Gilbert settles into the proceedings quite naturally, his muscles relaxed and shoulders free of tension. I suppose that my explaining of how the experience works helps aplenty. In fact, I'm sure that he could have dived into the pool by himself, but Maya had insisted on acting as an anchor for him. "I will not take risks," she had said, eyes blazing so fiercely that none of us had dared to question her authority on the matter.

So here we are now: Gilbert and Maya sitting on opposite ends of the pool, with Alvina and me standing aside, watching the scene captured into stillness.

A warm, red glow engulfs the cavern. The traditional colour of Pst. Ailith. As with the time I'd first headed into the centre tunnel, a sear of magic had greeted us at the entrance. Gilbert had doubled over, clutching at his abdomen, wheezing. But he'd recovered surprisingly quickly. Meanwhile, I'd been lamenting at how I'd conveniently forgot to inform him that his guide would be forcefully ripped away from his being.

Then again, he hasn't achieved the level of transcendence. Perhaps he won't feel the emptiness as keenly as I do.

"How was—" Alvina abruptly speaks, before cutting herself off.

Unfortunately, she has already dragged me out of my thoughts, so I can't let the unfinished sentence slide. "How was what?" I ask, leaning against the cavern wall.

She purses her lips. I see a thousand words waiting to burst forth—held back by hesitation. In the end, she takes in a deep breath and rephrases her question: "How was Kendra?"

I blink in response.

She laughs. "My apologies if I'm being too straightforward," she says, "but I feel like I have to know. You mentioned back there that you were drawn into Lord Hubert's memories. I assume that you must have witnessed the scene of Diomedes's first death. Which means that Kendra was there too."

Indeed she was. Wielding Miraterciel and the shadows so effortlessly—as though she had walked through all the layers of the etherworld and survived with her soul intact. A true Deathslayer—the image of what I'm supposed to be.

"Oh. You didn't see her." Alvina forces another laugh. "Truly, I apologise. I just...assumed. Comes from being a Seer."

I must have been absorbed long enough in my memories—Lord Hubert's memories that quite some time has passed. I shake my head and say hastily, "No, no. She was there. I mean—yes, I did watch Diomedes's first death through my predecessor's eyes. And Kendra was there."

"How did she look like?"

How do I answer that? I'm sure that Alvina already knows what her eldest sibling looks like—dark red hair that is similar to her own, a slim nose that my mother possesses, but with a strong jaw that is reminiscent of Alvina's. A strong, unbreakable face—the face of a leader.

One that even the Champions of War bow to.

I wonder if it's because Kendra was the Champion of Pst. Zorah, or if she was the Deathslayer—or if it's because she's both of those, and so much more.

"She looked...well," I say, aware of how pathetic the description is, yet unable to come up with anything else. "Why don't you ask Maya? I'm sure she'll be able to understand Kendra better."

"Unfortunately, in case you haven't noticed, we have quite a bit of a language barrier in between us," Alvina replies. "You and I don't."

I pinch my nose between my fingers, thinking of a suitable follow-up. "Well, she... She certainly was the Deathslayer—no doubt about that," I say slowly. "Miraterciel looked right when it was with her. And from what I've seen, I think it's safe to say that she was the strongest necromancer at the time, sans Diomedes."

Alvina looks at me, still silent, giving me space to continue. And I do: "At the same time though, she was the Champion of Pst. Zorah. I still can't comprehend how she managed to make those two identities entirely hers—how she managed to imbue two different sets of abilities into one." I don't know where the words come from. Some part of me is just urging them out. Perhaps it's the aftereffects of being in Lord Hubert's mind for so long; I feel like his thoughts, his personalities, his ideals, his goals—all of them have subtly leaked into me.

"She was beautiful."

I pause at that. Do I truly think of Kendra that way? True. She's a figure to be admired. But that's all she is—a distant figure. Someone who is spoken of in tales and legends, inspiring awe in children before they drift off into sleep, invoking courage within people by simply giving something to look up on.

Those words, however, resonate with something much more—a real connection. As if I had known Kendra personally and dearly, and have come to respect and love her for the woman she is—was.

There's no mistaking it—these aren't my own thoughts. These are Lord Hubert's.

I find myself struggling to keep my breathing even. Pietists, Pietists, Pietists. I should have listened to Maya and Abner—I shouldn't have dove into Lord Hubert's memories so recklessly. True, I gained much knowledge from that experience, but in return, I've lost some of my own self.

I should have known that I'd have to pay for those memories, considering the fact that I wasn't able to properly anchor myself.

"Constantine, what's wrong?" Alvina's voice draws me back into the real world. I'm staring at the ground, my breathing ragged. I don't need a mirror to see that my face is pale.

I regain focus. Control myself, right? I think, directing the thoughts at an absent Abner. I suppose that also includes maintaining your sense of self even if you've lost some parts of it to your predecessor.

Naturally, I can almost hear him snort in response.

I manage a breathy chuckle. "Nothing. It's just...I wasn't expecting myself to be such an abhorrent admirer of Kendra," I say.

"I'm not surprised. Kendra was always an adept leader," Alvina replies, any suspicion she might have had instantly thrown off. "I think you and her would have gotten along well."

"I think so too." At least that part is truly me. "I wish—No, wishes won't help here."

"I'd like to know what that wish is though, even if it doesn't help."

Alvina flashes a smile—a genuine smile. Not a mischievous one, or one that's full of underlying intent. It reminds me so much of Mother's that I'm taken aback for a while.

"If you don't mind listening, I suppose I'll have to share it." I return the smile. "I just wish that she were here—to teach me more about being the Deathslayer. Right now I don't—I mean, I feel like I'm not up for anything. At all."

It's surprising how easily the truth comes out, once you're talking to the right person.

"The Pietists chose you for a reason," Alvina says. "You might find yourself up to the task, when it all comes down to it."

"Perhaps." I shove my hands deep inside my pockets. "It's just that I know so little of magic. Our generation has been raised to disregard anything to do with it, after all. Yet now they expect me—and Gilbert to find a solution to the infection, when it's caused by magic in the first place."

My aunt looks at me, quiet.

A breathless laugh escapes my lips. "I'm sorry. It's rather crude of me to complain about my responsibilities, isn't it?"

"Oh, don't worry. I understand. Being a Seer isn't easy either," Alvina assures me.

"How so?"

"How do I put it? When we peer into the future, we only catch glimpses of what is to come. In the past, when our power was stronger, the Seers could see full events unfolding. The problem was that whenever disaster struck, they would do everything within their capabilities to prevent that disaster from striking. Sometimes it worked—oftentimes it didn't."

"That's...terrible," I say. "To be given the gift of seeing into the future, yet to be unable to prevent it from unfolding."

"Ah. That's where most people misunderstand." I raise a brow. "You see, the future can be prevented—but evidently it would be led into a different direction. As to how the alternate future unfolds, even us Seers cannot tell. We can't peer into the same timeline twice."

"Basically, Seers do have the power to change the future to their liking—except that they don't know what will happen after that."

"Correct. Thus, as a new rule, us Seers have agreed to not act upon anything the future entails for us."

My expression scrunches into a frown. "Then what is the point of your abilities, if you won't use them to your own benefit?"

Alvina puffs her chest indignantly; she reminds me of a mother hen, somehow. "Our magic has been passed down from generation to generation, gifted by Pst. Zorah herself. We cannot simply give up on this legacy entrusted to our hands. It is a part of our blood—even as lands shift and dynasties change, we will always be here."

"I understand the need for preserving your culture, however"—I flex my fingers, curling a few shadows around them, reminding her that I too, am part of the Lorelay clan—"unlike my Deathslayer abilities, which are still required for countering this infection, the Seers are unwilling to use their magic to help."

My fingers curl to form a fist, the shadows moulding over it like a makeshift shield. "You can help us—help us find the source of this infection, and help all of us to face whatever is to come."

"You're not using your compulsion, yet I'm rather convinced by your words," Alvina says, wryness in her tone.

"But you're not completely convinced."

"Unfortunately for you, no."

"Why?"

"I do not have to answer that. Besides, if the Seers were to interfere in any events, we'd be breaking the code set for us by Lorelays who came centuries before us."

I swallow a sigh of frustration. It was worth a try though—perhaps I could convince her and the Seers someday, if I continue like this. Another thought crosses my mind. I voice it out loud: "You know when I'm using compulsion?"

Alvina nods. "The flow of your compulsion is much more subtle than Gilbert's, but it's there."

"How do you sense that flow?"

"All magic users have the innate ability to manipulate energy like that to their will and capacity," she explains. "I've already explained before that your Champion abilities are magic of some sort, albeit its nature is more...subtle. I suppose that's because they're more innate to you when compared to regular sorcerers. But when you actively use a compulsion, that's when you're actively using the energy around you. As a Seer, someone who's accustomed to using that energy to keep in tune with my surroundings, I'm much more aware of that energy manipulation."

"I thought that I was being subtle enough, really." I drop the shadows, running my fingers through my hair instead. "Then again, I haven't much of a chance to practice."

"Your particular brand of compulsion requires careful and precise treading on the energies around you," Alvina continues. "Your fellow Champion, on the other hand, is free to bombard his way through those energies."

"So you're saying that I need to practice. A lot more."

"Isn't that obvious?"

I recall the promise she made to me. "When will you teach me?"

Alvina takes a moment to gather her thoughts. She sucks in a breath.

"No."

The answer punches me straight into my gut.

"Come again?" I cannot have heard that. My hearing must have betrayed me somehow. It cannot be—

"No," Alvina repeats. "I will not teach you."

My ears haven't betrayed me after all

"Why?" I ask dumbly. "You told me that you could just yesterday!"

"I believe that I'm not qualified for that role," Alvina replies, her intonation stiff. "Besides, Maya can fill in that role just as well—if not better than me. I apologise for having to tell you this right now. I was planning to use a more subtle way to go about it."

"But— You are my aunt!" I sputter, indignant.

"Just because you're my niece does not mean that I'm particularly inclined to give into every demand of yours," Alvina retorts. I bite my tongue; she has a point I can't deny. "Why don't you ask the Champion of Pst. Zorah instead?"

What can I say? That I don't quite trust her yet? That she's a Pagan, someone whom I've been raised to both hate and fear? I doubt that she'd swallow those excuses. "I still don't understand why you won't teach me more about magic," I persist. "You've already departed so much knowledge to me from the moment we've met up until now—why won't you share more? Besides, you promised."

"I'm afraid that I'll have to play the role of being a cryptic Lorelay now," Alvina says. I want to tear my hair out and shriek in exasperation. I can't believe it—after everything, now she chooses to withhold information from me.

"Fine," I snap. The shadows instinctively swarm around me, as though they were trying to comfort my raging heart. I stalk a good distance away from Alvina and fold my arms, refusing to speak to her anymore.

And when Gilbert and Maya are done, both looking to be in good health, with no signs of collapsing anywhere, we head out of the cavern—sans Maya, of course. No doubt that her appearance in broad daylight would cause a ruckus amongst the knights. My refusal to speak and Alvina's equally curt responses soon drown out whatever enthusiasm Gilbert and Maya have experienced in Pst. Ailith's pool.

The silence hangs over us all the way back to the Lorelay manor.

******

"Well, what do you intend to report back to Sir Kendrick?"

I slowly tear my eyes away from the book I've been reading—or researching, entitled 'The Seven Sages of Lorelay', written by a compiled list of authors, too many to name and remember. Not particularly enlightening, but it does take some attention away from everything that had happened in the Cave of Three Souls earlier this morning. Mostly due to the overzealous preaching that is being reinforced upon the reader every five pages. It's rather amusing.

With a sigh, I eye Gilbert from across the table. Evidently he has barely touched the book he was supposed to sift through—I can see that he's only gotten through a few pages. What was he doing this whole time? Studying the map on the table? Staring back at the hundreds of beady raven eyes staring at us? "What can we report back to Sir Kendrick?" I shoot back, too tired to think.

"Something plausible enough," he replies.

"Wonderful! That wasn't obvious!"

Gilbert scowls. "I was just trying to help. You've been out of your wits since we've come back here."

"Why wouldn't I be?" I sink into the cushions of my chair, hoping that I could somehow drown myself in them. "I dove in without an anchor, apparently, and well—you saw what happened in the physical world. It shouldn't be surprising that I survived with a cankerous headache and a penchant for feeling nasty."

"Don't you always." He grins.

Unfortunately for him, I'm not in a jesting mood. The cankerous headache is steadily eating its way into every part of my brain, and the penchant for feeling nasty can either be summed up as an effect of sharing Lord Hubert's insanity, or simply because I'm in a foul temper. "Well, excuse me for not being able to maintain civility and my manners all the time," I snap.

He drops the grin. "Apologies. I didn't intend for it to come out that way."

I heave another long sigh. "I know you didn't. I should apologise." I massage my temples, attempting to elevate the headache. No use. Just like how it's been for four—no, five bells. "But you're right. We have to think up of a report to give to Sir Kendrick. Best to do it now, before Sir Everest returns from his break."

Gilbert's eyes flicker at the mention of the Guard's name, as though he's trying to gauge if I'm still holding any grudges against the man as well as Captain Eldric. I do still, actually. However, I won't allow it to get in the way of work.

"Perhaps we should tell him the truth? About how the Cave of Three Souls is in truth a holy place for the Champions of War and Pst. Zorah?" Gilbert taps his finger against the table, atop a vast expanse of sea towards the west.

"I don't think so," I reply. "No Perinian knows of this truth save for the Lorelay Elders and Seers, so I assume that we're not supposed to divulge the fact to outside ears. Honestly, if we never came here, I doubt we would have known about this anyway."

"Really? What harm could there be in letting outsiders privy to the real nature of the Cave of Three Souls?" The tapping gradually turns into a steady, rhythmic drumming.

I press my lips into a thin line. "Who knows?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "I have to disagree on one thing you just said though: that we wouldn't have known about the cave."

"Now why is that?"

"Don't you feel like this was all set into place beforehand? As though we were almost always meant to come here, no matter what the circumstances and when?"

"I can't say I disagree with that," I say, his words striking an affirmative chord within me, "but have you thought about your predecessors? Most of them were Ravürkian. How would they cross into enemy territory just to pay a pilgrimage? Don't say that it's because they were Champions of War—even we can be run down by regular armies, given enough time and strength in forces."

"I don't know about that. I could go back into the pool, I suppose."

"Hmm," I hum.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's just... You seem to have emerged out of your predecessors' memories relatively unscathed. I, on the other hand—" I take in a deep breath, balancing precariously between the idea of keeping it all in or letting it all out. But Gilbert and I have promised each other to not keep all the burdens to ourselves—especially when it concerns the matter of Champions. "What did you see in your predecessors' memories?"

Gilbert immediately straightens in his seat. It looks like he's been the one who's holding back all this while. "I saw the final battle between the hunting squad and Diomedes," he says, excitement thrilling in his tone.

Why don't I share that excitement? "And?"

"And well, I saw Delime Luise, Lord Hubert, Diomedes—the whole lot of them," he rambles on. "I saw Lady Kendra too. She was wielding her Deathslayer abilities as though she were breathing." A pause. "I'm sure you could too, if you were given time and practice," he adds as an afterthought, making sure to take care of my not-so-hurt feelings.

"Continue," I say.

"Well, that was Lady Kendra. And guess what? Delime Luise was not only a Champion of Pst. Ailith—she wielded ice. Like me." His amber eyes almost seem golden; eyes that belonged to the Delime as well.

"Interesting." I pretend to lean forward with enthusiasm. "Anything else?"

"Oh yes. Your father, he—he had fire. Like you."

I permit the words to sink in between us for a moment. Then I lean back into my chair and offer a rakish grin of my own. "I see. I thought you had something new for me there," I finally say.

Gilbert's eyes widen, then narrow at me. "You saw the exact same thing, didn't you?" he squawks. "Just through different eyes?"

That sounds so much like the old Gilbert—I can almost forget that the self-depreciating boy still inside him doesn't exist at all. "Excellent conclusion. You have been using your brains quite a bit."

"And I see that having a headache doesn't tone down the sarcasm any way," he grumbles.

"On the contrary, having a headache sharpens my tongue," I reply. "Perhaps I should have them more often." A sudden drill of pain strikes my right temple. I grimace. "On second thoughts, I take that back."

"So, does your headache have anything to do with what you saw through Lord Hubert's eyes?" Gilbert reverts back to the old topic, putting us back on track. "Delime Luise was concerned for him, as she would be for any fellow Champion who'd taken quite a beating from Diomedes."

"You knew that he had taken a stab from Diomedes prior to the battle?"

Gilbert nods.

"And you know what happened to Lord Hubert as well?"

He nods again.

"You understand, don't you?" I slump further into the cushions; I really feel as though I were drowning in them now. "He was infected—the very first experiment."

Gilbert nods once. Slowly.

"Whatever that is happening right now, it must be linked to whatever happened there—and the events after," I say. "It all started with the Champion of Pst. Bronicus. I have to find a way to stop this—not just as a Deathslayer, but to atone for my predecessor's only and fatal mistake."

"It couldn't have been easy," Gilbert says softly, "looking at the world while being broken down from inside out."

"No. It wasn't," I reply, tone flat. "However, now I do understand why Lord Hubert had been reported as senile after that fight in the Dreyachian Mountains."

"You—" I hear Gilbert take in a sharp inhale. "And you dove straight into that mind without separating your own."

I force a mirthless chuckle. "Foolish and reckless. I know."

"Pietists, Constantine. It isn't just foolish and reckless—it's madness. You plunged yourself straight into Lord Hubert's mind while it was fracturing. Delime Luise was tired, yes, but at least she wasn't being driven by...necromancy. Plus I've learned how to access the mind-world through Erilda. Who knows what the consequences could be for you?"

"Believe me, I'm experiencing those consequences right now." I manage a small smile. "In advance, I'd like you to forgive me if I'm acting particularly incorrigible—some aspects of my predecessor's personality has seeped into me already."

"Seven Hells," he whispers. He drops his head. "I'm sorry."

"What for? I deserved it." I wave a dismissal hand, leaning my head back on the back of the chair, looking at the ceiling. The light filtering through the glass-stained windows blinds my vision. I hold my hand above me, allowing rays of light to seep through my fingers, as though I could catch it and bottle it away.

I feel so much more sensitive to sunlight now. It feels as though my eyeballs are on fire, just averting my eyes away from the direct rays. With a sigh, I look back at the table, studying the map intently. A question strikes my mind. "Gilbert, you were the one who pulled me out while I was in Lord Hubert's memories," I say, still fixated upon a large cluster of trees drawn onto the map.

"I did that?" My eyes snap upwards. "I didn't know what I was doing, exactly. I just saw that you were in intense pain, and Erilda once told me that all minds are connected through the mind-world. So I...reached out to yours."

"Hmm." I return my attention to the map, following the trail of the main river in Perinus—River Klasin. Then slowly branching into Little Klasin, winding up northeast. "In other words, you broke the barriers of your own mind. No—that sounds too crude. You basically managed to find an exit and into someone else's mind."

"I suppose you could put it that way." I sense Gilbert's stare drilling into the crown of my head.

"That means you have already learned to 'control your mind', so to speak," I murmur. I reach a hand out towards Little Klasin, tracing its twists and bends, until I reach its source—Battein. "You understand what this means?"

"Uh..."

I tap my finger against the small dot that marks Battein on the map. "You can help me—not just as an emotional supporter, but as my teacher," I say. "I need to control my own mind. You just did it. You can teach me."

"But—" He sounds taken aback. "I hardly know what I was doing!"

"It doesn't matter," I say. "You did it once. You can do it again."

"I understand that you're desperate to learn, but do take into consideration that even I don't know the exact method I used."

I finally lift my gaze, staring straight at Gilbert. "Please. Please allow me the honour," I beg quietly. "I've already been refused by Alvina."

"Alvina refused you?" He shakes his head incredulously. "That can't be. She – she's your aunt!"

"Apparently even relatives do not receive any special treatment around here," I reply drily. "So, will you teach me the workings of the mind-world?"

Gilbert clenches his jaw, thinking.

I give a few moments to think, studying the map again.

"Fine. I'll do it," he sighs after an eternity. "I can't promise that you'll be able to master everything so quickly though. I've had two years, and I'm sure that my knowledge is as limited as it goes by."

"A little knowledge is better than none. Anyway, there's one more issue that I have to bring up." I rap my finger against a rough sketch of a cave structure near Battein. "Diomedes had mentioned that Lord Hubert could heal himself at the Cave of Three Souls."

"He explicitly mentioned that?"

I scowl at him. "My mind may have been slightly delusional, but my senses were working just fine."

"Just making sure. Anyway, if Diomedes had really said that..."

"If we still can't find the source for the infection, at least we can tell if there's a cure for it," I complete his sentence.

"How do we know it wasn't a trap on Diomedes's part?"

"Well, considering that Lord Hubert had lived to a ripe old age after that fight, I seriously doubt that the infection could be warded off that long."

"Point acknowledged." Gilbert huffs a lock of stray hair away from his forehead. "Well, what do you want to do then? Go back into the Cave of Three Souls."

I raise my brows at him.

He raises both hands in mock surrender. "All right. Wrong question."

"At least you admit that."

Gilbert grins. "I have to adapt fast, especially when dealing with you." Then on a more serious note: "By the way, what about your father?"

My entire being freezes at the mention of him. "What about him?" I ask, voice tight.

"He was wielding flames against Diomedes. Don't tell me you intend to keep this untied thread lying about in waste?"

"I... I'll think about it. Consulting him, I mean."

Gilbert doesn't say anything to that.

I don't know how to explain it. It's true that I've sort of made amends with my father, and I don't feel like he hates me as keenly as before, but... The years have torn a rift between us. Years of strict silence and judgmental glares on his part; years of stoic masks and continuous effort on mine. Yes, he's been writing letters every now and then, updating me on the Rutherland estates as well as our family's well-being, yet even those letters feel a little distant. As though he had detached a part of himself from them, refusing to allow me a glimpse beyond that hardened heart.

Then there's the matter of Isolde. I haven't quite forgiven him for marrying her off to Baron Samareal. True, it's an excellent political move. At the cost of Isolde's freedom. There are numerous stories about the Baron has treated his former wives. None of them pretty.

"So," Gilbert finally speaks, "in summation, I have agreed to teach you the workings of the mind-world, you want to revisit the Cave of Three Souls, and you will decide upon contacting Lord Rutherland."

"I think that's about it."

He laughs. "All in a day's work for a Champion, eh?"

"All in a day's work," I answer, smiling. The cathedral tolls once, filling the Raven Room with its echoes. "Strange. Sir Everest should have finished his lunch just about now."

Gilbert shrugs his shoulders. "Perhaps he got lost on the way back here?" he suggests, subtly teasing me about earlier, when I had gotten lost from the dining room.

"He's got an excellent head on his shoulders," I snort. I rise to my feet, pushing my chair backwards and walking towards the door. "I'll go check. I don't think he's one to be late."

"Even if it means sacrificing break time?"

"Especially if it means sacrificing break time."

Just then, the door swings open. A lean, hard-muscled man with neat blond hair steps into view. His clear grey eyes bore into mine, a sharp gleam in them that makes my senses straighten, alert.

"Sir Everest reporting back for duty, Champions," he says with a grim smile, a hand raised in salutation.

******

A/N: How terrible can one author get? *cough cough**pointstoself* *cough* But anyway, I will complete the first arc of Legacy and post it up here. And in case you're wondering where I've been this past month, well...I've completed Draft 0 of my Japanese cyberpunk-fantasy! So I intend to upload that eventually. Look out for it!

As per the drill, vote, comment, share and recommend!