Corvis Vritra
Immediately, the sterile chill of the hallway vanished, replaced by a wall of thick, wet heat that slapped against my skin like a warm towel. The air itself felt heavy, viscous, clinging to my lungs with each breath. We stood at the precipice of a transformation.
Before us stretched a cavernous expanse, but one utterly consumed by life—a life alien and unsettlingly beautiful. .
Towering trees, their bark a stark, luminous white like bleached bone, erupted from every conceivable surface—the floor, the distant walls curving upwards, even the vast, vaulted ceiling high above. Their roots snaked over stone like pale serpents, and their branches, thick as ancient pillars, wove a dense canopy overhead.
It wasn't leaves that shaded this world, but a profusion of enormous, heart-shaped fronds in a deep, velvety purple, layered so thickly they blotted out any sense of the cavern roof beyond. Light filtered through in dappled, amethyst shafts, casting long, shifting shadows and painting the humid air itself with a faint violet haze.
The scent was overwhelming—damp earth, rich decay, and the cloying sweetness of unseen blossoms, mixed with a mineral tang of deep stone. Water dripped constantly from the purple canopy, pattering onto broad leaves below or collecting in unseen pools, adding a rhythmic counterpoint to the profound, watchful silence.
"A jungle zone?" Caera breathed beside me, her crimson eyes wide as she scanned the surreal vista. The oppressive humidity already plastered strands of her dark hair to her temples. She turned to me, a flicker of wryness touching her lips despite the tension thrumming beneath her calm facade.
"So then, my exceptionally knowledgeable companion," she murmured, her voice low but carrying clearly in the thick air. "Enlighten me. What fresh horrors await us amidst the pretty purple leaves?"
A smirk tugged unconsciously at the corner of my mouth. Her jokes weren't elaborate, often dry observations delivered with that characteristic, slightly haughty poise, yet they possessed an uncanny ability to slice through the simmering dread that was our constant companion.
"Horrors might be overstating it... initially," I conceded, keeping my voice equally low. "There are creatures here. Small, simian things—monkeys, I call them. Agile, mostly curious. And... bubbles."
I gestured towards the canopy where, sure enough, large, shimmering spheres of water, seemingly defying gravity, drifted lazily between the purple fronds, reflecting the violet light like liquid amethysts.
"Floating water. There are also fruits." I pointed towards clusters of pear-shaped, opalescent globes nestled high in the branches.
"Monkeys?" Caera echoed, curiosity momentarily overriding caution. "They sound... almost quaint. Less monstrous than the usual Relictombs fare." She squinted upwards, trying to spot one.
"True," I agreed, the smirk fading as I scanned the dense undergrowth beneath the colossal white trunks. Shadows pooled there, deep and impenetrable. "But the real reason for the silence is larger. Much larger. A giant millipede. Think armored segments longer than a corridor, mandibles that could shear through stone... and it finds the vibrations of noise... irresistible."
Caera's head snapped back towards me, her eyes narrowing, the playful glint replaced by sharp reproach. "And shouldn't you have started with that particular detail?!" she hissed, her voice barely a breath now, every muscle tensed as if the beast might erupt from the nearest thicket.
"Oh, nicely done, my man! Building suspense!" Leon chimed in, his spectral form shimmering with amusement near my shoulder. "Classic dramatic pacing. Though perhaps a tad reckless?"
"We need utter silence," I stated, ignoring Leon. The memory of Arthur's desperate fight with that monstrous arthropod was vivid. "Sound is the trigger for that millipede."
Focusing inward, I drew on my white core. Mana flowed, cool and potent, weaving into intricate patterns of wind and vibration. A subtle shimmering field, barely visible, coalesced around us—a sound-dampening barrier designed not just to muffle our footsteps, but to absorb the minute vibrations our very presence created. It was a delicate spell, demanding constant focus.
"Mana alone might not fully cloak us from something attuned to aether," I whispered, the words barely forming sound within the barrier, "but it will help."
This was also the zone. The place where Sevren Denoir, in the novel, had met his end. The thought was a cold stone in my gut. I shook my head sharply, banishing the phantom narrative. Focus. This is now. This is Caera.
I gestured forward. Caera nodded, her expression grimly determined. We moved like ghosts through the violet-tinted gloom, stepping carefully over gnarled white roots slick with condensation, avoiding the larger puddles formed by the constant dripping.
The silence was profound, broken only by the soft plink-plink of falling water droplets and the distant, skittering rustle of unseen small things in the undergrowth.
After a few tense minutes, I felt a subtle shift in the mana field around us. Glancing at Caera, I saw her brow furrowed in concentration, her crimson eyes fixed on the space ahead.
With surprising deftness for someone unfamiliar with wind manipulation, she layered a second shield over mine. Hers was visible as a faint, shimmering dome tinged with emerald green, focused on absorbing ambient sound—the rustle of our clothes, the soft squelch of damp moss underfoot.
It meshed seamlessly with my vibration-dampening field, creating a near-perfect pocket of silence.
"I think... like this, it might suffice," she murmured, the sound contained entirely within our bubble.
"I think so," I whispered back, relief mingling with admiration for her instinctive grasp of mana control. Pointing upwards towards a tangle of branches near the cavern wall, I indicated a small, furry creature.
It had sleek, greyish fur and two long, prehensile tails it used to anchor itself as it nibbled intently on one of the opalescent fruits. Its large, dark eyes were fixed on its meal, utterly oblivious to our presence directly below.
"See? It hasn't noticed us."
Caera followed my gaze, a flicker of fascination crossing her face. "Do you think those fruits are... edible?" she asked, the practical concern cutting through the tension. "They look substantial."
"Are you hungry?" I turned fully to look at her. A faint flush crept up her neck, visible even in the dim violet light.
"We woke up both injured and feverish," she stated, her voice regaining a pragmatic tone, though a hint of defensiveness remained.
"You lost your mana core entirely, then I expended significant energy repairing it. Then we fought our way through an army of stone nightmares. And now we are walking through an environmental hazard. Basic needs haven't been suspended, Corvis." She crossed her arms, a slight, unconscious pout touching her lips. It was an unexpectedly vulnerable gesture.
"Your lady speaks truth, boss," Leon interjected, his tone unusually serious beneath the usual levity. "That magnificent Asuran intellect of yours might dismiss the needs of the vessel, but the vessel tires. It hungers. It needs fuel. We are similar in that, Corvis we care about the people carrying the burdens."
Being the voice of reason doesn't suit you, I shot back mentally, a flicker of Romulos' haughtiness surfacing. Stick to commentary.
"Ah, but I aspire to guide you towards a romantic jungle picnic!" Leon countered, undeterred. "Quite the setting for a first date, wouldn't you say? Moody lighting, exotic flora, the constant threat of dismemberment... truly memorable! But seriously," his tone shifted again, "recklessness with your own needs isn't strength. It's stupidity. We are similar. We see the bigger picture, but forget the feet standing on the ground."
He was right. The cold, analytical perspective Romulos had ingrained in me often overrode the simple, animal needs of this fragile elven body. It was a dangerous blind spot. Fine.
"Let's find somewhere defensible," I conceded aloud to Caera.
It didn't take long. Nestled between the massive bole of one white giant and a cluster of thick, intertwined roots forming a natural palisade, we found a small, sheltered hollow. Moss, a startlingly vibrant green against the white bark, carpeted the ground.
It was damp but relatively dry under the dense canopy overhead, offering concealment and a modicum of security. The heavy, humid air felt slightly less oppressive here, trapped in this miniature green fortress.
Caera sank onto a mossy root with a soft sigh, the tension in her shoulders easing minutely. "If this were a normal Ascent," she murmured, gazing longingly at the fruit-laden branches high above, "I'd have packed rations. Dried meats, journeybread, maybe even a portable heating rune... proper supplies, maybe even something sugary."
"We can improvise," I said, keeping my senses extended, listening for any shift in the jungle's rhythm—the telltale scrape of chitinous plates, the vibration of heavy steps. "Priority is remaining undetected by our multi-legged neighbor."
Caera leaned back against the smooth white bark, tilting her head to look up through the layers of purple leaves. The dappled violet light played across her face, softening her features.
"You seem... surprisingly at ease here, Corvis," she observed, her voice thoughtful. "Not just alert. There's a... familiarity?"
The observation caught me off guard. Was I? I let my gaze drift over the impossible jungle—the white bones of the trees, the alien purple canopy, the heavy, living air. It wasn't the Elshire Forest.
It lacked the ancient, wise tranquility of the elven forests, the dappled sunlight through emerald leaves, the scent of pine and loam.
This was primal, humid, dangerous. Yet... beneath the surrealism, the fundamental essence was the same. The green embrace. The hidden life. The sanctuary found beneath branches.
"Me and my twin sister," I found myself saying, the words emerging before I could censor them, laced with a nostalgia that surprised me with its intensity.
"Tessia... we spent countless hours in the forests near home. Picnics mostly, when we were children. She loved them."
A vivid memory surfaced: Tessia, seven years old, her silver hair catching sunlight, triumphantly presenting a slightly squished berry tart she'd 'secretly' packed, her smile brighter than the forest glade.
"While this..." I gestured around, "...is fundamentally different, hostile even... the feeling of being beneath trees, surrounded by this... quiet weight... it echoes." The ache for home, for Tessia's fierce, uncomplicated love, was a sudden, physical pang.
"Your sister?" Caera asked softly, her crimson eyes studying me with a new curiosity. Then, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips. "To be the son of the High Sovereign... you possess a surprising softness, Corvis Vritra."
The comment, meant perhaps lightly, struck a nerve far deeper than she could know.
"Tessia," I repeated, the name thick in my throat, "she is the reason I didn't drown in the first five years of my life."
The admission was raw, ripped from a place I rarely visited. The suffocating self-loathing, the paralyzing fear, the pathetic weakness of Corvis Eralith—a self I despised with a virulence that not even Romulos' integrated strength could fully erase.
But actually... I still hated myself, for the betrayal of the father I thought I loved... Agrona's shadow, wearing Romulos' father's face... the self-hatred for aligning with him, even naively... it was a toxic morass Romulos had armored, but never drained.
Punishment awaited. After the war. After safety. After fulfilling the debt I owed the world.
"Corvis..." Leon's voice was uncharacteristically gentle, a soft hum in my mind. "You want to talk about it? The weight you carry... it's immense. Even for an Asuran mind."
No. The refusal was immediate, instinctive, a slammed door. Leon wasn't the Thwart. He couldn't be. Romulos and I... we were jagged pieces, a brilliant, monolithic soul fused with a wretched, struggling imitation. Leon's empathy felt like an intrusion, a spotlight on the fractures I desperately tried to seal. No.
The suffocating humidity, the memories, the weight of unspoken failures—it pressed down. I must have closed my eyes, or perhaps the bleakness showed on my face. I didn't see her move.
One moment I was lost in the grey chasm of my thoughts; the next, warmth enveloped me. Arms, surprisingly strong, wrapped around my shoulders from the side. Caera.
I stiffened, eyes snapping open in surprise. "Caera?"
"You seemed... adrift," she said simply, her voice a low murmur near my ear. She didn't squeeze tightly, like Tessia's exuberant, bone-crushing hugs.
It wasn't the fierce, protective embrace Berna used, nor the tender, encompassing warmth of my mother's, nor even the distant, yet grounding weight of Romulos' faint memory of his father's approval.
Caera's embrace was different. It was a shelter offered. A presence. Like the strong fence along a treacherous path—you knew it was there, solid and reliable, not to cage you, but to prevent you from falling into the abyss yawning just beside you.
In this case, the abyss of my own relentless self-recrimination. It was practical comfort, devoid of overwhelming sentiment, yet profoundly stabilizing.
"Thanks, Caera," I managed, my voice slightly rough.
After a moment, she released me, stepping back, her expression calm, watchful, offering no explanation beyond the act itself. The sudden warmth lingered, a tangible anchor against the oppressive jungle and the chill of my thoughts.
I pushed myself up from the mossy root. The immediate needs reasserted themselves—hunger, vigilance, survival. The emotional tempest could wait.
"Let's find something to eat," I said, forcing a semblance of normalcy into my tone.