TBATE: Corvis Eralith

Corvis Eralith

The dust of crushed beast cores—a rainbow shimmer of B-class ground to fine, potent powder—settled in the glass mortar in front of me. Beside it, black like a shard of obsidian, laid one of Sylvie's scales.

It wasn't large, perhaps half the size of my palm, but it radiated a subtle, ancient luminescence, a fragment of Asuran heritage both Indrath and Vritra. She had left it on my desk with a characteristic, haughty flick of her tail, vanishing before Tessia or Grey could notice her sneaky visit to my room in our shared dormitory.

Gratitude, once again, warred with exasperation. Her gifts were invaluable, always precisely what I needed, yet delivered with the subtlety of a thunderclap. This scale, imbued with draconic genetics, was the missing piece for my next tattoo.

The final component for the new Ineptrune.

Carefully, reverently, I mixed the powdered cores with the viscous, chlorophyll-scented oil, watching the concoction swirl into a deep, iridescent ink that seemed to glow like the tail of a comet in the night sky.

This wasn't just pigment; it was potential made tangible. The nib I held was a sliver of ebony darkness—the fang of a Black-Fanged Wolf, honed and sharpened to a needle point.

Its inherent affinity for mana wasn't crucial for the design, but its resilience was. This tattoo wouldn't just reside on my skin; it would make me see.

The purpose thrummed in my mind, a constant, driving pulse. This Ineptrune, etched beneath my eye, would grant me sight. Not Realmheart's overwhelming symphony of elemental and aetheric truths and manipulation, but its foundational gift: the clear, unadulterated perception of ambient mana particles.

No longer would I be working blind, relying on theoretical calculations and vague sensory impressions. I would see the currents, the densities, the very fabric of magic I sought to manipulate.

It was the essential lens I needed to move beyond blueprints handed to Gideon and into the tangible creation of my own designs, especially the nascent, complex dream of the Beast Corps.

That project… it demanded a vision Gideon simply couldn't spare the time for. This was autonomy, forged in ink and will.

A secondary revelation, born from the last three weeks of experimentation with Sylvia's core and Against the Tragedy 2.0, solidified as I worked.

Sylvia's core, that dense, cold reservoir of Indrath secrets and power resting on my shelf when I wasn't out—because I constantly brought it with me to avoid unpleasant surprises—it wasn't just for a future shield.

It was the ultimate mana battery. Against the Tragedy 2.0 had shown me I could channel—draw ambient mana into it, albeit slowly, and, crucially, draw pure, unrefined mana out without the need of Sylvia being alive.

The chaotic mélange of atmospheric mana I absorbed and stored within my tattoo wasn't usable for delicate work; it was raw and messy mana, unstable.

But drawn through Sylvia's core? The process refined it like it was the dragon herself doing it, stripping away the elemental affiliations, leaving behind pure, potent, neutral mana—the universal currency of magic. It was a slow process, refilling an ocean drop by drol, but the implications were staggering. An infinite, pure mana source for whatever I could need it to.

I stood before the mirror in my room, the cool glass reflecting a young elven face set with determination. The vial of iridescent ink gleamed. The obsidian nib felt cool and deadly sharp in my fingers.

Was I calm? Yes. A deep, surgical calm had settled over me, the kind born from necessity and meticulous preparation. I had applied a thick paste of sedative balm—concocted from the essence of venomous flowers—to the left side of my face, numbing the skin from temple to cheekbone.

Pain or itchiness wouldn't break my focus; involuntary flinches could ruin everything.

Taking a slow, steadying breath, I raised the nib. The obsidian point hovered for a heartbeat just below the outer corner of my left eye. Then, with infinite care, it touched skin. A faint sting, barely registering through the balm. I began to trace.

The design was deliberate: an upside-down, elegantly curved 'A', its apex pointing towards my cheekbone, its two curves cradling above my eye. Each line was a prayer, a circuit etched in flesh. The nib bit, depositing the shimmering ink into the tiny punctures. The sound was a faint, rhythmic scratch-scratch in the quiet room.

After each careful stroke, I paused, dabbing away excess ink and blood with a sterile cloth, examining the line under the light, correcting any microscopic waver with agonizing precision.

It wasn't just art; it was precision engineering on the most intimate canvas—my own face.

Time dissolved into the rhythm of the needle, the sting, the wipe, the following inspection to make sure everything was alright. An hour passed, or maybe more, measured only in the growing intricacy on my skin and the slight tremor starting in my hand, fought back with sheer will.

Finally, I lowered the nib. The design was complete. In the mirror, the upside-down 'A' glistened faintly, a bright, elegant sigil framing the space around my left eye. I blinked slowly, testing. No distortion. No error I could perceive. It was perfect.

Now, the activation. Closing my eyes, I drew upon Against the Tragedy 2.0. The familiar hum resonated along my forearm as it began to pull atmospheric mana into its reservoir. Simultaneously, I focused my will on the new sigil.

See. Open this third eye of yours, Corvis. I commanded myself.

A pulse of power, cool and sharp, surged through the fresh tattoo. I felt its lines ignite, not with heat, but with a vibrant, silvery luminescence that echoed the upgraded hue of Against the Tragedy and mimicked Realmheart. And then… I opened my eyes.

The world exploded into light. Not blinding, but revealed. The air wasn't empty. It teemed. Swirling motes of vibrant blue danced like liquid sapphires—water mana drawn from the room's humidity.

Flickering embers of crimson fire mana pulsed with contained heat. Gentle wisps of verdant green air mana flowed like ethereal silk from the open window.

And the silvery streams I was actively channeling into Against the Tragedy—pure, potent potential—wove through them all. I could see the currents, the densities, the very structure of the magic I manipulated.

A gasp, half wonder, half triumph, escaped me. It worked! The world was no longer opaque; it was a luminous tapestry of energy.

"That's it!" The exclamation was soft, awed, a private victory shouted into the silent room.

The knock on the door snapped me out of my awe, shattering the profound focus. Thump. Thump. Thump. Fast, eager and familiar.

The moment Tessia's voice rang out, my exhaustion was forgotten.

"Grampa is here to visit us!"

I barely registered the sharpness in her tone—the frustration laced with concern.

I had been pushing myself too hard again.

Still, the mention of Grampa had me on my feet in seconds.

I hurriedly stashed away my ink and materials, ensuring everything was secure before rushing to the door.

———

The silence after Grandpa Virion's departure settled heavily, but my mind buzzed with a different kind of energy. The weight of Grey's gaze was palpable. "Grey," I began, my voice cutting through the quiet, "could you unsheathe Dawn's Ballad?"

His brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of curiosity replacing the usual stoicism. "Sure. What do you need it for?" He drew the blade smoothly, the teal metal catching the dormitory light, and offered me the hilt. The familiar, chilling aura of the Asuran weapon washed over me, potent even when resting.

"I want to analyse it," I explained, raising a finger to tap lightly beneath my left eye, where the intricate lines of the new Ineptrune—Beyond the Veil—laid. "With this."

A ghost of a smile touched Grey's lips. "Is that the... how did you call it? Washed version of Realmheart?" His dry humor landed surprisingly close to the mark I'd used when briefly explaining its function earlier.

"Kyu!" Sylvie chirped from her perch on Grey's shoulder, tilting her head inquisitively.

Grey translated, his tone adopting mock indignation. "She asks if you used her... scale? Have you been grooming my bond like some kind of sheep?"

A small, genuine smile broke through my focus. "It was the best material I had in mind for the tattoo," I replied simply, accepting the cool weight of Dawn's Ballad. The polished steel felt alive beneath my fingers, humming with a latent power I was now equipped to perceive. I activated Beyond the Veil.

The world shifted. The physical blade remained, but overlaid upon it was a breathtaking tapestry of mana. The dominant mana signature was Grey's—a familiar, complex weave of potent, disciplined energy intertwined with the sword's structure, binding the wielder to his weapon.

But beneath it, woven into the very molecular lattice of the metal like ancient, indelible letters, pulsed another signature. Vastly stronger, yet infinitely more subtle. It wasn't imposing itself; it was simply there, a foundational bedrock, a signature etched with impossible precision.

Wren Kain IV. The name resonated in my mind, carried on the tide of Meta-awareness triggered by my intense focus. This wasn't just a signature; it was the Titan's indelible mark, his quality brand, the proof of its asuran origin.

"What exactly are you searching for?" Grey's question cut through the luminous display, grounding me. His curiosity was a useful anchor; the deeper my concentration, the sharper the Meta-awareness became, clarifying intent and revealing connections.

"Two things," I murmured, my enhanced vision tracing the intricate mana flows within the blade. "The first, and most immediate, is the composition—the materials and the mana-forging techniques used in its creation. But the second..." I hesitated, knowing it sounded fantastical. "...is the secret to sentience."

"Sentience?" Grey's skepticism was evident.

"All Asuran weapons possess a degree of consciousness," I explained, my gaze fixed on the shimmering patterns. "From weapons like Dawn's Ballad, which merely choose their wielder, to others that manifest full personalities indistinguishable from living beings."

Images of Regis, or theoretically even Boo, flickered in my mind—constructs thay developed profound awareness and human-like personalities.

"Do you want to make artificial intelligence?" Grey asked, surprise lacing his voice. A fleeting thought crossed my mind—how advanced were AIs on Grey's Earth? Was their decline linked to rogue machines? But I dismissed it. Irrelevant speculation. Focus was paramount for now, maybe I will ask him later.

Observing the blade, Beyond the Veil revealed more than just signatures. The ambient mana flowed around it, but within the metal itself, particularly near the spine of the blade, I discerned clusters of earth-aligned mana particles.

Yet, they didn't resonate with the purity of the surrounding structure. They felt... inert. Congealed. Like slag trapped within flawlessly tempered steel. Their behavior was subtly wrong—not integrated, but embedded, disrupting the otherwise seamless harmonic flow of energy through the blade.

Impurities, yes.

The realization struck with crystalline clarity. Sulfides. Epheotus, saturated with mana beyond Dicathen's comprehension, would possess minerals and ores of unimaginable purity. Wren Kain, the Titan, would have worked with the finest.

But during the alloying process, perhaps under the immense pressures and temperatures of Asuran forging, minute impurities—likely sulfides—hadn't been fully purged or integrated within the blade.

Instead, they became trapped, microscopic flaws in the crystalline matrix. These weren't physical cracks, but mana fractures. They acted like dampeners, interrupting the perfect conductivity, the resonant potential and eclectic abilities the blade was designed for.

This, then, was the hidden flaw. This was why it was deemed a failure by its creator: not a catastrophic break, but a fundamental imperfection preventing it from achieving its true desigm. The mana couldn't flow through these clusters; it flowed around them, diminished.

A slow, triumphant smile spread across my face. The puzzle pieces snapped together. Dawn's Ballad wasn't broken; it was incomplete.

"Did you find something?" Grey asked, his voice sharp, reading my expression.

"Yeah," I breathed, the weight of discovery thrilling. "I understand why Dawn's Ballad was considered a failure. I'm going to fix it."

"Fix it?" Grey echoed, a mixture of disbelief and wary hope in his eyes.

"I told you this weapon is considered a failed experiment," I reminded him, my gaze never leaving the luminous flaws revealed by Beyond the Veil. "I know how to solve that."

The solution wasn't merely removing the impurity—that would likely destabilize the structure, creating a void where material should be. It required replacement. Substituting the inert, disruptive sulfides with a material that could integrate, that could resonate with the blade's inherent earth affinity and bridge the mana fracture.

With Beyond the Veil, I was no longer a blind watchmaker fumbling in the dark. I could see the gears of magic, the fractures in the alloy of creation. And I could truly begin to mend them.