Corvis Eralith
One of the first things I wanted to address about my current situation—now that I had a proper, working Awareroom—was logistics.
A new means of instantaneous, stealthy transportation would be the first invention coming out of my laboratory.
The dilemma had been gnawing at me for weeks, a persistent splinter in my mind that refused to be ignored. That dilemma I wanted to resolve.
I was surely going to have troubles managing both Corvis Eralith and Finn Warend now that the latter was under the radar of all Darv and of Gideon Bastius too.
The threads of my dual existence were beginning to fray at the edges, and I could feel them threatening to unravel entirely if I didn't find a better way to move between them.
The way I had done things until now—going from city to city through the public portals available to all—wouldn't work anymore.
Not only was it slow; even if I surfed on Fiorwato with Wind Surfing at max speed, I still needed to surf through the cities, reach the portal squares, and wait for the guards to activate the ancient gateways.
The time lost was precious, each wasted moment a drop of water in a vessel that was already running dry.
Moreover it was, more than everything, blatantly conspicuous.
Every time I stepped through a portal as Finn Warend, I left a record.
Every time I emerged as Corvis Eralith, I created a trail.
The public portals were the arteries of Dicathian civilization, pulsing with the constant flow of travelers, merchants, and messengers.
And I was just another name in their endless ledger, but I couldn't afford to be any name at all.
REmould was the best disguise in the world, yes, and the people that knew about Finn and Corvis being the same person were trusted ones.
But even the best disguise in the world would fail if you left traces that could be used to connect the dots.
A pattern would emerge eventually; the dwarven boy and the elven prince, never seen in the same place at the same time, always appearing and disappearing in a rhythm that a sufficiently curious observer might begin to notice.
Furthermore, how many people used portals each day? Hundreds, thousands even? Statistics wasn't on my side, someone was fated to discover me.
In short, I had to find a way to go around Dicathen without being noticed. I needed to make my own teleportation network.
I sat on a high stool in a room of my Awareroom. The wood was smooth beneath me, polished to a soft sheen by the hands of a woodcarver who helped build this place.
The two wings of the laboratory were each dedicated to a different branch of research—Djinnic research, to be precise.
The northwestern wing—the shorter of the two, standing at "only" three stories—was dedicated to Aetherology, with a floor reserved for each Edict of Fate.
Opposite to it, the eastern wing housed Manatech, divided into four floors corresponding to the four primary elements of mana.
The sheer symmetry of it pleased me: the way one wing counterbalanced the other, transforming the building itself into an architectonic testament to the duality of the folk of calm currents.
But today I was not in either of the main wings of the Awareroom. Instead, I was in one of the two towers, the one reserved for research with the authorities of the Arbiter, the REabilities.
The tower felt different from the rest of the building: more intimate and more personal. It was where I came to wrestle with the parts of myself that I still didn't fully understand.
The uppermost rooms of the towers were the only spaces not used to connect the two wings to the entrance hall.
Each possessed a single, massive round window—reminiscent of the Warend Trading Company's headquarters in Vildorial—tinted with the same dark-teal glass found throughout the Awareroom.
Yet while the Manatech tower was crowned by a domed observatory—perfect for stargazing and astronomical research, all to bring Tessia to the moon one day—the room I now occupied featured a barrel-vaulted ceiling.
Its circular window stared outward like a giant eye, beneath a blade-like fin that sliced skyward toward the dense canopy of the Bountiful.
I had spent many hours in this room already, sitting in silence, letting my thoughts settle like sediment in still water.
But enough about my Awareroom.
Held between my fingers was a string of Fate, a new one I managed to recover after intensive meditation.
It was fragile, insubstantial, barely visible even to my eyes, but it was undeniably there. A thread of golden light, pulsing with a faint, steady rhythm like a distant heartbeat.
It had taken me days to coax it into existence, to weave it from the raw stuff of possibility that surrounded me like an invisible ocean.
I gripped each end with a thumb and a middle finger while on the top of the index of my Servo-Hand I conjured a Bubblespell.
The orb of water mana waited to be used, rotating on itself with great speed due to a wind spell I had put within.
It spun like a tiny planet, its surface catching the light from the window and scattering it into a thousand tiny rainbows.
I made the Bubblespell drop onto golden string, and in an instant, faster than I could see, the Bubblespell was on the index of my natural, fleshy hand.
The transfer was instantaneous, seamless, as if the space between my two hands had simply ceased to exist.
"Mana can travel the strings of Fate," I observed, the words coming out in a whisper. "Is this the base of Djinnic teleportation?"
The last time I asked Avicenna to explain the gateways scattered across Dicathen that permitted Dicathian civilization as I knew it to develop, he told me Unity was the Article upon which they were based.
Furthermore, I knew from the novel that through Spatium the portals could still be used. It was still aether in the end, wasn't it? Even if Articles and Edicts derived from very different Insights.
I continued to play with the spinning Bubblespell, making it teleport from one index to another through the string. Back and forth, back and forth, a tiny dance of light and possibility.
Each transfer was a small miracle, a quiet rebellion against the laws of distance and time.
I needed to repeat this same process, but with all my person instead. With that, I could go from city to city, or from outpost to outpost, whenever I wanted.
The thought was dizzying, almost intoxicating, the freedom to move without restriction, without observation, without the endless drag of logistics and paperwork.
"I need more understanding of the Djinnic portals," I said, raising from my stool. The motion was sudden, driven by a restless energy that I couldn't quite contain. "To the Hearth it is."
—
I retrieved Avicenna from Chul's custody, the Vaultlamp now once more with me as I sat back on the stool to speak with the wise Sage.
"Avicenna," I called aloud, undisturbed by the need to use Inner Current to speak telepathically with him. "Were there Djinns that could teleport without the use of portals?"
'Interesting question, Justiciar,' Avicenna replied. 'No, that wasn't the case. Portals were built exactly because of that necessity. However, there were Djinns with spellforms that behaved exactly like the portals. They were the greatest messengers of the folk of calm currents, able to go from Faircity to Faircity in the blink of an eye. However, the invention and spread of our portals made them obsolete, but that's the way of progress.'
That was exactly what I needed. Something like Arthur's God Step in a way, only without having Burst Step as a base. A way to move through space itself, to become a whisper in the fabric of reality.
"And have you sequenced one of them using your Lifework?" I asked. "The Alphabet."
'I did, Justiciar,' Avicenna replied, his answer causing me to smile in triumph.
But how could I use it? I didn't think that a Bubblespell would be of use, unless I could mimic the effects of a Tempus Warp with one.
The Tempus Warp was the Alacryan solution to the same problem: a portable artifact that could fold space around its user to create a portal to another place.
But I didn't have one of those precious artifacts with me; the only one I had seen in this life belonged to Nylith, which she used to continually escape from justice.
I conjured the string of Fate I was experimenting with before. Could I engrave the needed Articles on it? The string hummed beneath my fingers, responsive and alive, waiting to be shaped.
"Avicenna, recite the sequence of that spellform," I said, and the Sage obeyed.
'R–L–L–L–S–S–'
As Avicenna spoke in my mind, I tried to engrave each Article in the golden string with REmould; but the problem I met was a peculiar one—my fingers were too big to do so efficiently.
It was like trying to write on a small notebook with a big brush used to paint entire walls: each attempt was clumsy, imprecise, the letters blurring and fading before they could take proper form.
"Avicenna, stop for a second, please," I told the Djinn. "What did you use to engrave the sequences of the Alphabet?"
'I didn't, Justiciar,' Avicenna replied, shame and embarrassment in his voice. 'As I told you, my Lifework of Aetherology was incomplete at the moment of my death. All spellforms and Greatrunes I have ever translated into the Alphabet were theoretical, living only in my mind.'
"That's unfortunate..." I murmured, when a spark of genius lighted my mind.
However, I had something that could work: Mordain's plume.
I retrieved the large, colored plume from my storage ring. Despite it being as big as my forearm, the tip of the feather was like the tip of a pen—sharp and narrow, perfect for the delicate work I was attempting.
For a preliminary experiment, I tried to use Mordain's plume to engrave an Article in a Bubblespell, desummoning the string of Fate away.
REmould worked perfectly on the plume as I successfully engraved the Article of Solidarity in the Bubblespell, the water mana making the orb start to act like a wall, as if the water itself was as hard as concrete.
The surface of the bubble hardened, becoming almost glass-like, its surface reflecting the light in strange and beautiful ways.
Solidarity improves the spell's defense, I noted in my head. Interesting. Justice made the spell stronger, Unity made it more efficient in its mana usage, Freedom broke the range limits of the spell, and Solidarity improved its defensive aspects—later I would test Balance too.
With Mordain's plume held between my malachite fingers and the string of Fate steadily suspended in the air, I started to write down the sequence.
The tip of the feather touched the golden thread, and I felt a surge of warmth travel up my arm, through my shoulder, into the center of my chest.
The plume remembered its purpose, remembered the hands that had once held it, remembered the legacy it carried.
I began to write. The string of Fate accepted the inscriptions, drinking them in like a parched traveler finding water in the desert.
—
The sequence of the spellform consisted of a succession of one Balance (R, Ramdad), three Unity (L, Lelmoran), two Freedom (S, Sandand), and one Justice (O, Orvandal):
R–L–L–L–S–S–O–
This sequence was repeated for the entire length of the string—a great undertaking that had consumed weeks of my life.
But after a couple of loops, for a total of twenty days, I now had a long enough string for my first test.
I was in the garden behind my Awareroom, a carefully planted space that had been designed around the Hallowed Bountiful.
The Watchful Apple towered above me, its branches spreading wide like protective arms, its leaves whispering secrets I couldn't hear.
The waterfall coming down from Peak Firrod created a small pond that developed into a brook feeding into the Cyricon River, the perfect background to my test.
My theory was that, seeing how the river of time was what ran beneath all reality, I could use REtrocurrent in a very different way.
In the Hearth, when Agrona attempted the reincarnation of the Legacy, I had already discovered that death wasn't the only trigger to REtrocurrent.
The river could be accessed without dying, if you knew how to ask.
If I could trigger REtrocurrent to make me able to travel through this string myself, I would have succeeded.
REstringify would make the road, REmould could be the fuel, and REtrocurrent the vehicle. Three powers, three aspects of my being, working in harmony to achieve something that none of them could do alone.
I planted a rod of metal in the middle of a small field of Lominels.
Evascir had crafted it using the same metal used for the Djinnic gateways: a peculiar silvery alloy.
Surrounded by daisies and under the shadow cast by the Bountiful, the rod looked like a buried sword from a fairy tale.
I conjured the string of Fate on which I had engraved the sequence of the teleportation spellform, and tied it around the rod's tip.
The golden thread hummed softly, responding to the touch of the metal, eager to fulfill its purpose.
On another rod I repeated the same process, tying the other end of the string around its tip.
"Berna, plant this rod on the other side of the garden," I asked my Guardian Bear, who carefully took the rod between her jaws and started to happily pad where I gestured her. "Over there."
When Berna placed the rod in its place, the string of Fate attached to both ends was clearly visible to my eyes—a golden thread unmoved by the crisp breeze of Azellio.
"Test number one," I declared as the moment of truth landed upon me.
Touching the rod by my side, I tried to use REtrocurrent by making mana travel the string of Fate.
I felt the spellform engraved in the one-dimensional thread activate.
It was strange, nothing like any normal mana spell I had ever witnessed. It wasn't even aether like Windsom's pocket dimensions, even if it was aether what fueled the string.
And then—my Servo-Hand was gone.
"W-what, my hand?!" I exclaimed, holding tight the stump where my right hand should have started.
Berna growled on the other end of the string. I raised my eyes, and my malachite prosthetic was hanging from her mouth, glinting in the afternoon light like a misplaced treasure.
"Only my malachite hand traveled? Are we serious?" I sighed in frustration. "Test number one: failed."
—
What caused only my Servo-Hand to travel from one rod to the other was the affinity it had for mana.
The artificial hand, made with malachite worked by Evascir Gigante, was not that different from a mana crystal itself. It was pure, refined magic given form, and the teleportation spellform recognized it as such.
This made the possible resolution for my current problem substituting my whole body with malachite—from flesh to bones.
That was, obviously, out of the question. I was not about to become a statue in pursuit of convenience.
After replacing my Servo-Hand in its rightful place, I was once again ready for testing. Berna stood some twenty meters from me, waiting for my instructions, her green eyes fixed on me with patient curiosity.
"Test number two," I declared, activating Inner Current. It was a simple thing, a banal thing; but sometimes in science those were the things that let you resolve a problem.
The Trucewater flooded my nervous system, bringing clarity and calm, and I felt my thoughts sharpen to a razor's edge.
Again, I tried to activate REtrocurrent.
I felt my whole body being lurched, exactly like when the river claimed me when I died. The powerful, wild currents of the Warworn Rapids overwhelming my Soul-Body before spitting me back to the world.
But, like in the Hearth, I didn't die.
I was instead catapulted to the other side of the string as if I had just been accelerated by a mysterious force through the golden thread.
Before I was launched toward the mountainside, Berna caught me with her jaws. Her grip was gentle but firm, her teeth barely grazing my clothes as she prevented me from becoming a smear on the rocks.
"Test number two..." I started, unsure how to label it. "Half a success."
—
"Uncle, what are you doing?" Chul asked me as he landed by my side, causing the grass of the Nexus Garden to shake due to the powerful impact of the Djinn hybrid.
His landings were always like this: heavy, enthusiastic, full of the barely contained energy that defined everything he did.
"I want to see if my teleportation network can go from the Hearth outside and vice versa," I said, planting a new rod in the main core chamber of the Hearth.
"Oh, and it works with sticks?" Chul asked, tilting his head. His confusion was genuine, and I couldn't help but smile at his earnest misunderstanding. "I never heard of such a thing. It's portentous to turn simple twigs of metal into portals!"
"T-thanks," I said. Chul had a very strange way of making compliments. They always came from somewhere unexpected, like flowers blooming in the desert.
"Can I help you in any way?" Chul asked, smile bright and hands on his hips, ready to get to work. His enthusiasm was infectious, and for a moment, I allowed myself to believe that everything would work out.
"I don't think so," I replied, rubbing my hands with conjured water to wash away dust and sweat accumulated. "But you can remain here to see if it works."
"With pleasure!" Chul exclaimed, positioning himself right by the planted rod. His eagerness was almost childlike, a reminder that beneath the massive frame and the ancient grief, he was still someone who craved connection.
"Good, test number three..."
I activated REtrocurrent to travel outside the Hearth through this string of Fate.
The other end of the string was attached to the rod planted in my Awareroom—I had brought the rod here through Azellio's portal, hoping it hadn't ruined the string's path.
It indeed did.
As I felt the river claim me and my whole self traveling through the string by REtrocurrent, something went wrong. I felt my soul, body, and mind being unraveled—everything about me torn to its extreme, pulled apart like thread from a tapestry.
I opened my eyes to the vaulted infinite sky that was Fate, The Atoll beneath my feet. I died.
"I need to bring the strings by hand..." I sighed. "Damn, that's a problem."
If I wanted to connect myself to the Hearth, it meant I would need to reach the sanctuary of the Asclepius Clan by foot rather than by portal, and that was very, very problematic.
The Hearth was located in one of the most dangerous areas of the Beast Glades, hundreds of kilometers from Zestier, far in the wilderness of the Wild East.
When Soleil showed me the location of the Hearth on the best map of the Beast Glades available in Elenoir, Darv, or Sapin, she couldn't actually pinpoint it. Those areas were unmapped, unexplored. Those who went there either didn't come back or never bothered to risk their lives to map it.
I walked toward the Petaldrift awaiting me on the beach of The Atoll, ready to go back in time through the Warworn Rapids.
"I need to find a way that ignores the path taken," I reasoned as I paddled on the impossible non-water of the river. "A leap, instead of a drive... if that makes sense."
—
As Eralith Asclepius, I lay on the hammock of my Nest in the Hearth, juggling three Bubblespells as I pondered the potential resolutions to my problem.
The hammock swayed gently beneath me, a comfortable cradle that allowed my mind to drift while my hands kept busy.
I transformed the Bubblespells back into liquid, which I used to water some of the plant pots in the Nest.
The simple act of nurturing life was grounding, a reminder that even in the midst of grand experiments, the small things still mattered.
With that done, I invoked REstringify, conjuring the long string of Fate between my fingers.
Spreading my hands, I watched it stretch into a pattern as fine as a cobweb, looping around each finger and tying every digit together in a complex lattice. The golden thread wove through my hands pulsing, responsive and eager.
I observed the sequence engraved upon it, the sequence of the teleportation spellform, the base upon which all Dicathian portals were made.
I fed earth mana inside the string and felt how the magic started to flow inside, everywhere at the same time, an impossibility made true thanks to REstringify.
The mana traveled the length of the string in an instant, defying the laws of distance and time.
"These strings are truly portentous," I sighed as I absentmindedly continued to play with the string. "If only I could use them to their best."
I used REmould in unison. This string was one of mine, which meant I could use REmould to change it as it changed me.
I didn't mould the Articles already engraved, of course, but I tried to see if I could do something else.
When I first learned of the Alphabet from Avicenna, I had compared it to DNA: the codex of life.
What if...
I shifted the string's form, forcing it into a double twist clockwise along a central axis—a right-handed double helix, mirroring the exact structure of DNA.
"I... I didn't actually think it would work." I gasped, staring at the new configuration with wide eyes. "I have a much greater Insight over this structure than the normal strings of Fate."
I looked down at Berna, who was laying lazily beneath my hammock. Lugano too was present, both Guardian Bears resting peacefully as I played with what made the Fate of all beings like it was play-dough.
They were curled together, a mountain of fur and warmth, their breathing synchronized in the deep rhythm of sleep.
"Two bears made of Fleshstone—Ashmavasa, whatever," I pondered, looking at the two large creatures. Then I looked at my helix-shaped string of Fate. "DNA-like string..."
One of the first observations about the differences between Alacrya and Dicathen I had ever made was that bonds with mana beasts were the only advantage we truly had over the invaders.
Mages with Beast Wills—be them either obtained by Beast Forgers (like Grandpa, who gained his Beast Will by the mana core of a Shadow Panther) or by Beast Tamers (like me with Berna)—were Dicathen's strongest.
But I always wanted to bring them even further. Just as Elenoir's whole philosophy was built around the communion with the Forest, I wanted to expand it to all mana beasts—through domestication or...
"Through creation," I said as the idea finally formed in my mind, crystalline and perfect.
Access to Fleshstone was impossible right now, as Evascir had explained. But I had something better. I had the strings of Fate themselves.
The golden threads that connected all things, that wove the fabric of reality, that held the potential for anything and everything.
Alwyn Triscan
The night air was cool against my skin as I sat in the gardens of the Royal Palace, surrounded by the familiar shadows of the Watchful Willows that had stood sentinel over Zestier for centuries.
I was cleaning my weapons—my Courtblade, my Branchberd, my Thorncurve, my Mirrshield, and Lord Elder Virion's Briarspire—each one laid out before me on a soft cloth like offerings in a Verticil's temple.
The ritual was meditative, almost sacred, a moment of quiet in a life that had become increasingly defined by motion and purpose.
I was using a special kind of oil, the same that was used by the Leafguard, the Royal Police, and the Treeful Phalanx to keep their weapons in their best conditions. The oil had a sharp, clean scent, like pine and iron mixed together in some mysterious concoction.
Each stroke of my cloth on my weapons made me feel like I already belonged to the defenders of Elenoir, they filled me with purpose.
It was late in the Royal Palace.
My training with Lord Elder Virion was done for the day, and the familiar exhaustion that followed our sessions had settled into my bones like a comfortable heavy blanket.
Alea was doing her evening chores, moving through the corridors with that efficiency that had always defined her. The gardeners were leaving, their tools stowed away, their work finished until the morning light would call them back.
A new shift of the royal guards started, their footsteps echoing in the distance, a steady rhythm that was the heartbeat of the palace.
I had met with Char earlier today. The mysterious raven had become a nice companion, especially with His Highness being almost always in Azellio lately—coming home only to sleep and have breakfast with his parents.
There was a hollowness in the days when I didn't see him, a gap in the world that nothing else could fill. Char helped, with her presence and her strange intelligence.
She was very intelligent for a bird. She kept track of everything that happened in the Grand Nectary and wrote it on her leaves, which she stacked inside hollow spaces inside the trees of Zestier.
I had seen her at work mang times, her beak moving with impossible speed, her eyes fixed on the world below with an attention that seemed almost elven. I wondered how that was possible.
"Ribbit."
The noise of a frog caught my attention. I turned my head, and poking out of a fountain here in the gardens was a strange frog.
It was fat and awkward, its hide a strange hue of blue like the waters of a warm lake. It would have looked like any other normal frog—horrendous, slimy, a creature of the mud and the dark—if it wasn't for the two small protrusions coming from the sides of its head.
Two little green horns, like those of a creature from some old Sornèvaine tale meant to frighten children into behaving.
"Ribbit."
The frog jumped out of the water in one fluid leap and started to approach me. I grimaced, seeing that disgusting creature.
I hated frogs. They were ugly, fat, slimy, and they ate butterflies. I had never understood why anyone would find them endearing. They were just... there, taking up space, consuming creatures that brought color to the world.
Then the frog opened its mouth widely, and my eyes widened as I subconsciously withdrew Lord Elder Virion's Briarspire.
The blade caught Elenoir's light, a flash of silver in the darkness, and I was ready to pierce this living crime to Everbosk. My heart hammered in my chest, my muscles tensed, and for a moment, the world narrowed to the point of my blade and the creature before me.
Then—something came out of the frog's mouth.
I lunged with my weapon, the instincts of a soldier, of a guard, of someone who had been training his entire life for moments like this, acting faster than my mind could follow.
"Alwyn! It's me!"
I heard His Highness's voice, and I felt the tip of the Briarspire being blocked as if meeting a wall. His Highness stood right in front of me as if he had always been there. The palm of his artificial hand was blocking the Briarspire with ease, thanks to wind magic that swirled around him like an invisible shield.
The green malachite of his Servo-Hand gleamed in the dim light, a familiar sight that made my heart stutter.
"Oh, seasons!" I exclaimed, seeing my Prince in front of me. I bowed, the motion automatic, driven by years of ingrained respect. "Your Highness, I-I apologize for what happened right now!"
"Ah, my bad actually..." His Highness replied, crouching down and taking the gross frog in his arms. The creature seemed content in his grip, its bulging eyes fixed on his face with something that might have been affection (but frogs couldn't feel affection). "I didn't expect these Portal Frogs to work so well."
"Portal Frogs?" I echoed, looking at the frog in Corvis's arms in disgust. The word didn't make sense. Frogs were frogs, not portals. But nothing about His Highness's inventions had ever made immediate sense.
"A new invention of mine," His Highness replied. "These little guys are my own personal portals! Want a demonstration?"
His Highness was truly ecstatic about these Portal Freaks—I meant Frogs! The enthusiasm in his voice was infectious, and despite my revulsion, I felt a smile tugging at the corner of my lips.
"Yes, I would be honoured," I replied, not actually sure about what to expect.
"Okay, okay," His Highness said, gesturing for the horned monster to bounce in front of him. The frog obliged, its movements surprisingly graceful for something so grotesque. "You and Alea like Asyphin's biscuits, right?"
I nodded, my eyes fixed on the creature.
Then the elongated tongue of the Portal Frog burst forward, and His Highness was gone—as if swallowed by the sea itself, or a body of water even larger. The frog's mouth closed, and for a moment, there was only silence and the faint ripple of disturbed air.
I didn't even have time to be surprised when His Highness was spat back in front of me by that same slimy thing. The frog's tongue retracted, and my prince stood before me, grinning like a madman, his hand extended toward me.
"Here, freshly baked," His Highness said, offering me what looked like perfect biscuits from the city of Asyphin. They were golden brown, flecked with nuts and honey, and they smelled incredible.
"I don't want something that came out of that being's mouth," I said, the words coming out before I could stop them. My revulsion was too strong to overcome, even for Asyphin's finest biscuits.
His Highness laughed, a crazed smile that made me worry it might split his face. The sound was bright and unguarded, the kind of laugh I rarely heard from him.
"Yeah... you are right," my Prince replied, stretching his arms and yawning. "I really need to sleep. These little guys were a nightmare to make."
I watched him as he cradled the Portal Frog like a treasured pet, his artificial hand gentle against its slick hide.
He looked so much like Her Highness, innocently petting an animal. The creature of horrors croaked softly, and for a moment, it almost seemed endearing. Almost.