TBATE: Corvis Eralith

Tessia Eralith

The damp, salty air of the dungeon clung to my skin like a second tunic as I wrenched another Snarler off its scrabbling feet.

"When you proposed spending our one week break together," I grunted, channeling mana through my Beast Will, "I wasn't picturing this, Corvis!"

A thick, gnarled root erupted from the cavern floor, slamming into the torso of a leaping mana beast with a sickening thud. The force sent it crashing into a nearby cluster of jagged salt crystals that shattered like brittle glass, showering the dim cavern floor in glittering, blue-tinged shards. The other four Snarlers hesitated, their glowing eyes narrowing in the eerie light.

My adventurer's leathers felt stiff and familiar, the weight of my wand-sword reassuring at my hip, the pack of supplies digging into my shoulders—a far cry from the elegant and comfortable uniforms of Xyrus Academy.

Right now we were deep in the northern Beast Glades, within a labyrinthine cave system known ominously as The Sea Den, its gaping maw facing the churning grey expanse of the ocean. So much for relaxing by the sea with my brother and Grey.

"I am actually having fun," Grey announced, his voice calm amidst the guttural growls. He moved like liquid shadow, his sword—Dawn's Ballad—a streak of teal light in the cavern's gloom. Two precise slashes later, the remaining snarlers collapsed, their forms dissolving into cadavers from which mana evaporated into the atmosphere leaving behind some kf their beast cores.

Sylvie, perched on his shoulder, let out a soft, satisfied kyu as she jumped to the ground starting to eat the leftovers beast cores.

"Fun?" I sheathed my wand-sword with perhaps more force than necessary, the metallic shing echoing sharply.

"Grey, your definition of 'fun' involves near-death experiences before lunch or endless fights against mana beasts. And Corvis?" I turned to my brother, who was already scanning the cavern walls with unnerving intensity, his gaze lingering on shadowed crevices and specific salt formations as if listening to whispers only he could hear.

"His idea of a 'break' is apparently spelunking through a monster-infested dungeon looking for… geological samples? He has this obsession since we were eight I swear!" I regrouped with them in the center of the vast chamber, my boots crunching on the coarse salt grit covering the floor.

Above us, the cavern soared, a cathedral of rough-hewn black rock. High in the vaulted ceiling, dozens of irregular holes pierced the stone, offering tantalizing, fractured glimpses of the stormy grey sky far above.

The weak and pale daylight filtered down, striking the massive, sculpted pillars and drifts of sea salt that dominated the chamber. These weren't mere deposits; they were frozen waves, towering sculptures, and jagged teeth gleaming with an internal, ethereal blue luminescence.

If I didn't hate the feeling of salt all over my body, clothes and hair I would have even liked the scenery.

It bathed the entire space in a cold, otherworldly light, casting long, dancing shadows that made every stalactite look like a lurking beast. The constant sigh of the sea breeze—accompanied by the promises of storm—found its way through the ceiling apertures, carrying the sharp tang of salt, the damp decay of kelp, and the indescribable, ancient breath of the ocean deep into the underground chamber.

It was beautiful, in a desolate, dangerous way. Corvis described it as sublime something that inspired both awe and fear.

"Good job," Corvis murmured absently, his attention still riveted on a particularly large, faceted salt crystal near the cavern wall. He traced a gloved finger along a vein of darker mineral running through it, his brow furrowed in concentration that felt deeper than mere mineralogy.

Corvis had his own distinct take when it came to outfitting himself for our expedition. It was nothing like my well-worn brown jacket, all practical pockets and purpose, layered over a soft silk shirt and paired with sturdy, matching pants.

Nor did it resemble Grey's sleek, almost severe aesthetic—those tight black sleeves and trousers, cut close to the skin, and a sharply tailored navy jacket atop it all.

Instead, my brother opted for a steel grey coat with a high collar that framed his face like a silent challenge and protected his neck alongside. Beneath it, he wore a dark blue bodysuit that clung close for movement but offered the protection he needed.

His black gloves extended past his forearms, made from a peculiar fabric that allowed his prosthetic magic to be channeled as freely as bare skin. Even his boots matched the coordination—tall, black, functional things, coupled with reinforced trousers that didn't compromise on comfort or mobility.

While mine and Grey's gear was more standard for an adventurer everything about Corvis's outfit whispered precision and adaptability—nothing left to chance, nothing purely aesthetic.

It suited him. I don't know when he had time or who he asked help for to made that uniform in time, but it was really Corvis in its design. Using everything around him to compensate his corelessness.

"Anyway, Corvis," Grey prompted, wiping a faint smear of snarler ichor from Dawn's Ballad's blade. His eyes, usually so guarded, held a spark of genuine engagement.

"What exactly are we here for? Other than the obvious training benefit?" He gestured at the dissipating mana remnants.

Training benefit, I sighed inwardly. Of course. Grey's relentless drive to grow stronger was a constant, though since arriving at Xyrus, the sharp edges had softened slightly since the days when we were adventuring together almost four months ago.

He trained with people now—me, Corvis, even his Disciplinary Committee colleagues. It was progress, however incremental. But a dungeon crawl during our precious break? That was pure Grey, enabled by Corvis's latest obsession.

Xyrus Academy truly changed him, but even more he changed Corvis and I am not talking about those pestering girls swarming around him!

Corvis was becoming everyday more confident, more adaptable and—obviously—more experienced. Since we were babies Corvis has always had a frightening intelligence and knowledge for his age, but that intelligence was held back by his own inexperience, immaturity and lack of self esteem.

We were kids, it was more than normal, but looking at Corvis I always thought of him as some boy wonder far ahead of his years. Not like Grey—he was the most adult-like between us—but still I felt it.

"I'm searching for a specific type of salt," Corvis explained to Grey, finally tearing his gaze from the crystal. He met our skeptical stares with a faint, knowing smile. "A unique crystalline structure formed under immense pressure, where deep mineral salts fuse with concentrated sea salt deposits. Extremely rare and more importantly, extremely useful." He paused, his smile widening slightly at the dawning horror on my face.

"For that, we need to go deeper. About the thirteenth level of this dungeon."

"Thirteenth?!" The word burst from me, sharp as cracking ice. "Corvis, most dungeons barely have ten floors! This is an A-class delve, not some legendary AA-tier or above death trap!"

"I've mapped this place before," Grey stated flatly, his earlier spark dimmed by practicality. "During my adventuring days. The Sea Den has five levels. Maximum." Sylvie chirped in agreement, bobbing her head on his shoulder.

"What," Corvis countered, his smirk turning infuriatingly smug as he looked between us, "you don't trust me?" He spread his hands innocently.

"Even if this dungeon magically sprouted eight extra levels," I pressed, stepping closer, the salt crunching underfoot, "how could you possibly know about them? And what's on this mythical thirteenth floor besides your special salt?"

He shifted his weight, avoiding direct eye contact, a telltale sign he was skirting the full truth. "I... came across some fragmented reports," he said, his voice carefully casual. "Lost adventurers. Delvers who supposedly went far deeper than anyone thought possible. Mentioned unusual salt formations." He waved a dismissive hand. "The details are hazy, but the potential is worth verifying."

Hazy details. Lost adventurers. My brother was a vault of obscure, often terrifying knowledge, sources unknown. It was one of the things that fascinated and frightened me about him. He saw patterns, connections, possibilities hidden from everyone else. But chasing ghosts in a dungeon? During our break?

I exchanged a look with Grey. His expression was unreadable, but the slight tightening around his eyes mirrored my own unease. He trusted Corvis, implicitly and deeply, just as I did or maybe even more.

But that trust warred with years of hard-won adventurer pragmatism. Five floors were manageable. Thirteen? That spoke of uncharted territory, ancient mana beasts, and dangers far beyond snarler packs.

Corvis watched us, the smugness immediately fading into something more earnest, almost pleading. "It is here. I can... sense the potential pathways." He tapped his temple near his left eye. The lens. Of course.

His newest artifact, granting him insights we couldn't fathom.

The breeze sighed through the cavern again, carrying the lonely cry of a distant seabird from the world above. Down here, surrounded by the cold blue glow of salt and the lingering scent of battle, the surface felt like a distant dream. Grey gave a barely perceptible nod. My shoulders slumped in a sigh that was half exasperation, half resignation.

"Whatever," I muttered, the word tasting like the salt on the air. "Lead on, oh fearless explorer of improbable basements."

The flicker of relief and renewed excitement in Corvis's eyes was almost worth the worry coiling in my stomach. Almost. As we moved towards the shadowed passage leading deeper into the earth, the crunch of salt under our boots echoed like the ticking of a clock counting down in the eerie, beautiful, terrifying heart of The Sea Den.

———

The damp chill of the Sea Den's upper levels had settled deep into my bones, a persistent counterpoint to the adrenaline still humming in my veins.

Salt crusted my leathers almost like frost, itching against my skin with every movement, and the tang of the ocean was now layered with the coppery scent of slain mana beasts.

Yet, despite the fatigue gnawing at me, a grim satisfaction held firm. Our small party—just Grey, Corvis, Sylvie, and me—moved with lethal efficiency that belied our numbers. Grey was a tempest of focused destruction, Dawn's Ballad a blur of teal light that reduced B-Class sea serpents to unmoving bodies before they could fully coil to strike.

Sylvie, perched on his shoulder, chirped happily, her tiny maw snapping up the shimmering beast cores Grey left in his wake like breadcrumbs.

My Beast Will allowed for devastating control, roots erupting to pin, crush, or deflect, while Corvis… Corvis was the unseen architect of our efficiency. His prosthetic magic wasn't flashy swordsmanship or earth-shattering spells; it was subtle shields deflecting stray projectiles, precise bursts of mana clearing salt-dust from our eyes at critical moments, whispered warnings about unstable footing or hidden crevices moments before we stepped.

He anticipated, supported, and subtly directed the flow of battle with an unnerving calm. We weren't just A-Class adventurers down here; with Grey's borderline S-Class lethality and Corvis's uncanny orchestration, we carved through the second and third floors not just with ease, but with a chilling, coordinated grace that left the caverns eerily silent behind us.

Now, standing on the precipice of what should have been the dungeon's finale—the fourth floor—a different tension thrummed in the air. Grey dispatched the last serpentine guardian near the chamber's edge, reducing it to geometric cubes of fading mana with clinical precision.

I brushed futilely at the salt clinging to my sleeves, the gritty residue a constant reminder of this subterranean sea-tomb. Corvis stood apart, his gaze fixed intently on a seemingly random cluster of massive, salt-encrusted boulders shoved against the cavern wall. His posture was unnervingly still, head tilted slightly as if listening to a voice only he could perceive.

"Shouldn't we be heading towards the core of the dungeon?" I called out, gesturing towards the shadowed passage that undoubtedly led to the dungeon's mana source and its guardian. The rhythmic drip of saline water from the ceiling echoed in the vast space.

He didn't turn, merely shook his head slowly. "The entrance... it's near these clusters," he murmured, his voice distant, almost dreamlike. He pointed decisively. "Here. Tessia, could you shift these rocks? A controlled gust, nothing seismic."

I stared at him, then at the imposing pile of stone. "We are deep underground, Corvis," I protested, the image of collapsing tunnels and icy seawater roaring in to drown us vivid in my mind. "One wrong move, one tremor... it's a death sentence."

He finally looked at me, his mismatched eyes—one natural, one enhanced by his artifice—holding a quiet certainty that was somehow more compelling than any argument. "Trust me. Precise and steady. Just move them."

The sigh that escaped me was heavy with salt and resignation. Trust him. It was the constant refrain where Corvis was concerned. Gripping the focus on my wand-sword, I channeled mana, not into a destructive gale, but into a surgeon's scalpel of wind.

It streamed forth, invisible fingers seeking purchase on the colossal rocks. Slowly, agonizingly, they groaned and shifted, inch by grinding inch, salt crystals raining down like bitter snow. Corvis moved alongside my efforts, his own magic and hands aiding the process, guiding the massive stones aside with surprising strength.

Behind us, Grey and Sylvie provided a morbidly efficient background soundtrack—the sharp shing of his blade and the soft kyu as Sylvie claimed another core into her mouth—as they kept the perimeter clear of opportunistic beasts drawn by the noise.

And then, it was revealed: not a natural fissure or a crumbling hole, but an entrance. Square-cut. Deliberate for sure. Its edges were unnervingly straight, the stone within smoother than the surrounding cavern walls. It gaped like a wound in the dungeon's flesh, radiating an aura of profound wrongness in the overall surroundings.

"And what," I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper, the wind spell dying on my lips, "is this?" Staring into that dark, geometric maw, the familiar dread of the dungeon twisted into something different, curiosity. "Something artificial? Here? Buried under a cave complex near the sea, inside a mana beasts' den?"

It felt like finding a clockwork mechanism inside a living heart.

Corvis peered into the darkness, his expression unreadable. "Maybe some adventurers found a way deeper," he theorized, his tone carefully neutral, "and decided to keep their private hunting ground... private and didn't report back to the Guild."

It was a plausible explanation. Greed drove people to stupider things. But the sheer precision of the entrance, the effort required to create it secretly in an A-Class dungeon... it felt flimsy. Too neat. Too convenient for whatever hidden knowledge Corvis was chasing.

"You found how to continue?!" Grey's voice cut through the heavy silence as he materialized beside us, Dawn's Ballad clean despite the carnage he'd just wrought. Sylvie blinked her luminous eyes at the revealed passage.

"Yes!" Corvis replied, a flicker of excitement finally breaking through his usual reserve. "Come on. This way bypasses the... less relevant sections."

Grey merely nodded, his sharp eyes already scanning the unnatural tunnel. "I see..." he murmured, the simple words heavy with unspoken assessment.

As we stepped into the passage, leaving the rough-hewn, salt-crusted chaos of the natural dungeon behind, the change was jarring. The air grew stiller, colder, devoid of the constant drip and sigh of the sea-caverns.

The walls were smooth, almost polished stone, the floor unnervingly level. My boots echoed with a hollow, lonely sound. This was a tunnel made by someone that somehow led to where Corvis wanted to be.