Corvis Eralith
The polished oak door of Director Goodsky's office loomed before me, suddenly feeling less like an entrance and more like the maw of some ancient, judgmental beast.
My conversation with Gideon, surprisingly productive after I had cut through his bluster with precise diagrams and fundamental theory he hadn't even considered, felt distant now. The workshop's chaotic energy, the grudging respect in Gideon's eyes—it was replaced by the hushed, echoing silence of Xyrus Academy's administrative wing.
Sunlight streamed through tall windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, casting long, imposing shadows that seemed to stretch towards me.
Alanis's soft voice broke the tense quiet. "I've been asked to visit the infirmary of Xyrus Academy, Your Highness. I wish you goodbye." Her tone was its usual calm, professional cadence, a stark contrast to the frantic drum solo my heart was performing against my ribs.
"Goodbye, Miss Emeria," I managed, forcing my voice steady. The formality felt brittle. As her footsteps receded down the marble corridor, the silence rushed back in, thick and heavy. I
My gaze traced the intricate grain of the massive door. From this angle, it seemed impossibly tall, dwarfing my eleven-year-old frame.
A physical manifestation of the enormity of what I was about to attempt. I know you're a spy. I know about Alacrya. I need your help to stop them from turning Dicathen to ash.
The words echoed silently, terrifying in their simplicity and world-shattering implication. Each repetition sent another jolt of adrenaline through me, making my palms slick with cold sweat. My heartbeat wasn't just fast; it was a frantic, trapped bird battering itself against the cage of my chest.
Thump-thump-thump-thump.
It vibrated in my ears, a counterpoint to the silent scream building inside.
I swallowed hard, the sound unnaturally loud in the stillness. The lump in my throat felt like stone. I can't hesitate. Not now. Not after everything. The faces flashed in my mind: Grampa's proud, believing eyes; Mom's smile; Dad's worry; Tessia, fierce and trusting.
Their lives, the future of Elenoir, of everything, balanced on this moment. Knowledge was my weapon, but Cynthia Goodsky could wield it effectively and she was one of the few I could trust with this, for now at least.
I clung to the slivers of hope I had. She was playful, sharp-witted. She cared deeply for Grampa—their bond was palpable, layered with years of shared history and perhaps something more unspoken. And Tessia… Tessia was her first personal disciple, her pride was evident.
Surely, surely, that would count for something? Surely she would see past the coreless prince to the desperate truth-teller?
But the cold dread clawed its way back. What if she suspects… me? The thought was icy, paralyzing. A coreless elven prince suddenly possessing forbidden knowledge of Alacryan espionage? It screamed plant, Vritra puppet, Agrona's trick.
Logic screamed that she couldn't suspect Corvis Eralith, grandson of Virion, twin of Tessia… but fear wasn't logical. Fear whispered of her sharp mind, honed by decades of deception and counter-deception, hunting down every Alacryan spy she could find. Fear pictured her grey eyes turning cold and calculating, seeing not a desperate ally, but a dangerous threat to be neutralized.
Calm down, Corvis! The silent shout ripped through the panic. You are letting anxiety get the best of you. Again. The familiar cycle of dread and self-recrimination threatened to drown me. Stop it. Now.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath felt like drawing air through molasses. I closed my eyes for a second, focusing on the cool solidity of the marble floor beneath my boots, the faint scent of lemon polish and old paper.
Then, with a resolve fueled by pure, terrified necessity, I raised both hands and slapped my own cheeks—sharp, stinging impacts that snapped my focus back to the physical present. Focus. Courage. Now.
The sting lingered, a grounding counterpoint to the fear. One more breath, deeper this time, filling my lungs. The massive door was still there, still intimidating, but it was just wood. Beyond it was a woman, not a monster. A potential ally.
My knuckles rapped against the heavy oak—three firm, clear knocks that echoed slightly in the corridor. The sound felt final, like dropping a stone into a bottomless well.
A moment of silence stretched, taut and endless. Then, a warm, familiar voice, laced with its usual calm authority, filtered through the wood: "Come in."
The sound should have been reassuring. Instead, it sent a fresh wave of icy terror washing over me. This was it. No turning back. My hand, trembling only slightly now, found the cold brass handle. I pushed the door open, stepping from the quiet corridor into the office.
"Oh, Corvis!" Grampa called out as I walked into the office, catching him mid-conversation with Cynthia. "We were just talking about yours and Tessia's birthday."
Yeah, not now, Grampa, I thought to myself, pushing aside the topic.
"Actually… I wanted to speak with Director Goodsky, if that's possible," I said, doing my best to suppress the tension creeping into my voice.
Cynthia turned to Virion with a faint smile. "I don't see any problem with that. Virion, can I borrow your grandson for a while?"
Grampa stroked his beard before nodding. "I'll step out," he said, exiting the office without another word.
The heavy oak door swung shut behind Grampa with a soft but definitive click, sealing me in the spacious, sunlit office with Cynthia Goodsky.
The sudden quiet felt immense, broken only by the faint rustle of papers and the soft coo of the owl perched on a stand near the window—Avier, Cynthia's bond, whose true wyvern form I knew lay hidden beneath the avian illusion. .
Cynthia regarded me, not from behind her imposing desk, but from a comfortable armchair near a low table holding a steaming teapot. Her posture was relaxed, her expression one of open curiosity laced with genuine warmth.
There was no suspicion in her eyes, only the calm, intelligent assessment of an educator meeting a student.
"Prince Corvis, it's been a while since we last spoke, hasn't it?"
"I suppose it has," I echoed her sentiment about the time passed, my voice thankfully steady despite the frantic tempo of my heartbeat drumming against my ribs.
"Since shortly before Tessia left to become an adventurer." Mentioning Tessia was a risk, a potential crack in my composure, but it felt necessary, grounding the conversation in something real, something she understood and cared about.
She nodded slowly, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup. "I spoke with your grandfather about your decision to study here," she said, her tone soft, almost maternal. The warmth was undeniable.
"I know Tessia will be much happier having you by her side. She often speaks of you, you know. Your support means a great deal to her."
The genuine affection in her voice for my sister was a double-edged sword. It strengthened my resolve—Cynthia cared—but it also made the secret I carried feel heavier, more treacherous.
"I promised her I would attend Xyrus with her," I admitted, the words spilling out with an honesty I couldn't suppress. "In exchange for her following her heart." Damn it. There it was—the telltale softening whenever Tessia was involved. A weakness Cynthia, sharp as she was, likely noted.
Her expression softened further, a gentle smile touching her lips. "As her teacher, I'm truly glad she has a brother like you, Corvis." She leaned forward slightly, her gaze earnest. "And I hope I can be a similar guiding figure for you as well…" Her pause was deliberate, her eyes flickering briefly to my chest, where a core should hum. "...even considering your, ah, unique circumstances."
She chose the words carefully, avoiding the sting of 'restrictions' or 'lack,' her kindness was palpable, she was a good person. "Talent manifests in many forms. The mind is a powerful tool, one I believe you wield exceptionally well."
"Thank you," I murmured, the gratitude genuine and surprisingly deep. Her sincerity was a balm, a reminder that beneath the former spy, the director, laid a true teacher who saw potential, not just limitations. It was comforting, disarming even, in a way I hadn't anticipated.
"So, Prince Corvis," she prompted gently, setting her cup down and folding her hands in her lap. Her posture remained open, inviting. "What was it you wished to speak with me about? Something important, I gather, to request a private audience."
Her eyes held only patient inquiry, no shadow of suspicion, no hidden agenda. Avier shifted slightly on his perch, a soft rustle of feathers the only sound breaking the quiet expectancy.
The moment stretched. The warmth of her office, her kindness, the genuine offer of guidance—it all felt like a fragile bubble I was about to shatter with a sledgehammer. This is it. No going back. My palms were slick with cold sweat again. I took a slow, deliberate breath, forcing air into lungs that felt tight. .
"It might sound…" I began, my voice lower now, the first hint of strain creeping in despite my efforts. I met her gaze, searching for any flicker of change. Her eyebrows drew together slightly, a faint, puzzled frown replacing the gentle smile. Not suspicion, not yet. Confusion. Concern, perhaps. "...crazy," I finished, the word hanging heavy and inadequate in the sunlit room. "And probably… it is."
Fuck, Corvis! Just say it! The internal scream was deafening. Every instinct screamed to retreat, to make an excuse, to preserve this fragile trust. But the faces flashed again: Grampa, Mom, Dad, Tessia. The looming shadow of Alacrya. .
I swallowed, the sound loud in the sudden, charged silence. The air itself seemed to thicken, the comforting scent of tea and paper suddenly cloying. Cynthia's gaze hadn't wavered. The faint frown deepened, her head tilting almost imperceptibly.
Avier had gone utterly still.
Gathering every ounce of courage Fate had supposedly granted the Thwart, I locked eyes with the old lady sitting in front of me.
"I know about Alacrya," I stated, my voice unnervingly calm, belying the tempest within. The pause was barely a heartbeat, but it felt like an eternity. "Everything."
Virion Eralith
The heavy oak door of Cynthia's office clicked shut behind me, sealing away the quiet intensity of whatever conversation Corvis had initiated.
A strange mix of pride and lingering concern settled in my chest—Cynthia had clearly wanted this private audience as much as he did, so I trusted her wisdom.
With time stretching before me like an open road, I drifted towards the Academy's grand courtyard. The familiar, bustling energy of Xyrus washed over me—the crisp scent of ozone mingling with blooming flora from the gardens, the rhythmic clack of student boots on polished pathways.
The quietude was shattered like fragile glass.
"Grampa!"
The voice—pure, vibrant joy cutting through the ambient murmur—spun me around. There, framed by the Academy's towering gates, stood Tessia. Sunlight caught the rich brown of her adventurer's leathers, glinting off the short sword at her hip. She looked… radiant. Stronger, shoulders set with newfound confidence, yet her eyes held the same fierce spark that had always defined her.
"Little One!" The endearment burst from me, warmth flooding my ancient bones as she sprinted across the flagstones, abandoning all decorum.
I opened my arms just as she launched herself, a whirlwind of energy and affection crashing into me. I held her tight, the solid feel of her, the faint scent of pine and distant woodsmoke clinging to her clothes, a tangible testament to her journey.
"By the Gods, you've grown," I breathed into her hair, the words thick with emotion. Not just taller, but changed. Tempered.
"It's only been three months, Grampa," she scoffed playfully into my shoulder, though her grip remained fiercely tight.
Only three months. To one who had witnessed centuries, it was a blink. Yet, holding her now, those months felt like lifetimes spent yearning for this reunion. The absence had carved a deeper hollow than I had admitted.
I gently eased her back, hands resting on her shoulders, needing to truly see her. The youthful roundness of her face had sharpened subtly; a new awareness, a gravity born of experience, resided in her emerald eyes.
"Yet I can clearly see how much you've changed," I said, my voice softer now, touched with awe. "You carry yourself differently. Where is my reckless, bold little granddaughter? Who is this poised young warrior standing before me?" The tease was affectionate, meant to draw out her familiar fire.
Instead, a shadow flickered across her face. Her gaze dipped momentarily before meeting mine again. "I've been through a lot." The words were quiet, layered with an unspoken weight that hadn't been there before.
A pang of regret struck me. Foolish old man. My joy had overridden my sensitivity. I had spoken lightly, forgetting that adventures forge not just strength, but scars.
I squeezed her shoulders, offering the reassurance she needed. "But you came back," I stated firmly, meeting her shadowed gaze. "That alone makes you a warrior, Little One. A true one." I ruffled her hair, the familiar gesture a tether to simpler times, hoping to coax back her light. "Welcome back."
A small, genuine smile touched her lips, tentative but real. Then, like the sun breaking through storm clouds, her expression transformed. Excitement blazed in her eyes. "Wait! If you're here—" She pulled back slightly, scanning the courtyard behind me. "—does that mean you brought Corvis with you?!"
A hearty laugh rumbled from my chest, dispelling the lingering solemnity. "Yes! He's deep in conversation with Cynthia right now. Probably he is plotting something reckless as always."
Her gasp was pure delight. "Does that mean… he's really going to attend? Xyrus? With me?"
I nodded, savoring the unadulterated joy blossoming on her face. "Cynthia herself confirmed it. He'll be under her direct tutelage." The words were barely out before she launched herself at me again, arms wrapping tightly around my neck.
"Thank you! Thank you, Grampa!" Her voice was muffled against my shoulder, vibrating with pure, unbridled happiness. The force of her gratitude was humbling, though misplaced.
"You should shower Cynthia with thanks, not this old relic," I chuckled, patting her back. "I merely delivered the news."
"I will!" she promised, pulling back, her eyes sparkling like captured starlight. "I absolutely will!" She bounced slightly on the balls of her feet, radiating energy. "Can I go see him now? Right now?"
"Don't be impatient, Little One," I chided gently, though my own heart warmed at her eagerness. "We wouldn't want to interrupt Cynthia and your brother mid session, would we?" I wondered briefly what matters Corvis had brought before my old friend, but it was their moment.
"Patience is a virtue Tessia—"
My words trailed off. Tessia was already several strides away, heading purposefully back towards the administrative wing, her steps quick and determined.
"Tessia? Where are you going?" I called after her, a mix of exasperation and deep fondness rising within me.
She glanced back, a familiar, stubborn glint in her eyes, utterly undimmed by her recent trials. "I want to see my brother now! And say hi to Master Cynthia! They can finish their super-secret talk later!" And with that, she picked up her pace.
I watched her retreating figure, the determined set of her shoulders, the almost-run in her step. A sigh escaped me, followed by a low, rumbling chuckle that shook my frame.
Yeah, I thought, the love for her fierce spirit swelling in my chest, she is still the same headstrong, wonderful brat. Just with a few more battles under her belt.