TBATE: Corvis Eralith

Corvis Eralith

The rhythmic symphony—clang-clang-clang—of steel on steel echoed in Gideon's expansive training chamber, a frantic counterpoint to my ragged breathing.

Sweat stung my forehead, my face, my eyes, blurring the focused intensity on Grey's face as he pressed forward, Dawn's Ballad a teal blur in his hand. My arms burned, each parry sending jolts of protest up my shoulders.

Then, a clean block—my borrowed training sword meeting the legendary Asuran blade with a solid thunk. Instead of shearing through my weapon like paper, Dawn's Ballad held back, the edge merely biting into the practice steel.

"You are improving, Corvis," Grey stated, a note of genuine satisfaction and palpable relief softening his usual stoic features. He disengaged, stepping back just enough to give me a fraction of a second's reprieve.

I gulped air, my chest heaving. "I think that's only because you are intentionally lowering the sharpness of Dawn's Ballad," I countered, wiping sweat from my brow with the back of my wrist.

The observation was factual. Since I had 'fixed' the blade a month ago—purging the mana-fracturing impurities revealed by Beyond the Veil—the sword's bond with Grey had deepened profoundly.

It wasn't just a weapon anymore; it was an extension of his will, his regalia and his very mana core. Wren Kain's concept of adaptability had been realized spectacularly, centered entirely on its wielder—Grey.

Dawn's Ballad lived with him, its power intrinsically linked to his own. The thought was awe-inspiring, yet chilling: if Grey ever lost his core again, the blade would likely die with it. A future I desperately hoped to prevent. Without the Legacy under his grip Agrona could be defeated without relying on aether, sparing Grey that abyss of pain.

"Corvis, stop downplaying yourself!" Tessia's voice cut across the chamber, bright and insistent. She had abandoned her meditation spot near the wall, clearly more interested in our spar than cultivating her core. The beautiful, mana-infused training room Gideon built seemed wasted on her current mood.

"You are doing good!"

"Don't you have Student Council duties?" I managed to say between gasps, momentarily distracted. It was a mistake. Grey surged forward again, Dawn's Ballad lashing out in a low, controlled sweep aimed at my legs.

I barely managed to leap back, the displaced air ruffling my trousers. His relentless pressure was straining, forcing me into constant, exhausting evasion.

"With Grey and his Disciplinary Committee, problems in the Academy decreased tenfold!" Tessia whined, flopping back onto the cushion she placed on the ground.

Sylvie, sensing her mood, nudged her hand with a soft 'Kyu', demanding pets. Tessia absently complied.

"I feel useless!" It was half-truth, half-exaggeration. Her work with Grey had been effective, creating a tangible sense of order. It meant Draneeve likely wasn't targeting Xyrus Academy anymore as it would just be a waste of time, a relief shadowed by the unnerving question of where he was operating.

"The Disciplinary Committee isn't mine," Grey corrected smoothly, his blade never still, forcing me into a tight circle. A feint high, then a swift thrust I barely deflected, the impact numbing my fingers. "I'm not even its leader. That's Claire."

"I..." Tessia puffed out her cheeks, a familiar storm cloud gathering. "...I don't like her."

Ah, that. The green-eyed monster had taken up residence lately. Any girl who spent more than five minutes talking to me seemed to trigger Tessia's possessiveness.

As if I had the emotional capability or the sheer time for romantic entanglements amidst impending wars and revolutionary events. Starting something I couldn't properly nurture felt profoundly disrespectful, to everyone involved.

"You are simply jealous," Grey teased, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he effortlessly parried a weak counter-thrust I attempted. Tessia spluttered in denial, her protests filling the air, but Grey kept needling her, his attention seemingly divided between us two.

"Grey," I gasped, sweat dripping into my eyes, my breath coming in short, sharp bursts. My muscles screamed for mercy. "What is the point of this if you're not even paying attention to me?" The exasperation was real. He was toying with me while verbally sparring with Tessia.

"To build your stamina and your strength," he replied instantly, his focus snapping back to me with unnerving precision.

He executed a lightning-fast sidestep, Dawn's Ballad slamming into mine with controlled force, angled perfectly to disrupt my balance. My feet skidded, my tendons straining, but I somehow remained upright, rooted through sheer stubbornness on the ground.

"See?" Grey stated, a hint of approval in his voice. "While your knowledge of magic is immense, Corvis," he continued, resuming his measured advance, Dawn's Ballad held low and ready, "you have a lot to learn about martial arts. Physical training won't harm you; it will make everything else possible."

I know that. The admonition echoed my own recent self-criticisms. Since my unsettling encounter with Fate and the move to Xyrus, my physical training had languished.

Albold's drills felt like a lifetime ago. Here, I had been buried in schematics, ink, business talks and mana theory. These brutal sessions with Grey were my only real exercise.

"You have a point," I conceded grudgingly, bracing for the next assault.

Grey's smile was brief but genuine. "Let's use some magic, don't you think?"

My blood ran cold for a split second. Magic? Against me? Panic flared, immediately crushed by necessity. He was already moving, Dawn's Ballad a comet of teal metal aimed at my shoulder, augmented speed making him a blur.

Gone was any hope of counter-attack. Survival was the only objective. Is there a way? My mind raced, even as my body desperately twisted away. Is there a way to defend myself with magic without destroying my arm?

Beyond the Veil flared to life instinctively. The world snapped into hyper-focus. I saw the vibrant swirl of mana Grey channeled into his strike, the dense, disciplined and honed power.

More importantly, I saw the ambient mana, the chaotic currents I could influence. The answer crystallized. Not like Elder Camus' complex void-and-pressure hand technique, but something simpler, born of my unique tools. Absorb and expel.

Continuously.

As Grey's blade descended in a powerful upward arc, I didn't just block. I moved my right arm into the path covering my face with it, activating Against the Tragedy with fierce concentration. I pushed beyond mere absorption.

I focused on drawing ambient mana in through the tattoo while simultaneously forcing a controlled, steady outflow of pure mana directly from its reservoir.

It wasn't an explosion, a beam, or a fancy attack, but a pressurized and steady stream, shaped by will into a shimmering, white halo coating my forearm like liquid moonlight solidified into a gauntlet.

CLANG!

The impact wasn't metal on metal. It was the kinetic force of Grey's sword meeting a repulsive field of chaotic mana.

The shockwave vibrated up my arm, rattling my bones, but the white halo held, dispersing the energy. Dawn's Ballad rebounded slightly. For a heartbeat, Grey was open.

Fueled by adrenaline and instinct, I pivoted, my own practice sword lashing out in a clumsy but determined riposte towards his ribs.

I saw it then—a flash of genuine excitement in Grey's eyes, quickly masked. "That's smart, Corvis," he acknowledged, his voice carrying genuine respect.

But even as he spoke, his body was already reacting with supernatural grace. A fluid pirouette on his heels, effortless and impossibly fast, brought him completely out of my strike's path. His own blade, seemingly an afterthought, tapped my exposed side with gentle but undeniable finality.

"But you are a bit clumsy."

The tap was light, but the message was clear. My momentum carried me forward, my clumsy strike hitting empty air, and my exhausted legs finally betrayed me.

I stumbled, crashing hard onto the polished stone floor, the air driven from my lungs in a pained oof. My makeshift mana gauntlet flickered and died as I lost consciousness.

"I know that..."

I groaned into the ground, the familiar taste of dust, dirt and defeat on my tongue. My body felt like lead, every muscle trembling with exertion and the aftermath of channeling so much raw power defensively.

"Grey! Stop bullying my brother!" Tessia's indignant cry rang out, laced with protective fury. Her footsteps hurried towards us.

But Grey and I existed in a bubble of shared exertion and hard-earned understanding. He ignored her, his focus entirely on me as he extended a hand. His grip was firm, hauling me effortlessly back to my feet.

My limbs felt like overcooked noodles, trembling violently. Across from me, Grey stood poised, barely winded, Dawn's Ballad resting loosely at his side. The satisfied glint in his eyes, however, was its own kind of reward—a silent acknowledgment that the clumsy block, the desperate counter, the shimmering white gauntlet… they hadn't just been smart.

They had been another step forward. A painful, exhausting, utterly necessary step.

———

The political gears of Dicathen moved forward, inch by laborious inch, these past weeks. The Dicatheous neared completion in Sapin's shipyards, its hull now adorned with the stark, disruptive patterns of dazzle camouflage—my suggestion to Gideon. True invisibility was a fool's hope against Alacrya's more advanced magical technology; confusion was our best shield.

Mislead, don't conceal. Gideon had also installed the crude radio and repeater system, along with securing a capable wind mage. Small victories, hard-won.

Beyond the Veil had become my indispensable lens. With it, I had begun the painstaking work of mapping and understanding the complex seals binding the Lances' artifacts. Three years. We had almost three years until the war's inferno fully ignited.

My hope crystallized around Lance Varay—if she could reach Integration Stage in that time, bolstered by unsealed power… we wouldn't just have Grey. We would have another genuine Scythe-slayer. The thought was a fragile lifeline in the encroaching dark.

But the key remained elusive: reliably influencing others' mana cores. Against the Tragedy 2.0 showed promise—accelerating core formation or even cultivation, if the person was physically and mentally primed. Yet it felt crude, like using a sledgehammer for watchmaking. The solution, I knew, laid in finer control, deeper understanding… resources I still lacked.

Seeking respite from the weight of plans and possibilities, I had wandered Xyrus City, browsing shops filled with mundane wonders that felt strangely grounding. The setting sun bathed the floating island in molten gold and deep orange as I trudged back towards the dormitory, my mind a jumble of schematics and mana theory.

The familiar corridors were silent, empty. Tessia, Grey, Sylvie—absent, their energies directed elsewhere. Solitude, for once, was a relief.

I pushed open the door to my room, the familiar scent of ink and ozone greeting me. The click of the door behind me was loud in the quiet. Then, without conscious thought, without any volition, Beyond the Veil flared to life beneath my left eye. It wasn't a gentle activation; it was a violent snap, like a shield slamming down.

Mana particles exploded into my vision—swirling, agitated, dense in a way I had never felt within these walls. A cold shock, entirely alien to my own control, jolted down my spine.

What is happening? The silent question screamed through my mind, primal and sharp.

The air in my room turned to ice. Not metaphorically—a tangible, bone-deep chill seeped from the figure materializing before me.

He stood with effortless, terrifying poise, platinum hair like frozen starlight above eyes that were voids. Not mere blackness, but cosmic emptiness, pupils like stars swirling within. The stark, militaristic cut of his uniform screamed authority beyond mortal comprehension.

Windsom.

Kezess Indrath's loyal dog. Recognition slammed into my gut, cold and sickening, a decade too early. Panic, raw and primal, surged—Did he already approach Grey?—but the sheer, paralyzing fear of his presence was a smothering blanket, thankfully masking the jolt of recognition in my own eyes.

"Greetings." His voice was like granite scraping marble, devoid of warmth, resonating with a power that vibrated in my teeth.

"Your look of concern is understandable." He observed, those star-filled voids fixing on me. My terror was a shield; he saw only a lesser stunned by divinity. "My name is Windsom. I am what you lessers may refer to as a deity."

Yeah, I know that. The thought screamed silently. Why are you HERE? Now? In front of ME? But his voice cut through my internal chaos, authoritative and final.

"My master—the lord of all us deities—has tasked me with localizing the unborn child of his only daughter. The bond of your lessuran friend."

The words were delivered with clinical detachment, yet they carried the weight of continents shifting.

A cold sweat beaded on my spine. I forced my voice past the constriction in my throat, aiming for awed confusion. "W-why are you telling me this, Lord Windsom?" Playing the ignorant prince was my only card against him.

"The existence of a continent beyond Dicathen isn't unknown to you lessers," he stated, a hint of dismissive impatience in his tone. He paced slowly, the sound of his boots unnaturally loud on the floorboards.

"Especially you, elf prince, as you have helped Dicathen reach this other continent, Alacrya." Relief, thin and brittle, washed over me.

He believed I only knew of Alacrya as a distant land, not the seat of Agrona's empire. Good. Keep believing that.

"A war is coming, Corvis Eralith." He stopped, turning those cosmic eyes fully upon me. The weight of his gaze felt like a physical pressure. "Your lessuran friend has been chosen by my lord to be one of Dicathen's saviors because of his bond with his only granddaughter."

"What is my role in that?" I asked, the question slipping out sharper than intended, cutting through the veneer of subservience I was trying to project.

Windsom's star-pupiled eyes widened infinitesimally. A flicker of… interest? "For being a lesser, you are perceptive." The compliment was colder than the room. "The leader of Alacrya, another asura like me, has shown signs of being… interested… in you. For some unknown reasons."

The pause before "interested" was deliberate, menacing. Agrona has interests for me? The thought was a dagger of ice twisting in my gut. Fate told me I was invisible to him! Agrona was the storm I was fated to face obviously, but this… this was the first thunder far too close, far too soon.

"You are asking if I am willing or not to become a pawn under your control." It wasn't a question. It was a grim statement of the inevitable truth laid bare.

The cold realization settled in my bones. What choice did I truly have? Refusal meant annihilation, not just for me, but likely for everyone I cared about. As long as Kezess remained oblivious to Meta-awareness, playing the compliant, coreless princeling offered more possibilities than downsides.

"Yes. That's right." Windsom's voice held a note of something almost resembling approval. "You surprise me, Corvis Eralith. Your lack of a mana core is… a shame."

His gaze swept over me again, assessing, perhaps seeing only a useful, non-threatening curiosity. "But if Agrona of the Vritra has interest in you, I am sure Epheotus will gain advantage from you too." The transactional nature was chilling. "As long as you agree to be our ally, nothing will happen to you or your dear ones."

Yeah, yeah. I know how it works. The bitter thought echoed in the hollow space his promise left. The lack of a core, my apparent weakness—it was my greatest defense against Epheotan suspicion, even if they somehow discovered the depth of my knowledge.

I wasn't naive enough to think they hadn't been observing me. Had Windsom or another asura probed my mind with magic? The terrifying possibility sent a fresh wave of cold dread through me, but Meta-awareness was unknown to them.

It meant it resisted their magic.

"What about Grey?" The question was a risk, but necessary.

"You will tell him nothing of what I have told you," Windsom commanded, the authority absolute, brooking no argument. "I will approach him myself."

I nodded, the motion stiff, mechanical.

Then Windsom vanished unseen as he appeared, but the unnatural cold lingered. I stood alone in the sudden silence, the weight of his words crushing. The fragile plans, the desperate hopes for Dicathen… they all seemed laughably small.

The horrifying epiphany crystallized: I hadn't been moving unseen. I had been walking a tightrope, blindfolded, with the eyes of both Epheotus and Agrona fixed upon me from the very beginning.