Arc 12. "The Theory of Strings."
Corvis Eralith
The grand meeting that Grandpa, Elder Rahdeas, and other prominent elders of the three Kingdoms—Hester Flamesworth, Buhndemog Lonuid, and Elder Camus, I could only guess—had been organizing for months was called the Interdicathian.
It was both a fair for scientific discoveries and the arts of humans, dwarves, and elves. It was an event meant to bring the greatest philosophers of the three races together in debate and to make the strongest mages duel for sport rather than war.
It was a fair for prosperity and good omen, the result of many years of work from those who wished for a united Dicathen.
Elder Rahdeas told me all of this as I ate together with him and Olfred.
Watching the asocial dwarven Lance celebrate the Darffday—which he hated, as he had told me himself—had become one of the strangely most satisfying things I had ever witnessed.
There was something profoundly human about it, something that transcended race and station. The way he allowed himself a second helping of roasted meat, the way his shoulders relaxed from their usual rigid vigilance.
"Elder," I said, raising my eyes from the grilled meat I was eating—a pork chop, probably not actually pork, but it tasted like it—cooked with a culinary style typical of Darv. The spices were unfamiliar but welcome, a complex symphony of flavors that spoke of generations of dwarven refinement. "When will the Interdicathian be?"
"You should ask Virion," Elder Rahdeas said, putting down his own food. "He is the main sponsor of it, seeing his former position as King of Elenoir."
The old dwarf ate with the same class of the most refined nobles I had ever met—the Ivsaars. Every movement was measured, deliberate, and elegant in its simplicity.
It was surely a teaching from Chul's father, a remnant of Djinnic culture preserved through the centuries like amber preserving the memory of ancient life.
"But indicatively," Elder Rahdeas continued, "it's going to be the first week of the coming year."
"In two months then..." I reasoned, the timeline settling in my mind like stones finding their resting place. There was plenty of time to prepare: both for this Interdicathian and for all my other plans and projects. Two months felt like an eternity and a heartbeat simultaneously. "Where will this fair be hosted?"
"In the Magic Capital of the World, of course," Elder Rahdeas said, a hint of something like amusement flickering across his weathered features.
That made sense.
Xyrus City was without a doubt the most important city in all of Dicathen. The floating island of the Ancient Mages, a jewel left behind by the Djinn that had survived to this era, was where the greatest minds and mages of Sapin reunited.
It was a place that existed slightly outside the ordinary world, a monument to a civilization that had been erased and yet still shaped everything that came after.
And also where Gideon Bastius lived and did his research.
Now that I had acquired his collaboration, I could visit him whenever I wanted... more or less whenever I wanted.
The thought of walking through the halls of Xyrus Academy, of standing on that floating island that had been one of the last great works of the folk of calm currents, stirred something in my chest: a strange mixture of anticipation and grief.
"Should we talk about that promise you made Dawsid?" Olfred finally spoke, his voice cutting through my reverie like a stone through still water. "Making him a functional mage again."
"Oh, ehm..." I scratched the back of my neck, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. "I have something to work on for the Interdicathian, I guess."
With the Darffest finally over, I could continue working on my Awareroom—my laboratory under the shade cast by the Hallowed Bountiful in Azellio—and assist Chul in the awakening of his Solidarity.
I still didn't fully know what Avicenna meant by that, but I guessed it was similar to how Dragons could only ever truly master one Edict of Fate.
The thought was a puzzle I was eager to solve, a mystery that promised answers to questions I hadn't even thought to ask.
I even wanted to go on a couple of Unravelings: one to the Dire Tombs to see what happened to the Elderwood Guardian there—probably with the Moonguards—and another one with the Dungeon Crawlers, both to see how Ayden Asclepius and Albold Chaffer behaved together and to continue to feed the public image of Finn Warend.
The threads of my various identities were beginning to weave together, and I needed to keep them from tangling.
"Right now I want to eat this fabulous food," I said, changing the subject. The meat was growing cold, and I refused to let such craftsmanship go to waste.
Olfred made to say something, but he closed his mouth as soon as Elder Rahdeas made a gesture with his hand.
"That is a great idea," Elder Rahdeas said wisely. "Food should never be consumed while discussing matters that worry the mind."
"Something your master told you?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
"Indeed," Elder Rahdeas confirmed my theory.
—
I tapped my Servo-Foot on the ground, its sound on the floor like a pebble dropped into still water, and with REmould I returned to Corvis Eralith in an instant.
The elven features returned, my Servo-Foot becoming a Servo-Hand, and my magic itself changing, shifting, settling into a different configuration.
I wondered about the reason for my sudden prowess with my RE-abilities.
At first I thought it was because of my new Insight over REstringify, but I had exhausted all my strings fighting Agrona's hand over the Legacy...
Not now, I told myself as I stretched my arms and made to exit Stonebound Tomes.
"Thanks for the help, Elder," I thanked Danna Roksson and left the dwarven shop, welcomed by the familiar view of the dwarven area of the Grand Nectary.
The afternoon light filtered through the canopy above, painting everything in shades of gold and amber.
I retrieved Fiorwato from my storage ring, ready to glide with Wind Surfing, but when I stepped on the cane's shaft, I felt a weight settle over my shoulder.
A black raven holding a stick in her beak and with a rolled leaf around one of her legs like it was a scroll landed on my right shoulder, crowing a greeting.
"Aurora?" I asked, vaguely recognizing the Sambhogakaya of Aurora Asclepius from buried memories of a life long past.
The raven took the leaf rolled around her leg and wrote something on it with her stick before she gave it to me.
"Char? You want to be called like this?" I asked, reading the content of the leaf. "You gave this name to yourself, or..."
Aurora took back the leaf and wrote something new.
Her beak moved with surprising grace, the stick scratching across the leaf's surface in neat, elegant strokes.
"Alwyn? Really?" I read aloud, a smile tugging at my lips. "That's... good to know, really."
Ayden with Albold, Aurora with Alwyn, and obviously Soleil with Tessia. One of my goals for bringing the Clan to Zestier was that of starting a coexistence between Asuras—only Phoenixes for now—and lessers. This was very good and very welcomed news. The threads were weaving themselves together, forming connections I hadn't even planned.
"I am heading to the Royal Palace," I informed Aurora, casting Wind Surfing and conjuring helping gales to take speed. "I want to speak with my grandfather about the Interdicathian."
—
I reached the gardens of my home. There, Alwyn and Grandpa were busy sparring as usual. Alwyn wielded Grandpa's rapier—a Briarspire—while Grandpa used a simple sword, but clad in the darkness of his Beast Will.
Grandpa was fast while cloaked in the darkness of the Integrate Phase of his Beast Will. His gray hair and beard were black as the darkest night, his clothes seeming to absorb all kinds of light while the exposed skin of his body seemed covered by countless shadows.
Grandpa moved tiptoe while fighting in this form, every single sound made by his steps cancelled by magic.
A streak of steel flashed before him as he slashed at Alwyn.
My best friend raised his Mirrshield, parrying the slash just in time.
Dozens of chips of earth magic fractured from the impact as Grandpa stepped behind in one swift, soundless jump. The fragments scattered like startled birds, shining yellow before dissolving into nothing.
I sat on one of the many benches of the gardens, continuing to spectate the sparring. The wood was cool beneath me, worn smooth by years of use, and I let myself sink into the familiar rhythm of the fight.
Alwyn attempted a lunge at Grandpa, but the capable Virion Eralith sidestepped away with ease.
The movement was fluid, unhurried, the movement of someone who had faced a hundred thousand attacks and would face a hundred thousand more.
Then, in a flourish of light, Alwyn stashed the Briarspire in his storage ring, retrieving a Courtblade instead and aiming for a slash now that Grandpa was malpositioned.
Alwyn's blade met the edge of Grandpa's, but the old mage, in a blink, was behind his student, the speed granted him by his Shadow Panther's Beast Will impressive.
Alwyn didn't relent, turning, but Grandpa was already patting his shoulder as the darkness of his Integrate Phase left him, returning him to his normal looks.
The shadows receded like a tide pulling back from the shore, leaving behind the familiar face of my grandfather.
"Well done, brat," Grandpa said, and I could hear the genuine approval in his voice.
"But Lord Elder, we are not done yet!" Alwyn protested. "We still have—"
Grandpa smirked and gestured toward me, peacefully sitting nearby, with his thumb; a simple gesture, but it carried the weight of a hundred unspoken words.
"Your Highness! I apologize, I didn't see you," Alwyn exclaimed, hurrying toward me. His eyes landed on Aurora, and his face lit up with the pure, uncomplicated joy of someone sharing something precious. "You have met Char! I wanted to present her to you the first time I saw her—she is a bird that writes, you could keep her as a scribe!"
I smiled at Alwyn's innocence. He gave Aurora a name just because he thought I would appreciate having her as an animal companion; and he would be right—if Aurora were a mana beast instead of an Asura.
"Hey brat, what about you go resting a bit?" Grandpa proposed. "I'd like to talk with my grandson."
"Of course, Lord Elder." Alwyn bowed, then turned to leave, his steps light, his spirits high. I watched him go, feeling a familiar warmth in my chest.
—
We went to Grandpa's office, and Berna was inside.
As soon as my Guardian Bear saw me—for the first time after the whole duration of the Darffest week—she launched herself over me, her massive frame towering over me as she started to lick my face like the clingiest of dogs.
The affection was overwhelming, a tidal wave of love that threatened to drown me.
"I-I missed you too, girl—leave me now!" I begged. "I can't breathe!"
Despite Berna using gravity magic to make herself light so as not to crush me, her fur was still covering my whole face. I was buried in warmth and love and the familiar scent of my bond.
I gently pushed her aside and got back on my feet, breathing heavily. The cool air of the office was a relief against my flushed cheeks.
"Your sword-eating bear has been missing you," Grandpa said. "Finn Warend."
Grandpa gave me a suspicious look as he sat down, inviting me to do the same. The weight of his gaze was familiar, a mixture of love and concern that I had grown accustomed to.
"Elder Rahdeas told me about the Interdicathian you have been organizing," I said, settling into the chair across from him. "I'd like to help."
"Don't worry, you will participate," Grandpa said, stroking his short beard. "But you will do so as Corvis Eralith, are we clear? The presence of the Prince of Elenoir is important."
"Yes, I understand," I nodded. The more influential people who participated in the Interdicathian, the better the result would be. Every voice raised in support of unity was a thread in the tapestry of Peace.
"But how did you even manage to get the permission for Xyrus City to host the fair?" I asked. "How did you convince the Glayders?"
"Your grandfather has a few good friends," Grandpa smirked proudly. "Like the director of the famous Xyrus Academy, Cynthia Goodsky."
The Alacryan spy turned traitor for the Vritra, I said in my head. Even if I didn't know if she remained such in this timeline.
I should investigate, I decided. Cynthia Goodsky was a variable I couldn't afford to ignore.
"I also have met someone I think is going to help a lot," I said, pride in my voice, a childish desire to impress my grandfather taking reign for a second. The words came out faster than I intended, carrying all the enthusiasm I usually kept contained.
"And who might have you met?" Grandpa asked, half-teasing. His eyes sparkled with amusement, and I felt a flush creep up my neck.
"Gideon Bastius, prominent artificer of Sapin," I declared, awaiting Grandpa's reaction, but he just nodded. "What? You are not impressed?"
"Gideon Bastius was one of those that helped to convince the Glayders to let Xyrus City host the Interdicathian," Grandpa said. "But I am glad you managed to get acquainted with him—that human is eccentric, but I am sure he can teach you many things."
I scratched Berna's head, feeling the familiar warmth of her fur beneath my fingers. The rhythm was soothing, a small anchor in the sea of my thoughts.
"Do you know where Tessia is?" I asked Grandpa, the question carrying more weight than I intended.
"Your sister has been causing quite the headache to your parents and to Lance Aya lately," Grandpa sighed, leaning back on his armchair. "She is out of town right now, or so was the last thing Aya reported to us."
"Typical of Tessia," I joked, though the worry in my chest was real.
"Typical of Tessia and you," Grandpa corrected me, and I felt the truth of his words like a gentle rebuke.
We were two sides of the same coin, my sister and I: both driven, both stubborn, both incapable of sitting still.
—
My laboratory at the base of the Hallowed Bountiful was one of the most beautiful buildings I had ever seen.
Not because of its grand architecture or expensive materials—though both were present in abundance—but because it was mine.
Every line, every curve, every carefully considered detail had sprung from my imagination. They had all been nursed through countless nights and had finally been given form by hands that understood what I was trying to create.
I had asked the same workers who built the Unraveler's Company headquarters in Riverside Yard to help me here in Azellio, and during the time I was gone for the Darffest, they had completed the job with great efficiency.
They had understood my vision with an almost uncanny precision: translating my sketches and diagrams into stone, vines, wood, copper and glass as if they had been reading my thoughts.
My Awareroom embodied an architectural style I'd been honing during the quiet hours in my room—theorizing it every time I passed a building, every time I walked the streets of Zestier, Burim, or Vildorial, every time I let my mind wander while my body went through the motions of daily life.
It fused the Art Deco aesthetics I remembered from an Earth that might never have existed with Elenoir's organic design—a seamless communion with nature, specifically the Bountiful—and the ancient Djinnic structures I'd been resurrecting across various dungeons.
The three influences should have clashed into a jarring, discordant mess. Instead, they sang in harmony, each complementing the other to create something that felt both ancient and impossibly futuristic.
The laboratory consisted of two interconnected wings anchored by a pair of vertical spires. It emphasized clean geometric forms, symmetry, and soaring height, echoing the Watchful Trees scattered across the Elshire while maintaining its bond with the surrounding flora.
The towers reached toward the sky with a defiant grace, their lines mirroring the branches of the Hallowed Bountiful towering behind them.
The façade was built from whitestone—quarried directly from the nearby Mount Ellhatan, the same stone that paved Zestier, made the Royal Palace and the greatest buildings of the elven realm—accented with weathered copper whose green patina swept across the roofs.
The visual contrast was breathtaking: pale, almost luminous stone set against the rich, earthy green of the oxidized metal, with razor-sharp geometric lines softened by the wild vines already beginning to weave across the surface.
Dark teal windows framed the structure, striking a brilliant balance between the pale stone and the vibrant leaves of the Bountiful.
They caught the light in strange and wonderful ways, transforming the ordinary sunlight into something almost liquid, almost alive.
When I looked at them, I saw the colors of the Elshire Forest reflected back at me, the deep greens and blues of the place that had been my home for this life.
Growing from the roofs and cascading down near the windows without obfuscating them were the hanging vines that, once spring would come, would blossom in a flourish of colors.
Even now, in the depths of autumn, they were beautiful—their leaves turning shades of amber and crimson, their stems reaching downward like grasping fingers, like they were trying to touch the earth below.
I walked the white staircase leading to the two large entrance doors, reminiscing of those of Lodenhold.
The steps were wide and shallow, designed to be climbed slowly, to give one time to appreciate the approach.
The doors themselves were imposing without being intimidating, their surface carved with patterns that echoed the geometric motifs of the towers above.
It was remarkably cold outside despite the sunny day: autumn wasn't very forgiving here in Azellio. The wind carried the sharp bite of the mountains, a reminder that winter was not far away.
I couldn't wait to get inside, to feel the warmth that I knew would be waiting for me.
"It seems you are enjoying yourself," the calm voice of Evascir came from behind me. There was something in his tone that I hadn't heard before—an understanding that went beyond mere observation.
I turned and, other than Berna and Lugano exchanging their usual pleasantries, Lidayoz Sartobel was standing at the base of my Awareroom's stairs.
The Titan in his elven disguise looked almost at home in this setting, his form blending with the architecture in a way that defied explanation.
"I am..." I said, flushing with a pleasure I couldn't quite contain. "This building is years of architectural wonder and fantasizing coming to life."
"It sounds like a Lifework of the peaceseekers," Evascir said, walking the stairs until he stood by my side in front of the entrance.
"It lacks one fundamental aspect: the use for others," I said, the words coming out more thoughtful than I intended. "But I hope that from this Awareroom I will be able to make many more things for Dicathen... and the Clan, and everyone who wants to change this world."
"I am sure many of my Titan brethren would find this architecture interesting," Evascir pointed out, and there was something like approval in his voice.
"I would like for Azellio to adopt this style, and maybe even all of Elenoir," I said, already imagining the Royal Palace itself renovated with my style—Corvian Deco, only the thought itself made me blush.
"Architecture seems to be your passion, Eralith," Evascir said, a warm smile softening his otherwise rock solid features, even when in his elven form. "I saw it with your Servo-Limbs too: you like designing, right?"
"Yeah..." I admitted, the word coming out softer than I intended.
I truly loved designing. I loved coming up with different spells, the way they could be shaped and refined and perfected.
I loved listening to Avicenna as he shared with me the knowledge of Djinnic Lifeworks so that I could recreate them anew, each one a new, unique, window into a civilization that had been erased.
I loved making my Servo-Limbs, the way they could restore what had been lost. And I even loved giving names: Berna with her new name and Ayden with Altair.
But architecture? That was far beyond anything else.
With architecture, I could build things that would outlast me by centuries. Through architecture, I could leave my traces to the world without it being affiliated to being the Arbiter or the Justiciar. Through it, I could create something that existed for its own sake, that would stand as a testament to the possibility of beauty in a world that too often chose destruction.
"You seem quite passionate about it too," I said, noticing the way Evascir observed my Awareroom.
His gaze was analytical, assessing, but there was something else there too.
"I am not interested in architecture per se, but you know, Eralith," Evascir started. "I once knew a Titan that liked it very much."
"Did they..." I didn't finish my sentence, as Evascir's look was enough. The grief was there, ancient and deep, a wound that had never healed.
"She was Lugano's creator," Evascir said, turning to look at his bond who had been accompanying the Titan of the Hearth for who knew how long.
Lugano was padding toward us, his massive form moving with surprising grace, his eyes fixed on Berna with an adoration that was almost comical.
"She gifted him to me when he was a cub."
"Was she a relative of yours?" I asked, though I already suspected the answer.
"My mother," Evascir admitted. "Othilde Gigante."
I looked down, his mother's name name suspended in the air between us, heavy with unspoken history.
I opened the door to my Awareroom, the wood swinging inward with a soft, well-oiled sigh. Berna and Lugano padded to reach us, their large forms filling the doorway.
With a genuine smile, I entered inside my Awareroom. The warmth enveloped me immediately, a stark contrast to the cold mountain air outside.
The interior was still bare, still waiting to be filled with the tools and artifacts of my work, but it already felt like home.