Arc 14. "Lo! The Fairest of Fairs!"
Corvis Eralith
In my sleep I was haunted by nightmares.
But unlike the countless recurring nightmares that had plagued my ten years of life in this world, this time, I was not the victim. This time, I was the executioner.
The raw, guttural rage tearing from Bairon Wykes's throat as he beheld the corpse of the father I had murdered... the tears streaming down the face of the stoic, no-nonsense Lance as he hurled his broken body at me.
And then there was me: the killer. The boy who had slaughtered a Lance in cold blood simply to secure a tactical advantage, just so Windsom Indrath and the deities of Epheotus would continue to view me as their obedient hound.
I suffered nightmares of myself tearing families apart and ruining countless lives, all to accomplish my grandiose dream of a "Dicathian union"—whatever that even meant anymore.
I was haunted by visions of Avicenna and Fatima witnessing my actions in sheer, unadulterated horror, repulsed by the monster the Justiciar of Peace had become: a walking, breathing insult to the core philosophy of the Folk of Calm Currents.
In my twisted dreams, the Asclepius Clan rebelled against me. Their own Highprince. It was an act utterly unthinkable for Asuras, yet they abhorred Nabyun Asclepius, seeing me become everything his soulfather, Mordain, vehemently despised.
The terrors suffocated me with visions of profound disappointment and paralysing fear. I saw Pitrah and its inhabitants—who had once revered Finn Warend as the rightful Throneholder of Darv—now looking upon him as a tyrant far worse than the cruellest Greysunders king.
In Xyrus, Cynthia Goodsky and her bond, Avier, cowered before me, fearing the Highprince of the Asclepius Clan just as deeply as they feared the High Sovereign himself.
I witnessed sickening visions of myself standing by, calmly permitting Aldir Thyestes to unleash the World Eater technique upon the continent, sacrificing Dicathen just to appease the fragile egos of Epheotus.
And, worst of all, I saw him laughing. Agrona Vritra, sitting comfortably in his dark fortress of Taegrin Caelum, thoroughly enjoying the pathetic spectacle of my descent.
I could hear his mocking, belittling voice echoing in the dark:
"Little messenger of Epheotus."
I woke up with a startle on the hammock of my Nest within the Hearth, almost falling to the floor if it wasn't for my subconscious use of wind magic.
I was alone in here, in fact, I was alone throughout all of the Hearth.
The memories of everything that followed my execution of Bairon Wykes replayed in my mind like a muted television broadcast.
I watched the horrors unfold through a screen of sheer dissociation, completely detached, a mere spectator rather than an active participant in my own life.
Sebastian Wykes, that lucky bastard, had thrown himself in front of Windsom as soon as the chaos was over, pledging eternal loyalty to the Divine Dragon and confessing all the crimes his cousin—Otis—had committed.
That court magician probably couldn't have hoped better for himself, he was practically beaming with joy despite the deaths of his cousin and nephew. Sick. Greedy. Evil guy.
Windsom hadn't paid mind to Sebastian; Fiery House Wykes lost its most important members, they would never be able to pose a threat to Dicathen anymore and as thus they lost all value to the eyes of Epheotus.
No one in Sapin would cry the fall of House Wykes, no one in Dicathen would. As for the loss of a Lance, though, Windsom had not offered any answer to that; it wasn't something for me to worry about yet it seemed.
The way Windsom patronised me, acting as some ancient benevolent god while he ordered me to commit atrocities in his master's name made me want to puke.
I had asked the Overseer of Dicathen to bring me and Berna back to Azellio and once I was sure he had left I went straight to the Hearth, unable to return home and face my family.
I left Berna with Evascir in Azellio so she could be "repaired"—whatever it meant—and rest, refueling her reserves by eating the metals she needed.
Chul had been quick to greet me, he had complimented and rejoiced for the fight before yelling that he had important business in Zestier this very morning; he really liked helping my people in their everyday life.
Which left me all alone as I roamed the bucolic tunnels of the Hearth, the artificial dawn illuminating the fake cerulean sky above my head.
I passed through the vast and lush Nexus Garden, the core of my Clan's sanctuary with all the Epheotan vegetation and ancient Focularsan flora.
I walked to the central gazebo of the Nexus Garden, the place where I officialised the marriage between Ran and Palmyra; there, on top of a table, two beaked lamps: one red and the other blue, stood.
It seemed I wasn't entirely alone in the Hearth, Avicenna and Fatima were here too. Iapproached the Vaultlamps containing the consciousness of the two wise Sages.
"Avicenna, Fatima," I greeted aloud, not wanting to activate Inner Current and feel the Trucewater bathe my consciousness. "What... what are you doing?"
I didn't know if that question truly made sense, they were confined inside two small artifacts. There wasn't much they could do other than talking with each other.
'Peace to you Justiciar,' Avicenna was the first to speak, greeting me in his usual way: the classic Djinnic way to salute someone. 'I and Sage Fatima were reviewing the tasks you have given us.'
Before going to raid House Wykes I had tasked the two Djinns with a couple useful projects: the complete reverse-engineering of the Tempus Warps used by the Alacryan forces as portable... portals (using the shards of the sample Cylrit used and Fatima's knowledge about that item as baseline) and a way to counter them at the same time.
The first task had been incredibly successful as Evascir perfectly learnt how to craft those items. The only problem, just like my Magician Potions, was finding a way to craft them on a large scale now.
As for the second, we opted to recreate a Djinnic Lifework of Manatech: Spell-in-a-Bottle, a special rectangular flask able to contain whatever kind of spell.
It worked similarly to Stannard Berwick's own deviant magic which made him able to store spells inside of beast cores.
'I have been focused on something slightly different, Justiciar,' Fatima said, her cadence crisp and proactive, a stark contrast to Avicenna's deeply reactive nature. 'Something I am arrogantly convinced you will appreciate. I have been contemplating the vast array of Manatech governing your Hearth, and specifically, its Ontic Circuit.'
"Ontic... Circuit?" I asked aloud, the term as much of a mystery to me as the inner workings of the Hearth itself. "What exactly is that? Another important Lifework, I presume?"
'Precisely, Justiciar,' Avicenna replied, as the two ancient spirits smoothly slipped back into their familiar rhythm of dual tutelage. 'It was the crowning achievement of the final Pacificator-General of Pax Coronata, the last true leader of the Folk of Calm Currents.'
'The Ontic Circuit is the Aetherological Lifework of Sage Ji-Ae Zhoroa of Sandand,' Fatima interjected, sharply cutting to the technical truth. 'It is a massive, interconnected network of spellforms and physical artifacts designed to manage immensely complex systems of Manatech and Aetherology. The Grand Library of Mausoleia once possessed the largest and most sophisticated of these networks, but the one governing your Hearth is a remarkably close second, Justiciar.'
Ji-Ae? The same Djinn Remnant Agrona had sort of enslaved in the novel? So that's what she used to be the omnipresent eye within Taegrin Caelum and as thus also making the High Sovereign's fortress such an impregnable bastion: her own Lifework of Aetherology.
"And is it what manages all the Hearth too?" I asked. "What makes it so... responsive to damages and threats without external intervention?"
'Exactly, Justiciar,' Avicenna replied.
So it was Ji-Ae's Ontic Circuit that gave the Relictombs their "consciousness?" Interesting, but was it useful too?
"Did you discover anything particular about the Hearth's own Ontic Circuit?" I asked, deciding to sit down on a conjured chair of earth.
'There are many Djinnic souls fueling the Ontic Circuit of your sanctuary, Justiciar,' Fatima said, her tone not scandalised despite what she just told me; something very, very scandalous in my opinion.
"Souls?!" I asked in suprise. "What do you mean?"
'Alas Justiciar, Sage Ji-Ae, last Pacificator-General of our people, had to make drastic changes to her Lifework to secure that at least the souls of the Djinns survived as the Asuras of the Indrath Clan didn't aim to just kill us physically; they wanted to erase everything about our civilizations, our souls too,' Avicenna grimly said.
'For all those that were not Sages and as thus unable to transfer themselves into Vaultlamps the last Pacificator-General offered a different kind of salvation,' Fatima continued, her tone solemn. 'That their souls would fuel the Ontic Circuit of the Grand Library of Mausoleia, finding a sort of afterlife inside one of the communal Lifeworks instead of being erased by the Asuras.'
And that's why the consciousness governing the Relictombs got corrupted, so many souls... billions from the numbers Evascir and Soleil gave me to describe Djinnic civilization at their apex.
"And I guess the Djinnic survivors that died here in the Hearth joined its Ontic Circuit?" I asked.
'That is correct,' both Sages replied.
I looked up, observing as the fake lighting of the Hearth's sky shifted and muted with the passage of time. The Djinns that followed Mordain Asclepius in the Hearth many millenia ago never stopped believing on his project, so much that they offered their souls to maintain the sanctuary operative.
"Is there a way that can help me, though?" I asked. "I may be sounding disrespectful; but while I am delighted to know more about the Folk of Calm Currents, I am not in the mood right now."
I didn't like how I sounded, even just knowing the existence of this Ontic Circuit was useful in itself; knowing what governed the Relictombs could help me find a way to make the Grand Library of Mausoleia safe to travel again—with all its precious knowledge available and easy to access.
Furthermore, the Agrona I knew from the novel depended so much on Ji-Ae... it wasn't wrong to say that the only reason why the High Sovereign survived for so long while at war with Kezess Indrath was because of that Djinn: last Pacificator-General of her people it seemed.
One day I would need to raid Taegrin Caelum too, just as I have done with the villa of Fiery House Wykes west of Marlow. And instead of fighting Otis, his mercenaries, and Bairon I would have to face Scythes, Retainers, Wraiths if not even the Vritra Clan and Agrona himself.
No matter how deeply the fight at the Wykes estate had fractured my soul, it paled in comparison to the atrocities I would be forced to commit in the days to come. I had to remind myself of that harsh truth.
Lest I lose my mind completely.
"Actually," I said, an idea igniting itself in my mind. "Can the Ontic Circuit of the Hearth be connected to that of the Relictombs? We already have an access to the Grand Library through our Library Lobbies."
"We could even rescue the rest of your colleagues of the Conventicle of Artira," I proposed.
'I...' Avicenna tried to answer my question, but, in a rare moment of ignorance from the wise Sage, he didn't find one. 'I don't know, Justiciar.'
'I fear your question simplifies the problem too much,' Fatima interjected. 'The Ontic Circuit controlling the Grand Library has gone completely rogue—mad with pain from the cruelties Epheotus inflicted upon our kin.'
"Is there a way to heal it?" I asked aloud. "To heal the fractured souls of the Djinn residing within?"
Fatima fell uncharacteristically silent. It was Avicenna who finally answered.
'The Asclepius Clan, through their mastery of Samsara, are without equal in all arts regarding the soul,' the ancient Sage explained slowly. 'The Ontic Circuit was never designed to be a receptacle for living souls. If there is anyone in this age who can cure their afflictions, it is your kin, Justiciar.'
'Are you genuinely suggesting the Justiciar allow Asuras to tamper with the souls of our people? Risking the ruin of the Grand Library even further, Sage Avicenna?' Fatima demanded.
Though her cadence remained impeccably professional, the sheer venom lacing her words was undeniable.
'The Ontic Circuit within the Justiciar's sanctuary was tainted by their kind for millennia before his arrival. No. It is infinitely wiser to reforge the Ontic Circuits entirely, rather than forcing the souls of our people to suffer even more in a desperate, misguided attempt to heal them.'
'And should we simply let those souls perish without even attempting to save them, Sage Fatima?' Avicenna retorted sharply.
Immediately, the two Djinn descended into a bitter, complex ethical dispute over the correct path forward.
Euthanasia versus therapeutic obstinacy, I sighed inwardly, mentally tuning out their escalating argument. It seemed some philosophical debates remained exactly the same across all worlds and cultures.
"We are not going to make a decision today," I proclaimed. "But thanks for letting me know. There is something else I would like to ask you. Can you talk to me about Xyrus? The floating island in the middle of Focularsa."
With the threat of Draneeve now expunged from Dicathen I wanted the Interdicathian to be the best fair ever made.
After so much destruction, I wanted to create an event that would be carved in the history of the whole continent and also to crown Grandpa's dream.
And with Xyrus City being the theatre of this fair it was only right to ask the people who made that island in the first place about it.
'The island you call Xyrus, Justiciar, was the flying enclave of the Mage-Caliph Zayrus,' Avicenna said. 'One of the most controversial figures of Djinnic history.'
'Let me explain, Justiciar, and let us bypass Avicenna's tedious game of teacher-and-student,' Fatima said. 'Zayrus was the last Mage-Caliph of our history, but what truly interests you is his Lifework—the magnum opus through which he forged his flying enclave: the first Greatrune in Djinnic history; the Re-Construction Greatrune.'
My metaphysical ears pricked up the moment the Djinn woman uttered the name. Re-Construction; the very antithesis of Arthur's Destruction, it seemed.
"Where can I find it?" I asked without fanfare, a sudden, desperate thirst for power surging through my veins. "It was the Conventicle who managed the evacuation of the Greatrunes, or at least replicas of them, right? Do I need to go to the Grand Library?"
The Quadra-Elemental Greatrune had already multiplied my strength a hundredfold; acquiring a second one would elevate my capabilities to entirely new heights.
If I intended to survive this deadly, high-stakes game with Windsom Indrath and Epheotus—and Agrona and Alacrya—I needed the means to fight back.
Otherwise, the Asuran Overseer would simply continue to pull my strings until the deities of Epheotus inevitably decided I had outlived my usefulness.
'Again, correct,' Avicenna confirmed. 'But you will find the Re-Construction Greatrune in the island of Zayrus himself.'
'The first Greatrune of Djinnic history had never been taken away from Zayrus' enclave due to the particular nature of it,' Fatima explained. 'The Conventicle did manage to copy Re-Construction, but... I know for certain it never reached the Grand Library. You will probably find the Re-Construction Greatrune in its original place still. I doubt the Asuras razed it if the island still exists for you to call it Xyrus.'
'Did Zadeum meet his end at the hands of the Asuras, then?' Avicenna asked.
His mental voice wavered, heavy with an ancient, lingering sorrow as he invoked the name of yet another fallen member of their esteemed Conventicle.
'That he did, Sage Avicenna,' Fatima replied, her spectral tone solemn and steeped in centuries of grief.
That Greatrune never leaving Xyrus and its copy never reaching the Relictombs explained why Arthur was never able to develop a... Creation Godrune after gaining Insight over his Destruction one. But where exactly in Xyrus could that Greatrune be?
"I understand this Mage-Caliph was a very ancient Djinn, what did happen to Xyrus after his demise?" I asked.
'The flying enclave remained a location of remembrance for the Folk of Calm Currents,' Avicenna said. 'We learnt its magic and created the flying structure upon which the Grand Tribunal stands, but other than that it was used mainly as a place of worship. An holy place for the Cult of Mordain first and the Pacisophy then.'
I stretched my arms and took Avicenna's Vaultlamp, placing it at my hips.
"Then, you will accompany me to Xyrus," I declared, raising my eyes to the red Vaultlamp. "As for you, Fatima: continue your study of the Hearth's Ontic Circuit. I want to know everything about it."
'May Mordain's light shine on you in your search, Justiciar,' Fatima greeted me solemnly. 'And you too, Sage Avicenna.'
With the mental greeting of the Djinnic woman behind my back, I headed to the Portal Chamber: Xyrus Academy was my goal.
—
I carefully adjusted my pristine uniform, settling comfortably into the guise of Leòn Leurenzian as I strolled across the grounds of Dicathen's greatest magical institution.
All around me, sapphire rooftops and gleaming marble towers stretched towards the sky.
High above, Chantelle Asclepius circled quietly in her dove form. She acted as my silent sentinel, ensuring Windsom was nowhere nearby just in case what I was about to do truly led me to the discovery of ancient Djinnic relics.
The crisp, high-altitude winds of the floating island swept across the Magical Capital of the World, and I took in the fresh air with deep, steadying breaths.
It was shortly after midday; the sun shone brightly at its zenith, and I savoured my unhurried walk towards the office of Director Cynthia Goodsky.
Gazing out at the diverse, sprawling architecture of the Xyrus Academy campus instilled a welcome sense of profound Peace within me.
Knowing with absolute certainty that Draneeve would never be able to orchestrate his devastating attack on the school, preventing the tragedy I had read about in the novel, was a deeply comforting feeling.
"You know that you can speak, right?" I asked the man I had asked to follow me from the Royal Palace.
I turned and Cylrit Vritra, former Retainer of Sehz-Clar, looked like a fish out of water in such an academic context.
His Adaptarmour, the Lifework of Fatima, took the semblance of a uniform of Xyrus Academy for combat instructors, paired with a mantle that the Adaptarmour always seemed to produce when Cylrit wore it.
"Apologies, Leòn," Cylrit said, the way he comfortably used whatever name my current identity required a pleasant novelty.
I asked the Alacryan to come with me so that he could speak with Cynthia, as she was his original goal when coming to Dicathen and before meeting me.
I took another look at Cylrit and the way he observed the students of Xyrus Academy.
"You like schools?" I asked and the former Retainer nodded.
"Maybe "liking" is not the correct verb, but I can't deny I am fascinated by them," he admitted. "They remind me of the worst time of my life, but they give me a desire for retribution too."
"You want to become a teacher?" I asked, surprised by the Retainer's hidden desires.
"Wanting to become is not a concept people like me can dream of," Cylrit stated. "But in an ideal world... probably."
We reached the heavy doors leading to Cynthia's office. No one had dared to stop us along the way; it was now common knowledge throughout the academy that Leòn Leurenzian was the Director's personal protégé.
But, true to form, Cynthia was already locked in a meeting. I collapsed onto the plush waiting sofa in the hallway, letting out a deep, heavy sigh.
"Doesn't she ever take a moment for herself?" I muttered under my breath. "She's always tied up in one meeting or another."
Cylrit declined the seat, choosing to remain standing with his usual rigid, martial posture.
"How do you know Cynthia, anyway?" I asked, desperate to fill the stifling silence.
The only other topic available was the joint mission he had undertaken with Alea, but that had proven rather anticlimactic.
Not that I should have expected anything less with both Cylrit and a Lance fighting side-by-side. They had systematically wiped out the remnants of the Caduchicilists—Nylith included, according to Cylrit's report.
"She was one of the many protégés taken in by my master," Cylrit replied evenly. "And her bloodline—her family—were trusted allies of my Scythe."
Several more agonizing minutes ticked by.
"By the Divine Drag—" I bit my tongue, cutting myself off as the Sapinese roots of my Leòn persona instinctively tried to swear by the Divine Dragon. I mentally recoiled from the slip. "Who exactly is Cynthia in a meeting with?"
"Your grandfather," Cylrit replied, his tone as casual as if he were commenting on the weather. "He left Zestier early this morning."
"And when were you planning on telling me this?!" I hissed. Cylrit frowned in brief confusion before his stoic composure seamlessly returned. "He'll recognise you immediately—get out of here!"
I frantically scrambled to shove the powerful Retainer down the hall, but Fate (ever the twisted joker my master was) had different plans.
The heavy doors to Cynthia's office suddenly swung open.
Reacting on pure, panicked instinct, I desperately conjured a Bubblespell, washing a perfect cloak of invisibility over the both of us just in the nick of time.
"I will bring my grandchildren for the Interdicathian, their presence alongside that of my old friends from across the continent shall help make the fair more interesting to all," Grandpa said, exiting the office with Cynthia following him—she never accompanied guests out of her office.
"And I will declare it a break day for Xyrus Academy's students, hopefully they will decide to attend the Interdicathian with their free time," Cynthia replied earning from Grandpa one of his grins.
"That would be amazing, we need to attract youngsters more than old relics like us," Grandpa joked. "If some are going to see a united Dicathen it's them!"
I smiled at the optimism of Grandpa while I made a couple of steps backward to leave him space to walk without entering my Bubblespell and I watched the King Emeritus of Elenoir walk away, leaving me room to breathe.
The Interdicathian needs advertising? I asked myself once the risk of being discovered by Grandpa was gone. I can come up with something.
I dissolved the Bubblespell that kept Cylrit and me concealed, letting the invisibility fade to vapour, and knocked firmly on Cynthia's office door before anyone else could lay claim to her time.
"Enter," the Director's voice called from within, the heavy oak doors swinging inward on a gentle breeze of her wind magic. "Oh, Leòn! What brings you he—"
Her eyes widened drastically, the words catching in her throat as she registered the towering figure of Cylrit Vritra.
Even with his demonic horns carefully concealed by an Alacryan artifact, the Retainer casually looming behind me—wearing an ensemble that resembled a Xyrus Academy professor's uniform—was an imposing sight.
I really shouldn't go around shocking old ladies like this, I chastised myself.
"I am sure you know Cylrit," I said, striding into the room and claiming a chair without bothering to ask for permission. "Or Luchen, as he goes by here in Dicathen."
"Miss Goodsky," Cylrit greeted softly. Something akin to deep melancholy coloured the austere Retainer's sharply chiselled face. "I find you well. I am truly happy to see that my master's investment has borne fruit."
"Esteemed Great Lord," Avier interjected. The wyvern, currently perched in his owl form upon one of the many stands reserved for him in the office, ruffled his feathers nervously. "May we know the exact reason for Cylrit Vritra's presence here?"
"I am currently in the service of the Asclepius Clan and its Highprince," Cylrit answered before I could formulate a reply. "Recent, tragic developments in Alacrya have forced me to flee to Dicathen. I have come here, with Leòn's permission, to see how a former protégé of my master was faring, so many decades since she last stepped upon Alacryan soil."
"Lord Cylrit," Cynthia breathed, still clearly reeling from the sheer impossibility of being free from Agrona's blood-curse. "For you to be here... what happened to Scythe Seris?"
The atmosphere in the sunlit office instantly darkened. I could feel Cylrit's very mana signature boil with a volatile mixture of guilt, profound disappointment, and restrained anger, even as his physical composure remained flawlessly intact.
"You two will have ample time to reacquaint yourselves later, if you so desire," I stated, cutting through the heavy tension. "Cynthia, I am in need of something specific from Xyrus. Do you know if any ancient dungeons have ever been discovered on this flying island?"
As I spoke, my fingers lightly grazed Avicenna's silent Vaultlamp hidden beneath my clothes. I actively channelled Inner Current, reaching out to converse with the consciousness of the Djinn Sage within.
'Avicenna, do you have any tips on how to find possible ruins containing information about the Re-Construction Greatrune?' I asked.
'There were two main cathedrals during my time on the island,' Avicenna's ancient voice echoed directly into my mind. 'The Mosque of Dusk and the Mosque of Dawn, located at the exact edges of the floating island where Mordain rose and set. The Re-Construction Greatrune was separated into two distinct halves due to its overwhelming power.'
Just like the Godrune of Destruction was for Arthur, I realised. He had been forced to share the burden of that rune with Regis, lest the raw, unbridled power utterly destroyed his mind and body.
"There were two dungeons once, here on Xyrus," Cynthia said, perfectly mirroring the historical information Avicenna had just relayed to me mentally. "But both were completely explored and systematically cleared of mana beasts by Adventurers many decades ago, well before the Second War."
"Where exactly were they?" I asked.
It didn't matter if they had been cleared; I possessed the power of making total and complete Resets happen. I could simply trigger the Manatech and Aetherology of those dungeons to forcefully revert the two Mosques to their original, untouched glory.
"At the far edges of the island," Cynthia promptly replied, doing her absolute best not to cast wary glances at Cylrit standing behind me. "In the Fire and Earth Wards, respectively. Avier can guide you there."
"It would be my most immense honour," the wyvern agreed, bowing his feathered head deeply in reverence.
I stood up, my purpose locked in.
"Good. Take me there," I commanded. "There are things I must do."
It was time for a solo Unravelling.