TBATE: Corvis Eralith

Windsom

The damp, salt-laden air of the Dicathian dungeon clung to my miniature feline form, a persistent irritant beneath my obsidian scales turned so thin it became fur.

I flowed through the shadows behind the trio alongside Lady Sylvia's child—the Vritra-blooded lessuran, Grey, and the mana crippled elven prince, Corvis Eralith and his sister.

My Lord Indrath's command echoed in my mind: observe his granddaughter's vessel and her bonded lessuran, revealing myself to the boy only when he proved worthy. Worthy. A subjective term for one who was a lesser tainted by Vritra blood.

Weeks had bled into months, my immense patience thinning like mist under the Epheotan sun. I would have deemed Grey marginally acceptable weeks prior—his survival instincts were sharpened by hardship, his burgeoning power a flicker in the pervasive lesser darkness.

But then… Corvis Eralith.

A coreless cripple. A broken vessel by both lesser and asuran standards. Yet, that prosthetic magic he created… an aberration, a fascinating defiance of magic's laws.

It wasn't power in the raw, destructive sense we revered, but a spiderweb of intricate potential. He manipulated mana not through a core's natural force, but with the delicate, calculated precision of an artisan weaving threads of light. It spoke of a mind operating on a level most lessers couldn't fathom. Perhaps… useful.

A potential instrument for Epheotus in the coming turmoil, a subtle hand guiding the lesser cattle when direct intervention was forbidden by the fragile treaty with the Vritra filth.

The elven prince, to his credit, possessed a glimmer of wisdom beneath the crippling limitations of his birth. He understood the precariousness of his existence when I had briefly manifested, informing him of my master's will.

My command—silence regarding my presence to Grey—had been a simple test. Obedience is the first virtue of a pawn. And he obeyed. He watched, he waited, he kept his lesser confidences locked away.

A pleasant, if predictable, result. Yes, Corvis Eralith could be molded. His physical and mental frailty made him inherently controllable; his intellect, sharp as it was for a lesser, could be directed. A promising pawn for my Lord's grand strategy in this continent.

Yet, a shadow lingered over this potential asset: Agrona Vritra's own inexplicable interest.

Orders filtering down through the corrupt human and dwarven monarchs—orchestrate the prince's abduction.

Why? What value did this broken elven kid hold for the High Sovereign of the Vritra? They didn't made any attempts yet, but obviously they were plotting something. Should they succeed… well, their executions would simply be expedited.

Agrona's meddling complicated the board, adding an unwelcome variable. I watched the prince navigate the cave, his movements economical, his eyes constantly scanning, analyzing. He moved not with warrior's grace, but with caution, reliant on the Vritra-blooded boy's blade and the elven princess's wind magic.

The weapon Grey wielded… was unmistakably Asuran craftsmanship. Not stolen, surely. Found, then. And recognized for what it was by the cripple? His discerning eye was another point in his favor. A good eye indeed. Easily influenced, given the inherent weakness of a lesser mind shackled to a broken body.

The thought was almost pleasant in its simplicity.

I suppressed a sigh, the sound a faint rumble in my feline throat. Thousands of lessers I had observed over the centuries of my role as overseer of Dicathen, flickering candles in the vast darkness. Corvis Eralith burned brighter than most, a intellectual flame. Yet, his personality… wasunderwhelming.

No fire of ambition, no blaze of pride—just a quiet, watchful calculation. Disappointing, perhaps, but ultimately advantageous. Pride blinded. Ambition made pawns rebellious. His coreless fragility bred a necessary pragmatism, a pliability that would make him receptive to… guidance.

The looming war against Agrona demanded proxies. The treaty bound our direct hands, forcing us to rely on these flawed, mortal instruments. Corvis Eralith, with his unique talents and controllable nature, could be positioned as a subtle conduit for Epheotan influence, a whisperer steering eventual lesser resistance from within.

My only fervent wish was for this inevitable conflict to ignite and conclude swiftly, its ashes paving my path to a more esteemed position within Lord Indrath's court. Patience was a virtue, but centuries of observing lesser follies bred a profound annoyance even in me.

My detached observations sharpened as the prince, guided by that unnerving prosthetic perception, uncovered the hidden entrance. Not a natural fissure, but a geometric wound in the rock.

Wren Kain's work surely. I hadn't anticipated this. The prince's prosthetic magic extended beyond mere manipulation; it granted him perception bordering on the unnatural.

Perhaps I had underestimated its scope. While it offered no shield against an Asura's wrath, no spear to pierce Vritra hide, it provided eyes and ears where others were blind and deaf.

A tool for subterfuge, for intelligence gathering—invaluable assets in the shadow war to come. He could be the perfect front, the unassuming prince whose 'wisdom' guided the lessers, all while channeling the true will of Epheotus.

Descending into Wren Kain's sterile mine felt like entering the belly of a vast, geometric beast. The Titan Asura was present, predictably, engaged in his annual scavenging. Epheotus, though paradise, held finite resources.

Even a minor Titan clan member like Wren needed to plunder the richer, cruder bounty of the lesser continents. He sensed me instantly, of course, his earth-attuned perception brushing against my suppressed aura even in this diminished form. His brief glance held no warmth, only the detached acknowledgment of another brethren.

I watched, a shadow among shadows, as the interaction unfolded. Corvis Eralith stood before an Asuran Titan, holding the very weapon Wren had forged.

The Titan's interrogation was blunt, his dismissal of Grey's heritage a minor footnote. But then… the cripple spoke.

"I fixed it." Arrogant. Suicidal. Yet… his observation on the mana occlusion within Dawn's Ballad… it was unnervingly accurate. A flaw even Wren hadn't publicly acknowledged as the weapon was discarded as it was now in Corvis' hands. A flicker of something akin to grudging respect, quickly buried beneath disdain, passed through the Titan's eyes.

The prince's knowledge, pinpointing the specific salt formation, further cemented his unusual utility. Wren's reward—the very rock the prince sought—was a dismissal, but a telling one. The kid had intrigued an Asura the second if Agrona was to be counted. A rare feat for a lesser.

As the trio departed, the elven princess radiating a storm of betrayed fury, I flowed from the deeper shadows towards Wren Kain. His back was to me, already engrossed in his next extraction.

"Wren Kain," I stated, my voice resonating with the authority of the Indrath clan, even in miniature.

He didn't turn. "Windsom. Why are you here?" His voice was the grinding of continental plates, devoid of welcome.

"Lord Indrath tasked me with observing the vessel of his daughter and her bonded lessuran," I replied, the explanation crisp, official.

"Thought I sensed an Indrath," Wren rumbled, his focus still on the glowing mineral before him. "The signature was… attenuated. Even I wasn't certain."

"What is your assessment of the other lesser? Corvis Eralith." I needed the perspective, detached as it was, of another Asura. Agrona's interest demanded it.

Wren paused, the rhythmic hum of his earth magic stuttering for a microsecond. "Honestly?" He finally turned his head slightly, his tired looking eyes fixing on my feline form. "His insight into Dawn's Ballad… is disturbingly acute. For a moment, I mistook his perception for that of one of my own clan member. However…"

The dismissal returned, colder than the dungeon depths. "His coreless state is a fatal flaw. Fragile. Ephemeral. He'll be crushed by the first true gale of any coming storm. A clever spark, extinguished before it can illuminate anything worthwhile." He turned fully back to his work, the conversation clearly over.

"I will leave you to your business," I stated, the formalities observed. I turned, my padded paws silent on the unnervingly smooth stone.

Emerging near the cave entrance, I watched the retreating figures: the furious princess dragging her brother and the brooding Vritra-blood towards the surface world. Corvis Eralith: a mind of sharp, cold potential trapped in a vessel of brittle glass. Grey: a weapon forged in Agrona's darkness, now bound to the legacy of my Lord's daughter.

Useful pieces, probably. Deeply flawed, certainly just like all lessers have always been.

Then, as the sea breeze ruffled my dark fur, it struck me. A sensation so fleeting, so profound, it froze the very blood in my miniature veins. Not a sound, not a scent, but a pressure.

A gaze. Ancient. Calculating. Vastly powerful. It felt like the focused scrutiny of a predator noting a smaller hunter in its territory… but layered beneath that, woven into the fabric of the observation itself, was something else.

Something unnervingly… familiar. Like catching the faintest echo of a voice from a dream long forgotten, carrying an authority that resonated deep within my Asuran bones.

It wasn't hostile, not overtly. It was… observational. And in that split second, I felt utterly exposed, not as Windsom of the Indrath, but as something small and momentarily significant under a gaze that comprehended scales I could barely fathom.

What… was that? The question resonated in the sudden, chilling silence of my mind, shattering the cold calculus of observation and ambition.

Corvis Eralith

Ahead, Tessia walked with rigid purpose, the set of her shoulders a silent indictment sharper than any shout. The vibrant connection that usually hummed between us was severed. Cold. Dead. My fault. Entirely.

Fuck. The word echoed hollowly in the cavern of my mind. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid. The secret about Asuras, about my own fractured knowledge, about Grey's origins… it was a shroud I'd wrapped around myself, believing it armor.

Now, it felt like a shroud strangling the trust Tessia had in me. In us. I hadn't lied to protect her from Agrona's shadows, not truly. I'd lied because the thought of shadowing her bright, fierce spirit with the grim inevitability of war felt like a desecration. I wanted her to laugh, to train, to be annoyed by suitors and Student Council duties. And I'd shattered that fragile illusion with my silence.

"Your sister is really upset, Corvis," Romulos observed, his spectral form leaning casually against the cliff face we passed, seemingly oblivious to the emotional wreckage. "Anyway, for the next item on our list, we need a fragment of Mount Geolus."

Ignore the impossible request. My focus was a laser on Tessia's retreating back. Ignore him. But Romulos, the arrogant, hateful echo of myself, was relentless.

"Yeah, yeah. Leave her be for a while. We have much more interesting things to do." His tone was flippant, dismissive. "Don't blame me. I'm simply stating the truth. Found a term looking at your memories from that imaginary Earth I really like. Lock in. You have to lock in, Corvis."

Oh, very likable from you, I shot back, the mental sarcasm brittle as old bone. How much of my memories can you actually access?

"Honestly? Too little," he admitted, a flicker of genuine frustration beneath the arrogance. "I know snippets about this Earth, fragments of the novel you call The Beginning After The End. Nothing more." He sighed, the sound echoing strangely in my perception. "And obviously, nothing substantial about Meta-awareness itself. It remains… elusive."

Yes, yes. Now silence. I have to speak with my sister. The need was a physical ache, a desperate pull to bridge the chasm I had created.

"You should leave her be," Romulos countered, his voice suddenly losing its mocking edge, gaining a chilling pragmatism. "Actually, you should leave all your family be."

I felt the incandescent spark of rage ignite—how dare he? Before I could unleash it, he continued, his words landing like ice water. "You've noticed it too, haven't you? Meta-awareness… it resonates stronger. Clears. The less emotional attachment you carry. And you, Corvis," his spectral gaze felt like a physical weight, dissecting me, "are a mess in that department. You are, quite possibly, the most emotionally entangled person I have ever encountered that is carried by the littlest spark of emotion."

And what is that supposed to mean? I retorted, defensive, refusing the cold logic. My love wasn't a weakness; it was the bedrock of who I was!

"It means," he stated, his tone devoid of judgment, merely stating an observable fact, "if you genuinely wish to help your family, your friends… to wield Meta-awareness to its fullest potential, to truly see the patterns and possibilities… you need distance. Perspective. This constant churn of affection, guilt, and protectiveness… it's static obscuring the signal."

Sorry if I'm not you, I snarled back, the image of him standing alone in his Epheotan sovereignty flashing before me. But I can't just shun the people I care for! I won't become that!

"What a waste," Romulos sighed, the sound heavy with a strange, almost scientific disappointment. "I truly wonder why Fate chose you to wield this. It could have bestowed anything else—elemental mastery, physical prowess. Not the most potent ability, which requires a temperament fundamentally incompatible with yours." The observation wasn't cruel; it was bleakly resigned, and that made it cut deeper.

I've had enough of you. The thought was a surge of desperation. I reached up, fingers brushing the smooth surface of the mana contact lens nestled in my left eye. I willed it inactive, a physical barrier against his intrusion. But Romulos didn't flicker. He remained, leaning against the salt-encrusted rock, a permanent stain on my perception.

"Before you panic into believing you've finally cracked," he said dryly, rolling his eyes with infuriating familiarity, "no, you're not hallucinating. That lens? It was merely an amplifier, a crude antenna. You've already established the connection. Made the bridge. Severing the antenna doesn't collapse the bridge, Corvis. You're stuck with the signal." A ghost of a smirk touched his lips. "Consider it like advancing through core stages. Instead of shifting colors, you gain… access to other frequencies. Other instances of the Thwart."

If they're all like you, I projected, the sarcasm thick enough to choke on, then I am monumentally unlucky.

"To begin with," he countered, unfazed, "I'm providing recipes that would have taken you months, perhaps years, to devise alone. Look at the gear you wear now—that fabric blend, the integrated magic buffers. My design. Your defensive capabilities, while laughable against true power, are leagues beyond what your pathetic coreless state should allow. I'm offering you so much, Corvis. Stop whining about the source."

I glanced again at Tessia. The rigid line of her spine. The deliberate distance. Beside me, Grey walked in uneasy silence. I caught his eye—a flicker of shared helplessness, a mutual understanding of the storm we'd unleashed and our utter lack of a map to navigate it. We were adrift.

"Corvis." Romulos's voice softened, a rare shift. The arrogance dimmed, replaced by something… weary. Almost earnest. "I may sound perpetually condescending and insufferably arrogant. But in the fundamental essence… I am you. And while my primary drives are observing Meta-awareness's potential and preventing my Dad's demise…" He paused, the ancient eyes in his youthful face holding mine. "I do want to help you. This fractured version of me… wants to help this fractured version of us."

You already said that, I replied, the resistance weakening, replaced by a profound exhaustion.

"Yes. So listen. Speak to your sister. Tell her the truth. Then, tell your parents. Tell Virion. Tell them everything—Meta-awareness. Tell them how fiercely you love them. Tell them how much you despise the burden of knowledge that forces you to lie." His gaze was intense. "Purge the poison of secrecy. Then… you listen to me. We prepare. Not as a pawn for Grandfather, but for Dad's invasion. We turn the board."

A faint, almost predatory smirk touched his lips. "From my perspective, it could even be considered… a fascinating game. Father versus Son. On a continental scale."

Should I listen? The question was a chasm. I already knew the crushing weight of facing Agrona alone was impossible. But the thought of confessing to my parents… Grampa's stern face flashed before me. Wouldn't that paint a target on them brighter than the sun? Agrona has spies woven into the Council itself. Xyrus might be safer, but the Council chambers? A viper's nest.

"It makes tactical sense," Romulos conceded, the strategist overriding the son for a moment. "Very well. Confess only to Tessia. Earn back that trust. Then… we hunt." The smirk returned, colder this time. "We hunt a Retainer. Uto. And we do it without Grey."

Without Grey?! The mental recoil was physical. Are you insane?!

"I am supremely rational," Romulos stated, the chill in his voice absolute. "Grey is twelve. Even with his Vritra blood, his bond, his drive… it will take him years to reach a level where he can challenge a Retainer without risk. Three years, minimum. And I will not risk Sylvie being drawn into that premature confrontation." His gaze flickered towards Grey, a complex mix of assessment. "You rely on him too heavily, Corvis. As a crutch. As a… narrative convenience I guess the term is."

The words landed like hammer blows. Narrative convenience. They stripped bare a truth I'd buried deep.

"Yes, you do," Romulos pressed, relentless. "The difference between you and me is stark. You regard Grey as the protagonist of a story that already concluded victoriously. A character whose path you know. I regarded my Arthur as… Art. A person. Flawed, burdened, magnificent. Regardless of the outcome. Corvis," his voice dropped, heavy with finality, "this will never be your world, truly yours, as long as you view it through the smeared lens of that fiction. Meta-awareness isn't just seeing possibilities; it's interacting with the raw, unpredictable reality. You're clinging to the script instead of writing the scene. But don't misunderstans me, I am not calling you lazy, you aren't. But I am calling you a coward."

His words weren't just hard to digest; they were a truth serum, forcing a corrosive self-awareness. That was true. The confession to Grey about Meta-awareness, the dumping of "canon" knowledge… it hadn't been pure trust.

It had been a desperate delegation. A passing of the protagonist's torch. I told him because I hoped… no, I expected… he'd solve everything. Bear the weight I felt too weak to carry. The realization was a gut punch, leaving me breathless. I really was a coward. The thought was a shard of ice in my heart.

Was I ever truly his friend? Or was I just… using him? A living shield for my family… for myself? The silence in my own mind was deafening, filled only by the crunch of salt under Tessia's determined footsteps and the echoing condemnation of Romulos's brutal, inescapable clarity.