“Master!”

  Eryndor paused, glancing in the direction of Luscien’s voice as it echoed out over the river. He spotted him, along with the other two boys, atop a ridge a short distance away. It was difficult to sense them through the flames—their presences were weakened significantly as well, likely due to injury—but he was able to make them out.

  When the Spirit Tree had erupted with flame, Eryndor had thought it auspicious, but Haoma’s cleansing didn’t mean they’d all survived. Their arrival had confirmed his hopes though, and he allowed himself a moment of relief. On the other side of the battlefield, Vaeril’s expression darkened.

  “You have my condolences,” Eryndor said honestly. “But this is over. You’ve lost.”

  “Is that right?” The asura clenched his fists. “So the boy is dead… What of it? It just means he was too weak to—” His voice caught, and he let out a shuddering breath. “No. Your students must be strong. They have my respect. Kieran is dead, and this pain I feel is the surest proof that I still live. I’m sure you know of it, don’t you Eryndor?”

  Eryndor met his eyes. “I do.”

  “In my place, would you surrender?”

  “I understand. Then I will cut you down.”

  Vaeril smiled. “You will try. Even if he is gone, I can still carry out my apprentice’s wish. And though your students may be strong, they cannot stop me. The solstice is still young, and my duty can still be fulfilled. Do you really think you have the strength to finish me?”

  “Of course I do!” Eryndor matched him with a wide grin.

  “Master!” Luscien shouted again, louder this time. “He isn’t a channeler! That man has a core!”

  His eyes widened. A core? Like a monster? Eryndor didn’t understand all the details, but the meaning behind the message was clear, and he immediately understood its importance.

  Vaeril snarled, launching back onto the attack, and Eryndor parried, dancing away as the statue embedded a massive blade in the ground where he’d been standing only a moment before.

  “So,” he yelled. “That’s why you’re still bursting with energy.”

  “The secret is out,” Vaeril said even while they fought. “You won’t run me dry any time soon, Eryndor. You’ve been wasting your time!”

  A sword caught Eryndor’s side, and he grunted as he spun away, searing the wound closed. Vaeril had him on the defensive now—Eryndor had taken the worse of their earlier exchanges, and the wounds steadily collected over the course of the battle were slowing him down.

  After waking up, he hadn’t had time to fully recover either. He was grateful to Sadof for taking the asura’s arm. If he’d had to contend with Vaeril’s full strength, he doubted he would have any chance at all.

  “But,” he growled. “I will not lose here!” A heavy swing threw Vaeril back from the clash. “I told you I’d dismantle that technique of yours, and I keep my promises.”

  Behind Vaeril, the massive stone statue finally broke and faded away, as the flames in the air rushed in to consume it. Vaeril scowled, spitting black blood onto the ground.

  “Don’t get so cocky, Eryndor. Even without my technique, I have more than enough strength left. You’re still hiding that fifth form from me, but one way or another, I’ll force you to use it, and when it fails, this fight is over.”

  “If it fails!” Eryndor leveled his sword. “But my students are watching. So I don’t plan on losing here.”

  ***

  “I don’t understand,” Corrin frowned. “What just happened?”

  Luscien’s eyes stayed glued to the battle. “This was his plan all along. You’ve noticed how difficult thick fire mana is to channel I’m sure—it devours the mana around it, and even physical objects, using them both like fuel to propagate further. Even we fire channelers have to be careful to keep it in check—or we’ll burn ourselves from the inside out.

  “That goes doubly so for channelers of other aspects. It’s a common tactic, spreading fire mana throughout the air until your opponent’s ability to channel is crippled. But more than that, it makes wide-range techniques like that guy’s almost impossible to maintain. The fact he held it for so long is absurd.”

  “I get it,” Corrin nodded. He could barely breathe, even from so far away. Wyn didn’t seem to be having as much trouble—he was cheating—but even without trying to channel, Corrin could still feel flames entering his lungs with each breath. No wonder Eryndor had wanted to take the fight away from the city. He wouldn’t have been able to let loose with other people around.

  “That’s why you needed to tell him,” Wyn said, realization dawning. They’d told him about Kieran’s core after Luscien had initially yelled. “If that asura was a channeler, he’d be almost out of aura by now. But if he’s got a core…”

  “Then his supply isn’t going to run out any time soon,” Luscien confirmed. “Even one just the size that Kieran had, will have more than enough power.”

  “But now that he knows it, he can change strategies right?” Corrin asked.

  Down on the battlefield, a wave of fire crashed down and erupted, sending out another blast of heat and pressure that rippled against Corrin’s skin.

  Luscien’s face was tight. “I don’t know. I’ve never actually seen my master fight at full strength. With his plan defunct, and the asura’s technique collapsed, they’ll both have to dig deeper. I—I have no idea what’s going to happen from here.”

  ***

  “Fourth Form, Purifying Flame!” Eryndor chased the wave of fire inwards, using it to obscure his approach across the molten earth.

  Vaeril charged through them with a battlecry, skin steaming but alive as the clash of their swords sent shockwaves across the island. The second sword snaked past Eryndor’s guard, but he was ready, spinning into it and robbing the attack of any force as it deflected harmlessly on his enchanted cape. Using the opening, he switched to half-sword and wrenched the first blade from Vaeril’s grasp.

  It clattered against the stone, but Eryndor paid the price. Pain exploded in his stomach as Vaeril slammed his fist against it. Biting down a cry, Eryndor pushed through, driving his sword into Vaeril’s shoulder, and the asura bit down a howl of pain.

  Before he could retaliate, Eryndor moved, yanking his sword from the flesh and kicking Vaeril upwards with enough force to shatter stone.

  Flames condensed on his blade as he drew it back. “Second form, Scorching—”

  Mid-air, Vaeril twisted, slashing his blade through the empty air as he yelled defiantly.

  Sensing mana gathering to his side, Eryndor abandoned his technique and brought his blade around, bracing it with both hands as a massive spectral sword crashed against it. Even if the attack was weaker—he hadn't thought Vaeril would still be able to pull it off.

  Landing deftly, Vaeril launched himself forwards again, not giving Eryndor an instant to breathe.

  Steel shrieked as Eryndor yielded ground, parrying the succession of blows through nothing other than years of training. Each clash sent sparks spraying into the inferno around them. A stray blow caught Eryndor’s ribs, then his side.

  I’m slowing, he cursed mentally. They’d both gotten weaker since the battle started, but whatever Vaeril’s body was made from, his stamina was inhuman.

  “Getting tired?” he taunted.

  Eryndor smiled through clenched teeth. “You’re imagining things.”

  Vaeril’s answering grin was feral. “No.”

  A knee drove into Eryndor’s thigh, buckling his stance. Before he could recover, Vaeril yanked him forward and headbutted him, light bursting in his vision. The follow-up slash came, and Eryndor twisted too slow. The blade tore across his side, deeper than the earlier wound.

  Heat flared as he instinctively forced mana into the injury, sealing it as best he could, but the damage had been done. His breath hitched, lungs refusing to fill properly as pain radiated through his ribs.

  He disengaged with a burst of flame, forcing distance between them at last. The ground hissed beneath his boots as he skidded to a stop, one hand pressed against his side.

  Damn.

  Across from him, Vaeril rolled his shoulder. Blood dripped freely onto the ground where it bubbled and steamed, but his eyes were bright. “There it is,” he said quietly. “You’ve reached your limit.”

  Eryndor was hunched over, breathing harshly. The flames around them roared, filling the silence between them. On the ridge across the river, he could hear shouting—he couldn’t make out the words.

  His sword trembled, and he tightened his grip. The weight in his limbs was undeniable now, and once more, cold uncertainty began to creep in at the edges of his thoughts.

  And as those old doubts crept up, he found himself thinking of the past.

  ***

  Seven Years Ago

  Eryndor was twenty-two years old, fresh from graduation as a third-class spirit knight. He’d been talented as a youth, but talent was the bare minimum for students of the academy. His three years there had passed, and then one more, without much note. He’d gotten stronger, but never elevated himself above his peers. He hadn’t been recruited by any of the companies, and instead was sent off to military duty, stationed in the coastal city of Flens, to the south.

  That didn’t bother him greatly though, even if he would likely remain in third-class for the rest of his career. What use was there for strength? Spirit knight was just a rank, and he might as well be proud of what he’d already accomplished.

  “Did you hear? They say the war is likely going to end soon.”

  As he walked by, he turned his ear to a pair of older men sitting at an outdoor cafe.

  “What a load a’ junk,” the second one replied. “We finally take a real foothold in that hell and now they wanna call it quits?”

  “We lost a hundred thousand taking Atama. Think that’s enough?”

  “Enough for who?” the second man scoffed. “Not for the boys who didn’t come back. If we stop now, what was the point?”

  The first man hesitated. “Point is, people are tired. My sister’s husband came back last winter. Doesn’t sleep, barely talks.”

  “Damned animals,” the second muttered. “Savages burned their own ports before letting us take ‘em. Can’t make peace with people like that.”

  A woman at the next table clicked her tongue. “Maybe because you keep calling them animals.”

  “Spend a year over there and you stop seeing the difference. And mind your damn business.”

  Eryndor kept walking, and the conversation faded behind him, replaced by the sound of gulls and distant surf.

  Eventually he came down to the docks, where the scent of salt and brine was strong on the wind. Morning catches still lay packed in crushed ice as fishermen called prices out over one another. Boats moved in and out busily. Even in war, people still needed to eat, life kept drifting on.

  He ducked into a small fishmonger’s at the front of a pier, half open to the sea breeze, and was immediately met by a young, yet dry voice.

  “You’re back, huh imposter?”

  Eryndor sighed, looking down at the young boy leaning against the counter. His name was Tobi. “I’m back. And as I already told you, I’m not an imposter.”

  “So you say.” Tobi had a piece of straw in his mouth, though as to why, Eryndor couldn’t begin to guess. “Tell me mister, are you really a spirit knight?”

  “You ask me that each time,” Eryndor said patiently, setting a few coins down in front of the boy’s father. “And the answer is still the same.”

  Tobi frowned, clearly dissatisfied, and looked him up and down again. Eryndor wore plain training robes, faded from salt and sun. At his hip, his sword was wrapped in cloth to keep the sea air off the metal. He was well-built of course, he had to be, but other than that, he didn’t seem particularly impressive, right down to his dull brown hair that lay flat on his head.

  “Shouldn’t spirit knights be cooler than you?” he asked bluntly.

  Behind the counter, his father snorted while gutting a fish. “Mind your manners. My apologies Sir Kaelburn.”

  “No no,” Eryndor chuckled. “It’s more than alright.”

  Tobi crossed his arms. “You know I was watching you practice with that other knight yesterday, and you never do anything cool. I don’t even know what your moves are called, aren’t they supposed to have names? Like—” he swung an imaginary sword, nearly knocking over a basket. “Flame Dragon’s Breath! Yeah, that’s way cooler.”

  Eryndor smiled dryly. “I wasn’t aware the training yard was visible from the street. Did you perhaps climb up onto a roof to watch over the wall?”

  “Um… well that’s not really the point I mean—”

  His mother laughed from where she was sorting shells into a crate. “You’ve been listening to the bards again haven’t you, Tobi?”

  “Well, it is cooler,” he insisted. He looked back at Eryndor with open disappointment. “When I’m older, I’m going to become a spirit knight. And I’m going to be super cool, and everybody will look up to me! Not like you.” He stuck his tongue out.

  Eryndor considered it for a moment. “That sounds like a good goal.”

  The boy blinked, thrown off. “You’re not mad?”

  “Why would I be?” Eryndor rested his elbows on the counter. “I hope it works out for you.”

  His father barked out a laugh. “Hear that Tobi? You’ve got a shot.”

  “Don’t encourage him,” the mother said, though she was smiling.

  The boy squinted. “Why’d you even become a spirit knight mister?”

  Eryndor paused. The question caught him off guard more than he’d expected. For a moment, he could hear the waves lapping gently against the pier.

  “I just happened into it I guess,” he said at last. “And I was good enough.”

  With a final sigh, Tobi deflated. “That’s boring too!”

  “Most things are. You’ll figure that out eventually.”

  “No way!” Tobi shouted. “I won’t let you win, you hear me? I’m going to be the coolest spirit knight ever! Now I’m going to my secret spot to train, so don’t even think about following me!”

  As he ran off, Eryndor called to his back. “If you do become a spirit knight, try not to shout your attack names too loudly. Makes it easier for people to dodge.”

  Tobi slowed and frowned, considering this as if it were serious tactical advice. Then, he shook his head and ran off, leaving the adults that remained to laugh amongst themselves.

  “Don’t let him bother you too much,” his father said as he finished wrapping a parcel of fish and slid it across the counter. “Truth is, he really looks up to you. Talks about you every night at dinner.”

  Eryndor picked up the fish and tucked it under his arm. “It’s more than alright. Truthfully it’s nice to hear his optimism, and he reminds me of my younger brother as well. Anyways, I’ll be stopping by again the day after tomorrow, so make sure to save me the best catch.”

  “Of course,” Tobi’s mother smiled. “It’s always a pleasure.”

  After a few more words, Eryndor stepped out into the sun, heading back the way he’d come. As he reached the corner, he cast one last look back at the small shop, then turned and went on ahead.

  ***

  The distant whistles and booms of artillery spells grew more distant as the Nladian fleet retreated down the coastline, driven off after several long hours of fighting. Ships lay half-sunk in the harbor, their hulls blackened by spells. The familiar smell of brine was now mixed with ash. It seemed too peaceful, the gentle lapping of the waves, and the cries of gulls overhead only occasionally interrupted by the sounds of humans.

  Mostly, people moved through the ruins in silence, some searching, others simply staring, still as statues.

  Eryndor walked without speaking, boots crunching over shattered wood and stone, until he reached his destination.

  The docks were almost entirely gone, collapsed into the sea. What remained was little more than splintered beams and scorched masonry. Nets burned down to black threads clung to the broken posts, shifting in the wind. For hundreds of feet up the shore, the city lay entirely in ruin.

  He didn’t know how long he stood there, thinking of the boy with straw in his teeth. Of the dream that would no longer be.

  The waves rolled in and out beneath the wreckage.

  This isn’t right.

  ***

  The war ended within the year, following a decisive victory in the Nladian city of Rakuen. Thirty years of conflict had finally come to an end, welcomed with festivals and parades that lasted for weeks. The world was changing, entering a new era.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Eryndor was changing too.

  His hair was too dull for a spirit knight’s, so he dyed it—blond streaked with red, evoking his aspect.

  Spirit Knight is not a rank. It is an ideal. He must smile more broadly, laugh more loudly than any others.

  Similarly, he traded dull robes and armor for a brilliant white coat, trimmed in glimmering gold. It reminded him of the academy’s uniforms, but he added a flaming red cape for extra style. Some of his colleagues had laughed at his garishness, but he just grinned and donned it anyway.

  When you come to a village, you ride in and out slowly. Let them see you. They must know that you are there.

  Eryndor trained harder, far surpassing the limits he’d placed upon himself. At only twenty-five, he achieved the rank of second-class spirit knight. He kept going, and before he knew it, Eryndor was twenty-nine years old.

  “That’s just how time goes,” Headmaster Reinhardt had chuckled when he complained about it over drinks. “The older you get, the faster the years go by. When you get to my age, you can blink, and watch a promising student become a man right in front of your eyes.”

  Eryndor took a sip of the liquor and laughed. By now, it wasn’t even an act. “You’re not so old sir. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of years left in you yet.”

  “I’ll toast to that,” the headmaster grinned.

  It seemed like just yesterday he’d become a second-class spirit knight, and the head of the Edrian Swordcraft Academy had approached him to be involved in certain clandestine affairs. His family’s connections in Liresil made him perfect for the role, and second-class spirit knights that the headmaster trusted more than Eryndor were rare.

  Eryndor had to wonder though, why he always chose the seediest bars to meet in.

  “You know,” Reinhardt said eventually. “A position has opened up at the academy. I’m looking for a new professor, and I was wondering if you would be willing to fill it.”

  Eryndor considered it for a long moment. “Thank you for the offer sir, but I don’t believe I would be any good at teaching. And besides, I think I could do more good elsewhere. I’m still plenty young.”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  “Nothing at all.”

  “You know, Instructor Sezim started even younger than you are now. You’d have to take time off around the solstice of course, but we could get you a sub.”

  “Sounds like you’re just trying to give me more work,” Eryndor laughed.

  The headmaster grinned. “Well, I still want you to consider it. If you’re serious about that dream of yours, then you’re going to need strong, like-minded allies. This could be the perfect opportunity, so don’t dismiss it out of hand. Perhaps try taking on an apprentice this summer and see how you feel about it.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Eryndor said, swirling his drink. “Did you have someone in mind?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. I think you’ll take quite a liking to him…”

  ***

  Present Day

  The river crashed tumultuously against the shore of the island, hissing and bubbling as it boiled. There was no peace to be found here, only the height of battle. The rush and the fear stirred in Eryndor’s chest, a dangerous maelstrom as he slowly straightened back up.

  In the sky, the sun finally peaked out from behind the moon, and the shadow passed the other side. Light began to return as the totality came to an end.

  A spirit knight doesn’t bend so easily. He scolded himself, adjusting his grip on his blade.

  “Oh?” Vaeril smiled predatorily. “Still got some fight in you?”

  Eyndor took a deep breath, filling his body with even more power. He could feel the flames begin to sear him from the inside.

  “First form, Burning Wake.”

  The air cracked as he shot forwards faster than sound. Vaeril reacted in time, moving to parry, but it was a feint. Eryndor spun to the side, changing direction so abruptly his vision blackened for a moment. But his lips were already parting again.

  “Second form, Scorching Halo.”

  A ring of white-hot sunfire tore across Vaeril’s chest, whirling like a sawblade as it dug into his skin. Black blood splattered and burnt as he tried to grab it, and it forced him back across the ground.

  “Third form, Conflagration.”

  Eryndor’s blade pierced the earth, and cracks appeared, spewing flames up into the air. All around the battlefield, geysers of fire erupted, and the air grew even hotter as the flames thickened, rising up even beyond the clouds, which began to burn away with the heat.

  “Fourth form, Purifying Flame.”

  Just as Vaeril recovered from the earlier attack, a wave of flames raced towards him, and once more. Eryndor didn’t follow them in this time though, making them even hotter and wider ranging, obscuring the asura’s senses as he raised his sword into the air.

  “Fifth form, Final Meteor!”

  Light streaked across the twilight sky, hurtling down from the heavens. The remaining clouds burst apart as it broke through. Deep within the flames on the ground, Vaeril stretched up a hand.

  An instant later, the meteor struck.

  The island caved in beneath the falling star, and a pillar of fire tore skyward as a shockwave flattened the land for hundreds of feet in every direction. The river flash-boiled, exploding outward in walls of scalding steam.

  Eryndor stumbled, panting hard as he felt his channels seizing up. It was all he could do to stay standing, but he wouldn’t fall. His blade trembled again in his blistered grip—though no longer from fear. Despite the intensity of the attack, he kept his eyes forward, watching the crater as the dust settled and the flames died.

  In the center of the crater, Vaeril was still standing, one arm still raised, blackened and ruined. His hand had been completely destroyed, leaving a charred stump in its place. But he was still very much alive. Across his lips stretched a gleaming white smile.

  He took a step forward, and the molten ground sizzled beneath his feet.

  “... Impressive.”

  And he kept walking.

  ***

  “There’s—there’s no way…” The disheartened words left Corrin’s lips as he saw the asura emerge from the crater and begin to move again. “After all that?”

  Wyn’s face was white. “Can someone like that really exist?”

  “What a monster,” Luscien said, his body shaking. Next to him, Kita was crouched low, his ears flattened against his head.

  Corrin felt a deep pit opening up in his stomach. A spirit knight couldn’t lose—they couldn’t. Even a bastard like Tor was supposed to be invincible. It was like gravity had disappeared, and he felt suddenly unmoored. Logically, he knew they were only human, but the thought of it had been distant, even more a fantasy than the all-powerful warriors in his mind.

  Now, as Eryndor stood bloodied and beaten, facing down the end, it was all too real. The image began to crack, and he felt something start to slip away from him.

  And that scared Corrin even more than death.

  “Luscien!” He turned, desperate. “You have to—” He bit back the words. What was Luscien supposed to do? Even Corrin could tell it would be like rabbits trying to kill a bear. Even if his leg wasn’t broken, he couldn’t move. He could hardly even breathe in this air.

  Damn it. Damn it! He slammed his fists against the ground, tears of frustration blurring his vision. I’m too weak!

  Even still, Luscien’s three tails sputtered to life. His eyes were wide and unfocused as he muttered. “I have to help… I have to—somehow…”

  Wyn held the wheel out in front of him, shaking it. “What do I do?”

  Slowly, Corrin turned away, his fingers clenching in the dirt. He just couldn’t watch any more. If this was the end, he didn’t want to see it.

  “Keep your eyes open!”

  A voice roared out over the river, filled with fire. Corrin’s head snapped up from the weight of it, and he saw Eryndor straighten up once more. He was looking at them now, staring straight across the river towards the ridge where the three of them stood.

  “If you wish to be a spirit knight, then don’t look away, any of you! If I were to fall here, would you simply hang your heads in despair?” Despite his appearance, Eryndor’s voice carried a seemingly bottomless well of strength. “Despair is a luxury for lesser men! The weight of failure, the burden of responsibility… A spirit knight is one who bears them with his head held high! So watch! And I’ll show you now, what true resolve really is!”

  The words rang in Corrin’s ears, echoing over and over. Looking across the river, he thought he could see the expression on Eryndor’s face, even from so far away. It wasn’t one of defeat or fear. His eyes burned, their flames unquenched.

  Like mist on a summer’s day, the fog over Corrin’s heart cleared. At once, he felt like a child again, looking up at the spirit knight in the forest, watching the very image of his dream in action.

  He was filled with a profound sense of gratefulness, and a singular thought.

  I’m so glad that I came here.

  ***

  Eryndor smiled slightly as he turned away from the ridge. If he was to leave behind a legacy, then he needed to make sure it was the right one. Winning wasn’t enough for a spirit knight. The way they won mattered, and he wouldn’t brook any compromise.

  “It was a nice speech,” Vaeril clapped mockingly, his stance unguarded. “But this is over. That trump card of yours failed. You have nothing left.”

  It took everything Eryndor had not to laugh.

  “You know, my father once told me, ‘the best liar is an honest man’. Seems he was right.”

  Vaeril frowned.

  Eryndor inhaled.

  Across the entire island, the flames fell. He exhaled, and they rose. Inhale, exhale. The flames dipped and rose with each breath.

  Throughout the entire battle, he’d suffused fire into the air and earth, letting them devour all the ambient mana to fuel themselves, spreading even further. His fire. How many years ago had he devised this scheme? It was so simple he’d almost suspected it wouldn’t work. But he’d played his part unflinchingly, and everyone had believed him.

  The five forms of the Kaelburn family.

  Eryndor pulled in a breath. “Sixth form…”

  All around them, the ocean of fire bent. Flames tore free of the earth, wrenched out of molten stone. They rose, screaming from the river in spirals of steam. They peeled out of the air itself, drawn into him by an inexorable gravity. The ground cooled in their wake, as if winter had fallen in an instant, and the sky dimmed as the last embers disappeared.

  His insides turned to fire, and Eryndor began to burn from the inside out. Pain, like an inferno exploded in his mind, intense and all-consuming. But he just grinned, drawing his sword back.

  “... Blazing Requiem!”

  Realizing his mistake, Vaeril threw his arms up desperately, his technique forming in the now-desolate air. But it was too late.

  Eryndor's body moved. His blade fell. And the world compressed into a pinpoint of light and heat.

  ***

  The sun had already set behind the tall fence of the courtyard at the Kaelburn estate in Taravast, but the embers of daylight still remained, bathing the sky in warm red hues. Crickets were chirping loudly in the hedges, a nostalgic song that reminded Eryndor of the summers of his youth.

  To his right, his younger brother Cilen was leaning back on the wooden walkway, which creaked slightly as he did. They hadn’t spoken as much in the years since Eryndor’s graduation. He’d kept busy with his duties as a spirit knight, and also, he just hadn’t really known how to talk to him. Cilen detested fighting, and Eryndor had always found it easier to connect with their sister, who had just become a third-class spirit knight as well.

  When he’d left for Flens, Cilen had been a boy of only eight, but now he was a young man, trying to find his own way in the world. Eryndor couldn’t help but regret missing so much of his life.

  “Brother,” Cilen said, his eyes on the sky. “You’re… so different than you used to be.”

  Eryndor laughed. Like he didn’t know that. “Is that so? Is it a good change?”

  “Well, in some ways, yeah. But I don’t know… you’re more annoying than you used to be.”

  “I see…” Eryndor chuckled awkwardly.

  “Have you talked to mother and father lately? About me I mean.” Cilen seemed nervous, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve, unable to meet Eryndor’s eyes.

  Eryndor thought about how to respond for a while, watching his brother closely. “They tell me you don’t want to be a spirit knight,” he said. “You want to go into theatre instead, isn’t that right?”

  Cilen nodded. “What do you think of that?”

  Eryndor slowly stood up, brushing his robes off and then patting his brother on the head. “I think it’s a wonderful thing! After all, a man has to kindle the fires within his heart!”

  Cilen let out a breath of relief. “Could you talk to them about it then? Please Eryndor? They’re not happy with me at all.”

  “I’ll do what I can. Your older brother is always in your corner after all.” Eryndor smiled. “But Cilen, you have to promise me one thing?”

  Cilen looked up, and Eryndor met his eyes. “What’s that?”

  “Whatever you do, whoever you become, be it a spirit knight, an actor, or anything inbetween—make sure to burn as brightly as you can. And once you do, share that fire inside with everyone you encounter, and help them to burn brighter as well. So long as you do that, no matter the outcome, then you’ll be a little brother I can be proud of.”

  “Burn brightly?” Cilen snorted. “What happened to you? Seriously.”

  “Well?”

  Cilen stood up, his eyes more confident than they had been before. “I promise. I'll burn even brighter than you.”

  “Good!” Eryndor grinned. “And I’ll do the same. It’s my responsibility after all. I’ll be an older brother that you can look up to. That’s a promise.”

  ***

  The flames finally extinguished, and the world returned. Eryndor had fallen to his knees, taking Vaeril with him. His blade had carved a smoldering gash from the asura’s shoulder all the way down to his stomach, where it had lodged in deep, pressed against something solid.

  His body was spent, and he could feel the flames that lingered inside still burning him away. Even in peak condition, the sixth form would leave him crippled for months, recovering from the damage so much fire mana did to his body and soul. Now though…

  Vaeril coughed, blood splatting from his lips. He was still hanging on too.

  “Well played… Eryndor,” he choked out the words. “You were a worthy opponent, right to the end. But it still wasn’t enough. With this body, I can survive this, and your injuries are fatal.”

  “Yes,” Eryndor whispered. He let go of the hilt, and reached out slowly towards Vaeril. His fingers closed around the blade, and it cut easily, blood dripping onto his knees. He slid it out inch by inch, until it clattered onto the stone. With his left hand, he grabbed the asura and pulled him close, holding him firm. “I already knew that.”

  Eryndor took his hand and rammed it into Vaeril’s open wound, clenching tight around the core in his chest.

  “Wait,” Vaeril tried to pull away, but Eryndor refused to let him go. “What are you—”

  Flames erupted one last time. They poured back out of Eryndor, drawn along his arm and forced up into the core.

  Vaeril screamed as his essence was consumed, and he tried to fight back, but with Eryndor holding him close, he couldn’t get any leverage.

  “Eryndor!” He began to form his technique even as he burned, and countless spectral arms slammed down against them, blow after blow hitting them both in a desperate barrage.

  Not knowing where he got the strength, not caring, Eryndor grit his teeth and held him even tighter. “Vaeril!” The core, glowing crimson in Vaeril’s chest began to crack.

  The two men roared like beasts as their two wills were pitted against each other, their resolves weighed on the scales of fate. For the briefest of moments, as their deaths approached, their souls connected, and without words, they understood.

  A spirit knight is one who sees his duty through till the very end!

  “This all ends here!” Eryndor shoved the last of his aura into Vaeril’s chest, and the core finally shattered. “Burn up you specter! Your time has passed!”

  All at once, the flames vanished, and the blows ceased. The world grew still. Eryndor loosened his grip, and Vaeril’s body fell backwards, already crumbling into dust with its core destroyed.

  “Damn…” Vaeril muttered. And then, he was gone.

  Eryndor stared at the ash as it blew away on the wind. “May your next life be easier than this one, Vaeril.”

  Stand up Eryndor. You’ve got to stand up.

  Somehow, he did, shakily getting to his feet, just to show that he could. It was important, the message it sent. As he did, in his blurry vision, he thought he saw a figure standing in the water, a young boy with a piece of straw in his mouth. It was a hallucination, no doubt, but he didn’t really mind.

  “Not bad, imposter,” Tobi grinned. “I would’ve done better myself. But you were pretty damn cool.”

  A small chuckle escaped Eryndor’s lips, and the image vanished as three other figures stumbled through it, shouting out to him as they came onto shore.

  With a smile on his face, he fell backwards onto the ground.

  ***

  Corrin couldn’t even feel his broken leg as he limped across the glassy ground. He could hardly see through the tears in his eyes, and a confusing maelstrom of emotions swirled in his heart.

  “Master!” Luscien cried out as they got close.

  They came to a halt where Eryndor lay, limbs spread, his chest rising shallowly with each breath.

  “Just stay still!” Wyn was shouting. “We’ll get you to a healer! Luscien can carry you!”

  Luscien bent down, his eyes wide and filled with tears. “That’s right! Just hold on master!”

  Eryndor grabbed his arm. “Don’t bother, it’d be a waste of time.”

  “No no no!” Corrin yelled, falling over and grabbing at his cape. “You can’t die! There has to be something we can do!”

  He shook his head slowly, a resigned smile on his face. “The sixth form scorched my insides. Even if you could get me to a healer before the end, I’m beyond saving. Instead, I want you to listen to me, before I die.”

  “I’m sorry,” Luscien sobbed. “It’s my fault. I wasn’t strong enough to help.”

  Corrin looked down, feeling the same. Next to him, Wyn clenched the wheel, tears running down his face as well.

  But Eryndor shook his head again. “No. You all performed far beyond what could ever be asked of you. The blame for these events lies on my shoulders, not yours. Make no mistake, I am proud of each and every one of you. Now please, listen.”

  It did little for Corrin’s feelings of weakness, but he tried to push them down, and wiped his eyes, though tears still fell.

  “Luscien… I need you to deliver the news of what happened here to Headmaster Reinhardt. Tell no one else until you have talked to him.”

  “It will be done,” Luscien said through his tears. “I swear it.”

  “Good. And another thing, apologize to my brother for me. I won’t be able to attend any of his shows. My sister as well, please tell her I believe in her. She’ll make a great head of house. The two of them need to support each other—they’re siblings after all.”

  Luscien swore again, and Eryndor smiled.

  “I can tell you’ve grown stronger, Luscien. If you defeated that boy from your past, then I have no doubt you can finally begin to move forward again. Have faith in yourself, and you will surely continue to grow even stronger. I’m only sorry I won’t be able to see what a splendid spirit knight you will become.”

  As he finally released Luscien’s hand, the boy broke down, cradling Kita in his arms as he cried.

  Next, Eryndor’s gaze slid over to Wyn.

  “Wyn… I see it now. You’re like Sadof was, or perhaps even Sezim. The one who healed the tree, it was you, wasn’t it?”

  Wyn couldn’t bring himself to speak. He just nodded as he cried.

  “I see the guilt in your eyes, but know this: you did well. No matter what else happened, countless children in this city will live because of your actions. I wish I could give you better advice, but I do not know the path you will walk. Regardless, hold your head high. Today, you were a true hero.”

  And last, he looked at Corrin, smiling gently.

  “Corrin, no matter what life may bring you, do not let that fire inside of you burn out. And remember, a candle loses nothing in sharing its flame with another—and the room will then be twice as bright. As you mature, try to temper that recklessness of yours. I would hate for you to join me too soon.”

  “Please…” Corrin whispered. “You can’t die.”

  Eryndor looked up at the sky. “I’m sorry. I think a true spirit knight… would not die.”

  That was the last straw, and Corrin fully broke down. His whole body shook as he cried into his hands.

  “Listen one more time, all of you. There was a world I wanted to create. A world where children can smile. Where they don’t have to fear, or cry. Where they can grow safely, and reach for their dreams without restraint.

  “It seems I won’t get to see that world for myself. I wasn’t strong enough to make it a reality. But the three of you… I’m certain you can all far surpass a substitute like me. So become strong, and gain allies. If you can do that, maybe… you can create… such a world.”

  Though none of them saw it, lost in their own tears, Eryndor’s eyes drifted once more to each of them, and a wide grin stretched across his face. If a spirit knight had to die, then maybe this was a good way to do it.

  “Yeah,” he whispered. “This isn’t so bad at all.”

  As the spirit knight, Eryndor Kaelburn, passed to the other side, Corrin screamed up into the cloudless sky.

  20-30 chapters. Ha! Truly I am the real Acolyte of Delusion.

  hope you guys were able to enjoy it as well.