TBATE: Corvis Eralith

Corvis Eralith

The weight of Epheotus and Agrona's moves pressed down on my mind like the sky itself.

If Windsom had shown himself to me, and Agrona's interest was confirmed, it meant the Council was compromised, a puppet stage where unseen strings were pulled by the High Sovereign of Alacrya.

An attack on Xyrus wasn't a possibility; it was an inevitability, ticking closer with each passing hour. Draneeve's plan crystallized in my mind—a dual objective.

Terror, yes, to shatter the illusion of safety and make the citizens afraid of their future oppressors. But also… capture. Me. Agrona's 'interest' was a chilling leash. The only reason I wasn't already in a Vritra lab?

Windsom made it clear in that short dialogue, Kezess Indrath's 'benevolence'. A cage of velvet threats disguised as protection, treating me like a curious, coreless trinket Agrona inexplicably coveted. The helplessness tasted like ash.

"Your Highness, hello."

The voice startled me from the grim spiral. I turned a corner near the dormitory grounds, nearly colliding with Alea. Her hand shot out, steadying me by the shoulder. Her grip was firm, grounding. "You are always clumsy," she chided, but her usual playful glint was tempered by a watchful seriousness.

"Alea. Good. You're here," I managed, relief warring with fresh tension. Cynthia had arranged the meeting I asked her, but I had expected her inside. "But why here? We can be recognized."

Alea scoffed, a puff of air escaping her lips. She adjusted the simple hood she wore, pulled low despite her casual dismissal. "Come on, Your Highness. If someone sees a elven Lance walking with a member of the Eralith family? Perfectly mundane. Royalty consults its protectors."

Her logic was flimsy cover, but her confidence was a small comfort. The real shield was her presence; few spies could evade a Lance's senses for long. Unless, of course, they were Asuras.

"Anyway, follow me." I gestured towards the dormitory. She fell into step beside me, her stride easy but alert, her gaze constantly scanning the manicured pathways and flowering hedges of the Academy grounds. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows, painting everything in hues of gold and deepening violet.

"Tell me, Your Highness," she began, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur as we walked. "I saw that little genius brain of yours made something interesting. I can feel mana in you!"

Her tone shifted, warming with a profound, almost fierce pride. It wasn't the deference of a subject to royalty, nor the professional respect of a soldier. It was the pride of an older sister witnessing a younger sibling's hard-won triumph. The unexpected warmth of it momentarily disarmed me.

"Yeah," I admitted, the term feeling inadequate. "I call it prosthetic magic."

Alea chuckled softly. "Such a smart name, Your Highness." The playful tease was back, a familiar anchor in the rising storm. But beneath it, her keen eyes held a question. She sensed the weight I carried.

We reached the dormitory. The common area was empty, thankfully. Tessia and Grey were likely still entrenched in lectures. I ushered Alea inside, closing the door with a soft click that felt unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet.

The familiar scents of parchment, drying ink, and the faint ozone of residual magic casted by my dorm mates hung in the air. I moved to the window, subtly checking the view outside—clear, for now. Alea stood near the center of the room, radiating contained energy, her usual friendliness layered over a core of focused readiness.

"What did you want to tell me, Your Highness?" she asked directly, her gaze steady and serious now, though the underlying warmth remained.

The moment demanded bluntness. "You Lances are investigating strange mana beasts infesting the Beast Glades, right?" The Elderwood Guardian's corruption was a known point, but the scale… Cynthia's patrols couldn't cover everything.

Alea's eyes narrowed fractionally. "How did you know?" She held up a hand before I could formulate an answer that wasn't the terrifying truth. "Are you using divination magic, Your Highness?" Her voice wasn't accusatory; it was thick with concern.

"No," I stated firmly, then I paused for a second and continued. "So I take that as a yes. Alea, listen to me. Do you know of strange activity specifically in the Hell's Jaw dungeon?"

Her posture stiffened almost imperceptibly. A Lance recognizing a direct threat assessment. "There has been… noted aberrant behavior in Titanic Bloodworms. Why?" The confirmation sent a jolt of cold dread through me. Too close. Too soon.

"Were you tasked to investigate there?" The question was urgent.

"Yes…" Alea took a step closer, her voice dropping lower, a hint of impatience beneath the concern. "Your Highness, you are asking very pointed questions. Just tell me already." Her trust in me warred with her duty's demand for clarity.

This was the precipice. To tell her how I knew was to reveal the abyss beneath my feet. But time was collapsing.

"Alea," I began, the name feeling heavy. "I… know things. More than just glimpses of the future. And not from divination." I took a breath, the air suddenly thin. "An entity… called Fate… told me." The words sounded ludicrous even to my own ears. Madness or prophecy? To Alea, it must have sounded like both.

I sketched the horrors in broad, terrible strokes: the impending attack vectors, the nature of the corruption spreading like rot through the Glades, the specific, monstrous threat likely coiled within Hell's Jaw. The Retainer. Uto.

I spoke of his strength, his sadism, the near-impossible odds. The need for overwhelming, unexpected force. The minutes stretched, filled only by the low thrum of my own pulse and Alea's unnervingly still presence. Her expression was unreadable, a mask of professional assessment, but her eyes… they held conviction.

When I finished, the silence pressed in. "I see, Your Highness," she finally said, her voice remarkably calm. She gave a single, decisive nod.

"You… believe me?" The question escaped, raw with vulnerability I hadn't intended to show.

"Yes," she stated simply, without hesitation. "And I trust your judgment." A faint, almost sad smile touched her lips. "Perhaps it's because you remind me of the little brother I lost," she admitted, the words quiet but carrying immense weight. "But I feel… trusting you now leads to the best outcome. The only outcome worth fighting for."

The unexpected personal revelation pierced through the strategic dread. "What happened to your brother?" The question felt intrusive, yet necessary. This trust she offered wasn't blind duty; it was rooted in something profound.

"He died of sickness," she said, the words flat, the old grief a shadow in her eyes. "He was only eight. I… couldn't do anything." A flicker of that ancient helplessness crossed her face before she forcibly smoothed it. "Now. The enemy. You say their stronghold, their source, is hidden within the Beast Glades? This corruption?"

"Yes," I confirmed, pulling the focus back, grateful for the anchor. "The abnormal behavior, the aggression… it's a symptom. Alacrya is seeding corrupted beasts, twisting the land itself. A prelude to a future invasion."

Alea's gaze sharpened. "Knowing you, Your Highness," she said, a glimmer of her usual wryness returning, "I suspect you haven't called me merely to deliver dire warnings and tragic backstories." She saw through me. As always.

Uto. The Retainer. His strength was a mountain. Even knowing his weakness facing him was near-suicidal without overwhelming power. Waiting for Grey wasn't an option as despite his spiking growth he was still too weak. But alerting the entire Council, the Lances… the Greysunders, the Glayders… the risk of Agrona's spies, or worse, Windsom's watchful eyes, was too great. The seal in the Lances' artifacts had to be broken, but only for someone I could trust absolutely.

Only for Alea.

"Alacrya's strongest soldiers are Scythes," I explained, the titles feeling like lead weights. "Each commands a Retainer. Those Retainers… they operate at a level that directly challenges you Lances. To face one, let alone defeat one… we need more. We need you stronger, Alea. Immediately."

Her brow furrowed. "How? Varay, Bairon, Mica, Aya, myself… we plateaued at white core years ago. We've never felt stronger, yet never felt… limited… until now."

"The artifacts," I stated, the truth a blade I had to wield. "The very artifacts that made you White Cores. They aren't just conduits, Alea. They're seals. They cap your potential. They prevent you from reaching beyond white core—from reaching the Integration Stage."

Her reaction was visceral. She physically recoiled a half-step, her eyes widening in pure shock, then hardening into disbelief. "What? But… why? Who would…?"

"Because the 'gods' who gave them to us," I said, the bitterness sharp in my voice, "never intended for us to reach our true potential. They fear what lies beyond—what they call the miracle of the lessers. Alea…" I met her stunned gaze directly. "I have a way to break that seal."

The silence that followed was deafening. The implications crashed over her—betrayal on a cosmic scale, the shackles she never knew she wore. Then, confusion clouded her features. "Then why… why have you called me, Your Highness? Varay is the strongest. Aya is far more astute. Bairon… well, Bairon is powerful. I am…" She didn't say 'the weakest,' but it hung in the air.

"Why not them?"

"Because I can only trust you with this secret," I said, the words heavy with the gravity of the risk. "If the Council, if Epheotus, if anyone discovers I can break the seal… I'm dead. Dicathen might burn faster. This knowledge is more dangerous than any enemy soldier."

I knew Alea's path to Integration, when unsealed, would be longer, harder than Varay's in canon. But time, that cruel master, was a luxury we were rapidly losing. This wasn't about creating the strongest weapon instantly; it was about creating the safest, most reliable one.

Alea stared at me, the shock slowly replaced by a dawning, profound understanding. She closed the distance between us in two strides. "You know, Your Highness," she said, her voice thick with an emotion I couldn't quite name—gratitude, resolve, fierce protectiveness.

"Since the first day I met you, I believed you would be a great King. Not just powerful, but right." She placed a hand over her heart, the gesture formal yet deeply personal. "My allegiance is sworn first and foremost to the Eralith family. Then, to Dicathen. Not to the Council. Not to distant gods."

Her gaze locked onto mine, unwavering.

"You probably wondered why… why I've kept your secrets, shielded your actions from your father's inquiries when I could." She paused, the ghost of her lost brother passing through her eyes again. "The hypocrite in me claims it's faith in your future leadership. And that faith is real. But the deeper truth…"

Her voice softened, roughened by memory.

"...is that you do remind me of him. Of the little brother I failed. The one I couldn't save. You are the first person in… in a very long time, Your Highness, that I've truly felt… connected to. Like family." The admission hung in the air, raw and powerful. "So, when you ask for trust… when you offer a power born of breaking the chains the 'gods' put on us…"

She drew herself up to her full height, the Lance reasserting itself, but the warmth for the boy-prince remained. Her hand, calloused from wielding her weapons, extended slightly, not in a formal salute, but in a gesture of profound, unbreakable pact.

"I trust you, Corvis. Completely. Do what you must."

First Grey and now Alea. Two people completely trusted someone like me with the future. I wanted to feel inadequate, I wanted to feel unworthy, but I couldn't. I had to be the best tactician possible, playing chess against both Agrona and Kezess at the same time.