Evascir Gigante
While walking the Racines of Zestier, the main streets of New Farethra as the Asclepius called this city, I recorded my thoughts inside a Green Gem—the catalysts of the Gemmancy of my Clan: the Gigante.
The Peridot was warm like the fire mana it resonated with in my hand, a familiar weight that had become a comfort over the centuries. It pulsed with a soft, inner light, ready to receive my words and hold them until they could be delivered to their intended recipient. If he still lived.
Mordain, if you are still alive—if the Lord Legislator's son has not managed to kill you—I would like you to know that Eralith lives.
The thought came unbidden, a prayer more than a message, truth to be told. For centuries, I had carried the weight of Mordain's disappearance, the hollow silence where his instructions used to be.
And yet; now, against all odds, there was hope.
I seal these thoughts in Peridot, for anything that is not Brahman is fragile and will never reach you; yes, Mordain, if these words are reaching you, know that I have not gone crazy: Eralith indeed lives.
The Peridot absorbed these words too, the green stone shimmering with each syllable. It was a ritual I had performed a thousand times over the centuries. However, this time I had news that would shatter the grief that had weighed on my soul for so long.
I have given your plume to Eralith, and he has taken your mantle as Highprince of the Asclepius Clan, bringing the surviving Phoenixes outside our Hearth.
I remembered the moment I had placed the plume in his hands. It was a moment of profound significance, a passing of the torch that I had never thought I would witness.
He had taken your mantle with the same quiet determination that had always defined you, Mordain. The same grace, the same strength.
And no, Eralith has not found the Hearth alone—I know this would be your question, my old friend.
Your curiosity was legendary, Mordain. You always wanted to understand the full picture, to see the threads that connected every event. I could almost hear his voice, pressing for details, demanding to know how this miracle had come to pass.
It was Soleil. She was the only one that returned from your assault at Taegrin Caelum, the first time I saw you truly, truly angry. More than when you felt betrayed by Kezess Indrath, more than when you saw the peaceseekers being erased from Dicathen and the Old World.
The memory of Mordain's rage still burned in my mind.
But how can someone blame you? You already lost your wife, then your son; you could not lose Dawn too because if you lost her, you would not have been yourself anymore.
I paused, the words troublesome in my head.
Apologies, I should tell you about your son. May his accomplishments bring you comfort.
The boy who had died and been reborn, carrying Mordain's legacy forward.
When Eralith first arrived in the Hearth, it was Chul, the Asclepius he first met—without counting Soleil, obviously—and despite me not greeting your heir as I should have (I should not tell you this, but I will not lie to you: I have used my King's Force, afraid of them being an illusion sent by Vritra) already Eralith was changing the Hearth.
The guilt of that moment still gnawed at me. I was so certain that the Vritra had found a way to torment the Hearth with false hope. I had lashed out with my King's Force, a reflex born of centuries of isolation and fear.
Because you see, Mordain, Chul has not taken your disappearance well; he has buried himself to train with Suncrusher for centuries and centuries, never leaving the weapon aside.
Chul. He had been lost to grief, consumed by a fury that had no outlet. He had wielded Suncrusher like a lover, his only companion in the endless solitude of the Hearth. He was a ghost in his own home.
And yet I saw Chul leaving Suncrusher when Eralith arrived.
When Eralith appeared, something in Chul shifted. It was proof that even the most hardened heart could be touched by the promise of something new.
But that is not even the surface of your son's greatness.
I paused, the words forming in my mind as I carefully thought them.
He came to the Hearth accompanied by a Djinn: a Vaultlamp; yes, Mordain, Eralith managed to save a Sage of the peaceseekers and have him as guidance.
Avicenna Artira of Ramdad was a miracle like few others. Eralith succeeded where the Asclepius failed: saving a Djinn.
But that is not all. He also had bonded with a Guardian Bear that was abandoned in the Elshire Forest in Dicathen. You should see how happy that made Lugano.
Lugano had been lonely for so long, starved for the company of his own kind. When Eralith introduced him to Berna, the joy that had flooded through him was overwhelming.
I saw Eralith officialise a marriage in the perfect style of the Asclepius, the words coming natural to him. He has not recovered his memories, but he still remembers many, many things about what being an Asclepius means.
The ceremony had been beautiful. A celebration of life and love in a place that had known only grief.
And another thing: he knows of Hythlodaeus.
The name hung in the hollow space of my mind, heavy with meaning.
I do not know much about the peaceseeker, you and Dawn have always been very, very mysterious about him. But it was clear beyond reason that you two trusted the man.
I had never understood why they were so secretive about Hythlodaeus.
Before Eralith's birth, no one would have doubted that Hythlodaeus was your son.
The thought was bittersweet. Hythlodaeus had been like a son to Mordain.
Eralith said that Hythlodaeus was the master of another lesser, an acquaintance of his. I do not know what to do about that information, only that I wish that Chul might find his father.
Chul's search for his father was a thread that connected him to a past he barely understood. If Hythlodaeus was alive, if there was a chance that Chul could find him, it would be a balm to the boy's wounded soul.
But perhaps you know something, right? You and Dawn have been hiding secrets about Hythlodaeus Knight, of that I am certain. But I trust you, Mordain.
I would share with you my theories, but theories that I have no way of proving are nothing more than playful speculations.
I have reached the Royal Palace of the elves, Mordain. Goodbye.
I clenched my fist around the Peridot I held in my hand, sealing the thoughts I poured inside before shoving it into one of the pockets of my robe.
I walked the stairs leading inside the Royal Palace of New Farethra, the childhood home of Eralith's current life. The architecture a strange blend of elven elegance and the organic curves of the trees—Watchful Willows they were called—that surrounded it.
"Mr. Sartobel, you made it."
Inside, I was greeted by the monarch of the elven kingdom: a tall and dignified elf, Alduin Eralith, the bodyfather of Eralith.
Soul, Body, and Mind: the three great branches of Asuran philosophy. Phoenixes, Sylphs, and Leviathans focused more on the soul. Dragons, Hamadryads, and Pantheons on the body. Titans and Basilisks on the mind.
The thought was a reminder of who I was, of the principles that had guided me for millennia. I was a Titan, a being of mind and craft, and yet here I was, bowing to a king of lesser flesh and lesser blood.
"Your Majesty," I greeted back, bowing my head. "What an honour to have been called here."
"The matter of Sornèvaines is one that I have dearly at heart," King Alduin replied. "Your help in Azellio is truly priceless."
That is the wish of the Highprince, King Alduin, I thought. That is my duty.
"I am flattered," I told him. "Now, may I ask what I can do? You have called for me personally after all, my king."
"Sure," King Alduin replied with a nod. "I would like your help to reform the Verticil, Mr. Sartobel. Our people's religion, while sharing the main principles amongst all elves, is far from being unified like the Darffism of Darv or the Draconsecrate of Sapin."
This might be troubling, I said in my head. My knowledge of the Verticil derived all from Eralith's teachings, the books I was given by the Highprince, and what I heard from Jarnas Auddyr in Azellio.
"My mind is at your service, my king," I said, the words steady despite the uncertainty churning within me.
Oh, Mordain, dealing with religion I am right now. What you and Lady Elenoir hated most in the world.
Alwyn Triscan
I was shopping in the Grand Nectary, the sprawling market Bough of Zestier that always hummed with the energy of commerce and the mingling of races.
Alea had asked me to buy—I took a quick glance at the list she had written for me—pumpkins, eggs, yellow and purple potatoes, apricots, Ginnda's cheese, Ginnda's butter, and cubed bacon.
The list was a small thing, a simple errand, but it felt monumental because Alea had never asked me for anything before. She was always the one giving, the one protecting, the one watching over me from the shadows of her maid's uniform.
Ginnda... Ginnda... I had already heard that name.
Oh, right! It was a city in the Mistmarch of Asyphin, the region where Alea was born and where she lived before coming to Zestier.
I had only heard it in fragments—a mention here, a pause there—never the full story; but the fact that she was cooking something from her hometown made this errand feel a duty as important as the vow to my prince.
My sister had sent me to buy these groceries in the Grand Nectary because she wanted to cook a family recipe.
Winter! She had even asked Lord Elder Virion himself to stop my training for today for this occasion and she had taken a day off from her maid work—a rare occurrence that spoke of the importance of this moment: Alea never took a day off.
She was always working, always moving, always tending to the needs of the Royal Palace and its inhabitants. Today, she was instead choosing to be my sister, it was something I had really, really been wanting for so long.
I was balancing myself on top of my Mirrshield, using a technique similar to what His Highness used with his wand-cane—Wind Surfing, he called it.
Only, I was using earth magic instead. I hadn't given a name to this mode of transportation yet, but I was working hard on it. Lord Elder Virion himself had complimented me about it, saying my control of earth magic was improving by the day.
The sounds of the market were less noisy than usual. In fact, the Grand Nectary was far less crowded than I had ever seen it. I didn't visit much—the commercial Bough of Zestier was not a place I frequented, much less alone—but even I could tell something was different.
The reason for this unusual quietude was obvious to the eyes and ears: there were almost no dwarves. The stalls that usually bustled with their hearty laughter and booming voices were silent, their owners absent. Was there something special about them going on? I didn't know.
"E-excuse me, elder," I greeted a shopkeeper, an old elven woman who was a fruit seller. Her face was lined with age, her eyes kind, her hands gnarled from years of work. "May I have some apricots, please?"
"Sure, sweetie," the elder replied, her voice warm and grandmotherly. "Here."
The shopkeeper gave me five brightly orange fruits, their skin soft and fragrant. I placed them carefully inside the bag I was carrying, making sure they wouldn't bruise. I greeted goodbye and continued my shopping, the weight of the bag a comforting presence at my side.
Continuing to wander from stand to stand, from shop to shop, I noticed something moving between the branches of the Watchful Willows and the windowsills of the upper floors of the shops.
Something was watching over all of the Grand Nectary with great effort: a raven.
It was a bird black as the night itself, with orange eyes that caught the light filtered by the leaves of the Watchful Willows. The most curious detail about this winged creature was that it carried a sharp stick in its beak, which it used to "write down" things on a few leaves the raven kept changing between its talons.
It was writing, I realized. This raven was writing.
What a curious bird, I murmured in my mind. Her Highness would find it interesting; she always had a great love for the animals of the Elshire Forest.
His Highness too, but the difference between the two siblings was that the first often tried to play with them, while my prince respected their boundaries.
The raven turned its head toward me and locked its eyes with mine. A raven who writes—Prince Corvis would love to study it.
I remembered the notebooks he kept about Berna, filled with meticulous observations about every metal he tried to feed her, each entry a testament to his insatiable curiosity. He would truly like to research a raven who writes!
I feigned to continue my shopping, moving from stall to stall with practiced nonchalance, while I always kept an ear and an eye on the raven overseeing the Grand Nectary.
It was meticulous in its work, keeping a strict schedule, never standing above a single spot for more than five minutes. Each time it moved, it was with purpose, its sharp stick scratching across the leaves it carried like a scholar annotating a manuscript.
The sight of it was mesmerizing, a glimpse into a world of intelligence I had never witnessed in a mana beast before.
I bought some Carnceries from a nice fruit vendor, the sweetest cherries of the Elshire Forest. I had heard that some ravens ate cherries, and these were the finest cherries of the Elshire Forest—even Lord Elder Virion had a sweet tooth for them.
Well, actually, it was more like His Highness with apples, the way he savored each bite with quiet contentment. Lord Elder Virion often munched on cherries of all kinds while training me, his sharp eyes watching my form, his gruff voice offering corrections between bites.
As I walked under two large and long branches of two connected Watchful Willows, I saw the raven again.
Perfect. His Highness will love having a raven as a scribe.
My prince often spoke that mana beasts and bonds were the mightiest weapons that Dicathians—and elves in particular—had.
He always used Her Highness as an example, citing Coco and Hoofy, her two beloved pets, and even Froggie, the frog the Princess had kept as a toddler. Each story was a lesson, a glimpse into the bond between elf and beast that he held so dear.
I climbed the Watchful Willow where the raven was currently perched, using my limited plant magic to make sure the tree cooperated with me.
In exchange for mana, the Watchful Willow would help hide my mana signature, wrapping me in a veil of green silence.
I was on the branch in a few seconds, my heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and fear. The raven was still there, watching me with curious orange eyes, its beak scratching across a leaf after it saw me climbing.
Ok, Alwyn, give it a Carncery, I thought, as I took a cherry from my pocket and offered it to the raven.
"Hey," I said, keeping my tone low and making a smile. "I-I would like you to come with me..."
Alwyn, you look like you are pleading with it, I chastised myself, but I couldn't help the hope that surged in my chest.
"This is a Carncery, it is very good," I tried to convince the raven, moving the cherry gently in my hand. "If you come with me to the Royal Palace, I would like you to meet my best friend. He is named Corvis."
Did I just say His Highness's name without any honorific? The realization struck me dumbfounded, but at the mention of my prince, the raven tilted its head to the side and hopped closer.
Its beak came down on the cherry before throwing the berry in the air and catching it again, swallowing it with a satisfied click.
"You like it?" I asked, hope blooming in my chest.
The raven then did something surprising: it nodded! Just like Her Highness's Coco! The thought made my heart soar. His Highness will be thrilled by the news.
When Coco became Her Highness's pet six years ago, my prince studied it nonstop, trying to understand what kind of creature it was. If I could bring him another subject of study, he would be so happy!
The raven hopped closer to me, and I dared to get my hand closer, wanting to pet its little head. Then, the raven leaned on my hand, letting itself be petted.
The warmth of its feathers, the softness of its body, the trust in its gesture—it all flooded me with a quiet joy.
I smiled, the world around me fading into the background, leaving only the small, precious moment of connection between a boy and a bird.
Albold Chaffer
The Wolves Grotto, a B-Class dungeon.
The name alone conjured images of dark dens and feral teeth, but the reality was even more foreboding. I dismounted from the Elenoi Highcolt I was riding, my boots sinking slightly into the dry, cracked earth of this area of the Beast Glades.
The entrance loomed before me—a gaping maw in the side of a low hill, its edges worn smooth by centuries of wind and weather. The dungeon's name suited it well; the grotto yawned open like the throat of some ancient creature, its darkness promising dangers I had not yet faced.
Only a meadow of short, thin grass surrounded me for kilometres, the Elshire Forest and Elenoir far away from this dungeon.
This was a dungeon that belonged to the Adventurer's Guild, which made me as an Unraveler technically an intruder. The thought should have given me pause, but I didn't care.
Altair, the eagle, was perched on my right shoulder, his talons gripping my leather pauldron with an insistence that bordered on possessive. I had tried, I had tried many, many times to make this stupid, stubborn bird obey.
The eagle clung to me like a burr, his sharp eyes fixed on the horizon ahead.
As I tried again to make Altair leave my shoulder, the eagle let out a powerful cry and flapped his wings in protest. The force of it nearly knocked me off balance, and I stumbled, glaring at the bird.
"I am not your perch!" I lamented, but Altair didn't seem able to understand Common Dicathian. He simply stared at me with those unsettling eyes, his head cocked as if mocking my frustration.
How did Corvis even make this bird listen? The decision of the Prince of Elenoir to make the eagle an Unraveler of the Dungeon Crawlers had left me speechless. Yes, it was a smart move, a way to keep the party operative even with Auddyr's departure.
But this eagle was annoying. He watched me with an intelligence that felt almost human, and his silence was more unnerving than any speech.
I took my Courtblade from its sheath as I stepped inside the Wolves Grotto, the blade gleaming in the dim light. The light of the outside world was almost swallowed by the cave's structure, the shadows deepening into an impenetrable blackness.
I made to take out a torch from my storage ring, but Altair flapped his wing on my neck—had he slapped me?!—when his eyes started to glow, creating a sphere of light around us. The illumination was sudden and bright, casting long shadows across the rough-hewn walls of the grotto.
"Oh, so you are useful too?" I snorted at the eagle, my irritation tempered by grudging admiration. "You know, perhaps you could illuminate the path forward?"
The eagle puffed his breast, a gesture of unmistakable pride, but he didn't listen to me. My new plan to make the eagle leave me had failed, and I was beginning to suspect that Altair had his own agenda.
As I continued to walk the cave's main tunnel, the only sounds were the dripping of stalactites and the distant echo of water seeping through stone.
Then, suddenly, I heard a powerful howl—a sound that echoed through the tunnels and set my teeth on edge.
"Heard it?" I asked the eagle, my hand tightening on my Courtblade. "It comes from... below."
I looked down, but at my feet there was only the floor of the cave. Then, more howls, and following them, the screams of people. The sounds were desperate, filled with pain and terror, and they spurred me into action.
I clicked my tongue, and Altair finally moved from my shoulder, flying to the floor. When he landed, he started stomping the ground with one leg, his talons striking the stone with rhythmic insistence.
"Wait, wait, wait," I said, raising my hands. "You want me to break the floor so we can jump on the mana beasts below?"
The eagle nodded. So he understood me, this bird! He just refused to listen.
"You know what? I like your plan," I sighed, gathering mana in my right foot.
The power swirled within me, a familiar warmth that spread through my limbs. Altair copied me, his own small foot glowing with a faint light, and I raised an eyebrow in amusement at the scene.
Then, my loyal Courtblade ready to fight, I stomped. Altair did the same at the same time.
Against my expectations, the floor really came down in one single hit.
The floor crumbled beneath me, and I braced myself, the wind rushing past my face as I began to fall. But as I started to descend, I felt strong talons gripping my sleeve, lifting me just enough to slow my descent.
"Oh, thanks!" I shouted amongst the chaos of the crumbling dungeon.
Altair flew over the large area below, his wings beating powerfully against the falling debris. A large pack of Wolferals—C-Class mana beasts that looked like multi-headed Forest Hounds with no horns—were circling around a group of human Adventurers when the ceiling came down on their heads.
The creatures snarled and snapped, their many heads swiveling in confusion as the dust and rock rained down.
"Brace yourselves!" I shouted at the party of humans below, barely able to distinguish their figures through the dust and debris. "Help is coming! Altair, drop me!"
The eagle, for the first time since Corvis assigned him to me, listened. He released my sleeve, and I dropped onto the back of a large, five-headed creature—the packleader!
I raised my Courtblade high, water mana flowing at its edge, my Waterfencing ready to slay these mana beasts.
The philosophy of Waterfencing was to be one with the water, to move like the current, to strike like the flood.
And so—I rained on the Wolferal.
One, two, three lunges from above hit one of the five heads of the packleader. Each strike was precise, each cut deep, and the creature howled in pain as blood sprayed across the stone.
I heard the Adventurers fighting the rest of the pack around me, their shouts and the clash of steel against claw filling the grotto with a symphony of battle.
Altair flew high above, his eyes glowing as he watched the chaos unfold. I rose from my crouch, the decapitated head of the Wolferal lying by my right, a bloody mess of bone and flesh.
The packleader howled in pain, calling its pack to him, and I felt the thrill of the fight surge through me.
"You don't know what you are missing, Corvis," I said, smiling at the Wolferal as it lunged at me. "And even you, Auddyr."
I rushed at the monster, my Courtblade singing through the air. This was what I was made for. This was where I belonged.