TBATE: Corvis Eralith

Corvis Eralith

The relentless climb finally eased as the slope gentled, spilling me onto a vast, wind-scoured plateau.

The dying sun bled crimson and gold across the surrounding peaks, casting long, distorted shadows that stretched like grasping fingers towards the east. Below, the world unfurled in a breathtaking and familiar tapestry.

To the north, the Elshire Forest was a sea of deep, ancient green mixed with the grey of the ever present fog, fading into indigo twilight. Southwest, the harsh, ochre expanse of the Darvish badlands bled into the horizon, a desolate counterpoint to my lush homeland.

And west, the patchwork fields and clustered towns of Sapin glowed faintly in the dusk, punctuated by the distant, impossible black dot of the floating Xyrus City—a defiant jewel suspended in the darkening sky. The sheer scale was humbling, a reminder of my own profound smallness in this vast, indifferent landscape of Dicathen.

Exhaustion was a leaden weight in my bones, a constant ache that went deeper than muscle. My throat felt raw, coated with dust and the thin, icy air. Spotting a silvery ribbon of water snaking across the plateau, I stumbled towards it, the promise of respite overriding everything else.

I crouched by the stream's edge, its water shockingly cold even through my gloves. Cupping my hands, I plunged them in, gasping at the bite, then splashed the frigid water onto my face. It was a shock to the system, washing away some of the grime and momentarily clearing the fog of fatigue.

I drank deeply, the water tasting of pure clean stone and high glaciers that gave it a mineral aftertaste, a stark, clean contrast to the metallic tang of exertion that had filled my mouth for hours. I blinked, my eyes stinging, trying to focus, trying to feel something beyond the bone-deep weariness and the vast emptiness inside that the bandit camp had carved out.

"We are close," Romulos announced, his voice cutting through the rhythmic rush of the small crystal stream. He materialized nearby, not lounging this time, but standing alert, his spectral form scanning the plateau with the intense, analytical gaze of a scientist dissecting a newly discovered species.

"The resonance… it's stronger here. Diffuse, but undeniable. Geolus's footprint should be around here. I cannot pinpoint it, but the ambient mana… use Beyond the Meta."

I pushed myself up, water dripping from my chin, and surveyed the plateau properly. It was dominated by a singular, awe-inspiring formation: a colossal, blocky mountain rising like a titan's fist thrust straight up from the plateau's heart.

Its sides were sheer cliffs that were almost ninety degrees, plunging hundreds of feet, its top unnervingly flat, a meadow suspended in the sky even at this high altitude. From its plateau-like summit, multiple waterfalls cascaded down the vertical faces, like liquid silver threads unraveling in the fading light.

One of them fed the stream beside me from which I just drank that refreshing liquid. Vegetation was sparse here—tough, wind-gnarled shrubs clinging to cracks, patches of stubborn snow clinging to shadows despite the season.

The air was thin, bitingly cold, but the intricate weave of my steel-grey uniform hummed faintly, radiating a comforting warmth against the encroaching mountain chill—a small mercy Romulos's designs had provided.

Alright. Time to see, I repeated to myself. I triggered Beyond the Meta. The world shifted, colors leaching into shades of mana-flow. The vibrant sunset became a wash of fading thermal energy; the rock faces pulsed with slow, deep earth-mana; the cascading waterfalls were torrents of brilliant blue-white aquatic energy.

I scanned, my enhanced perception filtering through the ambient noise, searching for the anomaly Romulos described—the echo of the Natural Beast, the "footprint" of Geolus.

It didn't take long. Near the center of the immense, flat-topped block mountain, a distinct concentration pulsed. Not a core, not a beast, but a residue. A dense, swirling vortex of deep, resonant earth-attuned mana, far richer and more… ancient than the surrounding stone. It felt heavy, patient, imbued with a geological stillness.

There. On top of this mountain which strangely reminded me of Mount Roraima back on Earth.

"Mount what?" Romulos's voice intruded, sharp with derision. "Roraima? Are you still clinging to names from that fictional sandbox you call Earth? Inventing geography for a phantom world?"

His words, meant to sting, landed differently this time. Standing here, dwarfed by primordial rock, breathing air thin enough to make my head spin, the solidity of Dicathen felt overwhelming. The vibrant chaos of Xyrus, the ancient depths of Elshire, the raw power of Asuras like Wren Kain… it all felt too real.

Too complex, too heavy to be just ink on a page. Grey's own Earth, Grey's struggles as a king… what if they were the reality? What if my memories of Earth, of reading The Beginning After The End, were the dream? The dissonance was dizzying.

The only anchors were the time differences—my Earth in its frantic 21st century, this world seemingly medieval yet infused with magic, while Grey's own Earth was some time in the future—and the haunting familiarity of the story's beats. But were they prophecies, or just… echoes? I shook my head violently, as if trying to dislodge the vertigo of existential doubt. Not now. Focus.

I withdrew the climbing pickaxe from my dimensional storage ring. Its cold, familiar weight in my hand was a grounding point, a tool for the tangible world. The sheer cliff face of the block mountain loomed, a vertical challenge painted in the long shadows of sunset.

"Good," Romulos declared, his form already flickering to the very summit, a tiny, horned silhouette against the vast canvas of the darkening sky. "See you on top. Try not to dawdle contemplating the nature of reality. The rock cares little for your existential crises."

You're tethered to my sight, remember? I shot back, the familiar irritation a welcome spark in the cold emptiness. So save the lofty pronouncements from your imaginary perch. You're coming with me, step by grueling step. The retort was automatic, a defense against his arrogance and my own swirling doubts.

Taking a deep, steadying breath of the thin, icy air, I approached the base of the cliff. The rock was cold and unforgiving under my gloved fingers as I found the first tiny handhold.

I swung the pickaxe, the chink of steel on stone echoing sharply in the immense silence. Then again. And again. Each strike was an act of fatigue and struggle—against the mountain, against Romulos's impatience, against the gnawing void within and the terrifying question of which world was truly mine.

I began to climb, inch by precarious inch, the only sounds the scrape of metal, the rasp of my own breath, and the distant, eternal roar of the waterfalls plunging into the abyss below. The vast panorama spread out beneath me, beautiful and indifferent, as I ascended into the gathering dusk, one deliberate, nerve-wracking hold at a time.

———

The thin, biting air of the plateau filled my lungs as I finally hauled myself onto the unnervingly flat summit. My muscles screamed, trembling with exhaustion that went bone-deep. I collapsed onto the resilient meadow grass, gasping, the world tilting slightly as sweat stung my eyes.

The sky above was a deepening indigo, the first stars pricking through like scattered diamonds. I took a look west where I still managed to see the black dot that was Xyrus City—an anchor after this exhausting climb.

"I like this place," Romulos declared, his voice softer than usual, almost contemplative. He materialized standing nearby, gazing not at the view, but at the strangely vibrant meadow underfoot, untouched by the snow that clung to the lower slopes. "You know what it reminds me of?"

I pushed myself up onto my elbows, my breath still ragged. The Aether Realm, maybe? I projected wearily, the memory of the novel's descriptions surfacing—a place of pure potential, raw power, and crushing pressure.

"That's right," he confirmed, a rare, genuine warmth coloring his mental voice. "The ambient resonance… the stillness beneath the power. I helped Kordri train Art there." A ghost of a smile touched his spectral lips. "Ah, such good memories. I had just met him back then…" The nostalgia was palpable, a stark contrast to his usual arrogance.

"Grandfather always criticized me. Said I treated him with too much care, too much… regard. But Art… he was the first lesser I could truly talk to. Argue with. Learn from. Not just observe distantly and detatched."

The raw vulnerability in his admission was startling. You miss him, right? I asked, the question escaping before I could filter it. I stood, brushing clinging dirt and moss from my uniform sleeves, the intricate fabric warm against the mountain chill.

"I miss…" Romulos paused, the ancient red eyes in his youthful face looking momentarily distant, lost in a past I couldn't touch. "I miss those simple times. When I was still innocent enough to believe ideals mattered. When I was naive enough to think understanding could bridge any gulf."

The words held a profound weight, a grief for a lost self, not just a lost companion. "Before the weight of bloodlines and betrayals crushed the idealism flat."

I nodded silently. There were no words that wouldn't sound hollow or trite. The shared core between us resonated with the ache of that loss, even if our experiences diverged wildly.

Turning away, I focused on the meadow. It was unnerving—lush green grass dotted with tiny, hardy wildflowers, thriving at this altitude where only rock and ice should reign. The air hummed faintly, not just with cold, but with a deep, resonant energy.

Beyond the Meta.

I activated it. The vibrant greens muted. The world became a tapestry of flowing energy. And I saw it—not a single point, but the entire plateau beneath my feet, the very bedrock of this colossal, blocky mountain, pulsed with an immense, slow-moving current of dense, earthen brown mana. It wasn't concentrated; it was diffused, woven into the very fabric of the stone, ancient and patient.

"Wait…" I murmured aloud, the realization dawning. The whole mountain? I turned to Romulos, my enhanced perception confirming the staggering scale. This entire peak… it's the Geolus' Feet?

He nodded, his expression serious now, the nostalgic warmth gone. "It seems so. The footprint is vast, integrated. But the material we stand upon…" He gestured at the grass-covered soil. "It's rich, yes, sustained by the residual mana, but too weathered, too… soft. Not dense enough for what we require." His scientist's mind was back, analytical and demanding. "We need the core essence. The heart of the footprint."

True. The soil, while mana-infused and able to sustain the grass, was still just soil. For the Acclorite, we needed the primordial bedrock, unyielding and saturated. We needed the heart of the natural beast's echo.

Following the intensified flow of mana with Beyond the Meta, I walked for what felt like an age across the deceptively peaceful meadow. The light was fading fast, painting the sky in bruised purples and deep oranges.

Finally, I found it: a jagged crevice splitting the meadow floor near the center. Not a cave, but a deep, narrow fissure, perhaps twenty feet across, plunging down into shadow. The mana signature emanating from it was orders of magnitude stronger, concentrated, alive.

"There," Romulos breathed, appearing at the fissure's edge. "It is protected. Sheltered from the elements that wore down the surface. The rock within… it should be pristine and perfect for us."

Carefully, I peered over the edge. Unlike the sheer cliffs outside, the fissure walls were rough, offering handholds. Moss, thick and emerald green, clung to every surface. Ferns unfurled in the damp air. And at the bottom, perhaps thirty feet down, bathed in the last rays of sunlight filtering through the opening, was a miniature paradise.

A single, ancient pine tree grew defiantly from the center, its roots gripping the bare rock. Water seeped from the mossy walls, collecting in tiny pools and creating a perpetual, gentle mist that hung warm and humid in the enclosed space—a startling contrast to the frigid air above.

The mist carried the scent of damp earth, rich soil, and vibrant life. Small, flitting birds with iridescent feathers chirped softly. Tiny, furry rodents scurried through the undergrowth. It was an oasis of improbable life cradled in the mountain's stony heart.

Beyond the Meta shifted the view. The vibrant life became muted energy signatures. The moss glowed a soft green, the pine a brighter, concentrated pulse. But behind them, radiating from the fissure's far wall, was the source—a thick vein of obsidian-dark rock, throbbing with a deep, resonant brown mana so dense it seemed to dwarf the rest of the atmospheric mana around it.

That's it, my goal.

I began my descent, moving with deliberate slowness, my boots finding purchase on moss-slicked rock and sturdy roots. The air grew warmer, damper, smelling intensely of life and minerals. The sounds of the tiny ecosystem—chirps, rustles, the drip of water—were amplified in the enclosed space. It felt sacred. Profoundly peaceful. I landed softly beside the gnarled pine, its rough bark radiating ancient calm.

Focusing on the dark vein, I took a step forward. Then instinct screamed.

I dropped into a crouch, Against the Tragedy flaring instantly. The Mirage Walk's mimicry snapped into place, bending light and muffling sound, making me a ripple in the grotto's mana field. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Beyond the Meta screamed a warning—a colossal mana signature, vast and slumbering, emanating from behind a dense curtain of ferns and moss directly in front of the dark rock vein.

Cold sweat beaded on my forehead, instantly chilled by the humid air. Romulos… what…?

"Is it…?" Romulos murmured, his voice tight with a mix of awe and intense curiosity. "Approach it, Corvis. Carefully. I believe… we have found a Guardian Bear of the Grandus Clan."

A Guardian Bear? Like Boo? The thought was staggering. But Romulos, even a young Guardian Bear is stronger than most AA-class beasts! And if it's here, guarding this place… it could be ancient!

My fear was a physical thing, coiling in my gut. Disturbing this creature felt like sacrilege, and potentially suicidal.

"Apply simple logic," Romulos retorted, his tone regaining its usual sharpness, though laced with undeniable excitement. "Guardian Beasts forged by the Grandus Clan are bound irrevocably to their owners. They are extensions of their Asuran masters' will. Lifelong companions. Do you sense any Asura presence here? Any bond radiating from that signature?"

I focused Beyond the Meta, pushing past the bear's overwhelming aura. He was right. The mana signature, while vast and deeply intertwined with the earth mana of the grotto, was… solitary. Profoundly alone. No tether led outwards. No secondary signature resonated nearby. This bear wasn't guarding for someone. It was the guardian. Of this place.

Perhaps of the remnant itself.

"It has been left behind," Romulos stated, a strange note of… pity?… in his voice. "Or its master perished long ago. It sleeps, guarding its last post. Now, move. Carefully."

Every nerve screamed protest, but the logic was sound, and the prize was inches away. Heart pounding in my throat, I inched forward, the Mirage Walk imitation straining under the intensity of the nearby aura. I parted the curtain of ferns with infinite slowness, peering through.

The Guardian Bear laid curled in a depression lined with soft moss, directly beneath the dark rock vein. Easily five times my size, its fur was a luxurious, earthy brown, deepening to burnt orange around its broad muzzle and powerful shoulders.

Its chest rose and fell in a slow, deep rhythm, the sound a low rumble like distant thunder. Despite its immense size and the terrifying power radiating from it even in sleep, there was an undeniable peace about it. A profound stillness. It belonged here, as much as the pine tree or the seeping water.

"You seem surprised," Romulos observed quietly, his spectral form crouched beside me, studying the slumbering giant with intense fascination. "Did you expect snarling fury? It guards. It sleeps. Its purpose is ingrained, not aggressive unless provoked."

Of course I'm surprised! I mentally shot back, my gaze flicking between the peaceful behemoth and the vein of dark rock shimmering just beyond its massive shoulder.

I… let's just get this over with. I don't want to disturb it. This place… it feels… wrong to disrupt. The grotto's tranquility, the bear's ancient solitude—violating it felt deeply profane, even if it was necessary for my goals.

"That rock," Romulos murmured, his eyes fixed on the obsidian vein. "It will be perfect. The heart of the footprint, condensed, unyielding."

Isn't it… too little? I scanned the vein. It was thick, yes, but perhaps only the length of my torso embedded deep in the wall. Disappointment warred with relief—less to take, less potential disturbance.

"It is," he conceded. "And considering you won't use it all for the Acclorite synthesis, you'll have even less surplus. Efficiency will be paramount."

I clicked my tongue softly. The Acclorite was vital, yes, but my mind raced with other possibilities Romulos's schematics had hinted at. Crushing a sliver into powder, integrating it into the ink for my Ineptrunes… a tattoo permanently attuned to the deep, resonant earth magic of a Natural Beast? The defensive and sensory applications could be revolutionary for my fighting potential.

"You brought two storage rings dedicated solely to material," Romulos noted, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Seems one will suffice. Perhaps a blessing, considering our… sleeping neighbor." He gestured towards the Guardian Bear.

"Now, extract what you need. Corvis, do not wake it." His tone was deadly serious. "As peaceful as it appears, as bound to this grotto as it seems… disturb its potential years or decades of slumber, invade its sanctum? I assure you, it won't hesitate to separate your head from your torso with a single swipe."

The warning landed like a physical blow. The air in the grotto, warm and damp moments before, suddenly felt thick, charged with potential violence. I took a deep, steadying breath, the scent of moss and pine filling my lungs, trying to calm the frantic drumming of my heart.

My fingers trembled slightly as I raised my hand towards the dark vein, not to touch, but to channel the most delicate, focused strands of earth-attuned mana I could muster from Against the Tragedy while I held my pickaxe like a scalpel.

Beyond the Meta guided me, highlighting microscopic fractures, points of weakness. This wasn't mining. This was surgery. On the cadaver of a fallen god. The silence of the grotto, broken only by the bear's deep breaths and the drip of water, became a crushing weight.

I used slow and precise hits from the pickaxe to work around the vein. When I had finally extracted it I was quick to store ot inside the ring. It was enough for three, maybe four pieces of Acclorite at maximum if I was efficient.

The rest I would use it for my next Ineptrune.