TBATE: Corvis Eralith

Corvis Eralith

The smooth, unnervingly precise stone walls of the tunnel pressed in, the silence broken only by the echoing crunch of our boots on grit-strewn flagstones and the distant, rhythmic sigh of the sea filtering down from above.

Tessia walked beside me, her posture taut with wary skepticism, while Grey moved with silent vigilance ahead, Sylvie a watchful shadow on his shoulder. The air hung heavy and cold, devoid of the organic dampness of the upper caves, smelling only of ancient dust and buried stone. It felt less like a natural passage and more like the gullet of some long-dead, geometric beast.

So, Romulos, I projected into the quiet space of my own mind, the mental voice tight with a mix of irritation and burgeoning unease. What is this tunnel?

The other instance of myself shimmered into my peripheral vision, a phantom figure on the cold stone. He adjusted his glasses, polished them meticulously on the pristine white silk of his coat—a fabric that was both highly resistant to kinetic impacts and a strong mana conduit with which I made the steel grey gear I was now wearing.

He glanced around with detached curiosity, like a scientist examining a particularly dull specimen. "Patience, Corvis," his voice echoed in my mind, laced with infuriating amusement. "It serves its purpose. It will deposit us precisely where we require: the formation where you will be able to harvest the salt rock we need."

He deliberately withheld the how, the why, clearly savoring my frustration. The avoidance of details was a familiar shield; I recognized the tactic because I had use it myself.

However, I countered, the pieces clicking into place with a clarity born of desperation and logic, I've already deduced the architect. Wren Kain IV. The conclusion felt inevitable. Only an earth mage of legendary, near-mythical prowess could carve such a flawlessly descending shaft so deep beneath the seabed, concealed within an active dungeon's structure. This wasn't adventurer avarice; this was the work of an asuran genius who treated Dicathen mountains like clay.

"Oh?" Romulos raised a spectral eyebrow, a flicker of genuine, grudging surprise breaking through his usual disdain. "Colour me impressed. Your lesser intellect occasionally stumbles upon a coherent deduction." He rolled his eyes, a gesture so perfectly me it sent a fresh chill down my spine. "Now, can we proceed? This subterranean monotony is beginning to bore me."

Wait, I pressed, a different kind of curiosity sparking. What happens to you when I remove the lens? Are you contacting me across realities? Or… are you already gone in yours? The question felt perilous, probing the nature of his existence, this impossible connection.

He stiffened almost imperceptibly. "We converse through Meta-awareness," he replied, his tone clipped, suddenly devoid of humor. "A phenomenon neither of us fully comprehends. Asking for mechanistic explanations is… pointless. Naive."

Oh? I seized the opening, a familiar, teasing edge sharpening my mental voice. So the great Romulos Indrath, Sovereign of Epheotus, master of mana and aether manipulation… can't understand the very magic allowing us to speak? How delightfully… human.

The barb landed. A flash of irritation crossed his phantom face. "Why do you think I endure this… association?" he snapped, the arrogance momentarily fraying. "I seek to observe Meta-awareness. To understand its limits, its potential. It is the sole reason I tolerate your artificer's fetishes, your lesser self and proximity to this… diminished shadow of Art."

His gaze, sharp and ancient, flickered towards Sylvie nestled on Grey's head. A complex wave of emotions—profound tenderness, deep sorrow, fierce protectiveness—radiated from him, so intense it momentarily overwhelmed the mental channel.

You really love her, huh? I asked softly, the teasing gone, replaced by a stark understanding that transcended words. I didn't need to turn my head; his presence in my mind was as real as the stone underfoot.

"Do you love Tessia Eralith?" he countered, his mental voice suddenly quiet, introverted, shielding itself. "There lies your answer."

The deflection was transparent, but the raw truth beneath it resonated like a struck gong. He was me. The fierce, irrational, all-consuming love for a sister, a found family… even if that family included Agrona Vritra.

The hypothetical What if Dad was like Agrona? wasn't hypothetical for him. The answer was written in the fierce, tortured loyalty he'd confessed to. I understood. I would love my father, too, regardless. The realization was terrifying and profoundly sad.

"Corvis," Tessia's voice cut through the heavy silence and my internal dialogue, laced with palpable skepticism. "How much longer to this phantom thirteenth floor? My boots are full of salt, and this air tastes like tomb dust."

I don't know, Romulos? I relayed her impatience mentally.

"Do not bother me with your lessers' pedestrian scale of time," he retorted, the Sovereign's haughtiness snapping back into place like armor. Grandson of Kezess indeed.

"Soon? I hope so at least," I offered Tessia aloud, mustering an apologetic smile that felt brittle on my face.

"Sylvie is feeling something nearby," Grey announced abruptly, stopping, his finger grazing Dawn's Ballad in its ring form. His senses, honed by hardship and Sylvie's bond, were rarely wrong.

"He should refer to her as Lady Sylvie," Romulos grumbled, a possessive growl underlying the thought.

He is Arthur, Romulos, I pressed gently, sensing the raw nerve. Why this anger? What happened between you t—

"He is NOT my Art!" The mental roar was a blast of pure, defensive fury that momentarily blanked my vision. The phantom image of Romulos seemed to vibrate with suppressed emotion. "He is a pale echo, a stranger wearing a familiar face! So shut your lesser's mouth, Corvis, and never speak of Arthur so casually again!" The pain beneath the rage was a physical ache echoing in my own chest. A wound that hadn't healed, perhaps never would.

"What exactly is she feeling?" Tessia asked Grey, oblivious to the psychic storm raging beside her.

"She doesn't know... maybe it's a mana signature from a mana beast," Grey replied, frowning, scanning the descending darkness ahead.

"Corvis," Romulos's voice cut through the residual anger, now sharp, commanding. "Activate Beyond the Meta. Now."

Despite my lingering unease at his outburst, the logical person in me—the part that mirrored him—recognized the necessity. I focused, willing the mana contact lens to fully integrate with my perception. The world shifted, layers of reality peeling back. The cold stone, Tessia's vibrant wind and plant attuned core, Grey's complex, Vritra shrouded power, Sylvie's bright, familiar spark… and then, deeper.

Much deeper.

A hundred meters down, perhaps more. A mana signature. Not wild, not bestial. Contained. Immense. A forge-fire banked but radiating latent, terrifying power. It felt… old. Deliberate. Contained, but capable of unraveling mountains.

"Oh," Romulos murmured, the earlier fury replaced by detached, almost clinical interest. "Wren is here. That's rather… unfortunate. Or perhaps… fortuitous? The outcome is uncertain."

Wren?! The mental shriek was pure adrenaline. Wren Kain IV is HERE? And we're walking straight into his private mining operation?! Panic, cold and sharp, clawed at my throat. Do we run? Now? Turn back before he detects us? Or… keep going and hope the legendary hermit is feeling charitable?

"Chill, Corvis," Romulos's mental voice was infuriatingly calm. "Wren won't harm you. The greatest reaction he could have from you will be curiosity. He'll likely find you mildly intriguing, like a complex gear, then dismiss you entirely. Unless…"

He paused, his gaze flicking again to Sylvie.

"He recognizes her. But at this stage, she emits nothing uniquely draconic and she in her miniature form. To his senses, she's just a powerful mana beast. A curious fox."

I hope I'm not making a catastrophic mistake trusting you, I projected, the fear a cold knot in my stomach.

He sighed, a sound of profound exasperation that vibrated in my skull. "If my intent was harm," he stated, his tone flat and chillingly logical, "would I have spent days guiding you to this dungeon, ensuring you become stronger by teaching how to make the fabric you are using for your gear, leading you precisely to the resource you seek? My agenda, for now, aligns with your continued existence. Question my motives, Corvis, but trust the observable evidence."

He was right. Ruthlessly, infuriatingly right. The tunnel, the salt, the avoidance of greater dangers—it had all been under his unseen guidance. This connection, this fractured reflection of myself, was a terrifying enigma wrapped in arrogance and haunted by loss. But as the immense, contained mana signature of Wren Kain pulsed like a buried star somewhere below, I realized the only path forward was the one Romulos had charted.

Trust, in this instance, wasn't about faith. It was a grim calculation based on the actions of the other shard of my own, impossibly complicated soul. We moved deeper into the geometric throat of the tunnel, towards the waiting hermit and the answers buried in salt and stone.

———

The unnervingly precise tunnel finally spilled us into a vast, honeycombed network. Smooth corridors branched left and right like geometric arteries, their walls pocked with orderly, rectangular alcoves—clearly excavation sites carved by an earth mage whose control bordered on the telepathic.

The oppressive darkness of the natural dungeon was gone, replaced by a cool, steady illumination emanating from fist-sized orbs embedded seamlessly in the ceiling.

Their light wasn't the warm flicker of flame or the harsh glare of Dicathen's artificial lights; it was a pure, unwavering white radiance, utterly alien in its perfection and strange elegance. The air hung still and dustless, smelling of ozone and crushed stone. This wasn't a delve; it felt like trespassing in a god's meticulously organized workshop.

"Is this a mine?" Grey breathed, his usual stoicism replaced by wary awe as he scanned the impossible scale and precision. Dawn's Ballad remained loose in his grip, reflecting the strange light with an extra teal shimmer.

Tessia touched the unnervingly smooth wall beside an alcove. "Maybe your theory about adventurers hiding this place wasn't so far-fetched after all, Corvis," she conceded, though her voice held more unease than conviction.

If this was just greedy adventurers, I thought, a flicker of dark humor surfacing despite the tension, they deserved a medal for sheer, suicidal ambition. The scale, the technology… it screamed of resources and power far beyond any mercenary band.

"Cease these tedious, lesser speculations, Corvis," Romulos's mental voice cut in, sharp with impatience. He materialized leaning casually against a corridor junction, his horned silhouette incongruous against the geometric backdrop.

"Wren Kain is the proximities. Likely within one of the deeper excavations." A phantom finger pointed unerringly down a specific, wider corridor to our left—the same direction Sylvie's small head was tilted, her luminous yellow eyes fixed intently. Grey noticed instantly.

"The mana signature Sylvie sensed... it's concentrated down there," Grey confirmed, his voice low and edged with caution. He turned to me, his gaze intense, searching. "Corvis."

It was a single word, heavy with unspoken meaning: You know more. What are we walking into? I gave a tight nod, the movement slight but enough.

"So?" Romulos pushed off the wall, striding purposefully towards the indicated tunnel. "Let's greet the hermit. Standing here gawking achieves nothing."

You can actually move independently? I questioned, surprised by his apparent autonomy within my perception.

"No," he clarified, his spectral form pausing at the edge of my visual field. "My awareness is tethered to yours. Venture beyond your sightline, and I dissipate. An intriguing perspective, admittedly—observing oneself in the third person. Now, cease dawdling. The world proceeds regardless of your apprehension. Noble intentions remain inert without action. In simpler words. Move."

The familiar echo of my own internal drive, twisted by his arrogance and urgency, spurred me forward.

"Let's go," I announced aloud, stepping towards the corridor Romulos indicated. Then, a sudden impulse struck me. "Actually, Grey... could you pass me Dawn's Ballad?"

Tessia gasped. Grey froze, his hand tightening reflexively on the sword-cane's hilt. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice taut. "What if—"

His concern was drowned out by Romulos's internal scoff. "Where is Art's instinctive audacity? This iteration is perpetually braced for ambush!" The complaint carried a strange undercurrent of frustrated disappointment.

He didn't exactly have pleasant encounters with Asuras, Romulos, I shot back mentally. And the worst of those experiences? Courtesy of your Father. I caught the black cane Grey tossed to me, the familiar weight and texture of Dawn's Ballad's sheath a grounding comfort in the environment.

"Corvis!" Tessia hissed, grabbing my arm, her eyes wide with confusion and alarm. "What do you need the weapon you made for Grey for?" Her grip was tight, protective.

I met her gaze, trying to project a calm I didn't entirely feel. "We're going to meet its original creator," I stated, the words feeling heavy and significant as they left my lips. I was committing us, trusting Romulos's assessment against every instinct screaming caution.

"You knew who made this place all along?" Tessia exclaimed, her voice rising with indignation, oblivious to the monumental nature of the claim. "Are we meeting one of your Artificer contacts? Someone from the Guild?"

"More or less..." I hedged, already moving down the corridor, Dawn's Ballad held firmly but not threateningly in front of me like a talisman. "Let's say... he's more of a legend I've studied than an acquaintance."

"So you stole Dawn's Ballad?!" Tessia accused, her protective fury shifting targets, her whisper sharp in the silent corridor. "Corvis—"

I turned, placing a finger to my lips, my eyes pleading for quiet. "Tess, please. Not here. Not now." The immense, contained mana signature Romulos had identified felt closer, a silent pressure building in the geometric space.

"Ah," Romulos murmured, a flicker of dark amusement in his tone as he observed Grey taking point ahead of us again, his posture instinctively protective. "Now this... this wary vigilance, this readiness to shield... this feels far more familiar. More like Art."

The observation held a complex mix of nostalgia, pain, and a grim sort of approval. We rounded a final, smooth corner, the corridor opening into a vast, brilliantly lit chamber humming with latent power. And there, his back to us, bent over a workbench strewn with tools and glowing minerals, was the unmistakable, compact and slightly curved silhouette of Wren Kain IV.

The Titan Asura, compact and radiating ancient indifference, moved with surgeon-like precision, his focus entirely on the glowing crystal before him. His initial dismissal – "Lesser children?" – was like a physical shove, a reminder of the cosmic gulf between us.

"Doesn't he look like Professor Gideon?" Tessia asked oblivious whispering to me and Grey.

Tessia's whispered comparison to Professor Gideon felt jarringly naive, a desperate attempt to contextualize the incomprehensible. Wren's sudden movement towards me was a blur. One moment he was across the chamber; the next, Dawn's Ballad was effortlessly plucked from my hands. My breath hitched. Beside me, Grey shifted minutely, a coiled spring ready to unleash, while Sylvie let out a barely audible growl—they'd sensed the Asura beneath the surface.

Romulos's phantom clap echoed mockingly in my mind. "Finally, a spine."

Wren interrogated the blade's history, his voice devoid of inflection yet carrying immense weight. "Kid. Who gave you this weapon?" His fingers traced the teal metal flowing like liquid under his touch, shifting through forms I hadn't even conceived.

His assessment of Grey – "Dawn's Ballad chose you" – was a statement of immutable fact, chilling in its finality. Then his ancient eyes, like chips of obsidian, locked onto mine. "So now, elf kid. What happened to this weapon?"

"I fixed it." The words felt brittle, daring. Romulos's amusement was a sharp sting.

"Fixed it?" Wren's utter lack of humor was a void. "Tell me how you found it."

Tessia's confused interjection – "My brother came one day back..." spilled the simplified, human version of events. I braced for wrath. Instead, Wren simply handed the weapon back to Grey.

"Dawn's Ballad chose you... so despite you being—nevermind." His gaze lingered on Grey, undoubtedly sensing the Vritra blood, a flicker of… something… before dismissal. "It's yours. That's what you care about." Relief warred with unease. He knew. He simply didn't care. Or couldn't intervene.

"What have you done exactly?" The question was a scalpel.

"There was a flaw," I explained, forcing calm. "Not in the forging itself, but a mana occlusion blocking its full potential. A… mistake in the final integration."

"A mistake?" Wren's slight frown sent ice through my veins. The silence stretched, thick with the potential for annihilation. Then, almost imperceptibly, the tension eased. "You are an arrogant brat," he stated flatly, "but you aren't wrong." The sheer, terrifying weight of his acknowledgment left me momentarily lightheaded.

Tessia, bless her obliviously trusting heart, blurted out our purpose: "Corvis wanted special salt rock! He said the upper levels weren't good enough!"

Wren's gaze, ancient and assessing, swept over me. "You understand geology. Smart for a lesser." With a negligent flick of his hand, a massive block of the precise, pressure-fused salt rock I needed floated gently between us. "Take it. You've… intrigued me. A small reward for an interesting lesser."

"Lesser?" Tessia's confusion finally pierced the tense atmosphere.

Wren looked genuinely surprised. "You two are Corvis and Tessia Eralith, heirs of Elenoir. You don't know about Asuras?" The shock that rippled across Tessia's face was palpable.

"No…" she whispered, her world visibly tilting.

"I do," I admitted, the lie useless now.

"Explains something," Wren grunted, already turning back to his workbench. "Not my place to educate your sister. Take it. Go. I detest disturbances." His dismissal was absolute.

"Thank you… Lord…?" I prompted, playing the ignorant role one last time.

"Wren Kain IV." He didn't turn.

The walk back towards the corridor felt like crossing a frozen lake. Tessia's hand landed on my shoulder, then Grey's. Her touch was light, but the tension in her fingers was steel.

"Corvis. Grey." Her voice was terrifyingly calm, a veneer over a churning sea. "You both knew. About this… Asura thing. Right?" The unspoken accusation hung heavy: You lied. You kept this monumental secret from me, your twin.

"Yes…" Grey and I answered simultaneously, bracing for the storm.

Her smile, when it came, was a chilling thing, devoid of its usual warmth, not reaching her stormy green eyes. "Then let's talk. After we leave Lord Kain alone. Don't you say?" It wasn't a question. It was a sentence.

The real danger wasn't the dungeon, or even Wren Kain. It was the betrayed fury radiating from my sister as we followed her silent, rigid form back into the geometric shadows.