Truthfully, Corrin wasn’t even surprised. When the gate blew open and monsters flooded in, his first thought was one of exasperation and acceptance.

  Yeah, that makes sense.

  His next thought was simple too.

  Oh shit, monster!

  He dropped low under a lunging beast, opening its stomach on his blade as it passed overhead. Blood spewed out from the wound, but evaporated as it sizzled against his mantle. Hearing a monster to his side, he spun and kicked, crushing the carapace of a spider trying to bite Bruno, and sending it flying back a good ten feet.

  Wasting no time, Corrin threw himself into the fray, tearing through monsters like paper, slashing and stabbing and whirling. His blade, wreathed in ash, was death itself. He felt very little as he killed, not fear, or excitement. He was just annoyed—he didn’t want to fight monsters right then.

  Vaguely, he was aware of the adventurers fighting around him. The first wave had caught them off-guard, but by luck, they’d already been preparing for battle. Armor had already been donned, groups had already gotten together, and after the initial panic, they rallied and pushed them back, trying to hold at the gap where the gate had been.

  The chanting of mages underscored the sounds of battle as the three casters within the walls traded spells with those outside. They were outnumbered though, and every now and then a fireball or bolt of lightning would shake the estate as they hit.

  A scream tore him out of his battle trance as a flying, tentacled monster the size of a horse latched onto Kei’s shoulder as she shoved another woman out of the way. It wrapped around her arm and hauled her upwards, kicking and screaming.

  Without a thought, he threw his sword, lopping off the limb as he shot across the yard and caught her just before she hit the ground.

  “I hate squids!” she yelled as he set her down. The tentacle was still wrapped around her arm, and she winced as she pulled it off, leaving bright red welts along her arm.

  The ground quaked as a huge spike burst up from the earth, scattering the monsters at the gate and giving them the first chance to breathe. Kevs was still shouting orders as Odem fell back, catching his breath after such a massive technique. Corrin didn’t see Reken, but he heard the whistle of arrows as they cut through the air.

  Bruno stumbled over, his shirt torn and a gash across his cheek. Corrin had done his best to protect him in the fighting, but it was impossible to keep him entirely safe. “We have to—”

  “Corrin!” Kevs bellowed from the gate. “Stick to the plan! We’ll hold the line here!”

  “What? Not a chance!”

  “Don’t be a fool! We had a plan, so stick to it!”

  “The situation has changed!” Corrin protested.

  “They’re attacking because they want us distracted,” Kevs shouted. “We aren’t their objective, or they’d come in more force. Without the monsters held by sloth, we can manage. But if we don’t stop whatever they’re planning, things are only going to get worse, right?”

  Corrin looked back at the line of people. It had shrunk even in the few seconds they’d talked, but there were still too many people outside. Kei, Aria and Bruno were all at the end—they’d be the last ones to get to safety, if the manor represented that at all. He set his feet to hold his ground.

  Kei grabbed his shoulders, her face pained from mana poisoning, but resolved. “He’s right Corrin, don’t worry about us. Wyn’s counting on you isn’t he?”

  “Damn it! I can’t just leave...”

  “You’re going to be a spirit knight aren’t you?” She yelled, shaking him. “That means it’s your job to go save the day! We’ll be fine! Besides, if you don’t, we’re all dead to this stupid mana anyways!”

  Her words hit him like the first breath of cold air in the morning, shocking his system into clarity. He took a deep breath, and nodded.

  “Take care of yourself, okay? I didn’t save you back on the plateau just for you to die now, okay?”

  She let out a small laugh, and pulled him into a quick hug. “Of course not. I still haven’t paid either of you back after all.”

  When she let him go a second later, he turned to the twins. “You too. Don’t die.”

  Bruno held out an arm. “I’ll keep them safe. Go finish this story.”

  Corrin clasped it. “I will.”

  Ash flared, reducing the grass beneath his feet to dust, and he took off towards the side of the yard, avoiding the front gate. All of their attention would be focused there, so he had to get around.

  A loud crash sounded from behind him, and the sounds of the fighting intensified, but he forced himself not to look back. He had to keep running, that was his role in this battle.

  “Eia!” he shouted, knowing she must be nearby, “take me there!”

  A purple light finally appeared overhead, though he couldn’t celebrate seeing her for the first time. She zipped over the outer wall and he cleared it in a single leap, surprising a mage on the other side. The cultist fumbled with a spell, trying to cast, but Corrin was quicker, killing him in a single strike.

  “Keep me away from them! We can’t let them know I’m coming!”

  Eia ascended higher, trying to get a better view of the streets, and Corrin did his best to follow, trailing her through the winding maze of crumbling stone and wood. He wanted to travel by rooftop, but he’d be more visible there, so he had to trust where she was leading him, and conserve his mana as best he could—there would be fighting at the end of his run.

  Rapid footsteps behind him drew him to a skidding halt as he spun to face the threat, his blade already drawn.

  His eyes widened slightly, and he lowered his sword. “What are you doing here?”

  Luscien stood in the middle of the street, Kita beside him. A single flaming tail flicked nervously behind him. He looked away, his voice a low mumble. “I’m asking myself the same question. It’s definitely better if you die than the both of us. But… you’re weaker than me.”

  “I’d slap you sideways any day of the week.”

  “It’s the truth.” Luscien didn’t rise to the provocation. “No matter what you say or think. And truthfully, I don’t think we can win. But no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t sit back while you threw your life away. So at the very least, I’ll try and get us both out of there when it goes south.”

  Corrin looked into his eyes. He saw no fire in them, only uncertainty, and no matter what Luscien said, Corrin just couldn’t understand why he had come. And Corrin thought, maybe he didn’t know Luscien very well at all.

  “I need to ask you a question,” Corrin said. “Luscien, do you want to become a spirit knight?”

  Luscien’s lips parted in surprise, then closed as he seriously seemed to consider the question. He looked down, and then back up, his eyes a strange mix of emotion and apathy, somehow coexisting. “To be honest, I’m not sure. I’m just not the type, you know?”

  Corrin’s lips curled up slightly, and he let his shoulders relax and sighed. “What a lame answer.” He turned back towards the tree in the distance. “But I’ll take it. I’m not dumb enough to turn down extra help. I do have some bad news though.”

  Luscein’s brow furrowed. “And what would that be?”

  “I’m all out of firestones.”

  ***

  Kieran dreamed of the training hall once again, the old one at his family’s estate in the countryside north of Taravast. Its bland, grey walls were covered in scripts that gathered ice mana, keeping the room cold even in the middle of summer.

  He drove his spear into a training dummy, pulverizing it just as he had the last four. His body was dripping with sweat despite the chill, but it still wasn’t enough. He struck again and again.

  It’s all his fault.

  His spear rammed through the straw.

  This is all his fault!

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  It tore out the side.

  This is all your fault, Luscien Genevisc!

  With a raw scream, his spear slammed into the dummy along with his aura, flash freezing it. As he let his spear dissipate, the ice sculpture fell to the ground and shattered into a thousand tiny shards.

  Panting, he glared at the servants huddling at the side. Sniveling cowards.

  “Bring me another!”

  “Of course my lord!” one of them squeaked. “Right away!”

  The doors to the training hall slammed open before they could move, letting in a rush of icy air along with the sun’s bright light. Kieran’s rage froze in his veins as his father marched in. Serfroid Dunet was an older mirror of Kieran himself, with the same dark hair and silvery eyes, matched but for the scar at the edge of his lip, a mark of the war against Nladia.

  He hadn’t come alone either—Kieran’s mother, his uncle, his grandparents—almost every major member of the Dunet family was present. Why?

  Kieran swallowed the lump in his throat. “Father, welcome back, I—”

  “Silence.”

  Gazing around the room, his father’s expression grew more and more displeased. “I should have expected you’d be throwing a tantrum. It would be too much to ask for you to be a man even in failure.”

  Kieran lowered himself to his knees, pressing his forehead against the cool stone. Try as he might, he couldn’t prevent his body from trembling, and he could only hope it would be allowed to pass this time. Failure already weighed heavily upon him, and his punishment would certainly be sufficiently grave for one sin alone.

  Finally, after a long silence, his father spoke. “Raise your head and face me Kieran.”

  Slowly, he lifted his eyes and looked upwards, hoping to find some trace of warmth. There was none.

  “Come here boy.”

  “Father, I—”

  “I said come here.”

  Kieran rose, preparing himself for whatever was coming. His father held out an arm and pulled him in close, though his embrace was cold.

  “I’m sorry, my son,” he whispered. “It seems I’ve failed you.”

  “Father?” Despite his confusion, Kieran’s eyes began to water. The tone was almost gentle, he’d never heard it before.

  “I should have been harder on you,” Serfroid’s voice cracked. “Perhaps then, you wouldn’t have turned out so weak.”

  A sharp blow slammed into Kieran’s gut, and he dropped to the ground, losing what little he’d had to eat as he retched and clutched his stomach.

  He managed to roll over and look up at those cold, silvery eyes. “Why?”

  “I will not let the Dunet family be given to a weak leader when a better candidate exists,” Serfroid said, though he wasn’t speaking to Kieran any longer. He was projecting his voice to everyone present, the whole family. “I declare my son unfit to be the heir.”

  “No,” Kieran’s eyes widened as the words hit him harder than the blow to the gut. “It wasn’t my fault! I was betrayed by my own teammate! It was Genevisc. It was his fault!”

  “Only the weak assign blame to others. You have been given every opportunity, every resource, and yet you squander them away one by one. But if you truly believe my judgement to be in error, then I will give you one last chance to prove yourself.”

  “Thank you!” Kieran scrambled to his feet. He couldn’t stay on the ground. He couldn’t look weak in front of them. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it! You’ll see I’m more than fit! This was nothing but a fluke!”

  Only when his eyes left Kieran, did his father smile softly. “Neige. Come forward.”

  Kieran’s younger brother, the genius of House Dunet, stepped out of the crowd. His features were soft, almost feminine, framed by long, silvery hair. If their father’s face was that of the harsh tundra, Neige’s was like the first snow of winter. His eyes flicked toward Kieran impassively, like he didn’t even care to be present.

  “What is it father?” He asked, voice flat.

  “This house has no need for weakness,” Serfroid said loudly. “Thus, let the weaker of you be culled, and the stronger remain.”

  “Okay,” Neige nodded, his expression unchanging.

  But Kieran felt sweat gathering on his brow. “You can’t mean for us to duel. I’m your eldest son!”

  “Then you should have no trouble defeating your younger brother.”

  Frost formed in the air in front of Kieran as his breathing became shallow and rapid. He looked at his brother, then back to his father. His hands were trembling, and he let out a short laugh, his voice coming out low and raspy

  “This is how it is then. Fine, I’ll prove it to you all.”

  He reached for his aura, twisting it into the form of a long, icy spear, and a layer of frost formed on his skin as the temperature dropped even lower. Next, their family’s technique formed in the air over his shoulder, a crude shard of ice condensed from the mana there, awaiting his commands.

  “Come then, little brother,” he spat. “Let us see who is stronger.”

  ***

  The spear shattered in Kieran’s grasp, and he fell to his knees. A cold, thin blade was held at his throat, drawing the faintest trickle of blood—warmth leaving his body. In the air around Neige, three more elegant blades of ice hovered, silently waiting to strike.

  Deep down, he’d known the outcome before the battle had even begun. But to accept it was a different thing. Kieran couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t speak. The world was shaking, going dim. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair. He looked to his father pleadingly.

  “The result is clear.” His father’s voice didn’t waver even an inch. “Your position as the heir to House Dunet is forfeit. Kieran, I strip you of that title and bestow it upon your younger brother. Now begone from my sight.”

  Neige’s expression didn’t so much as twitch. It remained stolid as ever. Even as he stole everything from Kieran. Even as he took everything Kieran ever wanted, he still looked down with those same impassive eyes. Eyes that didn’t care for what he’d been given, and never had. Slowly, Neige withdrew the blade and bowed, mocking all of Kieran’s efforts with a single motion.

  When he walked back towards the rest of the family, their father placed both hands on his shoulders, looking down at him with a warm smile.

  “I’m proud of you, my son.”

  Hearing the words, something sickening bubbled up in Kieran’s chest. His fingers raked across the ground as he howled in frustration. “It's… It’s not fair!” His voice tore and he dragged himself up, stumbling towards them like a rabid animal. “I did everything you ever asked of me! Everything, everything, everything! You can’t take this from me! I won’t let you!”

  Serfroid glanced back, and Kieran was frozen once more, the strength leaving his body as he gazed into cold, harsh eyes. “Stop wailing like an infant, you pathetic son of mine.”

  Those aren’t the eyes of a father. Don’t look at me… not with those eyes.

  A whimper escaped his lips. “What—what am I to do then? What should I do?”

  But his father just turned away, leading the family out of the room, his hand on Neige’s shoulder. As the door swung closed, Kieran heard only one thing more.

  “I no longer care.”

  ***

  Slowly, Kieran opened his eyes, leaving the dream of the past behind as the strange light filling The Sanctum filled his vision. He’d drifted while still upright, leaned against one of the inner walls of the tree. It was peaceful within this realm, silent save for a single, slow drip.

  Across a small pool of water, Vaeril drained his blood into the hollowed tree that rested there. With each drop, the golden beam shooting up from within it flickered, growing weaker, and the ethereal light filling the room dimmed.

  Vaeril tilted his head slightly, as if he’d felt the instant Kieran woke. “Tell me, apprentice… were you asleep?”

  Kieran watched as the water in the pool slowly grew black and murky, the effects of the poison spreading more with each moment.

  “No.” His voice had gotten lower over the past two years, more like his father’s. With every word, old wounds bled, and his anger continued to burn. “I was merely dozing.”

  “The human body clings so fervently to its weaknesses, no matter how strong it becomes. But do not worry. Soon, you will leave it behind as I have.”

  Kieran didn’t need a reminder. The syringe in his pocket was hot against his leg, begging to be used. He could almost hear it whispering, like it had a mind of its own.

  If you just use me, you can have everything you want. I will grant you the power you seek. Fill yourself with my power, and make it your own.

  “It isn’t time yet,” he said, though he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince.

  “No.” Vaeril agreed. “You must become as strong as possible before apotheosis. Don’t let yourself be trapped by your own impatience. You have not yet reached the limits of your strength. If you cannot restrain yourself, your goal will remain out of reach.”

  “Of course,” Kieran inclined his head. The whispers slowly faded. Only then did he realize he’d grabbed the vial without thinking. He released it as he let out a frosty breath. “You speak wisdom, as always.”

  “Something has convinced the sages that now is the time for bold moves. I suspect things are going to become interesting very soon. Nonetheless, once Haoma withers to nothing, we can resume your training.”

  Vaeril returned his focus to the tree as Kieran contemplated his words. He had not met the sages himself—it was an honor bestowed only upon a few, like the first asura. If he became the second, he would surely be granted an audience as well. It mattered little to him though, much like the goals of the church itself. Unlike Vaeril, Kieran’s desires were not one with their own. But they’d promised him power, and he owed a debt to his new master. He would pay it when the time came.

  The slow trickle of blood continued to darken the pool. As he stared into it long enough, he thought he could almost see something glimmering gold in the sand. He took a single step into the water, eyes transfixed.

  “Ah…” Vaeril’s voice pulled him back. “It seems we have visitors. Two of them to be precise. Fire and ash.”

  Kieran’s eyes narrowed. “Genevisc. So, he hasn’t given up then.”

  “The boy you mentioned?” Vaeril asked.

  “Yes.” Kieran straightened, walking calmly towards the exit, a spear of ice forming in his hands. “Don’t concern yourself with them master. I’ll handle them on my own.”

  “Keep yourself in check, Kieran. Do not let your emotions take over. Pride is a sharp blade, and you have the right to wield it. But it can turn on you just as easily, as can anger.”

  Beneath Kieran’s feet, the grass froze over, frost following his footsteps.

  “Losing is an impossibility. Until I return to Taravast, until the day comes when I see those disdainful eyes go dim, and those impassive eyes filled with despair… I will not die.”