TBATE: Corvis Eralith

Corvis Eralith

The final fragment of the obsidian dark rock I just mined, still humming with the deep, resonant earth mana of Geolus' essence, vanished into the shimmering aperture of one of my storage rings.

A profound silence descended in the grotto, broken only by the eternal drip of water from moss-laden walls and the Guardian Bear's soft, rhythmic breathing nearby.

Good, that's all the useful material I could gather, I thought, the mental sigh heavy with exhaustion and a strange, hollow satisfaction. The weight of the ring felt significant on my finger, a tangible echo of primordial power now bound to my purpose.

My gaze drifted to my gloved hands. Each finger bore a storage ring, ten in total—a small fortune in spatial artifice, procured through Vincent's extensive, discreet network before I had vanished from Xyrus.

Two were dedicated solely to the geological treasures Romulos demanded; the other eight bulged with meticulously packed supplies—rations for months, specialized tools, rare alchemical reagents, rolls of useful canvas, even prefabricated sections for a rudimentary lab. It was the inventory of an exile, a hermit preparing for a long siege against his own limitations.

"Stop that line of thought." Romulos's voice cut through the introspection like a shard of ice. He materialized beside the ancient pine, his arms crossed, his expression the stern mask of a drill sergeant inspecting a raw recruit.

"I will permit nostalgic indulgence concerning family or friends only when I deem your results satisfactory. Not a moment sooner."

Before the familiar spark of resentment could fully ignite, he added, his tone sharp and final, "And before you even consider whining, recall it was you who demanded this. You who pleaded for me to halt any retreat into sentimentality. You who requested I push you relentlessly until I declared it sufficient. Your wish is my… mandate."

Yes, I acknowledged silently, meeting his spectral gaze with a glare of my own. But you seem to take a distinct, sadistic pleasure in enforcing it.

"I do," he confirmed, a chillingly genuine smile spreading across his face, devoid of warmth, filled only with the clinical thrill of observing pressure applied to a specimen.

"The data on stress responses is fascinating. Now," he pivoted sharply, gesturing towards the grotto entrance, "move. We require a functional laboratory. Those eight rings of supplies won't unpack themselves."

I rolled my stiff shoulders, the ache of the climb and the tension of mining under the Guardian Bear's slumbering presence lingering in my muscles. Ignoring Romulos's infuriating presence was a practiced skill, but his assertion resonated painfully: I had chosen this path. I was not imposed to do it.

Driven by the crushing realization that my focus had always been outward—Tessia's safety, Grey's destiny, the looming war—while neglecting the crippled core at the center of it all: myself.

Grey, forging his strength through relentless combat and Sylvie's bond. Tessia, honing her Beast Will and her own acumen. They were capable of handling and grow by themselves. I was the one lagging behind, relying on intellect and artifice as a shield, not a sword. Enough.

This exile, this brutal tutelage under my own fractured, merciless reflection, was the crucible I had demanded.

Securing the ring holding Geolus's heart-stone, I turned towards the fissure leading out, moving with the silent caution ingrained after hours in the Guardian Bear's presence. One step, then another, eyes fixed on the sliver of night sky visible above.

The only light was given by the moon's pale light and some iridescent plants in the grotto.

A low, rumbling sigh, deeper than the mountain's bones, vibrated through the humid air. Not the sound of sleep. My blood ran cold. Slowly, dread coiling in my gut, I turned.

The Guardian Bear was awake. Fully awake. Her massive head, easily twice the size of my torso, was raised. Her large, luminous green eyes, pupils narrowed to slits in the grotto's pale light, were fixed directly on me.

Despite the Mirage Walk weave still humming faintly around me, she saw me. She knew.

Romulos! What do I do?! The mental scream was pure, undiluted panic. For the first time since his manifestation, Romulos Indrath offered no quip, no strategy, no scathing critique.

He stood frozen, a flicker of genuine uncertainty—perhaps even shock—in his red ancient eyes. Silence. Deafening, terrifying silence.

Fuck. THINK, Corvis! Flight was impossible. The fissure was narrow, the bear's speed terrifying. My uniform, reinforced by Against the Tragedy, might deflect claws for a tiny bit, but the sheer kinetic force of a blow from a creature forged to guard Asuras would pulp my insides in no time.

Desperate, horrifying scenarios flashed: detonating Sylvia's Mana Core behind the bear, using its bulk as a shield against the blast… the sheer waste, the sacrilege of destroying that legacy for survival… and the slim chance it would even work. The calculations spun, frantic and futile.

Then, the Guardian Bear moved. Not with predatory grace, but with a slow, deliberate heaviness. It didn't charge. It simply… shifted. Blocking the path to the fissure, its immense bulk filling the space between me and escape.

Yet, the expected surge of violent intent never came. Its posture wasn't aggressive; it was… hesitant. Curious. And in those vast, intelligent green eyes, reflecting the grotto's muted light… I didn't see anger, or territorial fury.

I saw a profound, aching loneliness. A loneliness so deep it resonated in the very air, thicker than the warm mist. It mirrored the hollow space carved within me by days of self-imposed isolation, amplified by Romulos's relentless suppression of desire of connection.

This ancient being, powerful enough to shatter buildings, radiated a vulnerability that was utterly disarming. It looked at me not as prey, nor as an intruder, but as… a possibility. A break in the years of silence and ache.

"You are alone, right?" The words left my lips before thought, soft, almost lost in the drip of water and her deep breaths. My voice felt alien in the sacred stillness.

The Guardian Bear grunted. A low, rumbling sound that vibrated through the stone beneath my boots. Not a threat. An affirmation. A confirmation of a solitude so vast it defied comprehension.

Its gaze flickered downwards, not to my coreless abdomen, but to the artifacts I carried then to Against the Tragedy on my forearm, to the rings on my fingers. Confusion warred with that deep-seated yearning in its eyes. The bear in front of me sensed the power bound to my body, strange and intricate, yet found no central source.

An enigma wrapped in solitude.

"I guess…" I murmured, taking a tentative step closer, my hand unconsciously rising, palm open, not in defense, but in tentative offering. "We're both hermits. Only, I chose this cage." My gesture encompassed the grotto, the mountains, the self-imposed exile.

"You… I don't know your story. But you've been truly alone. For lifetimes." The pity wasn't condescending; it was recognition. A kinship forged in the desolate landscape of isolation.

My small, gloved hand, the hand of a thirteen-year-old elven prince, touched the dense, surprisingly soft fur covering its massive muzzle. It was warm, vibrating with the low thrum of her life force. The contact sent a jolt through me—not fear, but connection.

The bear reacted instantly. Not with violence, but with a sound halfway between a whimper and a sigh. It lowered its colossal head, then, with startling gentleness considering its massive size, sat back on its haunches.

Its enormous front paws, capable of crushing boulders, rose… and enveloped me in a hug. It wasn't crushing; it was encompassing. Warm. Secure. Like being embraced by a mountain made gentle. It buried her massive muzzle against my shoulder, and a shuddering sob, deep and resonant as distant thunder, escaped from it.

Hot tears, startlingly human in their warmth, dampened the shoulder of my uniform. A Guardian Bear, forged by Asuran hands to be an instrument of divine protection, was weeping into the shoulder of a coreless lesser. The sheer vulnerability was overwhelming.

I stood frozen for a heartbeat, then instinct took over. My arms, absurdly small, wrapped as far as they could around the thick fur of the bear's neck. I held it, this ancient, lonely giant, as it grieved centuries of solitude.

My own eyes stung. I expected Romulos's inevitable mockery—a scathing comment about sentimentality clouding judgment.

He remained silent. When I risked a glance, he wasn't looking at me. His gaze was fixed on the huge bear hugging me, his usually arrogant, detached expression unreadable. A complex mix of awe, profound sadness, and… something that looked uncomfortably like shared understanding flickered in his ancient eyes before being ruthlessly shuttered. Loneliness.

It was the one chasm that bridged the vast differences between the Sovereign of Epheotus, the Coreless Prince, and this abandoned Guardian Bear. Was it the shared burden of all fractured instances of ourselves?

"Perhaps," Romulos finally murmured, his voice uncharacteristically low, devoid of its usual edge. He still refused to meet my eyes, studying a rivulet of water trickling down the mossy wall.

"What," he cleared his throat, the detachment forcibly returning, though it sounded brittle, "are we going to do with her?"

The Guardian Bwar, sensing the shift in my attention, the faint tension returning, loosened her embrace. She pulled back slightly, her tear-filled eyes downcast, radiating shame and renewed fear of rejection.

That look, the desperate hope dashed by perceived inadequacy, struck a chord deeper than any of Romulos's barbs. I understood that fear. The fear of being too broken, too different, to be worth keeping. Romulos, I suspected, understood it far more intimately than I ever could.

"Stop making assumptions about my life," he snapped, the icy, scientific detachment slamming back into place with palpable force, a shield against the vulnerability the scene had evoked. "You know nothing. You will know nothing. You have work to do. Deal with this… biological construct. Efficiently." The warmth was gone, replaced by the cold voice of a strategist assessing an inconvenient variable.

I turned back to the bear. Her immense head was lowered, but her eyes watched me, wide and pleading. Then, with heartbreaking tenderness, she nudged a large pine cone lying near her mossy bed towards me with her nose.

A focused pulse of earth mana, precise and controlled, cracked it open, revealing the small, precious nuts within. She nudged them closer, towards my feet. Not food she needed, but an offering. The only thing she had in her secluded sanctuary.

A desperate plea: don't go. Take this. Take anything. Just stay.

The simplicity of the gesture shattered me. It wasn't just loneliness; it was the raw, unvarnished terror of abandonment, enacted through the only language she knew. She was bargaining with pine nuts, offering her entire world to stave off the crushing silence again. A lump formed in my throat, thick and painful.

"You… you want me to stay?" The question was barely a whisper, hoarse with emotion. "Here? With you?"

The bear's reaction was instantaneous. Her massive head snapped up, green eyes blazing with desperate hope. A choked, whimpering grunt of pure affirmation escaped her, followed by a frantic, eager nod that made her jowls wobble. The sheer, unguarded joy breaking through the sorrow was luminous.

I looked around the hidden grotto. The ancient pine, the seeping walls, the warm mist, the vibrant, tiny ecosystem—it was a sanctuary. Sheltered, defensible, rich in ambient mana, and utterly hidden from prying eyes, whether Kezess's or Agrona's agents.

Romulos's earlier assessment echoed: Windsom maybe saw me as a useful tool, not worth expending significant resources to track once deemed stable. Agrona… Romulos didn't know Agrona was already aware. That secret, nestled within the inaccessible folds of my Meta-awareness and fragmented memories, was my one advantage.

"While I am certain Windsom, and potentially Grandfather, view you as a valuable asset for Epheotus," Romulos stated, his tone analytical, observing the bear's hopeful trembling, "it's improbable they've invested in active, long-range tracking. You're a tool in the shed, not a weapon drawn like what Grey is."

And Agrona? I prompted, testing his knowledge.

"Dad will discover you eventually," Romulos replied dismissively. "It's inevitable. But knowing my Father, his primary impulse will be curiosity. Assessment. He'll seek to understand if your unique… configuration… holds utility for him. Which," he conceded, "it undeniably does. So while you cannot hide from him indefinitely, immediate, overwhelming threat is unlikely. He prefers manipulation to blunt force. Usually."

He missed the crucial point—Agrona already knew. That ignorance was a shield I could use.

"I know," I replied simply, my attention fully on the bear. Her hopeful gaze was a tangible weight. "What about this, Berna?" I asked, using the name that felt right to me at the moment. "I stay here. For a while. To work." I gestured vaguely at the supplies, the grotto. "Would that…"

I didn't get to finish. A sound like a small earthquake of pure joy erupted from Berna. She lunged forward, not to crush, but to envelop. Her massive arms wrapped around me again, pulling me against her warm, thick fur. Great, heaving sobs shook her frame, tears streaming freely now, but these were tears of relief, of a burden millennia-old finally lifting.

She nuzzled my gunmetal hair, gentle as a kitten despite her size, rumbling purrs vibrating through my bones. The desperate, lonely guardian had found someone who saw her, not just her power or her purpose, but her profound isolation.

I hugged her back, burying my face in her soft fur, the scent of earth, pine, and warm animal a strange comfort. This unexpected companionship, this bond forged in shared solitude, wasn't part of the harsh, self-improvement plan. But as her immense warmth seeped into me, easing the cold knot of isolation Romulos's regime had fostered, I realized it was a different kind of strength. I wasn't alone on this mountain.

I had Berna.

"I heard that sentimental drivel," Romulos's voice cut in, though the usual bite was noticeably absent, replaced by something almost… weary. "And try not to let this oversized emotional support beast fog the clarity Meta-awareness requires. My help remains limited—watching you tinker with trinkets remains profoundly tedious."

He paused, then added, his tone shifting to detached curiosity, "Berna? An adequate designation. Functional. Now, how precisely do you intend to construct a laboratory capable of synthesizing Acclorite in a damp hole in the ground shared with a weeping mountain?"

I pulled back slightly from Berna's embrace, meeting her tearful, joyful gaze. A small, genuine smile touched my lips for the first time in days. The path ahead was still fraught, the pressure immense, Agrona's shadow loomed, and Romulos remained my merciless taskmaster.

But now I had to make turn this grotto, safe within one of the most remote mountain in Dicathen into my new forge.