Corvis Eralith
"I know about Alacrya—everything."
The wordsweren't just syllables; they were a seismic charge detonating in the quiet sanctuary of Cynthia Goodsky's office. The temperature didn't plummet through magic, but through the sheer, crushing weight of revelation and the glacial stare now fixed upon me.
Cynthia's transformation was instantaneous and terrifying. The warm, playful mentor vanished. In her place sat a statue carved from ice and flint. Every trace of softness fled her face, replaced by razor-sharp calculation and a deep, primal wariness.
Her eyes, usually holding a spark of amusement or quiet wisdom, became shards of obsidian, dissecting me, searching for the trap, the trick, the fatal flaw. She looked at me as if I were both a resurrected ghost and a venomous serpent coiled on her rug.
Yet, she didn't move. She didn't lash out with hidden power. That infinitesimal pause, that terrifying stillness, meant she was listening. She hadn't dismissed the impossible.
Avier, however, reacted. The owl facade seemed to ripple. His feathers, moments ago soft and unassuming, appeared subtly sleeker, tighter against his frame. The illusion held, but the presence emanating from the perch intensified tenfold.
He was around an SS-Class mana beast, a wyvern bound to a master spy—even diminished in this form, the predatory awareness was palpable, a silent pressure against my skin. He wasn't the greatest threat I might face, but to me, coreless and vulnerable, he was lethal.
One misinterpreted twitch, one surge of Cynthia's command, and this fragile truce could shatter into violence. I couldn't afford a single misstep.
Control. I had to seize control of this spiraling vortex. My voice, when I spoke again, emerged steady, a miracle against the frantic drumming in my chest and the cold sweat slicking my palms.
"When I say everything, I mean literally everything," I pressed, locking onto Cynthia's frozen gaze. "I know about your mission. I know about the curse binding your tongue, silencing you about Alacrya to the people of Dicathen." I saw it then, the barest flicker in her eyes—recognition, shock, confirming the curse's existence was itself a guarded secret.
"And I know why Alacrya plans to invade. It's not just conquest. The High Sovereign needs to bolster his forces. He's preparing for his real war… against Epheotus."
Cynthia flinched. A minute tightening around her eyes, a fractional stiffening of her spine. That final piece—Agrona's ultimate, god-defying ambition—landed like a hammer blow. It wasn't just knowledge of the invasion; it was knowledge of the scale, the purpose. It stripped away any possibility of dismissing me as a deluded child or a pawn regurgitating overheard rumors.
Avier's reaction was even more pronounced. At the title High Sovereign, the owl's head snapped minutely, its gaze fixing on me with unnerving intensity. A low, almost subsonic rumble vibrated the air around its perch. Of course. He was tied to T
The Asclepius Clan which despite everything still had ancient ties to Epheotus, strained as they were.
Cynthia's voice, when it came, was arctic. Measured. Probing. "I assume you aren't here simply to waste my time, Prince." Each word was chipped from ice. "What is it you're trying to achieve?"
Test passed. Engagement secured. She was hooked, however warily.
"I know you founded Xyrus Academy," I stated, unwavering, meeting the chill in her eyes with the heat of my conviction. "Not just as a school, but as a forge. You wanted to nurture talent, Director. To give Dicathen a fighting chance. That's exactly what I want."
The shared purpose, the echo of her deepest, most guarded hope, hung between us. "But we're already compromised. I know there are Alacryan spies embedded here, ones you haven't found yet." I leaned forward slightly, the movement deliberate, emphasizing the gravity.
"Including the retainer of Vechor."
The color drained from Cynthia's face. Retainer. The word alone carried the weight of nightmares. She knew. She knew what they were—some of Agrona's enforcers, beings of monstrous power operating far beyond Dicathen's current comprehension.
Uto might not have been the strongest among them, but his cruelty was more than enough. The image of him toying with Alea, reducing a formidable Lance to broken terror, flashed in my mind. He would have slaughtered Arthur and Sylvie without Seris's intervention.
The knowledge that one such horror was already here, moving unseen, shattered whatever illusions of control Cynthia might have clung to. Her composure visibly fractured; a tremor ran through her hands before she stilled them on her lap. Her own network was more deeply infiltrated, more perilously exposed, than she has ever feared.
The final step. I let the carefully maintained shield of princely composure crack, just enough. The urgency, the raw, desperate need, bled into my voice, thickening it.
"Master Goodsky." The title was a plea in itself. "I need your help. Now. Before Alacrya descends on us. Before the invasion begins."
It wasn't a request; it was a lifeline thrown across an abyss. My voice trembled, betraying the fear beneath the resolve, the sheer terror for my family, my world, that fueled this impossible gamble. Because this wasn't strategy anymore. This was survival. The raw, gasping fight for breath before the tidal wave hits.
And she saw it. In that frozen moment, beneath the spymaster's icy mask, I saw the flicker of shared dread, the horrifying alignment of our understanding. The enemy wasn't just at the gate; he was inside the walls. On that terrifying truth, we stood utterly united.
"Tell me, Prin—"
The heavy oak door burst open with no warning, shattering the suffocating tension like glass.
Instincts honed by paranoia and the moment's intensity screamed ASSASSIN! SPY! RETALIATION! Cynthia's hand flew towards a hidden pocket, her posture coiling like a spring.
Instead, sunshine and boundless energy exploded into the room.
"Tessia?" Cynthia and I breathed the name simultaneously, the shared shock momentarily overriding everything else.
"Corvis!" Tessia's voice was pure, unadulterated joy, a radiant counterpoint to the darkness we'd just inhabited. She didn't register the frozen tableau, the lingering aura of dread.
She saw only her brother. In two strides, she was across the room, throwing her arms around me in a hug that squeezed the air from my lungs and buried her face against my shoulder.
For a heartbeat, the crushing weight of Alacrya, the specter of the retainer, Cynthia's glacial stare—all vanished. There was only Tessia, solid and warm and alive, home safe.
"Master, will Corvis really be attending Xyrus Academy with me?" Tessia asked, her grip tightening around my hand in a gesture of quiet protectiveness. Despite being twins, she always acted like an older sister looking out for me.
I turned my gaze to Cynthia, watching for any trace of doubt in her reaction. The guarded intensity from our earlier conversation had softened, replaced by a familiar warmth. When she answered Tessia, her voice carried an ease that hadn't been there before.
"Of course," she confirmed. "And by doing this, your brother and I can have more enlightening conversations."
Her choice of words made me uneasy, but at the very least, I knew she believed me.
Tessia beamed, her excitement bubbling over as she turned back to me. "Corvis! I have so much to tell you! And I want to hear everything about what you've been doing these past months. You haven't been pushing yourself too hard with training, have you?" Concern clouded her expression, the protective instinct taking hold again.
"Don't worry," I reassured her, offering a small smile. "I have had my share of responsibilities to focus on."
Just as she was about to pull me out of Cynthia's office, I turned back toward the director. She wasn't watching me with the calculating sharpness I had seen before. Instead, there was something softer in her gaze as she looked at both of us.
Then, with a subtle gesture, she nodded at me before glancing toward Avier. A signal.
She would call for me later. This conversation wasn't over.
———
Tessia's excitement wasn't just visible; it was a tangible force radiating from her, warming the space between us as she turned. "Corvis, I have to introduce you to my friend!" The words tumbled out, bright and effervescent. "He was the one who accompanied me on all my adventures!"
That lightness in her voice… it wasn't merely cheerfulness. It felt like a profound release, a long-held breath finally exhaled. It was the sound of a burden carefully, gratefully, set down after miles of weary travel. A knot of tension I had not fully acknowledged in my own chest loosened slightly.
If my presence here, simply being beside her, could grant her this kind of ease… The thought was a quiet balm.
Before the warmth of that realization could fully settle, a voice sliced through the air, low, familiar, and dripping with playful insinuation.
"A friend? And a he?"
We pivoted as one. Grampa sneaked behind us a gnarled tree root given elven form, his sharp eyes instantly zeroing in on Tessia. I didn't just hear the mischief; I felt it, a crackling static in the air around him, the scent of old leather and pipe smoke suddenly charged with amusement.
"And just what have you been up to with this 'boy,' Little One?" The emphasis on 'boy' was a masterclass in innuendo, delivered with a raised eyebrow that could curdle milk.
Tessia's reaction was instantaneous and volcanic. Crimson flooded her cheeks, painting her fair skin from neck to hairline. Her eyes widened, then narrowed into furious slits, her mouth twisting in pure, exasperated disbelief.
What in Fate's name is he playing at? The unspoken question screamed from every line of her tense posture.
"Don't be ridiculous, Grampa!" she shot back, the words sharp as flung pebbles, her head shaking with such vehemence her silver hair whipped around her face. "He's just a friend! What are you even implying?"
Grampa raised his weathered hands, palms outward, a picture of theatrical innocence that fooled absolutely no one. The ghost of a smirk played on his lips.
"Implied? Me? Perish the thought, Little One. A simple grandfatherly inquiry! Merely wishing to know the identity of this… brat." His gaze flickered towards me, then back to her, the smirk deepening into something positively vulpine.
"Oh—is he Cynthia's nephew? Strange, that." He tapped a gnarled finger against his temple. "Decades I have counted Cynthia among my closest confidantes. Decades. And yet… I have never met the boy, she only mentioned him some time ago." He let the implication hang, thick and heavy, enjoying the discomfort he was sowing.
Cynthia's nephew? The claim jarred against my internal ledger. My mind, usually a well-ordered archive, scrambled. I rifled through memories of Cynthia—her sharp intellect, her guarded warmth, the long conversations about artifacts and lost magics.
Nephew? It rang utterly false. A dissonant note. Did she ever mention…? No. Surely not. Or… have I forgotten? A sliver of doubt, cold and unwelcome, pricked me. No. The certainty solidified. My recollections, honed by necessity and power, hadn't failed me yet. Cynthia had no blood nephew. This was fabrication, or… something else entirely.
"As I said," Tessia reiterated, her voice tight with strained patience, each word bitten off precisely, "he is just a friend." She met Grampa's challenging stare head-on. "And yes, he is Master Cynthia's nephew."
Grampa hummed, a low, rumbling sound like distant thunder. The teasing glint in his eyes didn't waver; if anything, it intensified, sharpened by her persistence.
"Hmmm. Just a friend."
He leaned forward conspiratorially, invading her personal space just enough to be infuriating. The scent of his old pipe tobacco grew stronger. "And you're absolutely, positively, categorically certain…" He paused, drawing out the suspense, his eyes gleaming. "...that nothing transpired between the two of you during these grand adventures? No… shared moments? No… lingering glances?"
Gods, give her strength. I understood Tessia's fraying composure viscerally. Grampa, in this mood, was a force of nature, an immovable object wrapped in layers of infuriating, knowing amusement.
"Yes!" The word exploded from her, a crack of pure irritation. She practically vibrated with it. "Why are you pushing this so much?" Her glare could have ignited dry tinder. "What possible business is it of yours?"
Instead of retreating, Grampa leaned in further, the smirk blooming into a full-fledged grin of triumph, as if he'd been waiting for this exact opening. "Oh, well then," he purred, his voice dropping to a stage whisper meant for all three of us. "Suppose… just suppose… you discovered our Corvis here had spent not a day, not a week, but three whole months… entirely alone…" He paused again, letting the image form. "...with a girl precisely his own age?" His eyes locked onto Tessia's, unblinking.
"What then, Little One? What would you do?"
A cold dread, sharp as an icicle, plunged into my gut. Oh, no. No, no, no. This is exactly where I didn't want this to go. My carefully constructed composure felt suddenly paper-thin. I braced myself.
"What?!" Tessia's head snapped towards me, her eyes wide with instant, blazing curiosity mixed with something perilously close to outrage. Her gaze held mine for a fleeting, charged half-second—a silent demand for confirmation or denial—before whipping back to Grampa, her expression transforming into something fierce, protective, and utterly demanding.
"I would hound him!" she declared, the force of her conviction making her lean forward. "I would pester him nonstop! Every waking moment! I wouldn't rest until I knew every little detail! Who was she? Where were they? What happened? Everything!" Her hands gestured emphatically, painting her interrogation in the air.
Grampa threw his head back and laughed—a rich, booming sound of pure, unadulterated victory. "Exactly!" he crowed, slapping his knee. The sound echoed in the sudden quiet after Tessia's outburst. "Do you see my point now, Little One? The shoe, as they say, pinches quite differently on the other foot, doesn't it?"
He chuckled, the sound warm and deeply satisfied, and reached out to ruffle her hair with rough affection. "Curiosity isn't just a grandfather's prerogative, it seems."
Tessia swatted his hand away, but the furious blush was fading, replaced by a stubborn pout mixed with reluctant understanding. "Yes! But I get to do that," she insisted, jabbing a finger towards me, "because I am his sister!"
Ah, Tess. The exasperation that washed over me was tinged with profound, undeniable affection. It was the familiar weight of her relentless care. Inescapable. And… strangely comforting, even when it's a trial.
"So..." I interjected, steering the conversation back from the precipice of my hypothetical three-month escapade—these two could be really fools at times.
My voice sounded calmer than I felt, a deliberate anchor. "...who is he?" Genuine curiosity threaded through the question. Cynthia, from all I remembered, hadn't been fundamentally altered by this nephew's existence; her core seemed unchanged. Therefore, the nephew himself couldn't be a world-shaking variable. A puzzle piece, yes, but perhaps not a cornerstone.
"This friend who shares your adventures? What's he like?"
Tessia's eyes lit up again, the momentary irritation with Grampa forgotten, eclipsed by pure enthusiasm. "Oh, Corvis, he is incredible!" she breathed, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I swear to you, you two are practically identical!" She gestured emphatically between us. "That same… impenetrable wall! That detached, stoic demeanor! Like you're both observing the world from some lofty, distant tower, puzzling over the peculiar antics of mortals below!"
Hey! Detached? The protest rose instantly within me. I am not detached! The accusation stung, partly because it held a kernel of truth I rarely acknowledged.
I am simply… preoccupied. Profoundly, constantly preoccupied. The weight of impending catastrophe—the spectral hordes of god-blooded Alacryans, the fragile defenses of a continent, the intricate web of preparations that felt perpetually insufficient—pressed down on every waking thought.
When the world feels like it's balanced on a knife's edge, when every decision echoes with potential ruin, you learn to build walls. Not out of coldness, but out of sheer necessity. To shield the frantic calculations, the gnawing fear, the desperate hope. To function. Hiding emotions isn't detachment; it's armor forged in the fires of dread. But explaining that felt impossible, especially now.
"So," Grampa chimed in, unable to resist, his voice dripping with renewed, delighted mischief, "our Tessia takes a shining to a boy who reminds her uncannily of her beloved brother?" He tapped his chin, eyes sparkling with faux innocence. "That's not suspicious at all, Little One! Not one tiny bit! Perfectly normal familial affection manifesting as… admiration for a strikingly similar personality in another young man!"
Tessia made a sound halfway between a growl and a shriek of pure frustration. "Grampa!" she snapped, lunging forward not to hit him, but to seize his magnificent, silvery beard in both hands. She didn't yank, but stroked it with aggressive, purposeful strokes, the kind usually reserved for punishingly tangled wool. "Stop it! You are impossible!"
Through his theatrical wincing and chuckles, Grampa endured the beard assault. I watched the familiar, comforting chaos, a small, involuntary smile touching my lips despite myself. But the question remained, a quiet hum beneath the familial storm.
"His name?" I asked again, my voice cutting through Tessia's indignant grooming. Genuine interest now mingled with the need to ground the conversation.
"Grey!" Tessia declared, releasing Grampa's beard with a final, emphatic pat and turning back to me, her eyes still bright with the lingering thrill of talking about him. "His name is Grey!"
Grey.
The name landed like a pebble dropped into still water. Ripples spread instantly, cold and disorienting. My vision seemed to tunnel for a fraction of a second. A wave of profound fatigue, deeper than any mere physical exhaustion, crashed over me. I must be more sleep-deprived than I thought.
Designing the magical radio prototype I have given Gideon… the schematics, the mana conduits, the resonance frequencies… it drained reserves I didn't know I had. The logical part of my mind scrambled for an explanation. Auditory hallucination. Stress-induced. It happens. I heard… Grey? No. Impossible. It couldn't be…
"Cynthia's nephew is named Grey, huh?" Grampa said. Wait. Grampa confirmed it too. Grey. Cynthia's nephew is named Grey. The dissonance between the name and Cynthia's known history screamed inside my skull.
I blinked, forcing myself back into the moment, back to Tessia's expectant face. The world felt slightly off-kilter, the colors too bright, the sounds too sharp.
"Could you repeat that, Tessia?" I asked, keeping my tone level, almost casual. "I'm afraid I wasn't paying full attention." A lie, smooth and necessary. Every fiber of my being had been focused on that single, earth-shattering syllable.
"Grey!" Tessia repeated, louder this time, clearer, annihilating any lingering hope of mishearing. Her voice carried the warmth of fondness. "His name is Grey."
Grey.
The name detonated.
Not a pebble. A meteor strike. The world didn't just tilt; it shattered.
Grey? The name ricocheted inside my skull, tearing through carefully constructed mental partitions. As in Grey Grey? King Grey? Arthur-Grey? Arthur Leywin, formerly King Grey? HE IS IN DICATHEN? HE HAS BEEN HERE THIS WHOLE TIME?!
Panic, cold and razor-sharp, sliced through the shock f