Thank you to my beta reader and editor, GlassThreads!
Arthur Leywin
Xyrus City was falling out of the sky.
That sounded like a cause for great concern, and it certainly was. From my sense of the ambient aether—heightened since I'd embraced Dusk's Claim—I could feel the weave of spatial fabric that kept the dozen-mile-wide hunk of rock floating in the sky. But since the Second Dawn, since the countless streams of screaming aether had lit the world up like another Aurora Constellate and the utter wash of power Toren Daen had radiated, something in that weave had been burned away, too.
So the city was falling. Inexorably, unhaltingly, unceasingly, it fell, the ground harkening to what had defied its grip for so very long. I wondered if the earth mana would gladly welcome the ancient djinni craft when it finally nestled low once more, or if it would continue on, stubborn as ever and uncaring of the new addition to its all-encompassing body?
Strange, the ways I personify the ground now, I thought to myself, striding through the streets of Xyrus, my head held high. Dusk's Claim didn't reflect the light of the slowly setting sun on the far western horizon. I had not mantled its purpose, and so the spears of brilliant amethyst that made the spires of my crown and the gemstones of all four elements were distant.
All around me, people stopped in their labor. Craftsmen hammering shingles to rooves devastated by the many battles, earth mages conjuring scaffolds for workers around decimated houses, water conjurers washing away debris toward contingents of burly, muscled dwarves, and the uniformed squadrons of manalock musketeers that patrolled the streets. As my retinue strode through the streets of the city, all halted in their work, at least for a moment, to give a salute. A smile, a grateful nod, a reserved flare of resolve in their eyes. The mana echoed with their resolve.
Xyrus City had been tested like no other city I'd ever known. A staggering number of the population suffered psychological symptoms and damage in the aftermath of the Second Dawn, the sheer concentration of mana and aether putting far, far too many people into unconsciousness and death from heart attack at worst. For so many at the epicenter of the tragedy, the world must have felt like it was falling down. Falling apart. They'd look at their city, which was once the home of great magics, and say that it was falling. It was doomed to crash into the earth.
Xyrus was falling, true. But slowly; around a foot every day, by Artificer Gideon's grumbling estimates. And with the teleportation gates blown to the aether by the ritual spell, the ailing citizens of Sapin's eminent magical city were effectively stranded on the rock as it coasted down like a gentle feather.
That was not to say, however, that the city was doomed. As the weeks plodded on, refusing to halt even for those of us who needed to grieve, the Triunion Council had done its best to make things better in the aftermath. And even as people still struggled to come to terms with how the world changed, their leaders worked toward the future.
I nodded slightly to a marching squadron of manalock musketeers as they saluted, visions of armed soldiers from my previous life flashing in the back of my mind. But these men… they were different. Not the bringers of war and death of my previous life, standing only for my terrible conquests. With their guns held in the crooks of their arms, nestled with surety and trained with precision, these fighting men represented resistance against those who would trample them without care.
I smirked slightly as I noticed the captain of this squad, standing tall and proud at the head of his own unit. The musket he carried was unlike the others: wider and more cumbersome than the rest, the barrel looking more like the wide nozzle of a shotgun rather than a conventional rifle. Clearly, it had been modified for different ammunition than the rest of the uniformed squadmembers.
Stannard Berwick, former member of Tess' Trailblazer Division, smirked back at me, confident in the position he'd earned. I wondered how much of a hassle it had been integrating his unique beast core magics into his modified rifle.
Whenever I walked, I was never alone. A revolving retinue of figures and people critical to Dicathen's unity and war effort were almost always by my side whenever I made a public appearance. Today, I was accompanied by representatives of Sapin.
On my right, Blaine Glayder was the picture of a perfect councilman. With his hair groomed into a measure of the mane it had once been, his clothes neat and tidy, one would never suspect this was the same man I'd seen in a drunken stupor in the council rooms. Deep down, though, I knew he was still tired.
Trodius Flamesworth only limped slightly. A simple theater mask, strangely reminiscent of the featureless mask I'd worn as Note during my time adventuring as a child, covered the ugly burns that had seared away his hair and disfigured his face. The noble's orderly garrisons of blade wing riders had been critical in the initial delivery of supplies and aid to this falling city, and I could not deny his assistance.
I had a particular destination in mind as the three of us, accompanied by a marching platoon of manalock musketeers and battle-hardened mages, strolled through the streets. Towering high, high, high above every building in this war-torn city, a mighty tree stood testament to Dicathen's victory.
Tess' last-ditch use of Willow's life-creating powers had made an oak fit to be called a World Tree. Having bathed in a deluge of aether and mana during the Second Dawn, the life-giving tree had morphed and grown even further, mutating as its roots dug deeper and deeper into the foundations of the mighty city. I could feel it in the ambient aether as the roots wove through, meshing with the djinn's old creation, bringing it new life…
"King Leywin!" a scraggly, familiar voice called, breaking me from my concentration. "Thank the asura I found you!"
I halted in my procession, blinking as I fell away from my concentration. Gideon Bastius, resident Master Artificer of Dicathen and all-around genius, was stumbling toward me, a few scientists and assistants crying out in surprise behind him. The man's frizzy hair was blown in all directions, a few embers lingering in his strands. His lab coat had a dozen blackened holes in it, evidence of some sort of experiment he'd been working on. A maddened glint was in his eyes as he finally reached us.
"Oh, Wonderking, you have no idea how good it is to see you!" he said, utterly ignoring the bowing assistants behind him. At my side, Blaine sighed in resignation, far more accustomed to Gideon's eccentricities, while Trodius' nose wrinkled slightly as he noticed the utter disarray of the mad inventor.
I absently waved my hand, enveloping our group in a subtle wind barrier that would block out sound. I felt a bit of anticipation in my chest, hoping against hope at the news that my lead scientist would bring. "Hello to you too, Gideon," I said dryly, an eyebrow raised at the man's consistent lack of decorum. "Considering Emily's running to try and keep up with you, there are even more holes in your lab coat, and you're looking especially insane, I'd say you probably have good news for me?"
Gideon's hands shot up in a frenzy. "Insane? Wonderboy, I'm perfectly sane! I'm the only sane man alive! It's everyone else who refuses to make sense!"
I snorted in amusement. Perhaps there was a measure of truth to that. "Give me a brief report, Artificer Bastius. I'm on a schedule today."
The artificer grumbled, running hands through his hair. I belatedly noticed he'd lost his eyebrows again. "Whatever, whatever. Well, you'll be happy to know that the "train" from Blackbend to the Wall is fully operational. It's been performing marvelously in delivering materials and equipment back and forth. I think funding for future operations would be a good idea."
I nodded slowly. I'd been informed that my original idea for what Gideon had stupidly wanted to call a "landship" was finally operational. An underground railway now ran from the Wall to Blackbend, cementing a supply line of hunted beasts, war materials, and weapons to one of Dicathen's most critical cities.
"You'll receive the funding and manpower to continue soon," I said, my chin held high. Considering that I expected the next Alacryan assault to be an aquatic one near Etistin mixed with more direct use of tempus warps, it was critical to create supply lines that weren't easily severed by simply blocking a teleportation gate. "And in regards to the tempus warp retrieved from Viessa Vritra?"
Emily Watsken, Gideon's just-as-genius assistant, finally arrived in a huff, her glasses askew and her green hair mussed by her frantic run. She opened her mouth as she looked at me, her eyes wide, but then had to double over to gasp for breath. That earned a slight smirk from me, at least.
Gideon coughed nervously, his eyes flicking to Blaine and Trodius, then back to me. He suddenly seemed less enthused. "Haven't made progress on reverse engineering it, unfortunately," he said, sounding almost ashamed. "But from what we've gotten out of the Alacryan weasels about their Instillers' wards and your brilliant insight into aether or whatever you call it, I've managed to make a prototype device that can disrupt a tempus warp's attempt to teleport. A bounded field that interferes with the mana-based tracking signature using a bit of spilled blood—genius, really!"
Blaine stepped forward abruptly, his shoulders squaring as his maroon hair seemed to flare like a lion rearing its mane. "Gideon," he said sharply, his gravelly voice sounding strong once more, "are you telling me that we have a way to stop the Alacryan bastards from just teleporting across our continent?"
The former human king had been one of the most burdened by the massacres that had been perpetuated across Sapin, all because we had no way to detect or stop the use of tempus warps. But now…
Gideon blinked, looking at Blaine as if he just realized he existed. "Well, no shit, that's what I just said," he said, entirely uncaring of the once-king's station. "But the materials are expensive as hell, and I haven't figured out how to scale it up to cover an entire city. And I don't know what it would do to existing portal frames, either! It's all cursory and untested."
I restrained the urge to smile ear to ear. One of our continent's greatest weak points was our vulnerability to tempus warps and their innumerable, unpredictable effects. But with this burgeoning technology…
"Good work, Gideon," I complimented, feeling assured once more of our progress. "Continue as you were. You'll be handsomely rewarded."
Gideon's eyes narrowed. "The only thing I want is to be able to pry open that skull of yours and see where you're getting all these crazy ideas," he grunted, pointing at the crown on my head. "It's infuriating how much there is to learn!"
I nodded with slight amusement. I had a few ideas for what I'd provide the artificer next when it came to research and development. I didn't know the ins and outs of engineering and technology, not like Nico did. But I knew enough about the science of my old world to give someone with true intellect a head start, pointing them in the right direction. "Don't worry," I said with a slightly resigned smile, thoughts of my oldest friend souring my mood. Reminding me of what was to come tonight. "You'll have your fair share of knowledge to chew through."
Emily finally caught her breath, making herself tidy as she bowed profusely to Blaine and me. "King Leywin, Lord Glayder," she pushed out, glaring out of the side of her eye at her mentor for leaving her behind. "It's a bit of a side note, but the cannonry project has been progressing as expected. Our current models can effectively put down A-class mana beasts with precise shots, and with concentrated fire, AA-class monsters, too."
My mood fell just a bit further as I spared Emily a solemn glance. The development of gunpowder was something I would have resisted in any other world. The sheer scale of devastation that could be reached…
But the very identity and life of Dicathen was on the line, as Agrona had so terribly demonstrated with his gambit here in Xyrus City. He wasn't pulling his punches, and neither could I afford to if I wanted to see this place to a happy ending.
"I've ordered shipments of the new mana-fire cannons and manalock muskets sent to the Wall for field testing on the beasts in the Glades," I said, keeping my attention partially focused on Trodius at my side. "Our production of the weapons has been quite steady, have they not?"
Emily blinked owlishly, clearly not having expected this question. "Oh, uh, of course!" she said. "Though I still think we could improve power output by twenty percent if we reduced the level of black powder and increased the combustium in the—"
"Yes, yes! You'd have more power, girl," Gideon muttered, "but you'd lose all the precision! There would be more loss in accuracy than there would be gain in strength!"
Emily whirled on her mentor, her eyes narrowed as she turned up her nose indignantly. "Lost accuracy, sure!" she shot back, "But the cost would be cut nearly in half! With Darv back in the fold, we have a steadier supply of combustium than before! It's not nearly as expensive as our synthesized gunpowder."
I snorted in amusement as the two devolved into a heated argument about the merits of certain types of chemicals and reagents. Taking that as my cue to leave, I marched forward, Blaine and Trodius both reluctantly resuming their lockstep with me.
"Production is reaching target levels for the weaponry," I mused into the air, my hands locked behind my back. "That's good."
I squinted up at Tess' mighty tree, a symbol of hope and life in the wake of devastation. With a hint of mana enhancing my eyes, I could make out the countless necklaces and weapons and personal possessions that had been hung from the branches. Mementos of those lost in the fighting.
"When Dicathen started this war, we were only prey," I considered, feeling the warm rays of sunset as they splashed across me like morning dew. The mana in the atmosphere coiled and danced, still painfully aware of the utter devastation that had passed through here not a month ago. There were wounds in this place; wounds that would never quite mend. "If might made right, we would bow beneath the feet of the Sovereigns now."
I spared Trodius a knowing glance from the side of my eye. The Flamesworth Noble did a phenomenal job masking his uncertainty, but he was smart enough to read through the lines of what I implied.
When I had first recruited the scheming man into my retinue, he'd been skimming a little off the top of Dicathen's war materials and weaponry. Enriching himself and his house using the blood and sweat of Dicathen's people. Not much, not nearly as much as those who were deeply and truly corrupt. But enough that it still made a difference.
And when the train had begun operation a couple of weeks back, I'd tested the man. I'd left his house in charge of the delivery of muskets and cannons to the Wall for testing, noting if he was truly trustworthy now.
"But we've won this first round of war because we've understood something more important than our invaders," I said leisurely, discerning Trodius' anxiety, even beneath his porcelain mask. "We've recognized the value of unity, of holding to something higher than a single man. Throughout this entire war, the Alacryans were always divided. We were not."
Blaine, ever the politician, seemed to pick up on what I was doing. He turned to look at me ever-so-slightly, his eyes holding onto an emotion I couldn't pick apart. But he didn't speak.
I turned back to the road in front of me. The road toward tonight's destination, the thought of which made my heart clench and my hands sweat. "You are dismissed for now, Lord Flamesworth, Lord Glayder," I said evenly. "I'd like to be alone for a time."
The former king of Sapin didn't move, even as I dismissed him. Though my small contingent of personal guards and musketeers saluted reverently, marching off to predetermined posts, he stood like a nervous boy at my side.
Trodius, though, was only a little slower to leave than the guards. But when he finally turned his back, ready to go off to who-knew-where, a simple call halted him in his tracks.
"Talk to Jasmine, Trodius," I said, my eyes still fixed on the distance. Beside me, Regis slowly manifested, staring toward that distant destiny. "Talk to your daughter. She might listen."
For the first time since I'd known the arrogant, subtle noble, the mana around him seemed to swell with anger. He whirled back toward me, his eyes smoldering and his intent boiling beneath the surface. I could guess at what he'd say. "How dare you put your nose into the affairs of the Flamesworth House? How dare you push and prod at me like some sort of animal? How dare you treat me as if I am not noble?"
But when Trodius met my eyes, something in them gave him pause.
Every single time I'd spoken with this dangerous man, I'd worn the mantle of Grey the King. I'd recognized what sort of scheming snake he was, always ready to use others and rule by Machiavellian power tactics. He was a truly formidable political opponent, only kept in check and on my side because I was his only chance for survival.
Yet, for the very first time, I thought he saw a glimpse of Grey the husk, who had gained every status and lost every meaning. I implored a man who cared for nothing but power to hold on to something… deeper. Something more worthwhile than empty strength and the endless toiling of beasts.
Trodius scoffed, adjusting his imperious suit, before turning around again, unable to match my eyes. His normally fluid march was jagged and irritated, the mana churning around him from my simple words.
If Trodius did reach out to his daughter—the one he'd abandoned so long ago—I would not fault her for scoffing in disgust or turning away. Jasmine Flamesworth had been wronged by her father and her family, merely for the "mistake" of being born with the affinity for wind instead of fire. But I also hoped, in my selfish way, that Trodius could be a better man, too.
"He's dangerous, King Leywin," Blaine muttered at my side. "You shouldn't trust him. I never did when I was king. He was too much of a political manipulator, caring only for himself and his 'legacy.' "
I graced the overgrown world lion of a man with a simple, knowing smile. It made his brows furrow in consternation. "I gave Trodius plenty of opportunities to steal from the crown again in the aftermath of the first phase of this war," I said solemnly. "He opted not to. Whether that be because he caught wind of my intentions, knew he was under watch, or because he genuinely did not think of doing so…" I shrugged, my body feeling looser than it had in a long time. "I honestly don't know."
Blaine Glayder's fists clenched, a growl pushing from the back of his throat. "Then why? You're no fool. You have to see that he's not to be trusted!"
I made a point to look the older man up and down, my gaze slowly, analytically trailing from his pompous boots, along his silken garments, eying the jewelry, and then back to his uncertain eyes. A tremor ran through him at the force of my inspection.
In the back of my mind, I remembered my first interactions with this human king. Trying to take my bond from me, then letting his rotten court mage go with barely a slap on the wrist. Then, when Agrona had finally begun his incursions on this continent, the Glayder had bent before the pressure, submitting himself and his family to the High Sovereign instead of fighting for his people. For his continent. And in the process, he'd left me to rot in one of the flying castle's cells, my family nearly at the mercy of the Wykes.
It was only Windsom Indrath's timely intervention that spared me that fate, and Aldir's execution of the traitorous Graysunders that saw some semblance of unity in Dicathen's Tri-union Council.
"Not to be trusted?" I said, raising an eyebrow as I imbued my words with a helpful dose of skepticism.
I said nothing more, but from the way the large man winced, I knew my point had been made.
"Dangerous men can change, Lord Glayder," I said measuredly, turning back to Tess' tree. Bairon hadn't taken my hand when I'd offered it to him. Nico… Nico hadn't taken it, either, and that wound still ran deep in my soul. But Taci had tried, for a time. Grey had tried. And Blaine was trying. I wasn't sure if Trodius was trying, or if he'd reject the opportunity. But I could never stop offering my hand to those who could do better. "Sometimes, all someone needs is an offered hand."
Blaine blinked several times, then looked down to the ground. He was silent for a long time, the gusting winds of late autumn rustling his hair. Then he bowed, low and measured, never staring up from the earth.
That might have been to mask the burgeoning wetness at the edges of his eyes.
"Of course, King Leywin," he said, his voice barely strained at the edges. "I am honored by your wisdom."
—
The sun was well and truly setting now, the sky a wash of gold and purple. The air was getting chillier as night found dominion over the world one more time in its endless cycle.
The wind pulled at my auburn hair as I floated above a great crater, the breeze tickling my beard. The ambient mana was rich with the green of wind, darting in and out with the nascent purple of aether. The particles swirled about me like a cloak, battling against the chill as I contemplated a great scarecrow of wrought, black metal and tattered red cloth.
Cadell Vritra's decimated armor hung loosely on a great cross of wood, whistling and clinking like simple chimes as the wind blew hoarsely through the sky. The sound it made wasn't the ominous, terrible thunder of the Sovereign's Hand when he still lived. Now… Now, it was more like the loose, empty clatter of tin cans. Devoid of substance, empty of power. The tattered strips of his flowing red tassels fluttered in the breeze more like streamers than an all-encompassing cape.
My eyes traced over the sign hung around the empty shell's neck, a slight smile tugging at the edge of my lips.
"Here lies Agrona's Victory."
The people had taken to calling this little monument the Severed Hand. A victorious cry of the oppressed against those who would see us ground into the dirt, unwilling to be held in the grip of someone else.
"I thought I'd find you here," a soft voice said from behind me. "You're almost late, Art."
I turned away from the empty armor, my smile becoming far more genuine as Tess approached, drifting freely in the sky behind me.
"Just admiring the view," I said, scratching the back of my neck as I let myself admire my lover. Her long, silver hair blew in the wind, accentuating the pale skin of her neck. Her Lance's uniform gleamed starkly against the night, a beacon of brilliant hope amidst the coming darkness. Her pink lips were curled into a slightly abashed smile. "I thought it a good thing to do first."
My childhood friend rolled her eyes, unamused by my unsubtle flirting. "We need to work on your flirting, Art," she huffed, her voice full of exasperation. "That was possibly the most corny thing I have ever heard."
Still, despite my so-called "corniness," the elven princess wrapped me in a light embrace, floating up to plant a kiss on my lips. "We'll have time to get that right eventually."
My smile eased as I wrapped her in a hug, holding her gently in the sky. "I think I'm doing pretty well," I said, feeling myself relax in her steady hold. I'd come to rely on her so much these past few months. "You have to give me some credit, princess."
"The student doesn't grade themself, idiot," Tess chastised, pinching my arm slightly. "That's the teacher's job. And I think you're doing a very poor job."
I pushed on through the pain of the frankly crazy princess pinching my arm, instead pulling her a bit closer. "But you're still here, hmm? I think I'm getting better."
Tess huffed in annoyance as I refused to give in to her bait, looking up at me with a pout in her face, her cheeks flushed as she nestled slightly closer. "You are," she allowed, her turquoise eyes narrowed, "but we've still got a long way to go to make you in any way presentable."
Though her words were said in a playful manner, I still felt my mood dip at the reminder of what was to come so very soon. "Why did you know I'd be here?" I asked quietly, feeling tired again. So much on my shoulders, always pressing me down.
Tess brows furrowed as she raised a hand, brushing a few locks of hair out of my eyes. "Because I know you, dummy. Because you feel like what's about to happen is some sort of battle when it's not. This isn't a fight you need to hover around your past victories to prepare for."
I swallowed, feeling slightly ashamed from how she had hit the nail on the head. "I thought I was more mature than that, you know? That I'd grown past it."
Tess didn't respond for a few seconds. It felt less like I was holding her in my arms now, and more like I in hers.
"Do you know why I love you, Art?" she asked, her voice quiet.
I looked down at the young woman, uncertain of what I'd see. A blush was burning in her cheeks, her ears drooping from the flush. "What?" I blurted intelligently, not sure how to respond. I felt a mirrored flush rise in my face, her words belatedly registering.
"Back when we were kids, I didn't really, you know. A child's love. An unsophisticated love, because I thought you were perfect. Because I thought you were what I needed to be."
I shifted uncomfortably, instinctually wanting to pull away, but I tamped down on the urge. Something about this vulnerability she was displaying—the way it drew the same from me—made me nervous.
A battle I've never won. A battle I didn't know how to win. Or was it even a battle at all?
Tess, clearly, seemed to expect every single uncertain shift. "But when Toren attacked me, when you… When you nearly died, it changed everything. I saw who you really were for the first time, when I held your body in that cavern. A broken boy."
My shoulders slumped slightly as I chewed on my lip. "I feel a lot less great and powerful when you put it that way, Tess," I said in a painful attempt at teasing.
The silver-haired princess chuckled lightly. "Yes, that was kind of the idea, Art. But the more I saw of you—the more I realized what I had always seen of you—the more I started to love that broken side of you, too. And I loved seeing you push past it all, finding your way through the shattered glass."
I opened my mouth to say something, anything at all in response—but I found that I couldn't. My throat was closed off, my tongue like lead in my mouth. No amount of mana or aether in my veins would see my body move, see myself able to respond at all to her words.
How could somebody live two lives not knowing they needed to hear something? How many years had gone by that I'd needed those words, needed to know them, before they finally reached me?
Tess' face was red as a cherry as she planted a kiss on my forehead, before drifting away in the air. "Come on, Arthur," she said quietly, leaving me limp and boneless in the sky. She grasped my hand, tugging me toward that destiny that I was so afraid of. "You're not off the hook yet. You've still got a lot more to do if you even want to claim to be mature at all."
I let out a laugh full of nervousness and hope as Tess tugged me onward—on toward the great tree, and on toward what I'd been so afraid of.
—
The great Xyrus Tree loomed over the solemn gathering of men, elves, and dwarves. The heavy-laden branches were a shelter thick as time and space itself, dozens of lanterns hanging like captured fireflies from the boughs. The warm light was cast around the cordoned courtyard, giving what gentle reassurance it could to the many clothed in black.
As Tess and I gently floated into the shadow of that great tree—each of us now cloaked in dark mourning clothes—all eyes turned to us. All familiar, all burnished with the solemnity of the moment.
Tess squeezed my hand as her parents stared up at her, proud in equal measure with their grief. I belatedly realized that I had never seen Alduin and Merial Eralith in colors other than the light, creamy garments of the elven race. But today, they were garbed in raven's hues, ready to face the coming sorrow.
Olfred Warend only gave me a solid nod, seeming to understand what had held me back. He sat cross-legged at the base of the tree, stoic and alone. But despite his nature as an outcast in this coming ceremony, I saw his gratitude for the gift I'd given him.
And then there was my family. Mom, exhausted from her neverending work tending to those wounded in the Second Dawn, stared up with a slight smile on her aging face. Dad's smile was broadest of all, real and genuine, but understanding, too. And Ellie sat beside her bond, Boo, dropping a book she'd been furiously scanning over as Sylvie tapped her on the shoulder. She squeaked, before looking up into the sky.
Her eyes lit up as she spotted me, a true smile—the kind I fought this entire war for—lighting up her face like a moon's reflective glow. I waved back, feeling reassured and warm. The vision I'd seen when I'd taken Regis' hand flowed back through my head.
My family. My loved ones, all that I fought for. Here, alive and well.
"I'm glad you're back," Sylv thought to me, a slight smile on her face as she stepped away from my sister. "I knew you'd be here eventually."
Did you send Tess after me? I wondered, finally settling down on the soft grass beneath the mighty tree. Sylv and I had agreed to slowly measure our contact over our bond these past few days in anticipation of what we'd planned, making sure we'd both be ready. But I wouldn't be surprised if she'd taken a gamble at my location, knowing that I was feeling morose.
"Please, Arthur," my draconic bond said, sweeping toward me in graceful strides. "Tessia didn't need a single bit of input from me to know you were somewhere out there stalling."
I smiled wryly as Tess finally let go of my hand, whispering a few words into my ear, before striding back toward her parents. She'd switched her Lance ensemble for mourning garments, too. Yeah, I figured, I thought back honestly. I'm just not used to being so predictable.
"You've always been predictable to us," Sylvie countered easily, before wrapping me in a gentle hug. "It's just taken you this long to figure that out."
When I hugged my bond back, taking solace in our mental bond, I felt the slight shell of courage I'd managed to build around myself crack slightly. But still I held on, hugging her back.
My family approached more slowly as the atmosphere darkened. Dad sensed the dip in my mood as Sylvie stepped away. He clapped me solidly on the shoulder, his strong hand anchored there. "We're here for you, son," he said quietly, squeezing my shoulder. "And I'm sorry that you need to do this."
I smiled loosely at him, feeling more than a little brittle inside. "It's the way life goes, Dad," I said. "We need ways to let go."
It had been so long since we'd all been together. Me, Mom, Dad, Ellie… When had I last been able to see them all? Hold them all, each and every one of them?
Not since the attack on Xyrus Academy nearly six years ago, I thought, feeling that shell I'd built around myself weather away further. I haven't been with them all together for over half a decade.
My mother gave me a gentle hug next, the kind I hadn't received since I was little and returned wounded from my battles in the Beast Glades. "That doesn't make it hurt less, Arthur," she said quietly. "That makes it worse, I think."
I stared past my mother's smaller frame, my eyes drinking up the three great platforms of kindling wood. Toward the place where we would try and let go, let go and honor the dead.
"I don't get it," Ellie mumbled by my side, digging the tip of her shoe into the grass. She sounded ashamed, a young teenager unable to comprehend it all. "Why are they all here, all together? I know the others, I asked. But why us?"
I gently pushed my mother away, tearing my gaze away from the latticed planks of wood.
"I've told you a lot about my past life in the last few weeks, haven't I, El?" I said gently, the caution more for myself than my sister.
My sister looked up at me, chewing on her lip. "Yeah. You wrote the ki manual and all, and the stories of how you learned it all. In the academies, with Nico and Cecilia."
"With Nico, yes," I replied, noting Olfred Warend as he stepped toward one of the distant bases of wood. "He was my best friend in my previous life, and I let him down. I hurt him deeply, El, in a way he was never able to recover from."
The dwarven Lance laid a wrapped bundle atop his pile of wood. The dark cloth outlined a body that had once been muscled and powerful, but no longer did it see the light of day. Olfred's eyes closed as he muttered a few quiet prayers. He stepped away, his shoulders loose and his head hung low.
In this moment, he wasn't a traitor or a dwarf or a Lance. He was just a man who had lost his father.
The Eraliths were the next to step forward, a thin bundle of their own wrapped in green cloth. Far, far too thin. I knew what face lingered beneath that cloth, peaceful and serene. Though Elder Rinia's orange-green eyes had led me to such anger and near-madness during my reign, her constant manipulations stressing what I thought I could do, my heart still clenched painfully in my chest as I thought of the old seer.
Elder Virion should have been here, too. Gramps should have been able to send off his oldest friend, should have been with Tess and Alduin and Merial. But the world still had some cruelty left in it to spare.
Even as I thought the words, though, I remembered the note I'd found in Rinia's cell after it had all ended.
"I'm ready to go, King Arthur," I thought, hearing her voice rasping out the words. "I've been ready to go for a long, long time. And to be honest, I'm tired of being selfless. I'm a bit tired of cleaning up after you and Spellsong all the time, too, but that's my job. It's been my job for a long time, you see. And now it will be yours. It's going to be hard, boy. Harder than you know. You'll still struggle. You'll still fail. But you'll get back up."
I watched as Tess stood with her family, the trio of them restraining their tears as they laid the body of the one that was their aunt and grandmother and caretaker all at once.
"My last bit of advice, you ask?" the letter continued in the back of my mind, "Be a little selfish sometimes, you uptight boy. You can't always afford it, and that just makes it more important. And tell Virion, the old coot, not to worry about me when you wake him up. I'll send Lania his regards."
It had been in another letter Rinia had left for the Eraliths that had sparked what was happening now. A bit of communal selfishness.
"I got another chance, El," I said quietly. "I got to awaken in a new world. Step away from my past and grow beyond it. No… grow with it. But my friend didn't get to. His future was stolen from him."
I turned from my sister, feeling Sylvie's melancholy eyes on my back. Feeling my parents' supportive gazes. Even Regis, manifested at the periphery of my vision, watched the third pyre base with solitude.
From my dimension ring, I pulled a dark bundle. It was cold in my arms, and so very heavy as I walked toward that destiny. The grass felt unsteady beneath my feet, the grasping claws of my previous life holding there. Trying to grip me fast.
Cecilia, if you're out there somewhere, I thought, forcing myself to be strong as I laid the body of my oldest friend atop the wood, I won't let this go. Nico held his grudge, hating me for my failure to save you.
I stepped back from the funeral pyre, holding out a hand. Three embers of flame sparked to life there, the fire mana singing in tune with the grief pervading the atmosphere. I let two of them drift to those whose right it was to let go. Whose right it was to see the wood ignite.
I kept my intent focused on the bundle of Nico's body, visions of our last meeting flashing behind my eyes. Visions of how he'd been damned, forced and molded into what Agrona had made him.
I'll carry his vengeance, I thought, my heart beating faster in my chest. I won't let your fiancée's life be in vain. I won't let Agrona get away with what he did to him. What he wanted to do to you.
The Legacy could never again descend. I hoped, wherever Nico now was, that he'd find a clear mind, devoid of the manipulations of a mad god. I wished he'd be able to see what had become of this world, what we'd helped prevent.
This was a selfish thing. A selfish pyre, one of the last things I'd allow myself to be selfish about. Because Olfred Warend, as he laid the ember of fire beneath his pyre's base, wasn't mourning the leader of the dwarves in Darv. He wasn't mourning Elder Rahdeas, symbol of every dwarf who felt oppressed. He mourned the man who had raised him, the father behind closed doors. As the fire ignited, it burned alongside that singular image only Olfred had carried.
As Tess laid her spark beneath the wood, her thin hands trembling, she didn't mourn the all-seeing elven mage. She didn't mourn the diviner who had maneuvered so many pieces on our continent toward victory, and neither did her parents. No, as the eager ember jumped to the wood, puffing in a breath of light, I knew that she wept for her aunt. The old woman who would brush her off whenever she fell, and listen to her rant and rave whenever her parents made her angry. As the Eraliths held their weeping daughter as the fires rose, none of them saw the politics or the divides or that hatred.
But as the fire ignited beneath Nico's body, I felt that mourning pain stretch, too. As a friend who had been denied any sort of life was slowly engulfed in the burning heat, the embers bringing him back to ash, I knew that this wasn't done. Not like it was for Tess and Alduin and Merial and Olfred.
So long as those like Agrona and Kezess rule, people will never have a way forward, I thought, my fists clenching at my sides. So long as they're unopposed, there is no future for people like Nico. People caught between.
I felt my father's arm around my shoulder again. Mom's careful presence at my side. Ellie's growing understanding as she hovered at the edge, and Sylvie's solemn understanding.
I didn't know how long I stared into that rising fire, my mind drifting away. Grey didn't hound my thoughts like he used to, wiping away my emotions and stealing them from me. But I felt the urge to retreat back into the broken boy, to curl up and ignore the pain.
I let myself feel it instead.
The sun set long ago, leaving the only light in the world these three fires. As some mourned, and some found resolve to push forward, I finally found my form again.
Sylv, I thought, sensing what we'd been dreading for so very long, With me. It's time.
My bond stepped close to me as I finally tore my eyes away from the fires, my mana strong and mind ready. Over our bond, I could sense her own growing, fear-laced intent. Even though we knew it had been coming, the unknown was always a thing to be feared.
I spared my family a solemn nod, focusing on Dad. "I need to be alone for a moment," I said quietly, looking toward Olfred and Tess. "And they need to grieve. Uninterrupted."
My father's expression evened out as he nodded, understanding the message. "Of course, Arthur."
I began to walk away, striding toward whatever counted as destiny in this world, Sylvie by my side. Her arm found itself locked through the crook of mine, my young dragon drawing what strength she could from the closeness.
"Arthur?" Dad called after me, halting my footsteps. "Be safe."
I sensed the ambient mana, tasted the way the otherworldly pulse of the aether bent around the tree. "I will, Dad."
And then we continued walking, arm in arm. Sylvie's mind seemed to almost hug mine, seeking strength and solace before what was to come.
Are you sure about this, Sylv? I asked again, noting her rising fear.
My bond turned to look at me, her golden eyes shadowed by choppy, wheat-blonde hair. "We both know that what I wish is not a factor here," she thought back. "But it's what I can do."
The street we found ourselves in appeared to be abandoned, but through my sense of the aether, I knew it wasn't. I knew what my bond and I had been preparing for these past couple of weeks had finally arrived.
"Windsom," I said aloud, clenching my teeth as I allowed mana to flow across my body, "it's about damn time."
A dark cat hopped down from the shadows of a nearby building, its eyes a galaxy condensed. The aura and power it kept contained made my body light up with alarm bells, this shapeshifted little deity hiding behind a thousand pretenses.
The cat strode forward leisurely, entirely unbothered by the chill in the air. The streets were strangely empty, leaving us all alone as we faced what might as well have been a loping tiger.
Windsom—whom I'd first met so long ago in this very city, not far from this spot in a corner elixir store—sat on his haunches, measuring Sylv and me with an imperious gaze. "A funeral pyre for an enemy," he said, slightly distasteful, "such things will weaken your rule, King Leywin."
"A funeral pyre for a friend," I corrected, forcing a slight smirk onto my face. "A friend taken by an enemy."
Windsom's eyes flashed slightly, his aura fluctuating in an attempt to elicit that same fear it once did. But I had faced Cadell, severed the Hand. And though Windsom's power was leagues above Cadell, I was no longer a mere lesser to intimidate.
The cat flashed yellow, shifting and growing as Windsom took on a truer form. One of close-cropped, wheat-blonde hair. One of dark, military dress and imperious presentation. One of raw, unyielding loyalty. Loyalty to a tyrant.
"It seems you have been expecting me, King Leywin," the dragon's smooth voice echoed out, the asura casually adjusting his gloves. "You have even escorted Lord Indrath's granddaughter."
Sylvie had told me of her confrontation with Windsom and Aldir after Toren's fight with Taci, where she'd forced the dragon to step away from a kill. And both of us had known that Windsom would return with updated orders from Lord Indrath. One such as he could not afford to let his granddaughter "rebel."
But Kezess wouldn't kill his own blood, either, so he'd take what option he could. He'd take her back to Epheotus, where she'd be kept under his manipulative thumb and slowly groomed to adopt the mindsets she'd rejected.
"I knew you would return, Lord Windsom," my bond said, suppressing her inner fear. She stepped forward, her dress flaring around her. "But we would not let you disrupt the grief of others."
And so Sylvie had proposed an idea. I did not have the power to stop Kezess from taking my bond away, but she could still act. It would not be easy, and it might take a long, long time, but Dicathen needed support from within the land of the asura. A coalition that wouldn't let Kezess' crimes and continued acts endanger the people here.
It was ambitious, my bond's plan. Ambitious, dangerous, and uncertain, creating a faction that would keep the balance in this place. But it was the best plan we had. Even if it hurt to part, even if it made my heart pound with fear.
Windsom's eye twitched, no doubt sensing he'd been outmaneuvered in some way. He flourished his hand, conjuring a strange, golden compass in his hand. "Lord Indrath demands to see his granddaughter for her… missteps, and lack of sight," he said, judging me with his stare. Not the way Regis did, no, and neither was it fully condescending. He viewed me like a potential enemy. "And he has finally decided to grant the lessers his wisdom once more."
And here was the other part I had predicted. The part I had feared. "Kezess offered us up to fail during the opening movements of this war," I said simply, preparing myself for what was likely to come, "and now that I've won this war—without the assistance of Epheotus—he wants to take command again?"
Windsom's hand flicked up. The aether bent, and I stepped to the side, Warp Stepping out of range.
A thin arc of pure mana carved through the street where I'd just been, leaving a smoking ruin of a street that had just been relayed. The sheer concentration of power in the casual sweep of the dragon's arm put Sylvie's mana arts to shame. I forced the pounding fear in my heart and the squeeze of my mana core down, brushing my dark mourning clothes of dust as I stared at the casual devastation.
"Resorting to violence already, Windsom?" I said casually, looking back at the dragon, whose expression was just as bland and empty. At his side, Sylv looked on with slight fear. "I thought we were better than that."
"If I wished violence upon you, Leywin, you would be dead," the dragon said with a sigh, brushing a few chips of dust from his epaulets. "I'm establishing a precedent. You have no right to speak Lord Indrath's name with such casual familiarity."
I fought against the nervous urge to smirk, remembering when Cylrit had said something to the same effect about Seris. Those two are quite similar, I thought, forcing a slight smile onto my face. Different only in the master they serve.
But Cylrit's master was dead. Dead because of the scheming of Kezess Indrath.
The dragon observed me with a calculating gaze, weighing if I'd understood his message well enough. He couldn't afford to kill me. I'd centralized too much power in Dicathen around myself, and there was no telling how it might affect my bond. But he could threaten me, and he could threaten those I loved.
I understood that.
Windsom let a single drop of his blood fall from his finger, splashing easily against the golden amulet in his hand. He tossed it to the ground, observing it critically as the aether slowly widened around it, a portal between dimensions tearing through the already-thin space of Xyrus City. Sylv's emotions evened out as she stared at that flat disc, her golden eyes filling with resolve.
"When I return, I shall be your guide, King Leywin, as has been for ages before," Windsom said, turning his back on me as he prepared to take my bond away. He laid a single hand on her shoulder, anchoring her to the stones. "Trust in Lord Indrath's vision."
And then they stepped through, swallowed by the aether. I could almost sense how they swam through the void, the way space shifted.
I felt cold. Cold and alone, my bond going dark for the first time in many years.
Indeed, I thought angrily. As long as tyrants like Kezess and Agrona rule, nobody gets a choice.