บท 245: Chapter 243: A Princess' Duty
Thank you to my beta reader and editor, GlassThreads!
Tessia Eralith
"Send thirty measures to Blackbend along the teleportation routes," I said evenly as I directed the supply manager. "We were conservative with our stores this winter, so we have some remaining stockpile that can be pushed toward those in need."
The officiant–an older elven woman with a pad of paper and a nervous expression–nodded swiftly. "Of course, Princess," she said, bowing slightly. "There would still be overstock left, though–another thirty measures of grain. What should be done with that?"
I was currently in one of the Zestier Palace's more ornate rooms, meeting with my advisors and ensuring operations across the city flowed smoothly. Half a dozen other elves waited to present their issues or request authority for actions.
Sometimes it was something petty, like a dispute between elven nobles. But most of the time, every matter brought before me was a truly pressing issue. One that I was astounded managed to wait for so long.
Zestier had run for centuries as the center of elven rule and power–and in the last few years, all of that had suddenly changed. I shouldn't have been surprised that people didn't know how to act efficiently without the regular input of the royal family.
I furrowed my brows as I leaned forward over the table, my long hair of deep silver flashing in the late afternoon light. "Leave at least five measures in reserves," I said slowly. "Dedicate another fifteen to the relief efforts in Sapin. With the attacks of mana beasts ravaging their countryside, people aren't able to plant their crops or sow their seeds. They'll be aching when winter next comes."
The officiant nodded, scribbling down my orders before evacuating from the room. I allowed myself to deflate slightly as the majority of the tasks were tended to. My regal poise slipped toward something more casual as I traced my fingers across my dress in thought.
It wasn't exactly a battledress. That would be improper for a princess of Elshire to wear in the depths of her court. All that would tell my nobles was that I was ready for battle alone, but not diplomacy.
But it was close. The deep green folds and silks allowed me freedom of movement and mobility in case anything ever did come to a battle. My arms were bare of long, trailing weaves of cloth, and the skirt was relatively short–only reaching my knees.
It allowed me to feel a bit more in control.
I felt a wave of "green" and "happy" from my Beast Will, her mind catching on the slight downturn of my mood. She didn't truly understand the intricacies of my thoughts, but like a child who knows something is wrong with their parent, she did everything she could to try and make me feel "better" again.
Thank you, I thought back as that cleansing energy flooded across my mana channels. I needed that.
I ran through the motions as I directed and sent out more orders, leveraging my position as Princess of Elshire to the best of my abilities. My resolve returned as I helped coordinate a shipment of elven salves and ointments imbued with nature magic.
Yet as I watched the final attendant go–an elf who was barely older than I–I felt my restlessness return.
News of the massacres across Sapin had rocked the continent. The brutality of them, the wantonness of blood spilled… When I'd heard of them, I'd nearly tried to escape again, to try and find a battle where I could make a difference.
But then the reports kept coming in. Tens of thousands dead, at least, all across the countryside. And even still, the attacks appeared at random–hordes of corrupted mana beasts phasing into existence in defiance of reason. And as I read reports of how the Lances were spread thin, darting across the continent like busybody housewives trying to stamp out uncountable fires, I'd realized something.
Even if I somehow managed to escape, what would I even be able to do?
I stared mutely at the table, tracing the elegant curves of Elshire wood as they made the ornate piece. Everything in Zestier was old beyond all ken. Pictures and tables and instruments crafted generations before I was ever born made the place feel ethereally ancient.
There was a severed knot of wood near the center of the mana-laden table. I stared at it, allowing myself to think.
I couldn't do anything, I thought for the dozenth time, partially to my Elderwood Guardian Will. Even if I somehow managed to reach the battlefields, I'd be useless. Just another dot fighting against a tide.
She sent back waves of encouragement, not really understanding. But that was okay.
I pressed away from the table, feeling that urge to move again. It came every day as the late afternoon drew close–a remnant of my habits among the Trailblazer Division. Late afternoon was when we either geared up for an assault or settled in for camp. That meant washing duties, cooking, and firewood gathering. My body ached for a phantom past. For something that would keep me moving.
It's not that I'm weak, I thought to my Will, striding away from the table as I exhaled through my nose. I flowed with casual grace and poise as I walked the halls of Zestier. But even Arthur–Grey, whoever he is–he can't do all of it alone, either. Even despite the Lances, the attacks continue. That's what made me think of how I could make a difference. Actually make one.
And I'd found a place I could be. I was a princess, even if my parents had renounced their titles. And as the weeks drew long in Zestier, I'd picked up on the lack of management. The subtle failures and inefficiencies in the vacuum left as my parents shifted their operations to the flying castle.
When I'd first started pushing for people to act and organize, I'd received the same treatment as when I first entered the Trailblazer Division. Subtle pushes for me to just stay on the sidelines. They tried to treat me as a glass sculpture. One that they were fearful to even nudge for fear of it falling over and shattering into a million reflective pieces.
I maintained my poise as I made my way through Zestier's palace hallways like the wind itself. I kept my hands clasped simply in front of my stomach in the traditional style. Always regal. Always sharp and elegant.
That stopped eventually, though, I thought as I finally entered the gardens. I just had to keep it up. Wear down their reservations.
I relaxed slightly as I watched the mist of Elshire Forest ebb and flow throughout the gardens. The shoreblossoms were at the height of their beauty, the plants rising higher and higher as their blue petals reflected dewdrops like the edge of a knife. Half a dozen different exotic plants from all over Elenoir glowed with innumerable shades.
I stared past the walls, though, remembering my last futile escape attempt.
Where do you think Aya is? I asked my Beast Will. Probably along the southern front. The Alacryans have been pushing into Elshire at greater rates lately, but they're still stopped by the mist. She's probably cutting off anyone she can.
Can can can, the Elderwood Guardian thought helpfully. Mist mist mist.
I sighed. I know I could probably escape, I thought, pretending that my Will's response was something more concrete. Without Aya guarding me and with you helping me increase my abilities so much, I could probably sneak all the way to the border without anyone detecting me. Don't you think? That wouldn't be too bad.
My Elderwood Guardian Will shifted slightly. Bad bad bad, radiated from my core. Stay stay stay.
I groaned. I know, I know, I thought. I should stay here. Do what I can to help and organize everyone. I've been able to help troop deployment and everything too, so maybe there's actually going to be a change. But the thought of people dying out there… Dying in pain for my country, without me by their side…
Pain pain pain, echoed back. Side side side.
I chuckled as my Elderwood Guardian tried her best to comfort and soothe me. I didn't really have anyone to talk to here. Hadn't for weeks. And I'd eventually just started talking to my Will whenever I had the chance. And she always listened, even if she didn't understand.
Are Sylvie and Art always like this? I asked. You know. Talking and all that. He said he had a bond with her or whatever. But is it like this? I feel like you're unique. Different from any other Beast Will.
Different different different, I got back. Feel feel feel.
I watched as the mist eddied and swirled, resisting the urge to delve into my Beast Will and engage in the training exercises Aya had assigned to me before she vanished, as she had a tendency to do. You know, I need to give you a name. Calling you "Elderwood Guardian Will" gets pretty old.
Old old old, she felt back, echoing my thoughts as a child mimics their parents. Will will will.
Will isn't a good name for you, I thought back. You are a Beast Will, but you're more than that.
Will will will, she felt adamantly. Will will will.
I crossed my arms, my brow furrowing as I watched a shiversparrow alight on one of the towering branches far above. Willow, I finally thought. That's your name. Willow. It fits, don't you think?
Willow willow willow, Willow echoed–and I thought I felt contentment there. Acknowledgment.
I felt a grin splitting my face as I reached that decision. The mist seemed to gravitate toward me, its wispy fingers coolly caressing my skin. I closed my eyes, shuddering slightly at the cold touch. I basked in the ensorcelling sensation for a time, the late afternoon sun casting strange shadows through the pervasive shroud of fog that always blanketed Elshire like a drifting blanket.
And so I nearly jumped out of my skin in surprise as I heard a familiar voice speak behind me.
"You know, I heard word from Lance Phantasm," Grandpa said, "but seeing it is something else, little one. The mists of the forest bending to your whims themselves."
I turned in surprise, noting two new figures as they walked into the gardens. On footsteps so soft I couldn't hear them, Grandpa walked with the assured confidence of Dicathen's Commander. Even though he looked older and there was a constant weariness that seemed to seep from his pores–made even more evident from how long I'd known him–I could see how he kept himself strong, using the expectations of others as anchors.
Beside my Grandpa, Mom strode with the flowing grace of the Eraliths. In every simple gesture and shift of her gown, I saw the sad attempts I made of imitation. She was perfect poise, even as she smiled with a kindness that I cherished.
The mist retreated from me in a whirl, evaporating back into the trees as my concentration faltered. I felt a blush rise in my cheeks as my thoughts spun uselessly.
"Hi, Grandpa. Mom," I said weakly, looking between the two. "When did you get here?"
In truth, I'd been expecting a visit from Grandpa sometime soon. He'd been very busy with his Council duties, and I'd sent him a lot of messages at first. Mostly mean ones, filled with anger and hurt at being sent away and locked up in a cage again. But the most recent message I'd sent was far more… thought out.
"Barely a moment ago, honey," Mom said, a twinkle in her eye. "It was so interesting that I just had to watch. Has Aya been teaching you? You didn't have an affinity for water before this. How are you able to do it?"
I nervously tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear, feeling my trepidation rise as I thought of the reason I'd called Grandpa in the first place. "Well, since the… incident, my Beast Will changed. I'm able to feel everything around me, and the mist reacts to my emotions when I'm not careful."
Mom's face fell slightly at the incident, and Grandpa's expression became more grave. Mom walked forward, wrapping me in a hug as she ruffled my hair. "I'm sorry that happened, sweetie," she said consolingly. Pityingly. "But you're doing better now, right?"
I restrained a burst of irrational anger at how Mom fussed over me. I pushed her away as gently as I could manage, ironing out my features as I stared up at her. "I was a soldier, Mom," I said sharply–maybe too sharply. "I was always at risk of being injured. I was ready for that from the start."
Granted, I hadn't told Mom about the corruption in my core–not like I'd told Grandpa. I wondered if she'd treat me differently if she'd known.
Mom's silver brows shifted slightly. "I know, Tessia," she said somberly. "I know. That doesn't stop us from worrying."
I sighed, just letting her words wash over and through me. I struggled to blame Mom for her vote at the Council. After I'd been attacked by Spellsong, it was her vote–along with a nearly unanimous decision from the rest of Dicathen's leaders–that decided I would be sent back to Zestier. Like a bird in a cage.
Only the old human king, Blaine Glayder, had voted against my retrieval. I'd have to ask him why someday.
But Mom… Mom had always been like this. Worrying over me and fussing at every speck of dirt. She'd never wanted me to enter the war in the first place, so it didn't hurt as much when she pushed for my removal.
But Grandpa…
I shared a look with the old elf, feeling a complicated mix of anger, regret, and determination as I tried to figure out my thoughts. I almost imagined that the forest itself was still for a time as I tried to work out what I needed to say.
Mom sensed the air between us, of course. She backed away, brushing at her dress as she sighed. "I'll have to come back and catch up later, Tessia," she said, regal as ever. "There's always a need for the councilmembers to show their faces around, and we recently got a call that it would be good for one of us to officiate the opening of a new statehouse. To show the people that we're still listening to them."
I sighed, feeling my nerves settle slightly. "Zestier isn't nearly as stable as I thought it was," I said. "I've been working to help our commanders with troop positioning, distributing supplies, and maintaining what economy I can. But they feel the lack of your presence, Mom. It's good you're here."
Mom nodded with slow understanding, a change coming over her expression as she seemed to see me for the first time. "I'll be back soon, Tessia," she finally said. "I'm glad you've found something to do, here."
I watched her go, feeling a knot in my stomach somehow both cinch tighter and unravel at the same time.
How is that even possible? I asked Willow in irritation. Those are impossibilities. Literally opposites.
Opposites opposites opposites, Willow echoed back with fervor. How how how.
Grandpa must have seen the troubles on my face. His expression softened slightly as he ruffled my hair. "Come on, little one," he said kindly. "Let's go for a walk."
—
While the Royal Palace of Zestier was clean—something I could never ignore—Zestier itself could claim that title no longer. As Grandpa and I strolled down the streets of the city—which once felt so wide and expansive as a child—I couldn't help but feel that they were never big enough.
All around me, soldiers darted about, carrying supplies and delivering messages. The merchant stalls that normally lined the streets of my childhood now asked for identification with every purchase. This place, which had seemed so mystical to me when I was young, now had an encompassing air of seriousness as pervasive as the mists around us.
Grandpa walked in front of me, his loose battle robes flowing as he strode with confidence among his people. The elves we saw bowed with respect as we passed, vibrant salutes and calls of "Commander!" and "Princess!" echoing out. And whenever Virion nodded back, they stood a little straighter. Gained a little more strength.
"I'm sorry I have not been to visit," Grandpa finally said, watching as a little girl ran through the streets after her mother. "I know I should have, little one. But between my Council duties and–"
"It's fine," I said quickly, cutting him off and feeling a flush of embarrassment. I'd sent a lot of messages to Grandpa when I'd first been interned in Zestier. Most of them… not so nice. It was understandable that he wouldn't want to see me until more recently. "I know you've been busy. And with all that's going on in Sapin…"
I trailed off, feeling a lump build in the back of my throat as I thought of the massacres.
Hordes of beasts appearing from nowhere, with some S- and AA-class beasts ravaging the countryside… How did you even fight that? How did you even protect the people if you never knew where the attacks would come from? Or when?
Grandpa's expression was grave as he slowed in his walk, and I could see the way his shoulders wanted to slump. How he wanted to rub his aged face with his hands. The wrinkles across his brow suddenly seemed deeper than the greatest chasms in Darv as he sighed.
"The attacks are sporadic, Tessia," he said. "There's no discernible pattern to them. But Arthur has been able to notice some specifics about the corrupted beasts and the strange transportation methods they used. In the meantime, the Council has ordered as many people in scattered cities and towns to congregate toward populous places like Blackbend, Etistin, and Valden. We won't let Agrona assault our people without due recourse."
I was silent for a while as we walked, thinking about it all. "Fewer places to protect," I finally said, forcing myself to look at it from a militaristic standpoint and not mourn for the losses. "The Lances are stretched thin across Sapin searching for these attacks. They can't be everywhere at once."
I can't be everywhere at once, I thought sadly. Even if I managed to enter this war once more, I could do nothing to help those people.
"He's trying to break us, Tessia," Grandpa said, stopping and turning to me. "Agrona Vritra. The High Sovereign. Lord of the Basilisks." His aged eyes misted over as they absorbed Zestier around us. "The elves here in Zestier were more prepared for this war. Nearly every soul living in the forest remembers the horrors of our wars with Sapin. We all know the pain of loss and the horrors of death. But the humans, with their short lifetimes? They aren't prepared to take such blows. Agrona wants them terrified, little one. He wants us to cower and shake when he waves a stick. It's all terror tactics."
Grandpa settled his hands on my shoulders, serious as he looked me in the eyes. I matched his gaze, instinctively puffing out my chest and squaring my stance. "It is our duty as the leaders of this continent to ensure that our people do not break. The humans are facing the most dire catastrophe they've seen in centuries, and it is our job to see that they do not crumble and fall from the weight."
I nodded, my expression determined. "I know, Grandpa. I've never stopped trying to help. Even here in Zestier, I've been coordinating relief efforts as best I could. I've seen the horrors of war, and I won't let them break us."
I remembered Spellsong's parting words. Words about how Agrona didn't even care about the lives he severed, because it was all for something different. For a Legacy and Anchors.
Agrona doesn't care about all the damage he leaves in his wake, I thought, feeling resolve thrum from my core. He thinks the war itself inconsequential. It's our duty to prove a god wrong.
Grandpa's hands squeezed on my shoulder. "Good, Tessia," he said seriously. "I knew that sending you here was… far from your wishes. But I am glad you have found purpose regardless."
And then I felt a bit of heat work up in my face as I remembered why I'd called Grandpa here in the first place.
"Grandpa," I started, "you're right about that. I've found a purpose here, yeah. But I didn't see it at first."
I looked over the churning streets of Zestier, watching as elves worked to better the whole. Even the lowest merchant did their part to uplift everyone, despite their constraints. Every attendant in the Palace. Every laborer who sowed wheat and food for our troops was doing their part.
And if I thought I could only contribute to my continent by fighting, was I not diminishing their efforts? If the only good I believed I could do was draw my blade across the throats of mana beasts, what did that say of all the good people of Dicathen? Of all those who did good without being on the front lines?
I inhaled sharply, squaring my shoulders. "I'm sorry, Grandpa," I forced out. "I'm sorry that I was so cruel to you. That I didn't let myself see it any other way. And I… I forgive you. For sending me away from the front lines."
I wasn't able to sit and think when I was part of the Trailblazers. Every moment was constant action or combat or cleanup or something. There was no chance to ruminate or process anything at length, because you needed to have your head in the game if your team was set to hunt an S-class mana beast through the dungeons.
But I could do nothing but think this past month or so. As I trained my new powers with mist and began to maneuver through the politics of Zestier, I'd been forced to finally face the questions I could dismiss before.
If Agrona Vritra's end goal was me–as a Vessel for something I didn't know or understand–then I only endangered my people if I recklessly threw myself into combat from some… childish desire to be seen and heard.
And Grandpa had allowed me to be sent away for the good of the continent. That was what we all wanted. He just could see farther than I did. "I was like a child, wanting to throw things and make noise just to be heard, Grandpa. But I understand why I'm here now. And I'm sorry I was so mean to you."
As I struggled to force the words out, Grandpa's knowing eyes melted. He cut me off, wrapping me in a hug right in the middle of the street. He ruffled my hair as I struggled not to lose my princessly poise.
He was so strong, even with all the weight of the continent on his shoulders. I sniffled slightly as I hugged him back, not caring for the moment what everyone would think if they saw me.
"It's fine, little one," Grandpa said softly, his slightly raspy voice low as he held me. "And I know what I promised you. I promised you could fight in this war, and I broke that promise. I didn't fight against the Council when they ruled for your dismissal. And perhaps I should have, but I…"
He separated from me, looking me up and down. "You're growing to be a strong young woman, Tessia. I've always tried to keep myself tall. For this continent, for the Lances, and you. I've been walking forward for so long that it's hard to remember that I stumble sometimes."
I chuckled lightly, my face heating from his words. "You know, it's strange. The last time I was here, on this street, it was with Art." I sniffled, thinking of days long past. "When Feyrith challenged him to a duel. That really ended poorly."
To my surprise, my grandpa threw back his head, laughing sharply. "Ah, yes. I do remember that. That was perhaps the greatest thing I had seen in a decade. The poor Ivsaar boy didn't even realize what had happened until Art pulled you halfway back to the castle!"
I was about to laugh in turn, but then my eyes narrowed. "But you weren't there," I said pointedly, looking at my grandfather in suspicion. "You're laughing like you saw it, but I know it was only us two."
Grandpa rewarded me with a lewd waggling of his eyebrows. "Please, Tessia. Do you really think I'd let you go out in the streets with a strange boy that you'd just met? I was always watching, even from the sidelines."
I gasped in shock. "Grandpa, you–you spied on us?!" I said, feeling a growing sense of outrage. "That was supposed to be time for just me and Art! What, did you think Art would get grabby or something?!"
Grandpa scoffed. "No, I had full faith in the boy soon after I'd met him, little one. I just worried for his sanctity with you and your grabbiness. His innocence needed protecting– hey, ow!"
I glared up at my grandfather as I pinched his arm, feeling an angry flush radiating across my ears as he teased me. I would never get handsy with Art! How could he even think I would do–
And then I remembered the nights I first met Art–Grey, whoever–way back in Elshire, after nearly being abducted by slavers. Of how he'd set up a tent on the ground, and the auburn-haired boy had stated he'd watch from the trees and protect us both during the night.
And then… And then how I'd insisted he sleep inside the tent… with me… And how Art had only finally done so after I pushed him over and over…
That angry flush turned into a burning rush of embarrassment as I socked Grandpa in the stomach, driving the air from his lungs. He doubled over with a wheezing laugh. I whirled on my feet, feeling steam fly from my ears. I buried my face in my hands, groaning in embarrassment.
Stupid Grandpa, I thought. Stupid Arthur. Stupid Grey.
Stupid stupid stupid, Willow echoed in agreement. Grey grey grey.
Yeah, that was right. It was entirely understandable that I, a small child, would want Art nearby to protect me when it was dark. That made absolute sense.
I puffed out my shoulders as I turned back around, Grandpa still chuckling as he massaged his stomach where I'd punched him. "You hit harder than ever, little one," he said with clear amusement. "You know, I was joking at first, but considering how adamant your reaction was–"
"I never laid a hand on Arthur when we were here in Zestier!" I said, a little too loudly. A few of the merchants and soldiers gave us raised brows, and I cringed as Virion's smirk widened.
"Then that means you did lay hands on him outside of Zestier?" he countered, a brow raised.
And then I remembered Xyrus, when Art was in the infirmary room after saving me from Curtis' attack. Where I'd kissed him. Against his will.
Grandpa must have seen something on my face, because this time his grin was even more sly. "So, when can I expect great-grandchildren?" he said, waggling his brows lewdly. "Considering how haunted you look–"
I engaged the First Phase of my Beast Will, wind swirling around my fist as I levered it at my grandpa. "Not one more word," I said. "I will hit you. I don't want to hear it!"
Grandpa simply laughed, before grabbing me and pulling me into another hug. I melted into his embrace as he ruffled my hair. "Okay, okay," he said. "I'll stop teasing you, Tessia. You need to stop showing such faces so easily whenever Arthur is mentioned. That boy is your one weakness."
I mumbled something into the crook of Grandpa's shoulder. Arthur wasn't really a boy. Wasn't ever really a boy. But he was Arthur, and it wasn't his age that made me melt into a puddle whenever our eyes met or he showed me care and affection.
At least… That was what I thought.
I need to talk to him sometime soon, I thought. About who Grey was. About… About all of that.
I still didn't know what to think about Grey. My first reaction was one of acceptance and care, but then I'd been allowed to think.
I didn't think Arthur lied to me, but neither had he been truthful.
I pushed away from Grandpa, settling myself as I stared up at him. "I, uh… I'll try," I said, not certain I could promise such a thing. "But I'm glad I got this off my chest."
Grandpa nodded slowly. "It has been good to talk, Tessia. There's not enough of that nowadays, with the war and bloodshed. Not enough people sitting down and just speaking to each other." He shook his head dismissively. "But I'm afraid I don't have much time left to spend here. Before I do leave, I need to know what you meant when you sent your message."
I blinked in confusion. "I mean… I did, Grandpa. I wanted to say sorry. Sorry for how mean I'd been," I said, averting my eyes. "That's why I asked you to be here."
I felt a mote of surprise as Virion's strong hands grasped my shoulders. "What do you mean, little one? The message I got just today was that you got important information about the Alacryan push into Elshire from one of our soldiers. Something about mana beacons in the mist? That was why I was so quick to come here. You haven't sent any messages in a while, so I assumed this was important." He shifted slightly. "I assumed you needed your space."
I shook my head, feeling confused. "No, I didn't send anything about that. But what do you mean, you didn't get any messages? I've been sending them all the time!" I coughed. "I mean… most of them were mean. And angry. And–"
Grandpa's eyes focused distinctly on me, his pupils dilating into tiny pinpricks as the force radiating from him expanded. "Tessia, I need you to tell me what your last message was."
I felt a grim sense of foreboding rising from my core, even with the First Phase of my Beast Will active. My lips felt dry as I spoke. "I wanted to apologize. For being cruel to you over our messages," I said, feeling small.
Grandpa whirled on his feet, ignoring me in a manner that left me shell-shocked. "Captain!" he barked to a nearby elf in light chainmail. "Get your troops organized now! Code poisonthorn-three-five! This is not a drill. Organize with your higher-ups immediately!"
The man stuttered in his step, his eyes widening as he snapped a quick salute. "Understood, Commander! I'll rally all I see on my way!" he said, sounding panicked, before he engaged some form of wind magic that allowed him to blur along the streets.
I didn't understand. The poisonthorn protocols were all dealt around infiltrating enemies and–
My eyes blew wide as my mana began to thrum across my body, my high silver core quaking in sudden fear. "Grandpa, you never got any of my messages, did you?" I said, realizing why he was so panicked.
"I didn't, Tessia," Grandpa said, whirling on his feet once more as he prepared to dart back toward Zestier's Royal Palace. "Which means the last one I received was a fluke. A false trail, meant to lure me here to Zestier. We've been had, and that means–"
It was only the recent training with Aya–where I meditated in the mists and allowed them to spread across my senses–that allowed me to detect something was wrong. On barest instinct, I leapt forward, the First Phase of Willow guiding me as I tackled Grandpa. A streaking knife of oozing green mana sank into the cobblestones where we'd been a moment before.
I whirled on instinct, withdrawing my swordstaff from my dimension ring as I felt the auras slam into me. My body trembled as I stared, wide-eyed, at the tree where the mage had attacked from.
A short man with pale, sickly skin and a lanky frame gave me a perverse look as he conjured another glowing green dagger. The tree he'd erupted from–one of Elshire's great oaks–wept tears of mist and rot. "Ho, Bilal," he said casually, his dark hair clinging unnaturally to his skull, "I think these are the targets. Exactly as planned, wouldn't you say?"
Another mana signature radiated across me in a way that made my teeth clench. A second person emerged from the Elshire oak, further up. They looked like the first Alacryan, except greenish twin blades of mana promised sickly pain as they pulsed with poison. "Only because of your magic, Bivran," he said, his voice sickly and scraping. He was notably stronger than the other, despite their physical similarities.
A Retainer, I thought, feeling my mana thrum across me as I engaged my Second Phase. The mist of Elshire swirled around me as I focused on my power, glaring at the two Alacryans in the heart of my home.
Grandpa reacted swiftly as he pulled himself to my side, falling into a familiar martial stance as he extended his hands, glaring at the Retainer and their carry-on. His teeth were gritted as howling wind formed like claws around his outstretched fingers. But even as my Grandpa and I prepared to fight, my instincts told me to look higher.
And I spied crimson eyes piercing the mists so far above, a presence barely detectable amidst the fog. And with a clench of my will, I tore apart the mists that blanketed her presence.
The second Retainer blinked in surprise as I ripped their protections away, revealing them to the world. Abnormally light skin–like it had been bleached and then barely suffused with color once more–matched pale white hair. It outlined their ethereal, wispy form, and tendrils of solid shadow writhed beneath the cracks of her slight dress.
She focused on me with the quiet intensity of a cat as I spotted her. "Tessia Eralith," she said softly, almost meekly. "And Commander Virion of the Triunion Council. Agrona Vritra has decreed that your lives are forfeit." Her eyes flashed as the other two mages pressed outward with their auras. "And we are his messengers."
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