Corvis Eralith
I was Eralith Asclepius now. The thought settled into my chest like something that had been planted long ago and was finally beginning to sprout, like a seed.
I looked at my hands. My wooden hand remained unchanged—the flames of Mordain's plume had not healed flesh, had not restored what I had lost. But they had healed something deeper. My soul.
REtrocurrent flooded my mind with a wave of Insight, lighting the darkness behind my eyes, illuminating the enigma of this plume. This was the memory, the fragment of a father's love, preserved across the centuries, waiting for the moment when his son would need it most.
My soul was healed. I felt the same as before, and yet completely different. The Insight I had gained over the nature of my soul, thanks to Mordain's plume, let me see everything through other eyes.
Through Eralith's eyes. No, not through his eyes, because his eyes were mine. They had always been mine. They were the eyes I had worn in a past life, long ago, before Fate had unraveled and rewoven the threads of his existence.
I passed my left hand over my face and used REmould. But this time, I did not shape myself into Finn Warend, the dwarven boy. I shaped myself into Eralith Asclepius, the Phoenix hybrid—in appearance, at least.
My Soul-Body, the form I usually saw only in the reflection of the river's still waters, now became the body I inhabited.
My hair turned the color of burnt copper, falling in waves around my face. My eyes became bichromatic: one, a greener teal than my usual, deep as the Elshire Forest in spring; the other bright as a flame, orange with hints of yellow, like the heart of a campfire on a winter night.
Then I looked down at my wooden hand, still clunky, still mechanical, still a reminder of what I had lost in Azellio.
"Evascir," I said, finally raising my head to meet the Titan's steady gaze. "You do not have something that might help me with this too, do you?"
"Now you truly look like yourself, milord," Evascir said, and I heard the warmth beneath his stone-like exterior.
I shook my head. "I was myself even before. This is just another side of me."
It was the truth. For Corvis, for Eralith, for Finn, and for every other identity I would embrace in this life—they were all me. Aspects of the Arbiter. Masks worn by the same face, costumes draped over the same soul.
The river did not care what shape I took. Fate did not care what name I used. I was the Justiciar. I was whatever I needed to be.
"So," I said, tilting my head. The gesture felt strange—was I cocking my head like a bird? Once again, REmould revealed itself as an incredibly weird ability. "Can you help me?"
"Asuras do not lose limbs," Evascir explained, his voice steady, patient. "Every injury we take can heal with time, as long as our mana cores remain intact. That is why, despite being creatures of war who have fought each other for millions of years, we did not go extinct. It is also why we do not bear the scars we should. We heal them."
I nodded, absorbing his words. "I do not need a replacement for my hand," I said. "I will build it myself. I just need some tips."
"Of course." Evascir stood and used his magic to interact with the Forge Room. From a system of chains and pulleys that creaked as they moved, a crate descended and landed on the floor with a dead, heavy sound.
I walked toward it without waiting for an invitation. The Titan opened the crate, revealing rows of rectangular green minerals that seemed to glow with their own inner light.
"Malachite," Evascir said. "You know it?"
I nodded. "A branch of Titan magic relies entirely on gems like these," Evascir continued. "We use them to make healing artifacts."
"You think I can use it to make an artificial hand?"
"We will design something together." Evascir's voice shifted—there was something new in it. Something I had not heard before.
"You sound... passionate," I observed. "Eager."
"Yes." The Titan did not deny it. "We Titans yearn for the craft. And it has been an age since I did something with passion."
I smiled. "I am happy to have rekindled your passion, then. But I already have a colleague, and with all due respect, I think he is even better than you."
The Titan frowned. Damn. I should have phrased that better. Corvis, this Eralith is making you too cocky. Remember your place! I chastised myself.
I retrieved Avicenna's Vaultlamp from my storage ring. Evascir coughed.
"The Vaultlamp of a Sage?" he asked.
"Yes." I held the crystalline lamp like an Olympic torch, its blue light casting strange shadows on the walls of the forge. "Meet Avicenna Artira of Ramdad."
'Justiciar, may I ask what is happening?' Avicenna's voice echoed in my mind, patient and curious.
Sorry if I forgot to update you, Avicenna, I said, the guilt sharp in my chest. I was... busy, to say the least.
'Do not apologize, Justiciar.'
"You can speak to him, Eralith?" Evascir asked, his eyes fixed on the Vaultlamp.
"Yes. The reason is... a bit hard to explain." Only those with Djinnic blood could theoretically interact with Djinn Remnants, as I had learned from the novel. Unless you were the Justiciar.
"Wait!" I exclaimed, a sudden thought striking me. "Chul! Chul is a Djinn hybrid! He can speak with Avicenna too!"
Avicenna, I said, using Inner Current to keep my thoughts private. I am going to introduce you to someone.
"Evascir," I ordered, and for once I felt no shame in the command. Was this how Tessia felt every day? Brave and sure of herself? If so, I had not paid my sister nearly enough respect. "Lead me to Chul. We will deal with the malachite later."
"As you wish, milord," Evascir said, and the Forge Room began to reclaim the crate of malachite, swallowing it back into its complex machinery.
"Chul, here you are," I said, walking into the Portal Chamber.
Navigating the Hearth now felt almost familiar. It was as if my healed soul remembered the tunnels and rooms of this sanctuary, as if the paths had been waiting for me to return.
The Portal Chamber was still repairing itself from the damage of our arrival—the Manatech woven into the walls slowly sealing the cracks, smoothing the scars. And at the center of the chamber stood Chul, retrieving a massive weapon that lay half-buried in debris.
It was a battle-axe with the head of a morningstar, its staff thicker than my arm, its metal gleaming gold, but a gold that seemed deeper, richer, more alive than any metal I had ever seen.
It was the kind of weapon that belonged in myths, in legends, in the hands of a hero who could reshape mountains.
Suncrusher; I recognized it from the novel.
"Uncle!" Chul greeted, groaning as he hoisted the weapon back onto his shoulders. The effort made his muscles bulge, sweat beading on his brow. That thing must have weighed a ton to make a mountain like Chul struggle.
"You have changed," he observed, his orange and blue eyes studying me. "You seem more like an Asclepius now."
"I have." I retrieved Avicenna's Vaultlamp again. It pulsed softly in my hand, a steady, reassuring heartbeat.
"What is that?" Chul asked, walking closer, moving carefully under the weight of Suncrusher.
"Are you sure you can carry that?" I asked, concern creeping into my voice.
"This is Suncrusher, Uncle!" Chul's face split into a wide smile, proud and eager. "And yes, I can carry it. I just need to concentrate."
"And this," I said, holding up the Vaultlamp, "is a Vaultlamp. It contains the consciousness of a Djinn. But only people with Djinn blood can interact with it."
I passed the Vaultlamp to Chul. The Phoenix hybrid looked at the crystalline lamp as if it were a treasure beyond measure—which it was. It contained one of the finest minds in history.
Chul dropped Suncrusher. The weapon hit the floor with a deafening crash, cracks spiderwebbing across the pristine stone. How heavy was that thing? Then, with infinite care, he took the Vaultlamp in his hands.
"Avicenna," I said aloud, "I present to you Chul Asclepius. Chul, this is the Sage Avicenna Artira of Ramdad."
"Ehm... Peace to you?" Chul tried, his voice suddenly shy, almost embarrassed. The sound was completely out of place on someone like him.
Was interacting with a Djinn the cause? It must have been. This was the part of his heritage he had never been able to understand, the half of himself that had been a mystery, a void, because all the Djinn were dead.
'Peace to you, Chul Asclepius.' Avicenna's wise voice echoed in my head and, I presumed, in Chul's as well. 'The Justiciar told me about a Djinn hybrid who survives to this day.'
"You mean Uncle?" Chul asked. "But yes! I am that Djinn! Son of Dawn Asclepius and Hythlodaeus Knight!"
"Excuse me, what?" I asked, the name hitting me like a thunderbolt. Rahdeas's "human" master.
The man who had pulled the old dwarf from the Pits of Vildorial and taught him literature and music and the importance of being a father. He was truly a Djinn then!
"Hythlodaeus Knight was my dad, Uncle! The husband of my mot—"
"I know what 'father' means," I sighed, the weight of the word settling between us like a stone dropped into still water. "It was just that I had already heard of Hythlodaeus Knight."
"Avicenna knew of my father?!" Chul's eyes blazed with excitement, his whole massive frame trembling with desperate hope.
'No, Chul Asclepius,' Avicenna answered patiently, his scholar's tone soft but firm. 'In fact, I was asked about Hythlodaeus Knight by the Justiciar himself.'
"There must be a mistake!" Chul's voice cracked, offense bleeding into his words. He didn't like when people spoke about his parents, it seemed—or perhaps he simply couldn't bear the thought that someone might diminish them. "Mother always told me Father was the smartest man she ever met, and she met the greatest minds of Dicathen and Epheotus!"
'I do not doubt it,' Avicenna said. 'It may be that your father was not a Djinn who enjoyed fame. Even among the folk of calm currents, there were those who preferred a life of quietude.'
"Chul, Avicenna means no offense," I said, watching the hybrid's shoulders rise and fall with ragged breath.
"I am sorry," Chul muttered, kicking the floor of the Portal Chamber like a chastised child. "I am just... I am so bad with people. I can be such a jerk at times..."
'There is no need to apologize, Chul Asclepius.'
"But Uncle," Chul pressed, his bicolored eyes searching mine, "how did you know of Father if wise Avicenna did not speak of him to you?"
I hesitated, thinking of Elder Rahdeas—the old dwarf with his one good eye and his mysterious past, the merchant who had built an empire from nothing. "I know him through an acquaintance of mine. He was a student of your father's."
"You know other Djinns?!" Chul's voice rose, hope and fear warring on his face. "There are more Djinns alive?"
I shook my head slowly, glancing behind me to check if Evascir was still there. The Titan stood at the edge of the Portal Chamber, monolithic as a statue, his eyes closed, his face unreadable.
Was he speaking with his Guardian Bear? Lugano—that was his name. We had left him and Berna in the Parliament Theatre, Lugano busy "flirting" with my bond.
"I do not..." I said, returning my focus to Chul. "He is a dwarf. Another race that lives in Dicathen, alongside us elves and the humans."
"How old is this dwarf?" Chul demanded, gripping my shoulders with hands that were far too strong. His fingers dug into my flesh, and I had to stifle a pained gasp. "Please, Uncle, I need to know!"
How old was Elder Rahdeas? Certainly older than Olfred, who was in his sixties. A century, then? Perhaps a little more. "Around a century, I think."
"My father is alive!" Chul's shout echoed through the chamber, bouncing off the ancient walls. Tears welled in his orange and blue eyes, spilling down his cheeks unchecked. "Uncle, you need to take me to this acquaintance of yours! I beg you!"
His grip tightened, and my shoulders screamed in protest. I saw him glance at Evascir, grimacing. He feared the Titan would stop him from leaving the Hearth—and for good reason.
"D-don't worry," I managed, forcing a smile through gritted teeth. "I came here to bring all of you outside. Away from this prison."