Chul Asclepius
Restlessly, I walked one of the lower chambers of the Hearth. The Portal Chamber. It was the least visited place in our sanctuary, the place my brethren avoided the most, the place they pretended did not exist.
The tall Djinnic archway that stood at its center was a reminder of everything we had lost. The outside world. Our home. Our family. Everything and everyone.
The others were too cowardly to even approach this place. They said it brought back memories they could not bear. They said the sight of the portal made them feel the weight of their exile like an excruciating torture.
Evascir... Evascir simply did not care anymore. Not after what happened to Grandfather. The old Titan had withdrawn into himself, spending his days in the deepest forge of the Hearth, hammering metal that would never become anything, shaping stone that would never be used. He was a craftsman without purpose, a guardian without anything left to guard.
As always, just as I had done for the decades since the Clan went to avenge my mother and never returned, I held Suncrusher in my hands.
The great weapon that was once Grandfather Mordain's own.
A mix of morningstar and battle-axe as heavy as the Golden Sun of Epheotus itself—or so Evascir had always said, but I had never been to Epheotus.
And it was that weight that let me pass my days. My weeks, my months and my years. The ache in my muscles, the strain in my core, the burn in my lungs—they were the only things that reminded me I was still alive. Still waiting for someone to return.
I roared as I hoisted Suncrusher over my shoulders.
The effort was immense—every time, it was immense. My arms shook. My back screamed. My mana core, that defective, useless thing, throbbed with the strain of channeling more power than it could comfortably hold.
But I did not stop and with a groan coming from the deepest of my heart I let it go.
Suncrusher crashed against the floor of the Portal Chamber like a meteor falling from the sky. The impact was devastating: a shockwave that reverberated across the entire chamber, sending cracks spiderwebbing across the intricate, pristine floor.
The sound of it was deafening, a roar that swallowed all other sound, that filled the empty space with violence and fury.
But the floor began to mend immediately. The Manatech of the folk of calm currents—the ancient magic that permitted the existence of the Hearth—flowed through the stone like blood through veins.
The magic that filled the atmosphere, thanks to the Asclepius who had lived here for millennia, repaired all the damage I had dealt. The cracks sealed. The dust settled. The floor was whole again.
"Once... more..." I breathed, feeling the fatigue gnawing at my muscles. The magical exhaustion ravaged my core, leaving it hollow and aching.
Yet I wouldn't relent.
Damned, damned defective mana core! I cried inwardly, clenching my fists around the golden shaft of Suncrusher.
My teeth ground together, the pressure sending spikes of pain through my jaw. I was of the Asclepius. The most radiant Clan of Phoenixes. I was of the warmest nest! My grandfather was Mordain Asclepius. My mother was Dawn Asclepius.
And yet—and yet—mana, the birthright of all Asuras from weakest to strongest, did not obey me as it should have. It came to me in trickles when it should have come in floods.
It answered my calls with hesitance when it should have leaped to my command. I was a Phoenix who could barely fly. A warrior who could barely lift his weapon. A Djinn who had failed to bring some Peace.
I dried my sweat and readied myself to wield Suncrusher again.
If I had learned anything across all these years of captivity, it was this: whenever your mind wavered, you had to hit harder. Whenever the doubt crept in, you had to swing again.
Whenever the grief threatened to swallow you whole, you had to find something—anything—to break.
In my case, I had to wield Suncrusher even if lifting it made my whole body ache. And with it, I had to hit hard. The floor. The walls. Anything. It did not matter what, only that I hit. And hit. And hit.
"Aaargh!" I screamed. Mana—the little I could use—circulated through my body, strengthening my limbs, sharpening my focus. I threw Suncrusher.
The great golden morningstar flew across the Portal Chamber. It spun through the air, its spiked head gleaming in the dim light, its shaft trailing behind it like a comet's tail. Toward the portal.
"No!" I shouted.
What have you done, Chul?! I screamed inwardly, already running, already reaching, already desperate. If Mother or Grandfather or anyone else ever came back, it would be through that portal! It was the only connection we had to the outside world, the only thread linking us to the family we had lost.
If I destroyed it, I would be destroying their only way home.
I ran as fast as I could, chasing Suncrusher, but time seemed to slow to an infuriating crawl. Every step was a struggle. Every heartbeat was an eternity. I saw the cluster of spikes mounted on top of Suncrusher's shaft graze one of the pillars of the portal. I saw the stone crack. I saw the damage begin to spread.
And then—
A blinding light erupted, filling the portal's frame.
It was active! The portal was waking, the ancient magic stirring after centuries of slumber. But even as the light grew, even as hope surged in my chest, the portal was cut in two.
The frame collapsed on itself, stone crumbling, light fading, as Suncrusher's flight proved unstoppable.
"Mother! Everyone!" I shouted, reaching toward the dust cloud that rose from the crashing site. My voice was raw, desperate, stripped of all pretense.
For the first time in centuries, I forgot about Suncrusher. I forgot about my training, my duty, my endless, pointless repetitions. My attention was fixed on whoever had come through the portal before it collapsed.
Please, please, please, Mother! I cried inwardly, drying the tears that spilled from my eyes. I could not show myself vulnerable. I was of the warmest nest. I was the last of my line. I had to be strong.
"Milord!" A familiar voice I haven't heard since I was barely able to talk—Soleil's voice—shouted through the dust and the chaos. It was followed by the unmistakable growl of a Guardian Bear.
Not Lugano's—this growl was different. Younger and more feminine.
I moved my hands to dispel the dust and the flames, but before I could, a powerful wing—the wing of a Phoenix in their true form—swept through the chaos.
The wind it generated cleared the air, dispersing the debris, giving the Manatech of the Hearth time to repair the damage I had foolishly caused.
And then I saw them.
First, above all, was Soleil in her Real Physique. She was majestic. Artistic, even in her Dharmakaya.
The medic of the Asclepius looked like a rainbow given winged and beaked form, covered in scarlet-red plumage that formed a sleek, elegant shape.
Her chest and underbelly were a pure white, stark in contrast with the fiery red of her feathers. Along the edges of her vast wings, the feathers transitioned from red to white, tipped with bright green.
Her head was crowned by an ornate golden crest, composed of several thick, curled plumes in the shape of a diadem.
Her wing was protectively curled near the area where Suncrusher had impacted. And by her side, a Guardian Bear—slightly shorter than Lugano, with bright green eyes—was clearing herself from the debris of the portal.
She shook her fur, sending dust and stone chips flying, and growled softly.
"Milord!" Soleil cried, one of her crimson eyes landing on me. "Chul! Help me! Lord Eralith needs help!"
Lord Eralith? I shook away the confusion. There was no time for questions. I moved toward the debris, but the Guardian Bear growled at me—a low, warning sound that stopped me in my tracks. I took a step back, raising my hands in surrender.
Evascir had taught me that Guardian Bears were the most stubborn creatures in the world when the safety of their bonds was in question. More stubborn than even me, he had said.
"Berna, he is a friend," Soleil said, her voice gentle, coaxing. The Guardian Bear—Berna—hesitated, her green eyes flicking between me and the bundle beneath Soleil's wing.
Then I heard muffled sounds. The voice of a child, trying to say something.
Soleil raised her wing, and a boy gasped for air. Gunmetal hair. Pointed ears. Teal eyes. He was young—very young—barely past infancy by the look of it.
A child, lost and confused, blinking against the light of the Portal Chamber.
"You were suffocating me, Soleil!" the boy cried, coughing. "Was there a need to use your Dharmakaya?!"
Soleil looked away, her crest feathers drooping slightly. "I missed my true form a great deal... apologies, Lord Eralith."
Lord Eralith? I stared at the boy. This scrawny kid—with his wooden hand, his too-pale skin, his eyes that held too much weight for someone so young—was the one Soleil called Lord... Eralith? I turned up my nose, trying to hide my confusion.
Don't think too much about it, Chul. There will be time for questions later.
"Hey, hi!" I said, crouching in front of the boy. I tried to smile, but it felt strange on my face. I had not smiled in a long time. "I'm Chul."
Soleil strutted to the side, her massive form shifting, her feathers brushing against the walls of the chamber. "This is Chul, milord. He is—"
"Lady Dawn's son," the boy interrupted. "I know."
My eyes widened. He mentioned my mother. And in that moment, something within me stirred—something I had not felt in decades.
My Phoenix instincts, muted compared to my brethren because of my hybrid nature, flared like the hottest of flames. The boy was a reincarnated soul. And his soul, his soul screamed Phoenix.
He was family. He was one of us.
The boy—Eralith, Corvis, whatever his name was—stood up and brushed himself off. His Guardian Bear licked dust from his face, her tongue rough and affectionate.
"Not now, Berna," the boy complained, pushing her snout away with both hands. His wooden hand creaked with the effort.
He turned to me, raised his hand, and offered it. I looked at it from upside down, confused. What was he doing? I blinked, realizing suddenly that he was very short. He barely reached my torso.
"Milord, handshakes are not a very common tradition between Phoenixes," Soleil said.
"You wanted to shake my hand?" I asked, surprised. I had never heard of such a custom. But I accepted anyway, gripping his small hand in mine. I squeezed—perhaps too hard—and the boy flinched.
"I-it hurts, Chul," he said, his eyes narrowing from the pain.
I immediately retreated my hand, my face flushing with embarrassment. "Sorry..."
"This is pretty embarrassing," the boy said with a sigh. He shook his head, as if dismissing the awkwardness, and looked up at me with those too-old teal eyes. "Anyway, my name is Corvis Eralith. You may know me as Eralith Asclepius. I am both." He paused, letting the words settle. "I have come to help the Hearth. And for that, Chul, I need your help."
I blinked. He was very straightforward. I liked it.
"Help for what?" I asked, leaning forward, my interest piqued.
"To break the isolationism of the Clan, of course," Corvis said.
A huge smile spread across my face. The first real smile in years. The first hope in decades.