The next time he opened his eyes, he was back in the alley. Rain fell from a starry night. It had felt like a dream, but no time had passed at all.
When he sat up abruptly, the creature stared, taking a step back in confusion.
Arthur looked around, his heart sinking. His brother was still there, lying broken like a discarded doll. The blood seeping from Tysten's body made his own heart ache. He pushed himself to his feet and walked toward his brother. He didn't realise he had two legs to stand on. He didn't see the steam rising from the newborn flesh of his right arm, the rain hissing as it touched the restored skin. His entire being was focused on one thing.
He turned to the creature, which was still trying to understand what had changed. But in that moment, Arthur felt no fear. Instead, he was filled with a cold, divine pity for the nine-foot beast. It would not survive this night.
As he stood, a burning sensation ignited in his chest. The very air began to waver and shift from the heat he exuded. He walked calmly to his brother's body.
A voice, calm and ancient, spoke in his mind. Arthur. There are three presences here.
He crouched.
Your sister, a budding spark. Your brother...his light gutters out.
His heart clenched.
And a third. In the sky. Watching. Their power is...considerable. Be careful
"Thank you, Brea," he whispered, barely looking up.
He focused on Trysten, the blood, the unnatural angles of his legs, the wounds that made movement impossible. "You can leave the rest to me, Brother" Arthur said, forcing strength into his voice.
He saw the faint, bloody smile on his brother's lips as he took his last breath.
The monster, sensing the birth of something dangerous, attacked while he was unfocused. It slashed at Arthur's neck with the same lightning speed that had taken his leg. The sword screeched to a halt against his skin, unable to penetrate.
The creature frantically tried to force the blade, but it wouldn't budge. Arthur met its struggle with a stare so terrifying the beast faltered. Before it could retreat, Arthur's hand snapped out, grabbing the blade.
It tugged with all its might, but it was nearly impossible to break his grasp. The steel began to hiss and steam in his hand, growing unbearably hot. As the creature winced in pain, Arthur gave a simple, almost lazy flick of his arm,
A shockwave of force tore down the length of the sword. The nine-foot monster was ripped from its feet as if yanked by an invisible giant, its grip on the hilt severed. It flew backwards and crashed into a pile of refuse.
Arthur stood, holding the steaming blade before bursting into flames.
Fire enveloped his entire body, reducing the sword in his hand to nothing. In that moment, he didn't realise, nor did he care. His focus was solely on the eradication of the abomination before him.
The flames around him grew brighter, illuminating the alley in a harsh, golden light. They grew hotter, so intense the monster's skin blistered and blackened if it even drew near. He stood in a crater of char and ash. The monster's instincts were sharp; sensing it couldn't win, it tried to flee.
It was a futile attempt.
Arthur simply raised his flaming hand.
"Burn it all." He whispered.
Fire erupted from his palm. A concentrated river of annihilation that rushed towards the creature. It was a massacre. The thing was vaporised where it stood. The flames didn't stop, carving a hole the size of a small house through the alleyway wall and revealing the main street beyond. Silence fell over the alley, broken only by the patter of rain and the faint crackle of dying embers.
Only when the flames receded did Arthur realise his arm and leg were fully restored. But something else was different. The fire had destroyed his clothing, leaving him naked. His body was no longer his own. His hands were, darker, more tanned. His limbs felt longer, his frame broader. He was taller.
A smug, feminine voice echoed in his mind. "My vessel deserves a body fitting of his heart."
His eyes scanned the carnage, finally spotting a cloak on one of the fallen. He didn't feel right about it, but he had no choice. Whispering a prayer, he removed the garment and wrapped it around his shoulders. The coarse fabric was a sobering weight. A mantle of the sin he would now have to bear.
"Are they still there?" Arthur asked, looking up at the sky.
No. They left as soon as you erased that creature
A being that could fly… The thought was staggering. Why didn't he help? Arthur wondered. Did he find it amusing? He turned back to his brother and lifted him into his arms.
Your sister approaches
He snapped out of his thoughts and reluctantly turned his head toward the alley entrance. Freya was peeking around the corner.
"You shouldn't be here," Arthur said, then stopped. His voice was also different. Deeper. It made Freya jolt, freezing in her tracks.
He saw her take in the tragedy, her small body shaking. When her eyes landed on him, they were full of apprehension, not recognising the stranger standing before her. Then her gaze fell on Trysten in his arms, and her eyes widened with drawing sadness.
Arthur walked toward her. "Is he…?" she asked, tears welling in her eyes. Besides Arthur, Trysten had been the only one she completely trusted. To see him like this broke her heart, and in turn, broke his.
"Our brother is a hero amongst men, Freya," Arthur said, his new voice gentle. "He saved us all."
She was taken aback, confusion written across her teary face. Overwhelmed, Arthur tried to alleviate the tension. He offered a smile, a smile for his brother, a smile to promise her he meant no harm. The same smile that was as bright as the sun.
"What?" he said softly. "You can't recognise your dear 'Artor'?"
The moment she realised it was him, she broke down. As he drew closer, she hugged him, burying her tear-and snot-streaked face in his abdomen.
He heard Brea sulking in his mind about "if she had gotten his new body messy already…". He laughed at her complaint, a wet broken sound. He commended Freya for her bravery, for walking into the terrifying alley to find him.
"I was scared at first," she mumbled into his cloak. "But I closed my eyes and sensed something..it was faint, but I followed it." She then casually changed the subject, inspecting him from head to toe. "...Why is your hair so red?.. And why do you have a mark on your forehead?"
Arthur was speechless. She was a Synchrite. She didn't even know how to sense Flo signatures, but she had done it on instinct. Even he couldn't do that. Was she a genius? He looked down at Trysten. Why hadn't he told anyone he was a Synchrite, too? It didn't matter now, he was gone.
As they said a prayer for the lives lost, Officials finally poured into the alley. He was questioned extensively about the carnage. He told them everything, the creatures, his brother's sacrifice, his encounter with the Phoenix, Brea. Their scepticism didn't fade until he opened his palm, a tiny, obedient flame dancing at its centre. The lead official, a man described as having a face like chiselled stone, finally knelt. "The Phoenix..."he whispered, his professionalism crumbling into something between terror and reverance.
With no prior record of him being a Synchrite, they saw his raw, undeniable potential. An invitation to the Chimera Cross Trials was sent. Though it was framed as a choice, his attendance was mandatory. The Church had recognised not just as a Synch, but a prominent one.
Matthew was never found after the ordeal. The bastard was likely too ashamed to show his face. A cowardly noble would not be treated lightly. A small bitter part of Arthur hoped Matthew was suffering, haunted by the memory of Trysten's sacrifice. The larger part of him just felt the empty space where a brother should have been.
He found his brother's betrothed and broke the news to her. She didn't scream. She just folded in on herself, as if Trysten's death had physically hollowed her out. One of her hands rested unconsciously on her stomach, a gesture that spoke of a secret grief he couldn't even fathom.
"He talked about you constantly," she finally said, her voice ragged. "How he wanted to name his son after the person he thought of so highly." Her grief was a mirror of his own, and in it, he saw his brother's legacy living on.
He was asked to light Trysten's funeral pyre. He accepted, and with Brea's guidance, formed a divine bow and arrow of flame. He heard he awed gasps from the crowd but brushed them off. Soon, his brother's body was gone, leaving nothing but a faint trace of guilt in the air.
His father performed masterfully at the remembrance of the victims who had died that day. His face was a mask of solemn grief for his fallen heir and measured pride for his newly ascended son who avenged them. His eyes, however remained the same throughout, distant and calculating.
His "mother" celebrated her son's status as the Phoenix's avatar, her joy feeling like a hollow performance. The feeling was so alien to Arthur, he didn't recognise the woman. The woman he considered his real mother was long gone. He only felt disgust.
A few days later, the summons came. He was required to go to a special place in Geneeva. He didn't want to leave Freya alone, but he knew that to protect her, to protect everyone, he needed to learn more about Synchrites. He needed to make this power his own.
He told her it was only a short farewell. He told the Church he would only agree if they promised to leave his sister alone. The birth of another Synchrite was like the holy grail to them, but Arthur wouldn't let them use her. He vowed that if they ever touched her, he would burn it all to the ground.
He left with a Church's escort, the title "Rising Sun" feeling less like an honour and more like a weight. The next stop was Geneeva.