Corvis Eralith
I was the water-dedicated floor of my Awareroom.
I worked on the Water Generator, my hands moving with on their own as I disassembled and reassembled this machine on which I worked more times than I could count. The copper tubes gleamed under the soft light filtering through the dark-teal windows, their surfaces warm to the touch, humming with the magic of transformation and synthesis.
After my recent adventures in Xyrus City and its academy, it was time to return my energies to the shores of the Pits of Vildorial.
The memory of that place still clung to my mind like it came from the river: the darkness, the desperation and the struggling eyes of dwarves who had been forgotten by the city above.
When I had visited them during the Darffest week, I had witnessed so much poverty and so much misery. They had so little that their greatest hope had been a Water Baron for years.
That thought still burned in my chest, a quiet anger that refused to cool.
I had to do something for them. And the first step was improving the Water Generator.
This section of the Awareroom was a large open space, the tall windows letting the natural light illuminate it perfectly.
Unfortunately, or fortunately, seeing my goals for today, it was raining. The sky beyond the glass was a soft, weeping grey, and the world outside had been reduced to a symphony of water and shadow.
I paused in my work, listening to the drops of water falling against the windows, and looked at the beauty of Azellio's valley during a rainy autumn day. The mountains were shrouded in mist, their peaks invisible and their slopes huge silhouettes cradling the Holy City.
The Cyricon River swelled with the rain, its surface a dance of ripples and reflections. The mist that always clung to Cradletown was thicker now, wrapping the ancient city in a heavy blanket of silver and grey.
Azellio's activities were visible even from here, so far from the city centre. The Sornèvaines who were taking permanent residence in the valley continued to make the city grow.
It was good. Very good.
When the war will eventually come, Sornèvaines won't find themselves without a proper refuge if they lived in cities or other settlements. The nomads of the Elshire had always been vulnerable, their wandering ways leaving them exposed to the dangers that lurked beyond the forest's edge.
But here, in Azellio, they would have walls and allies and a future that stretched beyond the next season's migration.
I shook my head, returning my mind to the Awareroom. The thoughts of war would always be there, lurking at the edges of my consciousness, but I could not let them consume me. There was work to be done.
At the centre of the floor stood a large coppery machinery with all its tubes, tanks, and handles: a Water Generator identical to those currently produced in Darv.
The machine was already at work, its quiet hum a constant companion as I connected the pipes that took water in from the outside, draining the rainwater washing over the building and working on producing more.
The Water Generator's sound echoed in the Awareroom as its four tanks—each one able to contain as much as 100 litres of water—were starting to be filled. The water was clear, clean, shimmering with the faint iridescence of mana.
"If only there was rain in the Pits..." I murmured, the words barely audible over the steady rhythm of the rain against the glass.
The water created by the machine was already safe to drink, so there was no worry about the rainwater being unhealthy. Unless the rain itself was acidic or other extreme conditions, everything produced by the Water Generator was harmless.
But it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.
I fidgeted with a copper coin in my hand, turning it over and over, feeling its smooth surface against my skin. The metal was cool, solid, a small piece of the world I was trying to change.
Before I could second-guess myself, I threw it at Berna, who was laying at the entrance of the large barren floor.
She swallowed it as if I had just thrown her a chip.
"Or if only I could recreate your same abilities..." I murmured again, staring at my Guardian Bear.
Even Evascir was stunned by her ability to command elemental magic through eating metals. Guardian Bears were notoriously rigid in their magic: gifted only with the power to blink to their bond's side and intercept fatal blows.
Nothing more. They were forged by the Titans as living shields, creatures whose nature was meant to be as immutable as solid granite.
Her unique "metal-eating" magic was only the beginning; Berna possessed none of the powerful abilities intrinsic to her species. She couldn't teleport to my location to take a lethal blow, nor could she act as my furred wall.
In place of those, she had granted me Massbinding: a Beast Will capable of manipulating gravitational forces beyond comprehension.
Her very gift defied the records. Guardian Bears's Beast Wills were usually predictable—formidable compared to native Dicathian beasts, but thoroughly ordinary next to the high magic of Epheotus. Berna was an enigma wrapped in contradictions, a creature that broke every rule the Titans had set down.
I still remembered what Windsom had called her: Ashmavasa. Stone of Flesh, Flesh of Stone. A creation of the Titans, yes, but one that had been discarded, abandoned, left to wander the Elshire Forest alone and corrupted.
She was a failure, according to the Asuras. An experiment that had not gone as planned. A thing to be forgotten.
And yet she had chosen me. She had fought through the corruption, clawed her way back from the brink of madness, and offered me her trust with the simplicity of a creature that had never learned to be anything but honest.
I still didn't understand why. I probably never would.
Then, suddenly, a familiar eagle's cry broke the silence of my contemplation and the gentle beat of the rain.
I turned my head toward the tall windows once again, and Ayden Asclepius in his Sambhogakaya—Altair, the eagle—was flying stationary, waiting for me to open the window completely so he could enter.
His wings beat against the wind, his form a silhouette against the grey sky, his eyes fixed on me with the intensity, reverence and inner fire that marked all my Clan.
"Ayden?" I thought aloud, hurrying to open the window wide so that the Asclepius could enter.
The eagle glided inside, landing on top of a copper tube of the experimental Water Generator, his talons curled around the cylindrical object with comfortable ease.
Altair shrugged himself, and in an effortless showcase of fire magic, he dried himself up by lighting his whole eagle body on fire. For an instant, Ayden became a small bird-shaped sun and the next, he was completely dried, his feathers pristine and warm.
"You know you could have put my whole Awareroom on fire, do you?" I asked him, a hint of exasperation creeping into my voice.
"Don't worry, Eralith," Ayden replied, his tone almost dismissive. "I know how to control myself. I am not Chul."
I frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?" I asked him, not liking a member of my Clan speaking of my nephew in such a way.
Chul was difficult, very much so—volatile, emotional, still carrying the weight of centuries of grief—but he was family. He was my nephew.
"Wrong choice of words, sorry," Ayden apologized, a wing covering his face in shame. The gesture was so human, so familiar, that it made me smirk.
"What are you here for, anyway?" I asked, moving to take a seat. But seeing as I hadn't put chairs or other seating on this floor yet, I used Berna as my furred armchair.
The Guardian Bear growled in what I couldn't understand if it was annoyance or contentment, even through our bond.
"I and the lesser have found something you might be interested in, Eralith," Ayden said.
Did he mean Albold? Yes, I didn't think he spent time with other elves other than the Chaffer scion. The eagle's tone was carefully neutral, but I could sense the underlying excitement beneath his composure. "A portal of the peaceseekers."
"In the Beast Glades?" I asked, standing up from Berna just a second after I sat down.
The Unraveler's Company had been operative for almost a whole year by now, and not even a single portal—those hidden in the Wild East, used by the Alacryans in the novel—had been found.
I had read reports of countless parties that delved into the depths of the Beast Glades, the Company had poured resources and hope into the search, and still, nothing.
Until now apparently.
"Yes," the eagle replied, his voice steady. "It was hidden in a den of mana beasts Albold asked me to scout to see if it was worthy to raid."
"And you haven't told him about the portal, right?"
Ayden shook his head, his feathers rustling with the motion. "I considered it a matter that required the knowledge of the Highprince first," Ayden replied. "I think that is what Lord Mordain would have wanted."
I couldn't speak for my soulfather, but I appreciated the gesture. Ayden's loyalty was unwavering, his judgment sound. He had done the right thing.
"What dungeon was it?" I asked, already moving toward the door, my mind racing ahead. "I will depart immediately."
"An A-Class," Ayden replied. "The Iron Deephold, it is called."
"And you and Albold went there alone?" I asked, surprised by that.
Albold was a yellow-core mage and a member of Sister House Chaffer. He was strong, one of the strongest mages of his generation... if not even the strongest mage his age in all Dicathen.
But to go alone into an A-Class dungeon? That was reckless, even for him.
Actually, that was quite Albold-ish: to never follow the rules and do whatever he preferred. Unless it had the name "Eralith" in between, in that case Albold became just as strict as his rival; Ashton Auddyr.
The thought brought a small smile to my face. For all their differences, the two scions of Elenoir's greatest military Houses shared a common devotion to my family. It was strange, comforting, and deeply humbling.
Speaking of which...
"I think it's time for the Dungeon Crawlers to go on a new Unraveling," I declared, the decision crystallizing in my mind. "I will ask Elder Jarnas if Ashton can be relieved from his duties here in Azellio for a while."
Before I left my Awareroom, I took another glance at the Water Generator. Its tanks were nearly full now, the water inside shimmering with a faint, magical light. It was a good machine, a useful machine, but it was not enough. It would never be enough.
Avicenna had taught me how to use the Article of Unity to reset Djinnic gateways when we first went to the Hearth.
Doing the same to an Alacryan portal wouldn't only remove an asset from an enemy, but also give a new one to Dicathen.
The technology to make portals wasn't as simple as that of a Moyalembic—the Lifework that was the blueprint of the Water Generator.
Portals required the work of many and expensive materials wtih careful control. They were the pinnacle of Djinnic engineering, the crowning achievement of a people who had mastered the very fabric of reality.
It was much more efficient to search for those already existing in Dicathen than to build new ones.
Gifting a portal to the Pits of Vildorial, now... that was truly something that would help them. A connection to the rest of the world, a way out of the darkness, a chance to reclaim what had been taken from them.
As I reached the atrium, I stepped out of my Awareroom and into the rain, the cool water washing over my face, ready for the Unraveling ahead.
—
It was good to be back with the Dungeon Crawlers.
After all the politics and scheming of the last weeks, going on an Unraveling with my party (well, one of my parties) was a welcomed chance of pace—even if the ending role remained, as always, related to the neverending preparation for war,
The carriage rattled along the rough road here in the Wild East, its wheels grinding against cobbles and beaten earth and I took time to enjoy the familiar rhythm of travel.
The landscape outside was a blur of many shades of green and brown, the Elshire Forest giving way to the wild and variable expanse that were the Beast Glades.
"Auddyr," Albold said, breaking the silence inside the carriage. "What have you been doing in... you know?"
He avoided mentioning Azellio outright. Since I was still supposed to be a dwarf in his eyes, uttering the name of the Holy City would have breached a vital state secret.
The vehicle we were in was cramped, its wooden walls pressing close, but I had grown used to such spaces over my time as an Unraveler.
Unfortunately, there wasn't enough space for Berna, so my bond had to pad beside us. Not that a bit of exercise would harm her.
While I was starting to mingle with Alacryan affairs, my lazy bear was being spoiled by Lugano with Altawoll sandwiches and other treats. All of this happening under the stoic and ancient eyes of Evascir Gigante, who indulged to halt them.
But was not that the whole point of a leader? To shoulder the weight myself so others wouldn't have to.
"Bureaucratic work, mainly," Ashton replied, his tone as formal as ever. "Grandfather has been teaching me everything a general might need."
Between the two main military Sister Houses of Elenoir, Chaffer and Auddyr, the latter were specialized in the logistics and leading aspect of war, other than their prized Branchberd mastery.
The Chaffers were instead the instructors of the army, the quality of the Treeful Phalanx's tactics, the training regime of Zestier's Leafguard and also the ones who managed the Royal Police, recruiting their members by direct order of the King.
"Sounds boring," Albold replied, his eyes closed as he leaned on the back of the carriage. "And considering that King Alduin would never start a war, it seems also sounds kind of useless to my ears."
You have no idea, Albold, I said in my mind. The words echoed in the hollow space of my thoughts, heavy with the weight of futures that had not yet come to pass.
"Azellio is growing fast, and many Sornèvaines have never even seen a city in their whole lives," Ashton retorted, a hint of steel creeping into his voice. "Help from the Treeful Phalanx is not useless, Chaffer."
"Yes, yes, whatever," Albold replied, crossing his arms. The gesture was dismissive, but I caught the faint smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. For all their bickering, there was a grudging respect between them, a bond forged by years of rivalry.
"Honestly, I am more interested in what you have been doing lately, Warend," Ashton said, turning to look at me. "It's been weeks since we last saw each other."
"Oh yes, Finn, I am interested too," Albold said, opening one eye. His look told more than a hundred words: he wanted to know what Prince Corvis was doing as Finn Warend.
"Ehm..." I started, searching for the right words. "Home affairs, yes. Home affairs."
"Home affairs? I didn't take you for someone interested in military," Ashton said. "I admit I am quite interested in how Darv manages its army. Please do tell me, I am all ears."
It seemed the Auddyr scion considered home affairs to be exclusively related to the army. The thought was almost amusing, proving to how deeply the martial traditions of his House had shaped his worldview.
"Not everything has to do with military, Auddyr!" Albold exclaimed in annoyance. Ashton turned his head toward his rival, but didn't say a word—they just exchanged glances, a silent conversation that spoke volumes.
"I am a candidate for a very important competition back home," I decided to add, keeping it vague.
The Throneholder competition wasn't very well known outside of Darv. There was a tradition in Dicathen of never sticking your nose in other kingdoms' affairs, with the First and Second Wars being the only exceptions.
But 2000 years of history with only two wars were proof enough of this Dicathian tendency.
We continued to travel toward the Iron Deephold.
The dungeon was called like this because once there had lived an S-Class mana beast, a fearsome Iron Hydrax.
It was fortunately slain long ago, and since then the dungeon had lost its appeal to the eyes of the Adventurer's Guild.
So much so that it had dropped from an S-Class dungeon to an A-Class one—an extremely rare occurrence given the nature of Resets. But because the Iron Hydrax had never respawned in the Iron Deephold, the Adventurers' Guild officially lowered the dungeon's classification and called it a day.
During the trip, with silence returning once again, Altair started to sing, an eagle behaving like a songbird.
He remained a Phoenix, and a pure-blood one at that. Even I, through layers and layers of REmould and other memories, had a hard time suppressing Eralith's yearning for music.
"Pay him no mind," Albold said, waving one hand dismissively. "He always does that."
"I never heard of an eagle singing like a mockingbird," Ashton commented, his tone curious.
"Go say that to Corvis," Albold replied, giving me another knowing look. "He was the one to give Altair to me."
Ayden, who was perched between me and Albold, leaned closer to me, hitting my side with his head. He wanted me to play along, didn't he? The eagle's eyes were bright, almost mischievous, and I immediately understood what Altair the eagle wanted from me.
I sighed, and from my storage ring, I took the same Stoneflute Olfred had gifted me so long ago.
I raised it to my lips and started to play.