TBATE: Corvis Eralith

Tessia Eralith

The fading light bled across the sky, painting Xyrus City in bruised hues of purple and orange, but the beauty—the same beautiful scenery of being suspended in the sky which made me so happy of moving to Xyrus City the first time I came here—felt like a mockery.

My feet carried me on autopilot, the familiar path to the dormitory—our dormitory, now mostly just Grey's and mine—feeling longer, emptier, than ever before.

The air, thick with the scent of streetlamps and the goods on the stalls and the distant aroma of dinner from the city below, did nothing to lift the leaden weight in my chest. I had spent another entire day buried in the Student Council room after classes, drowning in paperwork, petty disputes, anything to fill the screaming silence Corvis had left behind. To stop myself from thinking about him and what he might be going through.

"President?"

The voice barely registered. I was already veering towards the gates, a desperate, irrational impulse seizing me. I maybe should go to see Master Cynthia. She might know something. She has to. Even the fleeting hope was a fresh wound. Speaking his name, even in the privacy of my thoughts, sent a sharp pang through me. Corvis.

"President?"

Guilt, cold and corrosive, twisted my insides. What kind of sister am I? What kind of twin am I? Our last conversation replayed in brutal fragments—my anger, my hurt pride, lashing out because he kept secrets. Secrets meant for our parents, for Grampa. Secrets about the enemy… the ones who had shattered Grey's childhood, forcing him and Sylvie to flee across the sea. Secrets that felt monstrously important now.

Had I pushed him away? Had my own stubbornness been the final shove that sent him running into the unknown, hunted? No, he had a plan only he didn't know he would be declared a fugitive two days after.

"PRESIDENT?!"

I flinched, physically jolted back to the present. Clive Graves stood a few feet away, his usually composed face etched with concern. My Vice-President. His eyes held that familiar, careful look everyone had adopted lately—the look that said they knew, they pitied, but dared not speak the unspeakable.

"Y-yes?" My voice sounded thin, brittle, even to my own ears. Like glass about to shatter.

"You were… lost in thought again," Clive said gently, his gaze skittering away momentarily before returning with forced steadiness. "After… well. You know." He didn't need to say it. After the proclamation. After your brother became a fugitive.

It hung in the air, a suffocating taboo thicker than the twilight fog. Corvis Eralith. Crown Prince of Elenoir. Coreless. Wanted. The words felt like sacrilege. The Academy was a microcosm of the fractured continent—simmering tension, whispered arguments in corridors, friendships strained or broken.

Most students, most faculty, rallied behind Corvis. He wasn't universally beloved—he was too sharp, too intense, too different for that—but he was respected. Admired, even, for his mind, his unsettling clarity.

Curtis Glayder, whose father had signed that cursed order, had looked genuinely sick with disbelief, denying it vehemently until the official seals silenced him. But the decree was real. Signed by the Glayder and Greysunders monarchs. The entire weight of the Dicathenian Council, the authority my family had helped build, was now turned against my twin brother. Hunting him.

Master Cynthia hadn't told me anything concrete. But the grim set of her jaw, the shadows in her ancient eyes, confirmed my deepest dread. Alacrya. This had their poisonous fingerprints all over it. Suddenly, the silly jealousy I had harbored, the petty fears of other girls catching his eye, felt like childish dust. Now, the threat wasn't losing him to someone else's affection; it was losing him to chains… or worse. Forever.

"Sorry, Clive," I managed, forcing my voice to level. "You can head back to your dormitory. We… we definitely did more than enough today." The understatement was bitter.

We had mediated three shouting matches stemming directly from the proclamation, quelled a near-brawl between pro- and anti-Corvis factions, and fielded endless, anxious questions we couldn't answer. Exhaustion wasn't just physical; it was a soul-deep weariness.

Exiting the school grounds felt like stepping into a different battlefield. Whispers followed me, not all friendly. Human students and even some faculty who had always silently resented Xyrus's interracial nature, who saw it as an elven and dwarven imposition, now found a convenient scapegoat.

Corvis's corelessness, twisted by the proclamation, became fuel for their grievances. Incidents flared—vandalism on elven club notices, snide remarks in corridors, challenges to Council authority thinly veiled as political debate. It fell to me, Grey, the Disciplinary Committee, and the Student Council to douse these fires, a constant, draining effort that left no room for my own crumbling emotions.

The walk to the dormitory felt endless. Each step echoed in the hollow space Corvis had occupied. I dragged myself through the door, the simple act requiring monumental effort. All I craved was the numb oblivion of sleep. Food was an afterthought, sustenance without taste.

Inside, the air was still. Grey and Sylvie were already back. Sylvie, perched on Grey's shoulder, chirped a quiet greeting, her large yellow eyes filled with an unnerving depth of understanding. Grey himself was a study in contained tension.

Convincing him not to tear off into the Beast Glades after Corvis had been an immense task, a battle fought with logic and near-desperation. It wasn't fear for his safety—Grey despite being anyear younger than me radiated a power that felt older, deeper than anything I knew, save perhaps Alea.

It was terror that if he found Corvis, he would be caught too. Dragged back to that nightmare continent alongside him. The urge to scream for my parents, to demand Grampa intervene, was a constant pressure behind my ribs. But Corvis's warning echoed: If the Council is compromised, telling them endangers them too. They were already in the viper's den.

We exchanged a silent nod. No words. The easy camaraderie, the shared purpose Grey, Corvis, Sylvie, and I had built, felt like a relic from another life. We were islands now, Grey consumed by his silent vigil, me drowning in duty and dread, both of us orbiting the gaping absence where Corvis should have been.

I sat at the small table, pushing tasteless food around my plate. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken fears. Alea was searching. Grampa was maneuvering political vipers, suspicion sharpening his gaze even if he lacked proof. But the vastness of Dicathen, the cunning of the enemy… the image of my brilliant, vulnerable brother alone in the wild, hunted… it threatened to swallow me whole.

"Grey…" The name slipped out, unbidden, a fragile sound in the quiet room. I hadn't planned to speak. The question clawed its way up, raw and desperate. "Corvis… he'll be fine. Right?"

Grey didn't look up immediately. He finished the bite he was eating with deliberate calm. Then his silver eyes met mine. They held no platitudes, no false comfort. Just absolute, unshakeable certainty. "Yes." His voice was low, firm. "Of course."

Sylvie chirped again, a soft, affirmative "Kyu."

A fragile, trembling smile touched my lips. It wasn't reassurance offered. It was conviction stated. In that moment, Grey's unwavering belief was the only raft in a churning sea of fear. I clung to it, a single, desperate point of light in the encroaching dark.

Corvis Eralith

The crushing weight drove the air from my lungs in a pained gasp. Jagged rock bit into my back through the thin fabric of my steel grey uniform. Above me, an Hulk Beetle's faceted, obsidian eyes reflected the dim, phosphorescent glow of the dungeon's fourth floor, its mandibles clicking with a sound like cracking stones.

Six chitinous legs, each thicker than my arm, pinned me with terrifying strength. One massive limb pressed directly onto my right shoulder, grinding bone against rock. Agony screamed, but instinct flared. Mana surged through Against the Tragedy, flowing like molten silver along the intricate channels woven into my sleeve.

The uniform hardened, becoming an unyielding barrier beneath the beetle's crushing force. My forearm wouldn't shatter, but the pressure was immense, a vise threatening to pulp muscle and sinew alike.

"I have to say, your ability to stumble into life-or-death situations, even against the weakest mana beasts, is rather... fascinating." Romulos' voice, dripping with amused detachment, echoed in my skull. "You could be facing a dark-stage bandit or my Grandfather himself, and the spectacle would be identical. Truly, it's a power all in its own."

Yeah, Romulos, incredibly motivational, I shot back mentally, the sarcasm a thin shield against the primal fear. Why am I wrestling giant bugs? The answer was simple: the Pack Leader of these Hulk Beetles.

Its carapace—denser and more mana-resonant than any metal I could find—was the perfect core armor for my nascent exoform. The raw material I had trekked into this sun-scorched, subterranean hellhole to find.

Arriving here without alerting anyone wasn't all that difficult, with my mimicry of Mirage Walk and a lot of patience I infiltrated inside this dungeon before any adventurer could find me.

Nearby, a guttural roar vibrated the very air. Berna. A blur of shaggy brown fur and earth-shattering power, she was a whirlwind amidst the remaining C-Class beetles. One swipe of her gravity-augmented paw sent a beetle carapace cracking like an egg, green ichor spraying the cavern walls. The ground trembled with her impacts. I couldn't be less than her. Not now.

The Hulk Beetle pinning me jerked its horned head back, gathering momentum for a skull-shattering slam against my own face. Time compressed. Adrenaline burned through the pain. I clenched my left fist, focusing on the new symbol etched into my skin—Falling Down.

Mana flowed from Against the Tragedy into the fresh new tattoo, a circuit of power snapping closed. I punched upwards, not aiming for the head, but for the beast's armored flank.

The air rippled. A localized gravity well, amplified by Berna's blood mixed into the ink, manifested just above my knuckles. It wasn't an earthquake, but a sudden, violent downward yank concentrated on the beetle's side. The massive creature lurched, its crushing leg momentarily lifting off my shoulder as its balance faltered. Its head-slam went wide, cracking the stone beside my head.

Instinct screamed: NOW! I triggered Beyond the Meta. The world bleached to monochrome, vibrant life draining into shades of grey. Only mana remained—swirling currents in the air, the pulsing cores of the beetles, Berna's immense, earthy signature like a small brown sun. The Hulk Beetle's vulnerable points glowed like weak embers beneath its thick carapace—joints, the softer underbelly.

I twisted, rolling free from the loosened pin. My right hand flicked out, a dagger materializing from a storage ring into my grip. With the preternatural mental speed granted by Meta-awareness, I lunged, driving the blade not just with muscle, but with the chaotic energy leaking from Against the Tragedy.

The dagger plunged deep into the glowing nexus of the beetle's underside, finding the gap between thick abdominal plates.

A horrific screech tore from the beast. It reared back, ichor gushing from the wound, finally freeing me completely. I didn't hesitate. Planting my feet, I brought two fingers to the intricate pattern on my right forearm.

Against the Tragedy hummed, gathering ambient mana, twisting fire, wind, and raw lightning into a volatile, crackling bolt. I unleashed it point-blank into the beetle's lowered, shrieking head.

CRACK-BOOM!

The chaotic energy detonated. Chitin shattered. Grey matter and fragmented horn sprayed outwards. The headless carcass slumped, twitching, onto the blood-slicked stone.

I released Beyond the Meta, the world snapping back into jarring color and sound. Panting, sweat stinging my eyes, I turned. Berna stood amidst the wreckage of the other beetles, shaking thick, green ichor from her muzzle with a disgusted snort. She gave me a look—a flicker of concern mixed with predatory satisfaction.

"Done," I rasped, wiping beetle gore from my cheek. My shoulder throbbed fiercely. "Now, only the Swarm Leader remains." I nodded towards the colossal stone door sealing the inner hive chamber.

Berna padded over, placing her massive shoulder against the ancient rock. With a shared grunt of effort, earth magic reinforcing her muscles, we heaved. Stone groaned, dust rained down, and the door slid open with a grating rumble.

The chamber beyond was vast, humid, and stank of damp earth and musk. In the center, illuminated by shafts of weak, filtered sunlight from cracks high above, stood the Swarm Leader. Easily twice the size of the one that had pinned me, its carapace wasn't hazel like Berna's, but a deep, burnished dark brown, shimmering with latent earth mana. It radiated a low, thrumming power—easily B-Class. Its multifaceted eyes fixed on us, mandibles clicking a challenge.

"Try not to shatter the carapace, Berna," I ordered, my voice tight. "We need it intact." She rumbled a low growl of understanding, her green eyes locked on the colossal insect.

"What's the grand strategy, O Corvis the Hunter?" Romulos inquired, materializing casually beside me, examining his spectral nails.

"Simple," I said aloud, for Berna's benefit. "Berna distracts, keeps it busy. I find an opening and put a bolt through its brain." Precision over power.

Preserve the prize.

Berna didn't wait. She charged, a thunderous roar echoing in the chamber. The Swarm Leader met her head-on, a titanic clash of chitin and fur. Berna used her earth magic brilliantly—when the Leader's massive horn slammed towards her, she channeled the kinetic force down through her limbs, cracking the stone floor beneath her, dispersing the impact. Rocks rose to shield her flanks, redirecting crushing blows.

I darted around the perimeter, a shadow in the chaotic dance. Against the Tragedy hummed, gathering chaotic energy. I aimed for the glowing mana nexus behind its eyes.

ZAP!

A concentrated lightning bolt lanced out. Instinctively, the Swarm Leader jerked one thick foreleg up.

CLANG!

The bolt deflected off the incredibly dense chitin, scorching it but causing no real damage.

Damn. This was harder than expected. Every shot I took at its head was anticipated, parried by one of its six lightning-fast legs. We couldn't afford to waste time or energy pulverizing it.

"Berna! Kneecaps the beetle!" I shouted over the din of the battle.

Understanding flashed in her eyes. She disengaged slightly, then surged forward with renewed ferocity, not aiming for the body, but low. Her paws, suddenly encased in jagged, conjured rock, glowed faintly with the gravity augmentation of her magic. Two blindingly fast swipes, amplified by crushing weight, targeted the Leader's front leg joints.

CRUNCH-SNAP!

The sound was sickeningly final. The dark brown chitin buckled, then shattered under the focused, augmented force. The Swarm Leader let out an ear-splitting shriek of agony, its massive body crashing forward, its front legs collapsing uselessly. It thrashed, trying to right itself, but its mobility was gone.

"Now, Berna!" I yelled. The Guardian Bear instantly dropped to all fours beside the flailing beast, presenting her broad back. I sprinted, leapt, landing squarely between her shoulder blades. I now had the high ground.

The perfect angle. The Swarm Leader's head, straining upwards in fury and pain, was wide open. No leg could reach here in time.

Against the Tragedy flared, a vortex of chaotic mana—fire, wind, lightning—compressed into a single, searing point of annihilation at my fingertips. I took a microsecond to aim, Meta-awareness highlighting the perfect entry point.

"Pierce."

The bolt wasn't a blast; it was a lance, a surgical needle. A hyper-concentrated beam of pure, volatile energy. It punched through the chitin above the Swarm Leader's left eye with a sound like tearing metal and exited cleanly out the other side, leaving a cauterized tunnel through its primitive brain. The thrashing stopped instantly. The colossal body slumped, lifeless, onto the cavern floor. Only the faint sizzle of the killing wound broke the sudden silence.

I dropped down from Berna's back, legs trembling slightly from adrenaline and exertion. The dark brown carapace, miraculously intact save for the two precise entry and exit wounds, gleamed before us.

"Time to harvest," Romulos murmured, appearing crouched beside the massive corpse, his spectral hand passing through the undamaged carapace. He looked up, a flicker of genuine curiosity in his eyes. "Wouldn't a stronger beast yield better material?"

"No," I replied, pulling out specialized tools from a storage ring—chisels and saws designed for beast parts. I ran a hand over the incredibly dense, mana-rich chitin. "Meta-awareness tells me this specific carapace, properly augmented and saturated with enough raw power... it's the perfect foundation. Resilient. Adaptable." I met his gaze. "With enough mana, this will become an armor capable of weathering spells and blades alike."

The real work began. The fight was won, the prize secured. Now, the crafting.