《The Rise of Coryllion》 Chapter 1: Rolen Aloro The airship was constructed with the exact same level of consistency that all Arlaiin crafts were built. The massive frame of the ship cast a shadow over the port of Teras, an eclipse that was not the least of which aided by the colossal red and black balloon that supported it. Below the balloon it was a standard passenger class galleon, complete with a rudder that, in the absence of water, was best used for waving towards the passerby below. On either side of the rudder were four large, hollow metallic cylinders. The inside of each glowed in a soft purple light, an indication of the khor within. Like every Arlaiin structure, the ship was ringed with a heavy iron trim and held together with blackened iron chains and fastenings. Across its bow, its name was scrawled: The Lyrelight. To Rolen it was, in a word, boring. Rolen stepped aboard, coaxed by the all-too-friendly flight crew. It wasn¡¯t his first time on an airship; it just happened to be his first time legitimately gaining access to such a vessel. The view from the airship was decidedly not boring. The Iron City of Teras sprawled westward, metallic roofing glinting in the fading sunlight. To the east, the Ashfield Prison Island sat ominously in the Cobalt Bay; rising black smoke centered itself in the sunset. He looked around at his fellow passengers. Each wore fine robes and vestments, many of them probably nobles or merchants. He looked down at his own cloak, adorned with black fur and covering his specially designed lightweight armor. Rolen smirked to himself. Any other day, he would be taking full advantage of the naivety of nobility. Today, however, he was on his best behavior. He continued onto the ship, peering upward at the crew suspended in the rigging. The wind rushed through his shaggy white hair as he heard the heavy boots of a crewman approach him. ¡°Ahem,¡± a voice said from behind. ¡°Mr. Aloro?¡± Rolen turned to see the man who spoke. He was a shorter man, not aided by his rotundness. He wore fine clothes, too fine to be just any grunt on the ship. His hair was thin, black and slicked back, shining almost as brightly as his small round spectacles against the rising sun. Tucked under his arm was a thick scroll, presumably a manifest of some kind. His voice was all nasal, and spoken with all of the superiority that nobility could afford a person. ¡°I am Pembleberry,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m here to show you to your quarters.¡± He said his name in a peculiar way to Rolen, but not one that was notably uncommon among upper class Arlaiins: Pemble-bry. Rolen despised him on this fact alone. Rolen peered down at the man, his golden eyes piercing him. ¡°Very well,¡± he said. ¡°Lead on.¡± Pembleberry gestured for Rolen to follow, and Rolen obliged. Rolen noticed two things about this man almost instantly: he was both more nervous and more intelligent than he was attempting to appear. Rolen and Pembleberry stepped through an open hatch in the deck, revealing a set of stairs. Sailors rushed around them, barking orders at each other. ¡°I do apologize for the secrecy,¡± Pembleberry said as the two walked below the deck. ¡°You see, my master has instructed me not to reveal his identity. I assume someone in your line of work is not unfamiliar with anonymity.¡± The ship lurched heavily. It had left the Skyport. ¡°You assume correctly,¡± Rolen said, ducking beneath an archway in the long hallway below deck. ¡°But still I would like to shake the hand of the man who managed to pardon my¡­ alleged crimes.¡± Pembleberry turned back as he walked, and Rolen paid very close attention to the way he responded. ¡°He will attend to shaking your hand in due course.¡± So it is a he, Rolen thought to himself. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was more information than he¡¯d been able to gather about this mysterious benefactor up to this point. Pembleberry¡¯s glasses shone against the soft lamplight in the hallway, like two orange, secretive beads in the dim light. Suddenly, he stopped walking. Pembleberry pointed a fat finger towards a thick wooden door. A brass sign was affixed to its front: Room 13. ¡°This is where you¡¯ll be,¡± said Pembleberry. He patted his pockets, producing a small ticking pocket watch. This was a very valuable item; Rolen took a mental note. Pembleberry examined the watch before snapping it shut, saying, ¡°I will send someone to collect you at the advent of your meeting with my master. Should you require anything, ring the bell inside.¡± ¡°And when shall I plan on meeting him?¡± Rolen asked. ¡°My master is a very busy man. You will be informed.¡± Rolen nodded absently, and the man waddled back down the hall. Rolen waited, feeling the gentle sway of the ship, before quickly walking back up the stairs. He was out in the open air once again, much to his relief. He looked around, spotting Pembleberry, who spoke with crewmen. His next conversation with him will have come too soon. Rolen turned past the hatch that led below deck, finding a set of doors leading into a cabin towards the back of the ship. Rolen quickly ducked inside, zipping past sailors as they adjusted the ship¡¯s course. Within the door was a small galley. Several tables were scattered in the small room, apparently bolted into the floor. A few sailors sat at these tables, laughing as they rolled dice across the table¡¯s surface. Behind them, a counter impeded most of Rolen¡¯s view of a large man who was scrubbing a large iron pot. Must be the cook, Rolen thought. He approached the counter, clearing his throat. The large man turned. ¡°Light night to you. I was hoping you could help me out with something,¡± Rolen said. The cook tossed his wet rag into the pot and approached the counter. His clothing was grubby, apparently not changed in some time. He was bald, with large eyebrows and the shadow of a recently shaven face. He narrowed his eyes at Rolen. ¡°I was hoping...¡± Rolen began to dig in his bag. ¡°... that you could tell me who owns this airship.¡± Rolen produced a silver coin, called a Shen due to the visage of its namesake Emperor, laying it gently on the counter. A hole was punched through the center of the coin, for ease of putting it on a coinstring, causing the Emperor¡¯s head to be voided through the area around his ear with a squared space. He began to fidget with the coin, rolling it between his fingers. The man looked down at the Arlaiin Shen, raising an eyebrow. He did not respond. A voice was heard behind Rolen. ¡°You''re wastin¡¯ your time, Lunarian.¡± Rolen turned to see one of the men at the table leering at him. The man was thin, his brown hair flecked with gold and running in waves down the sides of his head. Also sitting at the table was a Boskin man, his black beard tied in intricate knots over his chest. ¡°And why is that?¡± Rolen asked. ¡°Because,¡± the seated man said, ¡°the captain don¡¯t come out of his cabin. Not never. Also, Harkor don¡¯t talk.¡± The man behind the counter grunted at Rolen. ¡°You¡¯ve never seen him?¡± Rolen asked. A Boskin man at the table croaked, ¡°I seen ¡®im, Froak.¡± Froak looked back at the man. ¡°You ¡®ave not, Leon. Too much ale floodin¡¯ your Boskin brain, you trobsnack.¡± Leon violently shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m tellin¡¯ you, he¡¯s one of them fancy lads. Son of a Lord, I¡¯m sure.¡± ¡°Do you not even know his name?¡± Rolen interjected. The two men looked at each other and shrugged. ¡°Lovely,¡± he said. ¡°We¡¯re all on this ship, and we don¡¯t even know for whom we work.¡± ¡°When you see as much silver as we do,¡± Leon said, ¡°you don¡¯t ask.¡± Rolen considered that for a moment. This was a mysterious man indeed to pay his freedom and not reveal himself even to the crew of the Lyrelight. Rolen looked down at the table in front of him; the two shipmates each had a cup and five dice lain in front of them. A stack of silver coins sat in between them. Rolen reminded himself of correct times and places. Observing the rest of the table, it was curious that these men were working together. This was an Arlaiin craft, but aboard it he had seen Elves, Boskin, Gilgottians, and every other type of person from here to the Bosker Mines. These men were recruited, almost specifically, by an incredibly rich man who must have traveled far and wide to gather them all. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡°I see,¡± Rolen said. ¡°Thanks for the word, then. I¡¯ll be off.¡± The men chuckled as he stepped out of the room. Rolen closed the door on the sound of the rolling dice behind him, and made his way back to the hall outside room thirteen. During his walk back, he noticed a distinct absence of crew members. There must have been more important things to do to keep this ship in the air, or perhaps this was the only time the crew could get any sleep. Regardless of the reasoning, Rolen found the lack of company refreshing. Briefly, he listened to the sound of the ship creaking, the ropes stretching with the movement of the sails, the wind rushing past his ears and through the ships brails. The prospect of freedom loomed in his mind as he stepped down the ship¡¯s hatch and into the hall. The room he was given was small. A single, compact bed was nestled into the corner with a nightstand bolted to the floor of the room. A lit lantern was hanging from the ceiling, swaying in rhythm with the ship. He¡¯d had worse lodgings in the past. It was just days ago that Rolen found himself locked in a damp cell, climbing the stone wall just to get a glimpse of the outside through a diminutive, barred window. Somehow, however, Rolen still felt imprisoned. He stepped towards the bed, quickly adjusting his shortswords before falling backwards onto the firm mattress. He laid there for some time, his mind racing with thoughts of the future. Who was this man who freed him? He thought back to every possible encounter he¡¯d had in the past few weeks. Part of his job had always been avoiding interactions, so who would have even known who he was? The cabin was stuffy and the bed was excessively firm, but for days Rolen had been sleeping on a stone slab in a prison cell. To him, the lumpy straw mattress was like laying on a cloud. He closed his eyes and, before he knew it, found himself asleep. The swaying of the ship coaxed him gently, and for the first time in days, Rolen found peace. That is, until he heard the heavy footsteps from outside his door. He opened his eyes slowly, refamiliarizing himself with the room he was in. He was unsure of how much time had passed, but enough to cause the wick of the swinging lantern to burn almost to its base. Rolen was perceptive enough to realize that these footsteps outside were not of the sailors; they carried no weapons while he could hear the clanking of swords on belts from the individuals in the hall. Rolen sat up quickly and walked to the door. Slowly, he opened it and examined the population of the hallway; it was a exactly zero. He crept out into the hall and began to walk not the way he came in, but further down the dimly lit hall. His Elven eyes allowed him better vision in the low light. He came to a set of stairs that led down. Hopefully these didn¡¯t creak as much as the stairs leading into the hallway. He took a step. Solid as a rock. He stepped further down the stairs and found himself in a wide room. The center of the room held a glass globe, suspended between two large metal cylinders. It glowed with a soft purple light. Behind this large orb, Rolen could see a massive iron door. Bronze pipes snaked their way from the cylinders, lining the walls and spreading through the ship like veins. Various studded brackets were embedded in the metallic labyrinth around the room. This must be what¡¯s powering this thing, he thought. He had never seen an airship from below the deck, and certainly never seen one that did not contain a dozen guards pulling him off the controls. He looked closer and noticed that there was a figure on the other side of the orb, obscured by the soft glow of the light. Rolen cleared his throat, causing the figure to lean around the edge of the orb. He was wearing deep purple robes, lined with a blackened trim. On his chest was an insignia that Rolen had never seen before; it appeared to be a black blade in the open maw of a beast. The man wore a smooth mask, made from a material that was unfamiliar to Rolen. It shined faintly in the light. The man stepped to the side of the orb, circling it. Rolen could see that he was not alone. Six men now stood between Rolen and the large orb at the center of the room. Each of them holding a long, pointed sword. ¡°So,¡± Rolen said. ¡°I take it you are not the maintenance crew.¡± The first man ran at Rolen, who was quick to perceive his intentions. As he swung his sword, Rolen stepped back just enough, causing it to cut only the hairs that lagged behind Rolen¡¯s moving head. He bent his knees as the other men stepped forward, and drew his shortswords in a flash of steel. The man in front of him swung his sword again, downwards. Rolen stepped to the side to avoid it, flicking his wrist and slashing his shortsword effortlessly across the man¡¯s midsection. They were slow, slower than the threats Rolen was used to facing. Demonstrably too slow to win against a Wyr-soul. Quickly, Rolen kicked the man in the side, sending him stumbling into two of the other assailants. Rolen turned, striking at one of the men with great speed. His shortsword slammed into the man¡¯s mask, and its momentum stopped entirely. It was as though he had hit his sword against a steel wall. Whatever these masks were made of was unbelievably strong. The man poked his sword towards Rolen, who quickly lifted his other sword and parried it out of the way. Just then, he noticed a glint of metal in the corner of his eye and managed to dodge the swing of another robed figure. Rolen jumped back, his feet sliding partially on the metallic floor. He eyed the men, devising his strategy against them. One man laid bleeding on the floor, the other five quickly approaching. He dashed to the side of the leftmost man, avoiding being trapped in their center. Time slowed as he focused on the battle. He raised both swords at once and slammed them down towards his opponent, an attack that was blocked by them man¡¯s raised sword. Rolen then used the first of the Wyr-soul khors: Lightening. Wind began to pick up around Rolen as his weight changed. Keeping his swords against his opponent¡¯s, he lifted himself off the ground and tucked his legs over the sharp blade- allowing him to kick the man just below the head with both feet. Kicking the mask was useless, as he discovered when he struck it with his sword. It seemed to absorb all force. What a curious material. Where Rolen had placed the kick was devastating. As he kicked, he dispelled the Lightening and put all of his force into his legs. The wind that had gathered to lift him now rushed from his feet and threw the man across the room as Rolen flipped back down to the ground. This was the second of his khors: Direct. This allowed him to control wind currents and direct them wherever he wished. The robed man knocked into two of his compatriots, one of them being impaled on his own sword and all of them tumbling to the floor. Rolen¡¯s odds were increasing. One of the two remaining robed figures charged at Rolen, a maneuver that seemed, to him, foolish. Rolen drew a knife from his belt and quickly delivered it through the air to the man¡¯s throat. He crumpled before he reached Rolen. The last standing assailant, Rolen noticed, had his hands clasped together. They glowed with an ominous orange light. Gods, Rolen thought. He¡¯s an Arc-soul. Quickly, Rolen leapt behind the orb in the center of the room just as the man unclasped his hands. A beam of flame poured from the man, following Rolen¡¯s path. It struck the orb, its glassy membrane melting from the intense heat. Rolen felt the heat pour around him as he crouched behind the orb¡¯s metal post. And then, the flames stopped. Rolen heard the screams of the man from the other side of the glowing sphere. He hesitated, peeking around the corner. The orb was now melted and cracked, causing its contents to be freed in the outside air. Purple lightning arced across the room, desperately rushing into the metal walls. The Arc-soul was hit with one of these bolts and was now writhing on the floor, screaming in pain. The screaming did not last long, as Rolen was soon left with only the sounds of electricity bouncing around the other side of the room. Some problems solve themselves, I guess. Rolen stood just as the airship began to drop. Not an ideal situation, he thought as he gathered himself. Nothing I can¡¯t handle, though. He looked beside him, at one of the bodies strewn around the room. His mask was loose, just loose enough for Rolen to lift it. It was lighter than he thought it would be for something so durable. As he raised it he realized who this man was- he had just spoken to him hours earlier. Rolen held the mask over the body of the sailor Froak. This was when things began to get worse. Rolen heard the sounds of shearing metal, creaking and popping around him. The sparking from the orb increased, and he saw that the walls and floor were actually crumpling from the magic within. The airship was in freefall. He slowly made his way to the back wall, where he saw the heavy iron door. The doorway he entered through would be too dangerous, as streaks of purple lightning ate the entire side of the room. He attempted to open the door, quickly finding it to be locked. He could hear the metal of the airship being ripped apart behind him. He quickly felt the area around the handle for a keyhole. Finding none, Rolen¡¯s mind spun as he examined his options. Reluctantly, he resigned himself to running across the room and attempting to reach the stairs to the main deck. He mentally prepared himself, took a stance, and began to run. That is when the core of the airship exploded. Chapter 2: Zaer Flyyn The woods of Sior were quiet at night, aside from the wildlife. Perhaps that quiet is what Zaer enjoyed about them the most. He stepped through the tall grass, his broadsword held in its sheath at his side. His pack bounced on his back as he walked, the lantern hanging off the side causing shadows to jump around the surrounding trees. The only other light guiding his path was the moonlight that beamed through the leaves above him. He continued to tread through the wild, overgrown ground. It had been long since he had seen a road and it had become very difficult to determine his heading, but anywhere was better than where he had come from. As he continued to walk, Zaer noticed a light in the distance. This light was unlike the cool blue of the moonlight, and seemed to shine a brilliant yellow. Civilization. This was a sight Zaer had not seen for days now, since he left the town of Sior. Memories rushed to him of fresh, warm bread and the comfort of a bed. Those days were gone now, after what he had done. He had no choice but to continue and find a new home. He had spent the last several days eating small wild game and sleeping on a lumpy bedroll. This had better be worth it. Picking up his pace, Zaer wandered towards the light. He passed through thickets and brush until he found himself just on the edge of a small clearing, circled with thick, thorned bushes. Fireflies floated aloft in jumbled clumps throughout the glade. In the center of the clearing: a thatch house. Small fences ringed a patch of mushrooms that were growing, apparently farmed by the owner of the hut. Next to the mushroom farm was a large willow tree, its branches drooping over the house like a rain of leaves. A water well stood between Zaer and the house. He approached cautiously, unhooking his waterskin from his pack. Reaching the well, Zaer leaned his sword against its side. He trained his eyes on the house and slowly pulled on the well¡¯s rope. The sound of chimes filled the air as the wind picked up, mixing with the sound of the windblown leaves. He pulled the bucket from the well and slowly began to fill his waterskin. Suddenly, a woman¡¯s voice rang out across the clearing. ¡°That¡¯s not yours, you know.¡± Zaer leapt back, the well¡¯s bucket clanging against the inner walls and splashing into the water below. Zaer looked around for the source of the voice, quickly scrambling for his sword. He picked it up, raising its point towards the house. The voice sounded ever present and called from every direction. In the distance, a raven cawed. ¡°I mean no harm,¡± Zaer said. ¡°I am just a traveler, and a thirsty one at that.¡± He looked down, realizing that his raised sword was still in its sheath. He quickly fumbled to remove it, drawing his father¡¯s old, well-worn broadsword. ¡°Even a traveler ought to have manners.¡± He looked frantically from side to side, with no sight of the source of the voice. Then, he turned around. The woman was standing no more than ten feet from him. Her dark clothes and hair faded into the surrounding darkness. She was beautiful, with pale skin and bright purple eyes reflecting lantern light from them. She couldn¡¯t have been more than ten years older than him from what he saw, but her words held an impression of experience. She was mature and beautiful, two traits that combined into one for Zaer: dangerous. Wait, Zaer thought. Purple eyes? He raised his sword once again. ¡°You¡¯re a witch.¡± Her eyes narrowed slightly. ¡°So I am.¡± ¡°And you intend to eat me?¡± A slight tremble skid across his voice.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°No. Why, do you taste particularly flavorful?¡± Zaer could swear he saw a slight smile. He gulped. ¡°Witches eat those who wander the woods,¡± Zaer said. ¡°Everyone knows that. It¡¯s where you get your power from.¡± ¡°Is that so? You seem to know a lot about witches,¡± the Witch said. She began to walk towards Zaer, who straightened his sword further. The moonlight reflected from it, casting a pale glow into the treeline. He was afraid; he didn¡¯t know if he could even swing it if he had to. She reached out and touched the tip of the blade, causing a shiver through his body. ¡°And is this where you get your power from?¡± Zaer had never been good with a sword. Perhaps she somehow knew that. ¡°Yes it is,¡± he lied. ¡°And I would warn you to stay back if you know what is good for you.¡± The witch tilted her head, a faint smirk across her dark lips. ¡°You must be a long way from home.¡± She lowered her hand. ¡°I have no home.¡± ¡°Now that is something we have in common.¡± Zaer thought about the dwelling behind him. What did she mean? The witch casually moved her hair from her face, apparently unnerved by the situation. Zaer stepped closer, his sword now an inch from the Witch¡¯s throat. ¡°You will not kill me today,¡± he said. ¡°I will sooner destroy you.¡± Zaer didn¡¯t know what he was saying at this point. Destroy her? He could hardly raise his sword. He wondered if this unearned confidence had any effect on the Witch. He felt a familiar tug at his core, a dark feeling that beckoned him to lose control, to give in to his inner fear and turn it into something more destructive. He took a deep, shaky breath. ¡°Fancy yourself a witch hunter, do you?¡± She continued walking, encircling him with her steps. She was completely and totally unfazed, and Zaer could now notice more about her as she approached. Her expression was calm, but her purple eyes were filled with anger. She was not the emotional wall that Zaer had assumed her to be. He also noticed her clothing: dark pants beneath a long black coat. The coat had a peculiar sheen to it, and appeared to be covered in large black feathers. As she walked, Zaer could feel a weight descend upon him. It was like the feeling of being watched, magnified and heavy. They were alone in the woods, and Zaer had never felt so observed. ¡°You know, the reason I live in the woods in the first place is because of witch hunters. Dreadful people.¡± She stepped back to where Zaer had first seen her. ¡°So,¡± her eyes pierced through him. ¡°Is that what you¡¯re here for? The hunt? Did some passerby in your little village tell you about the evil witch in the woods?¡± There was venom in her voice. Zaer swallowed and weighed his options. If he swung at her, he could easily miss. He had always heard terrifying things about witches. If the stories were true, he¡¯d be dead in seconds. If he ran, the outcome could occur. She could summon hundreds of rats to chase him down, call lightning from the sky to strike him, or simply melt his bones with the right incantations. That¡¯s what the stories say, anyway. He had no idea what she was capable of. He knew only what he was capable of, and that was not much. Shakily, Zaer dropped his weapon. It fell almost soundlessly into the short grass around the well. His father was right; he was not suited to a life of adventure. There was nothing to do now but give up. The Witch raised an eyebrow. ¡°Oh?¡± Zaers words came out in a shiver. ¡°I am not a witch hunter,¡± Zaer said. ¡°I¡¯m just¡­ lost.¡± He fought hard, but a tear left his eye and glided down his face. All of his hope was gone. He had left his home behind only to be killed by a witch in days. Pathetic. All of the pain that Zaer had endured in Sior began to flood back to him. Perhaps they were right about him; he was destined to fail. ¡°I am here not to fight, but to live.¡± The Witch looked at him with some curiosity- like a cat examining a bird through a window. She sighed, an action that surprised Zaer, and began walking past him with great purpose. As she passed, Zaer could feel the presence which he so closely avoided: the presence of Death. He also felt as though this would not be the last time Death would pass him by. ¡°In that case, you should come inside.¡± Chapter 3: Marina Ridley ¡°I can¡¯t do it!¡± cried Marina. A single bead of sweat ran down her long blonde hair as she panted towards the floor. ¡°Patience, Marina,¡± Professor Velaro stated. ¡°You have given up on every form of khor we have assessed, I am sure this will be the one.¡± He absently tugged at his sleeve. You mean it has to be the one, she thought. This has to be the one. Marina raised her arms in front of her yet again, and began reciting the incantation. ¡°Calmus Sarus Pelia!¡± The stone sat still on the table in front of her. It had not changed forms. ¡°Do you not see? I am not an Invoker. I am not anything!¡± Her voice rang out in the empty hall. Her rounded glasses slipped partially down her nose. ¡°Marina,¡± Velaro said. ¡°There are many forms of khor. We cannot give in just yet.¡± ¡°What else is there to do? We have tried them all.¡± She straightened her cloak. It was a light blue, signifying her allegiance to House Iolite. In the dark, the cloak glowed softly. Marina would often imagine the glow was her doing, though it was a quality of the fabric. ¡°Do you know where our khors come from, Marina?¡± The question stunned her in its simplicity. ¡°Khor comes from all around us,¡± she stated. ¡°It is the manipulation of all that makes us whole, the threads of life and death.¡± Velaro chuckled. ¡°Yes, you have read your texts. But that is not exactly true. Yes, it can come from all around us and we can manipulate the latent khor in the air. This is called Invoking.¡± He waved his hand, and the stone''s appearance changed. It was now a fresh loaf of bread, complete with a thin veil of steam. Marina rolled her eyes at his demonstration. ¡°However, it is also the manipulations of the khor within that allows us to do incredible things. This is true in the case of Triptych khors. Wyr-souls, Kir-souls and Fen-souls are examples of these khor adepts. They could be in a khorless room, thanking the Gods those don¡¯t exist, yet they would still be able to produce feats of khor. These users are born with these abilities, and some manifest them early in life while some-¡± ¡°Never manifest them at all,¡± Marina glared at Velaro curtly. ¡°Well, that is true, but not what I was going to say. Some, Marina, manifest them later in life. Your twentieth birthday is quickly approaching, Marina. The latest a Triptych Soul has ever manifested has been at the age of twenty, and I still have hope that the Headmistress was right about what she saw in you.¡± That woman, Marina thought. This is her fault. I shouldn¡¯t be in House Iolite; I should be in House Carnelian. No, I¡¯m such a screw up that I should be in Variscite. Her ears burned with embarrassment. ¡°She must have made a mistake,¡± she said through gritted teeth. ¡°I am nothing.¡± ¡°Child,¡± Velaro said. ¡°You are everything. Everything that makes this Academy special is within you: strength, intelligence, and will. These are the hallmarks of the three houses. I know that you will find your khor if you just give it time.¡± He put his hand on her shoulder. She brushed it off. ¡°I need to get to the library.¡± Her voice wavered as she said this, and she turned out of the room, leaving Velaro standing alone. She rushed into the hallway, where various students passed. Their blue, red and green cloaks merged together into a sea of fabric which she waded through. The long marble hallway held tall windows that stretched beams of sunlight in, blanketing the passing scholars. She weaved her way through the crowd quickly, with purpose. No one paid her any mind. After all, she wasn¡¯t of much importance to the magical lives of khor adepts. There were several places on the continent of Arisus where those skilled in the use of khor gathered, and the Academy was one such place. There were many wonderful, amazing things that one could do if they only had the talent or the innate skill to harness khor. Marina was of the mind that she simply never would be. She hurriedly turned into the library wing; shelves of books towered over her in the large arched chamber. The golden light of the sunset flooded in from skylights above, illuminating the spines of hundreds of volumes. Wisps of candle smoke rose through these beams of light, hazing the ceiling of the room. She swerved behind the large wooden information desk facing the door and removed her cloak, revealing the buttoned white shirt beneath. She pulled a length of blue string from the desk drawer, raising it behind her head and tying her golden hair out of her face. The library was mostly empty- Marina could see Grace, the head librarian, stocking a shelf across the room. She could also see her up on the balcony, assisting a student in finding a book. This is because Grace was an Echoer, someone who could create copies of themselves they could separate and control. Echoing was a subset of Transmutation, an Invoked school of khor. For lower level khor novices, this was extremely tiring. For Grace, it was as easy as breathing. This was another reason why Marina felt so useless; Grace hired her onto the library presumably as an act of pity. After all, why would you hire an employee when you alone could fill the roles of the entire staff? Marina sat down in a wooden chair at the desk and got to work. A large stack of books sat next to her, which she drew from. Pulling quill from ink, she started jotting down the titles and synopses of incoming books. It was easy work, but she was good at it. There was something she enjoyed about the mindlessness of it. The books phased in front of her, practically nameless in the way she would forget their titles after writing them. Hours passed as she did this, her attention not diverted by the countless, faceless students who wandered past her. When she was finished, she beckoned for Grace to approach her, noticing the blackened skylights above her. Time really can be a tricky thing. Grace stepped across the marble floor, her shoes resounding through the large chamber. Her Echoes walked from between the bookshelves, absorbing into her as she walked past like two drops of water coming together. Her black, curled hair was pinned above her head, a quill protruding from its mass. Her golden eyes fixed brightly between her caramel skin, like yellow leaves of fall complementing the bark of a tree. She was young, especially for her mastery of Echoing. Marina was always envious of that skill. Grace stepped next to the desk, eyeing the work Marina had done. ¡°You¡¯re a worthy scribe, Marina,¡± she said. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°It seems to be the only thing I can do right,¡± Marina stated as she capped the inkwell in front of her. Grace sighed at Marina¡¯s indifference. She had always remarked at Marina¡¯s potential. Marina had faith in herself at one point, too. ¡°Insecurity certainly won¡¯t take you far,¡± Grace said. ¡°Not uncertainty,¡± Marina replied with a nervous pull on her hair. ¡°Frustration, perhaps. An avarice for excellence.¡± ¡°You know, the Headmistress was a late bloomer just as you are.¡± Grace maintained eye contact with Marina, but her eyes simultaneously darted across the room. Behind the woman¡¯s irises were a second, identical pair, allowing her gaze to reach multiple places at once. Marina scoffed. ¡°The Headmistress was always destined for greatness.¡± It was true. Many years prior, the previous Dean of Students was killed in an uprising led by a rogue professor, a means that led to stealing the treasures of the Academy. Dean Quandry, often referenced to the students simply as the Headmistress, uncovered the plot and acted just soon enough to stop the professor from destroying the school, but just late enough for the Dean to be killed. She was, by all accounts, a hero. Something Marina felt she would never be. ¡°I am destined for a life of stacking books, I¡¯m afraid.¡± Grace¡¯s eyes recentered, her full attention on Marina. She paused, a hint of optimism resting on her tongue. It never escaped her lips. ¡°Well, I think that we are both finished for the day. I will clean up here, could you please let the gentleman in the historical section know that we will be locking the doors?¡± Marina gave Grace an eyeless smile, standing from her chair. She straightened her ribbon tie and adjusted her glasses. ¡°That¡¯s the ticket. If I am not here, please lock up when you¡¯re finished.¡± ¡°Understood, Grace.¡± Marina walked across the hard floor to the back of the library. This area was less trafficked, and so the frequency of surrounding candlelight waned the further she approached the back wall. She turned past the final bookshelf, finally able to see the man Grace had requested she withdraw from the library. He sat at a rounded table next to a large, arched window. He was dressed in a heavy coat, with a tall hat hanging from the edge of his chair. His hair was dark, pushed back in waves and fell roughly to his shoulders. In his hands was a large tome, which he was absentmindedly thumbing through. He sat with his feet propped on the desk, casually leaning in the fine wooden chair. Marina¡¯s brow furrowed immediately upon seeing him. She cleared her throat, causing him to glance up at her. ¡°Please remove your feet from the table,¡± she said sternly. The man glanced up at her without moving. ¡°Lovely evening, isn¡¯t it?¡± He said. He flicked through a few pages in the book. She stood firm, with her arms crossed between the man and the bookshelf behind her. He rolled his eyes and lowered his feet from the table. ¡°Right,¡± he said. ¡°Rules.¡± Marina stood, an unmoving boulder in the darkened edge of the room. A moment of formulation passed in her mind. ¡°The library is closing for the evening,¡± she said expectantly. The man put his book on the table. ¡°Are you well versed in history, Marina?¡± ¡°How do you know my name?¡± ¡°The woman at the front addressed you,¡± he said. ¡°I overheard.¡± He said it as though it was obvious. How did he hear that from all the way back here? ¡°I will indulge you in this thought alone. I am experienced in Arlaiin history, but not the broader histories of the Kingdoms of Arisus.¡± ¡°Excellent,¡± he said. ¡°What do you remember of the Second Arlaiin War?¡± She was beginning to grow impatient, but something about this line of questioning intrigued her. Her curiosity fueled her endurance. ¡°The Tyrannical Emperor Kailor usurped the Arlaiin throne.¡± The man raised his eyebrows, prodding Marina to continue. ¡°He declared war on Solaria, forcing Emperor Shen to find a way to stop him. Under the guise of a diplomatic operation, the current Emperor traveled all across Arisus. He enlisted the help of tribes of Dragon Descendants, the Solar Guard, and the Ralian Army to descend onto Teras and take back the throne.¡± She recited these facts almost exactly as they appeared in her texts. Marina¡¯s skills in khor may not have been great, but she at the very least had a good memory. ¡°What makes you so curious?¡± ¡°I haven¡¯t gotten to that quite yet. In my studies, I mean. Excellent retelling.¡± He stood, affixing his tall cap onto his head as he did. ¡°Nor sure how I can remember that,¡± she said, ¡°And yet I can¡¯t cast a single spell.¡± ¡°History can be very important,¡± he said as he stepped towards Marina¡¯s position. ¡°More powerful than any khor, some would say. I would say¡­ Most khor.¡± Marina lowered her head at his mention of the word. Her lack of khor was in a constant state of weighing on her mind. ¡°History has not been important nor kind to me. I am only interested in a grander future.¡± This caused the man to smile. ¡°Do you not consider your own future before the history of others?¡± He took a deep breath in. ¡°I do consider it, from time to time. I do also consider the futures of those who interest me. Keep reading, Ms. Ridley,¡± the man instructed. ¡°I think you¡¯ll find it very important.¡± A glimmer sat in the man¡¯s eye for a moment. Marina felt as though he was looking through her, at a part of herself that she didn¡¯t even know was there. He turned the corner around the bookshelf, leaving Marina with her thoughts. Something about that man felt very familiar. She had that feeling sometimes, as though she was coming across someone she could swear she met before, but she was sure she hadn¡¯t. It was more like she was going to meet them. It felt like, somehow, their fates were intertwined. Perhaps they were intertwined by this chance encounter, or perhaps she would be seeing the man again, sometime in the future. That is when she realized. He called me Ms. Ridley. Her body tensed. The room seemed to spin around her. Grace never said my family name. She quickly peeked around the corner, searching for the man across the vast library. The large chamber, except for Marina, was completely and totally empty. She hadn¡¯t even heard the sound of his footsteps, nor the large library doors opening and closing. Did he know her? She had never seen him before. What had he been reading? She turned back, eyes fixed on the large book sat upon the table. The moonlight seemed to shine upon it, drawing her gaze. She slowly walked to it, running her hand across the hard leather binding. The book had no title on its cover nor spine. It simply had a thick leather cover portraying the raised image of a beast¡¯s mouth, wide agape. She sat, absorbing the silence of the library. Feeling the top of the book, Marina discovered a small protrusion- a bookmark. She opened the book to find a playing card, which held the place of the reader. She gently placed the card on the table next to the book. The words in the book were unlike any she had seen; it was a language she did not understand. She did notice, however, an illustration. Five figures were gathered around a stone structure. Within the structure, three painted shapes were gathered in a triangular pattern. She looked around, unsure if she really was alone in this library. It didn¡¯t feel like it. To Marina, it felt as though she had an audience- a large one. Quickly, Marina closed the book and took it under her arm as she returned to the front of the library. She didn¡¯t know what was so special about this book, but she was certainly drawn to it. She exited the library, locking the door with Grace¡¯s key, and set to work deciphering the mysterious text. Chapter 4: The Hut Zaer sat awkwardly in the Witch¡¯s hut, fixed on a small wicker chair. His pack lay next to the door, but he kept his sword leaning on the table next to him. The Witch placed a pewter cup on the table in front of him. The steam that rose from its top called to Zaer, who had been out in the cold for days. There was no need to poison him at this point, he imagined. If the witch wanted him dead, he was sure she could accomplish that on her own. He took a sip of the earthy tea in front of him, scanning the room as the Witch sat. It was surprisingly roomy for how small it had appeared on the outside. Zaer wondered if khor had made it that way, or if perhaps he was simply a poor judge of appearances. From where he was sitting, he could see a small kitchen area, complete with hanging herbs and dried meats. Behind him was a door that he had not seen opened. The Witch took a sip of her own drink, her eyes flashing dangerously. She sat elegantly, much more respectfully than Zaer would have imagined a Forest Dweller to sit. ¡°Witch,¡± he asked. ¡°What is your name?¡± She drew a deep breath in. ¡°Winry,¡± she said. Zaer felt the weight of the name, a certain power that implied it hadn¡¯t been spoken in years. ¡°I am Zaer. Zaer Flyyn.¡± Zaer sat up a bit straighter, bringing importance to his otherwise insignificant name. ¡°Pleasure.¡± Winry¡¯s eyes continued to study him. ¡°What brings you to these woods, Zaer?¡± Should I lie? He thought. He settled in the middle. ¡°A new life,¡± he said. ¡°The life of my father is not the life for me.¡± She seemed surprised by this answer. ¡°And so you come here in search of what is the life for you. Touching.¡± She absentmindedly ran her finger around the rim of her cup. ¡°I know what it is to be lost,¡± she said. ¡°And I know what it is to be afraid. Do not fear me, young Zaer. I am powerful in the ways of khor, but I only seek peace. I am telling you this because these woods are a refuge for me. I am bound to them, and I will defend them if needed. Do you understand?¡± Her look continued to burn with intensity. Zaer nodded in response, unsure of what to say. She smiled, a radiant smile which relaxed Zaer. He had even forgotten his sword at his side, which rested against the table precariously. ¡°Excellent,¡± Winry said. He stood, taking Zaer¡¯s empty cup from him. ¡°I have extra lodging in a shed outside. You may rest there tonight and continue your travel in the morning. You will find rations inside as well, should you find yourself hungry.¡± ¡°Why are you so kind to me?¡± Zaer asked. ¡°I was always told witches are servants to Dark Deities.¡± ¡°To be candid,¡± Winry said. ¡°I do feel for you. In addition to that, however, I must prove to you that I am a peaceful Forest Dweller. I do not want you telling the tale of a devilish woodswitch in your travels, I have experienced that enough in my day.¡± Winry walked to the kitchen, placing the cups next to a large basin at the edge of the room. She waved her hand over it, and the basin filled with water. Zaer held his amazement in favor of curiosity. ¡°It¡¯s happened before? But your house still stands.¡± Winry walked back to the table, placing her hands on its surface. ¡°This one, yes. This was not always my home. I once lived across the Kingdom, in a village called Novus. It is near the Orian Grasslands, if you¡¯re familiar. I was a simple girl, fresh in the ways of witchcraft. I bound myself to the land there, not just drawing power from the natural world but also feeding it. I used my own lifeblood to grow the forest around me, and it began to prosper. Soon, though, the villagers discovered my power. My life force was feeding the forest, but they had crops that my power simply would not extend to. For a long time, I held myself hidden in the forest, satisfied with my isolation and with a heart flooded with kindness. Once they found me, they exploited my powers for themselves. The powers of nature at my command, and they used me as their fertilizer.¡± The flickering candlelight in the room began to dim, Winry¡¯s emotions seemingly sapping the energy from the flames. She took a deep breath, and the candles returned to their natural luminance. ¡°Eventually the population of the village became too vast, and even my power was unable to feed them all. They turned on me, burning down my home and attempting to enslave me for my ability. Luckily, a group of powerful travelers rescued me. They struck down my captors, unleashing the fury of the heavens and restoring the forest to its natural state. My heroes continued on their way north, and I moved here on a rumor that I may see them again.¡± She looked down at the table, and Zaer could practically see the memories flooding in her eyes. Her pain filled the room, expanding into the air. ¡°And have you?¡± ¡°I think they left this area long ago. I did learn the name of my savior, though. Saul Weiger, a shaman. So I¡¯ve heard, anyway. He lived south of here, in the Woods of Firyyn. I sometimes commune with the Satyrs residing in Oliveseed. They claim that he once purified a great evil that dwelled within their land.¡± Purified? Zaer thought. This could be what I am looking for. ¡°Where did he go from there?¡± ¡°Southeast, from what the forest creatures tell me. You seem to have quite the interest, young Zaer.¡± Her eyes narrowed. Could she know what he had done? No, he thought. It wasn¡¯t me. Whatever that was¡­ It wasn¡¯t me. He straightened further in his chair. ¡°Just a passing curiosity.¡± ¡°I see,¡± she said. She appeared pensive, as though there were thousands of things to say and yet she could not formulate their structure. ¡°Whatever the case, I have a vested interest that Saul return to these woods.¡±Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°You seem to trust him greatly, having met him only once,¡± Zaer said. ¡°I¡¯d like to think I can trust you as well,¡± she replied. ¡°Sometimes you can get a sense about people. Especially as someone versed in khor. For example, I sense something within you, Zaer.¡± Her gaze was solid. It burned through Zaer and ground against his bones. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not clear to me, but I can see that your intentions are good. That said, there is a darkness within you. For how long it has dwelt there, I do not know.¡± She turned away from him. ¡°Perhaps it is time to rest for the night. See me before you go in the morning.¡± She stood, gesturing towards the door. Zaer stood, taking his sword by the sheath. ¡°Winry?¡± he said. She turned slightly, not enough to see her face. ¡°Thank you.¡± She bowed her head, and with that he walked back out into the night air, slipping his pack over his shoulder. Zaer didn¡¯t sleep peacefully that night, despite laying on a bed for the first time in days. Most of the night was spent gazing at the ceiling, thinking of the future. The tale that Winry had told him gripped his mind, as well as the darkness she sensed within him. He wondered if she was the first to see it within him, or if he held it there for years before anyone could realize just how tainted he was. That is when he noticed the light outside. A pale green glow filtered its way between cracks in the wooden door of the shed. Zaer peeked out through one of these cracks to see the source of the glow: Winry. She sat crouched by the large willow tree that suspended leaves over the house, the glow emanating from her hands. Zaer heard the sound of cracking wood, and the tree began to straighten, standing just a bit taller. With a flicker, the light began to fade as the tree returned to its resting place. Winry lowered her head, stood, and walked back into the house. The morning came quickly after that. Zaer opened his eyes, seeing the soft morning light filter through the cracks of the door. He could hear from outside the playing of a pan flute, the sharp tones piercing him alert. He creaked open the door to see a remarkably strange sight. Winry sat on a small stool near the edge of the mushroom farm, and she was smiling. Her long hair was tied above her head and her feathered coat glinted in the sunlight. In front of her were two Satyrs, dancing on their cloven feet and blowing into pan flutes. The sound was sweet, and Zaer actually felt invigorated by the tune. Could this be Satyr khor making him feel this way? Zaer stepped out of the shed as the two finished their song. He clapped his hands, a show of appreciation that did not go appreciated. The Satyrs scrambled, rushing behind Winry. The smaller of the two climbed onto the back of her friend, who cowered behind Winry¡¯s stool. Each Satyr was at most three and a half feet tall, and they moved gracefully over the grassy floor. Winry stood. ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± she said. ¡°This is Zaer. He is passing through. You two are safe.¡± The Satyrs slowly clopped closer to him, examining him. Zaer had left his weapon and pack inside the shed, and his wiry frame was doubtful to be threatening. He gave a nervous smile. ¡°He don¡¯t look like no adventurer,¡± the larger Satyr said, stroking his goatee. ¡°He look like a fishman.¡± ¡°He¡¯s just a boy!¡± said the smaller Satyr. He hopped over to Zaer, examining him. The small Satyr slowly said his name, ¡°Za-er.¡± She let out a giggle. ¡°Call me Suda!¡± She said. ¡°That¡¯s my brother, Pin. He looks big and scary but he¡¯s a softie.¡± Zaer suppressed a laugh. He had never seen a creature so non-threatening. Pin straightened his back. ¡°So you¡¯d be done botherin¡¯ little Winry here,¡± Pin said. His eyes narrowed. Little Winry? These Satyrs are two feet shorter! Zaer tilted his head, saying, ¡°I don¡¯t mean to be a bother.¡± ¡°You aren¡¯t, Zaer,¡± Winry said. ¡°Pin is¡­ suspicious of strangers. Sometimes rightfully so.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± said Pin. ¡°So you can rightfully scram!¡± ¡°No!¡± Suda exclaimed. ¡°He¡¯s gonna fix the tree! Mida saw it in her vision. He don¡¯t look like a mage though¡­¡± ¡°Fix the tree?¡± Zaer asked. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with it?¡± ¡°Never you mind, Zaer,¡± Winry said. ¡°You¡¯d best be on your way. If you travel southeast, you¡¯ll hit Oliveseed by nightfall. From there, you can take the road north straight into the Arlaiin Empire- I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll find your purpose there.¡± Winry dusted off her coat, glancing pensively at the willow tree. ¡°I saw you last night,¡± Zaer said. He heard the blood pump around his ears. ¡°The tree is dying, isn¡¯t it?¡± Winry looked at him. She closed her eyes for a moment, before reopening them with a stern look on her face. ¡°It is.¡± She placed a hand on the tree¡¯s trunk. The leaves seemed to sway faster in the wind. ¡°And the forests with it. When I came here, these woods were dead and barren. It¡¯s how I knew that I was supposed to be here, and that my lifeblood was meant to fuel the life of the forests. The tree is the center of the forest, and when it dies, the land will return to its barren nature.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t you just regrow the forests like you did the first time?¡± Zaer asked. ¡°These things take time,¡± Winry responded. ¡°Time that the creatures living here don¡¯t have.¡± Zaer became acutely aware of the sounds of the forest- not just the wind flowing through the leaves, but the sounds of birds, frogs, and countless other forest creatures. ¡°They¡¯ll all die without the forests,¡± Zaer said. ¡°Correct. Another reason I was hoping to find Saul Weiger. He possesses an item of great power- a stone imbued with the power of the Gods. It is what allowed him to regrow the forests in Novus, and what will breathe new life into the tree.¡± ¡°I wonder¡­¡± Zaer approached the tree. He didn¡¯t know what he was doing exactly, but he felt pulled to it. It was as though he could see the lifeblood of the tree, weakly pulsing. He laid his hand against it. Winry¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°What are you doing?!¡± Zaer closed his eyes and let the feeling at the pit of his stomach free. He felt his arm burn, as though he were being stabbed with hundreds of pins. Blood beaded from hundreds of minute passages in his arm, flooding over his hand and rushing into the tree. Zaer could hear it creak. The tree stood taller, much taller than he had seen it the night before. The leaves became vivid, the bark a healthy brown with moss that began to flood over its surface. Zaer let go, his head spinning. He felt incredibly weak, his blood having drained into the tree. He looked down at the skin on his arms, once a deep and vibrant chestnut, now pale and tight against his muscle. He looked at Winry and the Satyrs, whose expressions all verged on shocked, and gave a soft grin before falling unconscious at the base of the tree. Bonus: Fanart! Hi everyone! Just wanted to leave this space to share some of the fan art I received recently. All the works below were done by CenturyRobot, and you can also check out their fiction in the post chapter author''s note if you feel so inclined. Continuing the story as usual tomorrow, so keep an eye out for that! Take care! Rolen: Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. Marina: Zaer: Thanks again to CenturyRobot for creating these really cool pieces of art and sending them my way! To Be Continued... If you followed along with The Rise of Coryllion, I have some good news for you! The next book is coming soon. I want to thank you for your reviews, comments and readership so far, and am very excited to share with you the future of Arisus. The process of writing this book has taught me a lot, but moreso being able to share it on this platform and engage with the community has given me more motivation to let you into the magical world that resides within my mind. Keep an eye out for the future works that I will be posting on here, and don''t be afraid to reach out with questions or comments. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. Take care and I will see you in the next book! Chapter 35: The Fullprince Ten Years Ago Fullprince Ro-Lin stood upon the balcony of the Celestial Keep, eyes fixed over the land that would one day be his. His long white hair flowed with the winds, swaying melodically with his ceremonial coat. It was a beautiful city that spread before him- hundreds of small houses that rose and lowered through the uneven terrain, all surrounded by the vast mountains that protected the Valley of the Moon. To the west, the harbor was filled with ships from across all of Arisus. It was the difference between them which fascinated Ro-Lin so. He¡¯d studied them as a boy; he¡¯d seen how the Nagatsu junk ships varied from the more elegant Arahnian triremes. Their furled sails decorated the coast, telling the story of a thousand puzzle pieces which have each come together from their respective homes to be here, to form a greater whole on this night. He longed to be a piece of such a puzzle. Behind him, a celebration raged ever onward. Among the revelry and merriment, Ro-Lin focused on the only sound he had wanted to hear that night: the unpredictable flow of the wind around him. He was safe within it- after all, it was as indecisive as he was. Before he knew it, he was no longer alone. The bright, luminous dress of Noe Ashu glided against the stone railing next to him. Thin crystal rods stuck from her tied hair, glinting a mesmerizing pattern in the moonlight. ¡°Now, brother,¡± she said. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t miss your own celebration, would you?¡± He smiled. ¡°Not for the moon, nor all the stars. The real celebration is out there; It¡¯s the dusty nobles inside who are the ones missing it.¡± ¡°Is that so?¡± the princess said. ¡°Then perhaps we should be on our way. I couldn¡¯t stay here any longer anyway.¡± She lifted her chin, failing to hide her grin behind a sarcastic regality. ¡°Will I be overdressed?¡± The Fullprince looked at her dress. It was of the finest Lunarian silk that money could buy. ¡°Almost certainly.¡± ¡°Lovely!¡± She beamed a smile as bright as the moon itself. Her eyes flicked between his and the rolling city and, almost simultaneously, the two vaulted over the railing into the air below. The two Wyr-Souls Lightened themselves, landing gently on the rooftop below them, and ran across the shingled roof of the Keep. It was rare for a family to be born with one Wyr-Soul, let alone two. The presence of the Wyr-Souls in such a high profile family was an especially great anomaly. Ro-Lin¡¯s cloth shoes beat upon the deep blue rooftop, the ceramic tiles clacking against each other with each step. The summer months were kind to them- the sky was clear and the full luminosity of the moon shone above them. Noe giggled as they leapt from rooftop to rooftop, nearly alerting the hapless, armored howlers patrolling the darkened courtyard. Together, they slipped over the castle wall, just as they¡¯ve done hundreds of times in the past. The City of Lunaria City opened up to them, breathing them into the dirt and stone roads that wove their way over the city¡¯s cliffsides. Rushing waterfalls fell into thin rivers, sutured throughout the city by rounded wooden bridges. They dashed through small gardens and animal enclosures, finally reaching the destination of their trek. It was a large building, much more rounded than the square buildings surrounding them. A large paper screen door stood at the entrance. Silhouettes of bobbing and rocking personages painted its surface, lit by the flickering light of lanterns. Ro-Lin and Noe walked to the building, sliding the screen open and walking inside. The interior of this building was filled with some of the more lecherous citizens of Lunaria City. Most of these people had their backs to the siblings, instead more focused on the center of the large round room. Just past the illegal wine bar, obscured by a haze of burned starcap smoke, was a large circular platform upon which two shirtless men engaged in a Lunarian duel. Each held a thin curved blade, and slowly circled the platform. Noe and Rolen bounded into the room, drawing more and more looks as they did so. Eventually, even the duelists became distracted by the two. Their sights fell from each other onto the pair, and suddenly the attention of the audience itself had shifted. Now, rather than watching the dance of death before them, every person in the room became acutely aware of the brightly clothed royals in the room. Ro-Lin stepped forward first, as one of the fighters began to step down. The room was silent with anticipation. The swordsman, a muscular elf with tied black hair, looked down to the Fullprince. Across his chest swung a pendant, perfectly circular and stark white. ¡°So,¡± he said. ¡°The Fullprince wanders into the Lion¡¯s Den on the night of his Tiding Ceremony. Not only that, but the Princess is here as well! To what do I owe the pleasure?¡± Dozens of eyes moved from the man to Ro-Lin. ¡°Thought I¡¯d get one more duel in before the big night,¡± said the Fullprince. ¡°After all, I don¡¯t deserve my title if I can¡¯t cross swords with the likes of you.¡± The swordsman smiled, cracking his neck. ¡°Well, come on then, Fullprince.¡±The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. He extended his hand, which Ro-Lin grabbed enthusiastically. The audience cheered, drops of milky rice wine falling upon Ro-Lin¡¯s coat. The other fighter stepped aside, a grin also expanding across his face as he joined the crowd. Noe stood next to the platform, as close as she could approach. ¡°Don¡¯t take it easy on me, Badru. I don¡¯t need to get back to the ceremony in one piece.¡± Badru said nothing, but sheathed his sword at his side. Ro-Lin held the bright white grip of his own sword, his fingers curling over the familiar braided rope. The room was silent again as both swordsmen locked eyes, daring the other to engage in the first strike. Ro-Lin stepped forward, testing the waters of his opponent. He did not flinch, or even step backwards. He knew he was out of range of the Fullprince¡¯s swing. It was often the first to enter their opponent¡¯s range that would be cut down- a fact which both swordsmen knew. Another fact, one of great importance, was that the winner of a duel was often decided by their patience. If Ro-Lin made a costly mistake, such as striking too quickly, he could find himself losing the duel or even his life. His opening came when Badru acted first- a minute movement, the slightest draw of his blade. Ro-Lin stepped again, placing himself off of the line of Badru¡¯s strike. The blade flew past him, faster than his eyes could register, and he drew his own sword from its wooden sheath. At first, he drew it only halfway; he had stepped close enough to use not his blade, but the sword¡¯s pommel as a striking instrument. It slammed just below Badru¡¯s ribs, forcing an urgent grunt from his lips. The swordsman¡¯s weapon arced through the air again just as Ro-Lin drew his full blade, parrying the blow. The royal sword was unsheathed now, glinting in the soft light of the lanterns. The curved blade was steady in the air, at a length just longer than the Fullprince¡¯s arm. It shimmered in the air, the blade perfectly crafted with the finest mix of Lunarian metals. The two men squared off once again, the roar of the crowd surrounding them fading into a dull buzz. With a crack, the swords collided again, sending white sparks flying over the crowd. Ro-Lin kicked at his opponent, sending him stumbling back. The Fullprince wasted no time as he stepped in, the point of his sword rushing towards Badru¡¯s throat. His sword, however, was a distraction from the real attack. Ro-Lin swept his foot over the rough platform, striking the already unbalanced swordsman just below the knee and sending him toppling to the floor. He held back, stopping the sword from piercing the man, just as his opponent¡¯s sword raised to block the strike. Badru laid breathless on his back, the Lunarian steel pressing lightly against his neck. The Fullprince smirked, extending a hand to his fallen friend. Badru smiled in return and took his hand, rising from the ground to meet his eye. ¡°Didn¡¯t even have to use your magic tricks,¡± said Badru. ¡°You¡¯ve grown.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not magic,¡± said Ro-Lin for the millionth time. They laughed, both sheathing their swords. The pair of fighters stepped off the rounded stage, each with a wide grin on their face. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you be, I don¡¯t know, getting fitted for your crown right now?¡± Badru took a wooden cup from the bar and handed it to Ro-Lin. He sipped it, allowing the sweet wine to fill his mouth before he swallowed. ¡°The Ceremony itself is practically over. I said my Vows- why should I be there any longer? The fun is down here, anyway.¡± ¡°Nonsense,¡± Badru said. ¡°If I were the son of a king, I¡¯d never leave that castle on the hill. Yet here you are, slumming it with all the pearlmen on the bottom of the kingdom¡¯s barrel. You know, it was my ancestors who built that keep. Perhaps we should move the pearlmen up there, and the ruler and all his family can live down here, in the mud.¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t mind that much. I spend most of my time with pearlmen, you know.¡± ¡°Yeah, but you¡¯re the only one that¡¯d do that out of your kind. Nobles, I mean. There¡¯s a reason you two are the only nobles anyone down here has met, you know.¡± Ro-Lin looked over the room. A light haze of smoke cast a veil over the smiling faces in the tavern. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said. ¡°Well, I¡¯m going to be doing things differently. Who says a king can¡¯t serve his people at their side? The old man sits in that damned keep all day, how would he ever know what the real problems are?¡± He shook his cup. ¡°Like the shortage of wine, for instance.¡± Badru smiled and refilled Ro-Lin¡¯s cup. ¡°Please. Is he not busy up there, trying to figure out which war to spend our taxes on?¡± He quickly ran his fist over his heart in a crescent shape- the typical display of fealty when one has insulted their king. Behind Ro-Lin, Noe giggled. ¡°You¡¯d worry so much about the King when there¡¯s a parched princess just in front of you? Honor before chivalry, I see.¡± Badru shook the round bottle of wine. ¡°Had to make sure there wasn¡¯t any poison in there. So far I feel-¡± He stopped, grabbing at his throat. His eyes went wide as he pretended to choke. The three of them laughed, each raising a cup. ¡°To this!¡± said Ro-Lin before mumbling, "Mostly everything else, too.¡± They each drank. ¡°What does that even mean, ¡®To this?¡¯¡± Noe said. She raised her hands in imitation. ¡°You know,¡± Ro-Lin waved his arms, gesturing over the room. ¡°This. Whatever it might mean to you. To me, it¡¯s a little bit of freedom.¡± ¡°And you, Badru? What does it mean to you?¡± ¡°All I know is that after he says that, I get to drink.¡± Ro-Lin chuckled, and quickly realized that his laugh became the only one in the room. He turned and his eyes swept over the crowd, who now kneeled towards the paper screen door. He continued following their gaze to see Noe, with a troubled look on her face, the kind of look that told Ro-Lin we¡¯ve made a mistake. His eyes settled on the doorway, which was surrounded by men in white and blue armor, the coloration of the howlers. Between them, with a presence that overshadowed even the most fearsome of the soldiers around him, was Ro-Lin¡¯s father, the King of Lunaria. He looked down his short white beard at his children, a disappointed snarl rolling over his face.