomalous.
Now that I was in Taegrin Caelum I had all the time to indulge in this childish desire to spend time with Dad—the Dad Corvis was so afraid of yet my Vritra part loved so much.
Ji-Ae's response was not a location, but an observation, resonating with a newfound depth of perception, perhaps unlocked by our pact:
"You are not faking." The words echoed, holding a note of something akin to wonder, or perhaps chilling comprehension. "You do really love my High Sovereign."
———
It didn't matter that I recovered my memories and Romulos' personality soothing my fear. That iron core of defiance, that ancient, cynical clarity gifted by my sacrificed brother, was a fortress within. But standing in front of Dad utterly changed me.
The sheer, oppressive weight of his presence, the predatory intelligence masked by paternal warmth, the cool, smooth grey skin, the horns, it all conspired to shrink me down, to strip away the layers of person and strategist and leave only the raw, terrified core.
It made me a scared child afraid of paternal judgement. The fear was primal, a cold serpent coiling in my gut, whispering that any misstep, any flicker of disloyalty, would bring down not just his disappointment, but his terrifying, annihilating wrath.
And the cruelest twist? I was happy of being with Dad. A sickening, traitorous warmth bloomed in my chest despite the fear. This proximity, this semblance of normalcy was a drug I craved.
It was the desperate part of Corvis Eralith, starved for the paternal bond Alduin offered but that grew distant because of the war and was now risking to be erased, overshadowed by this monstrous intimacy.
It was the echo of Romulos's centuries of devotion, resonating painfully within the fused soul. The happiness was real, a fragile, poisonous flower nurtured in the cracks of my fractured self.
"Corvis, dear boy," his voice was a velvet purr, the red eyes fixed on me with unnerving focus, his magic already pondering my thoughts. I felt it, a subtle, invasive pressure against the shielded vaults of my mind.
"What's the reason you were roaming around Taegrin Caelum?" The question was casual, but the probe behind it was not. He was testing my story, my loyalty, the integrity of his mental constructs.
"I wanted to spend some time with you..." I met his gaze, letting the fear show, letting the desperate need for his approval bleed through the carefully constructed Corvis Vritra persona.
"...without thinking about research or war." I said. It was the truth, a terrifyingly deep truth. I craved an escape from the cosmic burdens, the impending betrayals, the weight of saving continents.
I craved the simple, impossible fantasy of just being his son.
I wanted to satisfy the urge for paternal affection and consideration, an urge amplified tenfold by the fusion and the insidious conditioning.
His reaction was unnervingly soft. "That's very sweet from you, my boy." Dad said. He reached across the small table, his cool, smooth fingers briefly brushing my knuckles. The contact sent a jolt through me—part revulsion, part desperate comfort.
Strange, I didn't expect him to react this way. Affection? Indulgence? This didn't fit the image of the ruthless strategist. Was it genuine? Or merely the most effective manipulation?
"Sure," he continued, a smile touching his lips that didn't quite reach his predatory eyes, "want to play a game of Sovereigns' Quarrel? It's a board game made by our people."
Yes, Alacryan version of chess, but with pieces named after the typical roles of the Alacryan army: Striker, Shield, Sentry, Instiller, Caster. What was Dad playing? The question screamed internally. Was this another test? A way to gauge my strategic thinking under the guise of relaxation? Or simply… a game?
No, for a second I didn't want to plot.
The sheer exhaustion of constant vigilance, the seductive pull of the paternal fantasy, washed over me. Even though I was in front of my supposed enemy I still considered him my Dad. Just for this moment, I wanted to be the son playing a game with his father.
We sat down one in front of the other. The board was obsidian and ivory, the pieces intricately carved basalt and alabaster—beautiful, cold artifacts. We started playing.
I never played Sovereigns' Quarrel and even Romulos has never liked it—he found such games tedious, preferring direct action or complex spellcraft.
Moreover the novel has never been so explicit when talking about the game's rules and tactics. I was relying solely on Meta-awareness's intuitive grasp of strategy and the basic principles Romulos knew. My moves were hesitant, learning the nuances of the Sentry's diagonal control, the Instiller's area influence, the Caster's long-range potency.
So imagine how surprised I was when I won the first game. It wasn't a brilliant victory; it felt clumsy, tentative. Dad's pieces seemed to fall into predictable patterns, offering easy captures. I looked up at Dad, searching his face. The red eyes held a mild amusement, perhaps… indulgence?
"Dad," my voice sounded small, uncertain in the vast, echoing chamber, "why have you let me win?"
His reaction was startling. Agrona laughed. A rich, deep sound that echoed off the vaulted ceiling. Not mocking, but genuinely amused.
"Oh, I just wanted to cheer up my dear son," he said, leaning back, the picture of relaxed paternal affection. "Is that such a bad thing?" He asked joking.
The performance was flawless. The warmth, the casual touch, the playful concession—it was a masterclass in manipulation, or perhaps, for a terrifying moment, it felt real. Oh Vritra, he was really good at faking.
The thought was a cold splash of reality. Maybe I could let everything go its way, a treacherous whisper insinuated. Was it so bad to stay in Taegrin Caelum and helping Dad with his projects? The seduction was potent. Safety. Purpose. Paternal approval. The crushing weight of responsibility for Dicathen, the grief for Berna, the fear for Tess... it could all be set aside.
I was feeling happy, the traitorous warmth spreading again. Maybe I was born for this—
No. The denial was a silent roar within the shielded vault. This is not Corvis, nor Romulos talking. This was the insidious residue of Dad's spell, the conditioning worming its way through the cracks in my resolve, amplified by the genuine, twisted love I felt.
It was the cage closing, gilded and comfortable, promising oblivion from the storm outside. I forced a reaction, a semblance of the grateful son.
"Thanks Dad." I said, the words grating. Trying to smile, but it was hard to do—the muscles in my face felt stiff, uncooperative. It was a fake smile.
Taegrin Caelum wasn't exactly the most festive place with its gothic architecture and baroque grandeur. It was a mausoleum of ambition, not a home.
"You don't have to thank me to make me happy, Corvis," Dad said, his voice softening into a tone of paternal wisdom. Oh, was he now even taking the part of the wise Dad? The layers of performance were dizzying.
No wonder he prevented Kezess from striking at him for all these centuries; Agrona Vritra was a jack of all trades.
"I know," I replied, my voice flat, the effort of maintaining the facade already draining me. As we started another game, the atmosphere shifted palpably.
The indulgent father vanished. His moves became sharp, decisive, ruthless. The playful openings of the first game were gone, replaced by complex feints and relentless pressure.
My fledgling understanding of the game was dismantled piece by piece. The second game was a swift, brutal demonstration of his mastery. He easily defeated me. There was no concession this time, only the cold satisfaction of victory in his eyes.
"Corvis," he began, his voice losing its warmth, becoming analytical, the scientist probing his subject, "what do you think it's best for the vessel of the Legacy?" Dad asked as he easily defeated me... he turned serious and now wanted to turn this game to something useful.
The paternal interlude was just that—an interlude. A moment of fake weakness, perhaps, or simply another data point in his assessment of my loyalty and mental state. Now, business resumed.
Of course he would ask something related to his researches. The predictability was almost comforting in its ruthlessness. Agrona hated wasted time, just like Romulos—a trait my brother hadn't passed on to me.
I would prefer tenfold spending a day playing with Tessia like we used to when we were kids than spending it on improvements for the Barbarossa or other projects. But that life, that simplicity, felt galaxies away.
The question hung heavy. A suitable vessel for the Legacy? My mind, despite the exhaustion and the emotional whiplash, snapped into analytical mode, drawing on Meta-awareness, Romulos's insights, and the cold logic required.
The most banal answer would be an Asura, I thought, but obviously that went against Dad's objectives. An Asuran vessel would be too powerful, too independent, potentially uncontrollable.
From his point of view, even if he would have a great control over Cecilia without Nico he lacked the most potent anchor for her. I was the substitute, bound by his manipulations and the threat to my family.
Giving an Asuran body to Cecilia would be counterproductive. Not only could she easily turn against Dad, but Dad himself didn't have in mind to keep Cecilia alongside him for long.
The chilling truth surfaced. He wanted to take the power of the Legacy for himself. To absorb it, to become the ultimate force. Cecilia was just a temporary container.
The thought of taking the Legacy for me surfaced again, a dark, seductive whisper from the depths of the fused psyche. Fueled by Romulos' thirst for new experiences and new interactions with mana. The sheer, terrifying potential, the ability to reshape reality… it wasn't evil per se, but it was dangerous, too dangerous.
The allure of godhood warred with the knowledge of the cost, the corruption it would invite. And even with Ji-Ae's help I needed to fool Dad into thinking he had reincarnated Cecilia for at least a minute before escaping to the Relictombs.
If I took the Legacy for me I wouldn't have time to do that and he would immediately stop all my plans. He would crush me before I could wield a fraction of its power. I didn't have time to get strong enough to defend myself against Dad even with the combination of Meta-awareness and Legacy.
The gulf between us, even with Romulos's knowledge, was still an ocean. There were just too many things Dad could do to stop me.
"Obviously an Asuran body is out of consideration." I said, stating the obvious to buy time, to seem compliant. "And the Legacy is a girl so to avoid useless body dysphoria a girl's body is needed, around the age the Legacy died."
"Eighteen." Dad informed. The age Cecilia was when Grey killed her in the King's Tournament. A life cut short, now a parameter in a monstrous experiment.
"A female lesser around eighteen—older is better than younger—without a Beast Will so from Alacrya is better." I said.
Alacrya didn't have mana beasts strong enough to leave Beast Will, all slaughtered by the Vritra; Dicathen's Beast Wills added unnecessary complication. In canon Tessia's Beast Will helped my sister fighting against Cecilia, but now that wasn't needed.
In fact, a Beast Will along with the Legacy could create too much stress for the future holder of the Legacy.
"I had my eyes on Alacryan girls anyway." Dad said casually, waving a hand dismissively. Like we were speaking about what to eat instead of ruining the life of innocent people.
The remorse was there, a sickening wave for the unknown girl whose life and identity would be erased, but perfectly suppressed and unseen to Dad.
Pushing slightly, testing the boundaries of acceptable suggestion. "A Vritra Blood wouldn't be ideal," I continued.
While I would have much preferred an awakened Vritra Blood—the irony bitter—so that she could use The Legacy to fight against the Basilisks, Dad would never accept that. It would be creating a rival power base within his own ranks.
In canon Agrona was afraid Cecilia would absorb Kiros Vritra's mana for the simple reason he would become powerless against the Legacy's power. That was the power of the Legacy. Even someone like Cecilia if given the right conditions could defeat a monster like Agrona.
"But someone with Vritra Blood that didn't manifest is perfect." A latent carrier, offering potential resilience without awakening risk. "The Legacy doesn't interfere with genetics, only potential so if the body wasn't about to awaken it won't awaken."
"Unless she were to absorb the mana of a pure-blooded Basilisk." A pointed reminder of his own nature and the dangers involved.
He seemed satisfied. "Don't worry about that, your Dad has already a perfect candidate then." He said, a smug finality in his tone.
Did he get what he needed or did he just want to see if I was on the same line of thoughts as him to gauge my loyalty? He revealed nothing.
He stood up. The interview, the game, the assessment—it was over.
"I had fun playing with you, my boy." Dad said. The words hung in the air. I didn't know if he was sincere or not; he was like a closed book to me. "I have some business to take care of," he continued smoothly, "I will wait for you tomorrow in the afternoon in the laboratory."
He made a gesture—imperious, effortless—and immediately two servants arrived, bowing deeply to the High Sovereign. Their movements were precise, silent, utterly subservient. They were tasked to accompany me back to my room, a velvet-gloved escort ensuring no more unsanctioned explorations.
Of course Dad didn't like the fact that I roamed around supposedly to 'search for him.'
Alone in my opulent cell, the heavy door clicking shut behind me, the facade crumbled. I had around twelve hours before the fathomable hour came. Twelve hours until I attempted to steal the greatest weapon from under the nose of the most dangerous being on the continent.
And I still needed a lot of things to do. Secure Ji-Ae's shard. Plan the route to Dawn's cell. Rehearse the escape through the chaotic pathways only Ji-Ae and I knew.
I ignored the feeling of utter physical devastation caused from tiredness. I had practically an Asuran mind now thanks to Romulos, capable of holding vast knowledge, running complex simulations, maintaining intricate deceptions.
But everything else from my bones to my mana core to my brain was still that of a sixteen-year-old elf. A body pushed far beyond its limits, starved of real sleep, ravaged by stress and grief, vibrating with the unnatural energy of adrenaline and desperation.
My hands trembled faintly. A dull ache pulsed behind my eyes. My silver core felt like a guttering candle, strained by the constant vigilance against Agrona's probes and the effort of maintaining the fusion of selves.
I slumped onto the edge of the massive, cold bed, staring at the stained glass depiction of a triumphant basilisk. The vibrant colours seemed garish, mocking. The defiance Romulos gifted me felt like a suit of lead armor—necessary protection, but crushing the fragile frame beneath.
In the end I was only faking to not be a kid. The realization was a cold, brutal truth, settling over me like the fortress's shadow. Faking competence. Faking control. Faking the strength to defy a god.
Desperately fighting against doom and madness.