Corvis Eralith
"Kid, are you okay?" I heard Olfred say as he shook my shoulder.
The Lance of Darv, who had faced Phoenix Wyrms without flinching, who had killed a Throneholder without remorse, was looking at me like I might shatter.
I returned. The word echoed in my skull, hollow and distant. I sighed inwardly, the breath catching somewhere in my chest.
I did not even remember the last moments in the river—only that when I reached the Warworn Rapids, it had not taken long for me to be swallowed by them.
Those waters had rattled me worse than a tiny leaf in a hurricane, spinning me end over end, crushing me with pressure that should have obliterated any living thing. And now I was here, standing outside the Warend Trading Company in Vildorial, as if none of it had happened.
"Yeah, yeah. I am fine," I said, looking around me.
The street of the dwarven capital was crowded, the noise of industry pressing in from all sides. From the look of it, my discussion with Elder Rahdeas about the Gem Banquet had just ended.
Olfred hummed—a low, skeptical sound—as he led me back toward the portal to Zestier. We took the Anvilrun and started to walk, the cobblestones familiar beneath my boots, the crowds parting around us like water around stones.
I watched Olfred's back, the way he moved through the city like he owned it, and I felt the weight of everything I had learned pressing against my ribs.
"Olfred," I called, and the dwarven Lance turned his head just enough to show me his profile.
"Yes?" He asked.
"Do you... feel guilt for what you have done?" The question came out before I could stop it, raw and unguarded.
Olfred's gaze returned to the road ahead. "No," he replied after a moment, and there was no hesitation in his voice. "I do not."
"Thank you for telling me," I replied, and I meant it. I did not need him to feel guilt. I needed him to be honest. And he was. He was always honest, in his way.
Now that I knew how to reach the Warworn Rapids—so that I would have more chances to retry the Gem Banquet, more opportunities to refine my approach—I just needed to find a new Cravenite's core.
"What is your plan for the Gem Banquet?" Olfred asked. "Elder Rahdeas does not like to operate in the dark."
Last time he had asked me this question, I had not given him a precise answer. I had still needed to consult Avicenna, to discover the Lifework of the Djinn water mage, to translate ancient knowledge into something the dwarves could use.
But now, after traveling back with REtrocurrent, I knew what I needed.
"You told me about a dungeon from which Darv gathers most of its water, right?" I said. "Back when we went to Burim years ago."
Olfred's stride did not falter, but I saw the flicker of surprise cross his face before he smoothed it away. He remembered.
"Yes," he said. "And?"
"I know how to replicate the same mechanism that keeps that water from ever being drained," I said.
The words hung in the air between us, heavy with implication. The dwarves had been trying to solve the water crisis for generations. They had built aqueducts, dug wells, waged battles over rivers that dried up in summer.
And I—a nine-year-old prince wearing a dwarven boy's face—claimed to have the answer.
"That is going to create you a lot of enemies within the Darvish nobility, kid," Olfred said, and there was no doubt in his voice.
"You believe me?" I asked, surprised despite myself. "Really?"
"If you wanted me to have an exaggerated reaction, then I am sorry to disappoint." Olfred's voice was dry, almost amused. "But yes, I believe you. Even if you are talking about something dwarves have tried to accomplish for centuries without results."
"You think it is a good plan?" I asked.
"Obviously."
We arrived at the portal that would lead me back to Zestier. The arch loomed before us, its silvery stone catching the dim light of the cavern, and I felt the familiar pull of home.
"Do you need anything for it?" Olfred asked. "It would be better to bring some proof to the Feasthall, and not just the hopeful words of Finn Warend, a commoner boy. You will not have the advantage of being a prince at Lodenhold. Everyone is going to think of you as lesser than them, only because you were born from a different womb. I do not know how things are in Elenoir, but you can be sure that the most traditionalist of elven nobles is nothing compared to the stubbornness and short-sightedness of Darv's nobility."
I thought about his words, about the weight of what I was about to attempt. I would be walking into a hall full of people who would see me as dirt beneath their boots. People who would dismiss me, mock me, try to tear me down.
"I will tell Elder Rahdeas everything I need," I replied. "Let us meet in Burim. If I am going to make so many enemies, it is better not to do it in Vildorial."
"Smart choice," Olfred said. "I will come to take you tomorrow."
I stepped through the portal, and Zestier welcomed its Prince back home.
—
Djinn's Manatech was amazing. Especially their Lifeworks. While not all technologies developed by Djinnkind qualified as a Lifework, the ones that did... they were beyond belief.
I had spent hours with Avicenna, listening to his descriptions of devices that could purify water from nothing, that could draw moisture from the driest air, that could transform barren rock into fertile soil.
The more I learned, the more I understood how much had been lost. The Asuras had not just killed a people. They had murdered an entire way of understanding the world.
Manatech was magic in everything, not just in the name. Yes, after all, a technology far too advanced was indistinguishable from magic. The Djinn had not seen a distinction between the two.
They had woven mana into their cities, their ships, their everyday lives, until the separation between nature and artifice had dissolved entirely. And now, all that remained were ruins.
And this—this small, fragile connection to a consciousness that had survived the genocide.
Paskael Mariohm of Sandand had developed his Lifework to ensure that the Faircities of Focularsa always had plenty of water without the need of a water mage to supply them.
That was exactly what I needed. The Moyalembic—Avicenna had called it—was a device that used copper's natural affinity for water mana to draw moisture from the ambient air, to purify it, to channel it through any hydraulic system it was connected to.
It was elegant. It was simple. It was the kind of solution that would have saved millions of lives if the Djinn had been allowed to share it.
I was in Burim now. Two days had passed since I had been informed of the Gem Banquet, and after informing Elder Rahdeas of everything I needed—courtesy of Avicenna, who had listed all the useful materials—to build the Moyalembic, I had headed to the second city of Darv to experiment with it.
The device was untested. The materials were untested. I was untested. But I had no choice. If I wanted to win the support of the dwarven nobility, I needed proof. I needed results.
I needed to show them that Finn Warend was not just a commoner boy with a famous great-uncle, but someone who could solve problems that had plagued their kingdom for centuries.
As for Berna... convincing her to stay in Zestier had been the greatest fight of my life. She had growled, whined, pressed her massive head against my chest and refused to move.
Through the bond, I had felt her fear—not for herself, but for me. She knew I was going to die again. She knew I was going to leave her again. And she could not understand why I kept choosing to do this.
I had tasked Mom with taking care of her. My mother was the only person who could distract Berna from my absence—her gentle hands, her patient voice, the way she hummed old elven lullabies that seemed to calm even the wildest beast.
I just hoped she would be distracted for long enough.
"Elder Rahdeas keeps a residence in the southern area of the city," Olfred said. Today, he was here as Damien Malaisson, while I was obviously here as Finn Warend.
His voice was flat, professional, but I heard the faint edge of impatience beneath it. He wanted to get this done. He wanted to return to Vildorial, to the shadows where he was most comfortable and where he could stand by Rahdeas's side.
"I want to say hi to someone first," I said, looking around the city.
The streets of Burim were crowded, the noise of industry pressing in from all sides. But while it was already difficult for me to orient myself in Vildorial, doing so in Burim—a city I had only visited once in my life—was impossible.
The buildings all looked the same, their dark stone faces weathered by centuries of smoke and dust. The streets twisted and turned without apparent logic. And everywhere, everywhere, there were dwarves.
"You mean the Oreguards?" Olfred asked, and I heard the scoff in his voice. "Is there a reason?"
"Mr. Oreguard helped us reach the Red Gorge," I replied. "I want his family to be the first ones to have my prototype."
"By Mother Earth," Olfred sighed, and the words carried the weight of a man who had long since stopped being surprised by the foolishness of princes. "You want to be known as some angel of water?"
I saw what joke Olfred was making. The first time I had come here, four years ago, I had fixed the aqueducts of Durzek Oreguard's tavern.
Now I was coming back with a permanent solution to that problem. A device that would not just fix a broken pipe, but transform the way water flowed through this entire district.
"I am just helping people," I said, and the words came out softer than I intended.
Olfred simply hummed, a sound that might have been acknowledgment or dismissal or something in between. He guided me through the narrow streets of Burim, his shoulders clearing a path through the crowds, and I followed in his wake, my eyes scanning the buildings for any sign of the familiar.
Beer & Stone. The tavern owned by the Oreguard family. It welcomed me once more after four years, and I felt something loosen in my chest. The building looked the same—the same weathered stone facade, the same carved slate sign, the same heavy oak door with its groaning hinges.
But everything else had changed. I had changed. I was not the same frightened child who had walked through that door, disguised as a dwarf, terrified of being discovered.
The inside of the tavern was packed with people. Many customers were having their lunch break—I had not chosen the best time to visit, it seemed.
The noise was a wall of sound, voices and laughter and the clatter of mugs, and the air was thick with the smell of stew and pipe smoke and fermented grain. It was exactly as I remembered it.
Exactly as it had been when I was five years old and dying for the first time.
"Welcome to Beer & Stone!" A short dwarven girl around my age with golden hair tied into a ponytail greeted us.
She was helping around the tavern, carrying a tray of empty mugs that was almost as big as she was. Doradrea Oreguard. I recognized her from the novel, from the list of students who would one day attend Xyrus Academy.
She was looking at me with curious eyes, wondering who the strange dwarven boy in her father's tavern was.
"Where is Durzek?" Olfred, with his usual "friendly" and "sociable" attitude, asked an eight-year-old little girl. His voice was flat, demanding, the voice of a man who was used to being answered immediately.
"Doradrea, go clean the tables in the back." Durzek Oreguard came toward us, a smile on his lips as he crouched near his daughter to indicate where he needed her.
Doradrea nodded and left, not without glancing at me—the only other kid around her age in the whole tavern. Her eyes lingered on my face for a moment longer than necessary, and I wondered what she saw.
"Damien and little Finn!" Durzek exclaimed, his smile widening as he took in our faces. "It has been a while! What brings the blood of Elder Rahdeas here to my tavern?"
"The blood of Elder Rahdeas?!"
The entirety of the patrons of the tavern echoed in unison, disbelief coloring their voices at the mention of Elder Rahdeas. They all turned to me.
The look on their faces was very similar to the one I was used to in Vaelmora—its people looking at Prince Corvis like he was a true shining symbol of luck, hope, and many other things.
But the look on these dwarven men and women was slightly different. It was not directly at me—at Finn—but rather at what I carried. Elder Rahdeas's family name. The promise that someone bearing that name might be able to help them, the way Elder Rahdeas had helped so many others.
Olfred sighed, annoyed. "Leave the kid be!" He shouted, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade. "He already has to deal with much in his everyday life!"
The customers of Beer & Stone apologized silently, even if many still looked at me.
"My bad, I should have kept silent," Mr. Durzek apologized with an embarrassed laugh, scratching his blonde trimmed beard. "So, what brings you here? Oh, let me offer you something, Damien, Finn."
"We are once again in a hurry," Olfred said, his voice clipped. "The kid just wanted to say hi."
"Yeah, also that," I said, and I felt the warmth of Durzek's smile settle into my chest.
"What honor! You could have come sooner, you know? Not have waited years!" Durzek exclaimed. "I am sure you and Doradrea could become great friends!"
"Mr. Durzek, I have something that might be of help to you," I said, and I watched his eyebrows rise in surprise. He had a very expressive face—every emotion written clearly across his features, nothing hidden, nothing guarded.
"Well... I am listening," Durzek replied, leaning forward, his eyes fixed on my face.
"Could we go to where you have the pipes and hydraulic systems of the tavern?" I asked. Durzek did as I asked without questioning why.
"Don't forget your toy this time!" Durzek called after us, and I saw Olfred roll his eyes as he probably replayed the memory of our last visit in his mind.
The toy he had fashioned from clay, the excuse I had used to send him away, the water that had started flowing again the moment he left.
The area where the plumbing system that managed the water flowing throughout the whole building of Beer & Stone and the upper floors was just as I remembered. Tubes, pipes, valves, and handles of copper and bronze dominated one wall of the room.
They gleamed in the dim light, their surfaces worn smooth by years of use. It was perfect. The Moyalembic needed copper to work. As Avicenna had explained, and Berna had proven with her strange magic that required eating metals, copper had a strong affinity for water mana if used correctly.
"Mr. Durzek, are there any unused pipes?" I asked the dwarf.
"Yeah... one is broken. But seeing how we do not need it, we did not think about repairing it. Why?" He asked, his brow furrowed.
"Damien, could you ask someone to repair it? I know where to start my project," I said to Olfred.
"Just this?" Olfred's voice was flat, but I heard the faint surprise beneath it. "Sure. I will ask some engineers who work for Elder Rahdeas."
"Wait, I am not following here!" Durzek exclaimed, his hands rising in confusion. "What are you talking about, little Finn?"
I turned to face Durzek. This was the declaration that would ripple outward, that would carry through the streets of Burim, that would reach the ears of the Greysunders and the nobility and everyone who thought they knew what a commoner boy could achieve.
"I am running to become Throneholder of Darv, Mr. Durzek," I said, and my voice was steady, clear, carrying the certainty of someone who had died and returned and would die again if that was what it took. "And I will win that title by solving the water problems of all Darv."