NEVEN

Everything fell into place all at once.

Euros became a second home away from the first.

He spent most of his time discovering new passages when he wasn't in the garden playing music or training with the entire Unit for the upcoming test. He headed to his first step to become a Storm Warden — an actual one, out of training and ready to take on Derelicts. Trainer Majen gathered them along their chosen field, and to his surprise Warden Commander Faehariel stood beside him with one of the other senior Wardens. Though Kemal asked around about the test at his request, the answers were vague.

"You've all grown from the young blood I met Turns ago," Commander Faehariel said with a smile. "I'm honored to have witnessed the progress you've made." Resolve steeled over her features. "What I am about to share with you might shake that of you. I am arriving with the option for you to back out of this, for when you take it, there is no going back."

"What?" Kemal asked. "We've come so far, why would we back out?"

"This is a test of character — and no one can help you. A test of your unwavering need to protect the light, to become its shield and act as a blade. If you pass this test... the next will be fashioning a crescent blade, the weapon of choice of our Order," she replied as the senior Warden stepped forward with a clinking box. "This test will be difficult for some of you." Without waiting for the typical Kemal tirade, Faehariel opened the box. In her palm, a small, rounded phial full of strange, black-stained crimson liquid. Neven studied it, confused at the little phial's capabilities of being a 'test of character'.

What does this have to do with making a crescent blade?

Faehariel shook the phial, but it refused to slosh. Enough for one large gulp. "This is oft what makes or breaks Trainees," she said and rubbed it. "This tiny little phial, and what's inside it."

Kemal asked, "What is it?"

Fahaeriel stepped closer to their line and held it out. It frothed. Neven frowned at her when she explained, "This is the pure essence extracted from a Derelict."

Horror swept through some of his friend's gazes, though Kemal pursed his lips and tipped closer to it, further in the throes of his curious confusion. "I'm assuming we're going to have to drink this to proceed with the rest of our training?"

From his assumption, sickened responses followed. Evani drove his hands into his stomach with a grimace. Yusari shifted in discomfort and her nose scrunched tighter. Neven stared into it, hunting for his own reflection, but lost it in the crimson bubbles.

"Astute observation, Tyronai," she said. "Yes. You are to drink it — and your magick will respond in kind. It is a grueling process, but we drink this to protect ourselves from the likes of Husks and the drain Derelicts have on our magick." A faint smile graced her lips. "You have nothing to fear of death, but you will feel like you've stepped through the Echo Obscura. We have Healers on hand to assist you."

"And it won't kill us?" Kemal reiterated.

"No." Her smile faltered. "Though there is a chance you may wish it would."

"What'll happen if we drink it?" Kemal unloaded all his questions. "What does it taste like?"

Once his mind spun at the amount of questions Kemal asked at any given time, but after walking a memory in his shoes, with his emotions, he found himself asking his own questions when they danced on his tongue. He pondered on his Oathbound's questions as the rest of the Trainees leaned away from the box, noses scrunched as if a rather visceral piece of dung plopped down in front of them.

"It depends on certain factors," Faehariel replied with commanding transparency. "For some of you you will be beset by fevers and chills. It won'te require anything more than some long bedrest. For others... it may be worse, I will not lie." Faehairel walked down the line. "Disposition. Mental and physical states. This is why we have pushed you often to your limits during training. For this single moment. As for the taste..." She returned to Kemal, who looked up at her. "I cannot describe it to you." She slipped the phial back among its fellows. "Any who wish to back out, say so now. As I said, there will be no turning back — just as the Derelict venom gives you protection, it equally draws Derelicts closer if there are any around, dragging their attention off the innocent and unto you if its a freshly formed Derelict, though it may not be so for older ones. Over this hurdle, you will fashion your crescent blade."

It fell quiet, the same silence when he stood in the arena of the Blizzard Sentinels. Nothing more than a performer with despair caking the ice. It hushed and buried them in doubt — and what it meant to be a Storm Warden.

Protect the innocent. The true honor of a knight.

The ice-caked Derelict cracked and moaned in his ears, and his inner wyvern hissed out a plume of golden smoke and bared its fangs. It groaned and lolled as it lumbered closer to him in slow motion, where wings wrapped around his arms and grew into wicked, gleaming claws, a mirage over his body. I ran away then. I ran away and thought I could be a performer. Atoran Lotayrin, on your name, I believed in you. I believed so much in the ideals you stood for. Everything righteous and good... and the balance of life.

Neven stomped his foot into the grass and cemented his resolve further. He brought his hand up to his chest and caused his friend's to jump. "I will go first, Warden-Commander!" His heart slammed in his chest with the slight squeak in his words, reverberating his fear. He smashed the ice which held the ancient fear of Naveera — its utter apathy. "I dedicate my heart to the light! And if I must intake the blood of the very Echo Obscura then I will do so willingly and gladly!" He pressed his fist deeper into his ribs to quell the storm of fear. "Whatever it takes."

Everyone stared at him, slack-jawed.

Kemal sighed and shrugged with an amused smile. Embarrassment burned his ears, but he frowned when Warden-Commander Faehariel nodded at him. "If that is your wish, Lotayrin—"

"I'll take it with him then," Kemal said, the leader of their group. "I'll take it too."

The ice broke along the ranks. The Trainees stopped their anxious, nervous shuffling.

"Very well, we shall start with you two. As for the rest of you, the senior Storm Wardens will guide you in when it is your time," she said, then questioned, "I am to take this as none of you are going to back out?"

The threat of the ancient fear.

Everyone brought their hands up to their hearts in response.

"Then you two can follow me," Faehariel said with a nod in their direction.

"That was a little dramatic, but I liked it," Kemal whispered under his breath. "I thought your voice was going to echo around the mountain."

Neven chewed on his lip. "I just—If I didn't say something then we'd all freeze to death." Apathy is the true killer. I will fly free from it. The ancient fear, all trembles underneath its red song.

Inside the citadel, Faehariel stopped them. "I must ask this as a formality, are either of you two Aurus?"

"No, Warden-Commander," they replied in unison.

She nodded and changed the route for the healing ward of the citadel. A couple of stationed Healers glanced up from their stations, with Yuo, fresh out of taking his own Oath, among their ranks. "Are these two the first volunteers?" the senior Healer asked with a grin.

"Yes," Neven mumbled.

"If you'll follow me then."

Neven shuffled through the healing ward with Kemal closeby, where they took them to the farthest door. Kemal stopped him with a hand. "Are you nervous?"

"Was it the speech?"

Kemal laughed. "Yeah."

Neven forced out his own chuckle. "I mean, I'm not that enthused about drinking Derelict essence." He stole one more breath of his resolve. "This is what I want. It's a few hours of discomfort — for a lifetime of protecting the light." He entered when the Healer unlocked the door. Slabs fit into small, private pockets, but they stood in the main area in silence while the Healers prepared their disgusting tinctures.

The door closed behind them, and there was no turning back.

"Why did you want to know if we were Aurus?" Kemal asked.

"This process is hard on the mind, let alone the body," she replied. "Aurus are more susceptible to these effects."

Neven held out his hand for a crimson phial as Kemal took his own.

"And Tyronai?"

"Hm?" Kemal turned.

"I would not rely on your giant's magick. It's not going to help you with this poison. It may stave off more severe responses, but that is all it will give you."

Giant's magick? Kemal's not a giant. Neven eyed Kemal, who raised an eyebrow.

"Old Hanekan's were," he answered his unspoken question. "Ready?"

Horrid chills bit at his fingertips when he drove them against the glass. "Yeah."

He uncorked the phial in time with Kemal, but he took a cautious sniff while Kemal wriggled it. It... It doesn't smell like anything.

"I thought it'd smell worse," Kemal admitted when he brought it closer to his nose. "Derelicts always have a distinct scent. Mold and decay. I thought this would be the source of that."

"Guess not..." Neven tried not to think too hard on what caused the distinct smell around Derelicts. Death followed them, the very air wilting in their presence. He glared down at the bubbling mixture. Or maybe this is too potent for a smell? It doesn't make me feel better. He sighed when Kemal revealed the truth of his own uncertainty, sucking in his lips. Another barrage of questions danced on his tongue, but he couldn't give either of them a chance to stall it out.

He gulped it down in one fell swoop, causing Kemal to follow his lead.

Just like the smell it... doesn't taste of anything. He smacked his lips and slid his tongue over his fangs. No aftertaste either... it's just... nothing. Neven eyed Kemal to check on his well-being, who shrugged at him. Hm.

A whispered, crimson doomsong.

Lave slid over his skin when he stiffened his arms and tried to listen to the music. It rippled through the world and hissed straight down to his soul. What? He mouthed the word, the note, on his lips. Magick shimmered and became super-heated scales as the noise all blurred out, with Kemal joining the rest with a harried question, though stopped when Warden-Commander Faehariel stopped his approach into the dread of the song.

A golden mirage fluttered around his knees, and cracked them against the stone when he stumbled into them. Wings melted across his vision as he hissed out steam, coughing against the crimson heatwaves. It drove through his reflection in the black mirror, the wyvern smashing its head against the glass with a distant screech, to drown out the doomsong in his ears. Neven sucked in his lips while the wyvern through the looking glass continued to writhe and scream. Its long teeth dug at the thin film, the blur of the flow. It growled and its scales shuddered as he tried to dig it out of his own head, driving his fingers into his temples for a reply.

Into a different reality.

Home.

Giant spires of white pierced the heavens. Irimounts streets wrapped around him, the cradle of their mountain. Populated by nothing except for the whispered ghosts. Speckled crimson dropped into the cracks along the buildings, while the mirage of feathers and wings clung around him for safety. Neven turned around in his spot, where another glimmer of a tail dragged itself along the stone. It scattered starlight when he tried to move his body to investigate it when it curled and spasmed. Irimount, broken. The clouds, torn with red. On his knees, he hunched his shoulders and breathed out a heavier plume of mist through his fangs, biting down on his own tongue before twisting around once more to follow the strange, golden feathered tail behind him, a ghostly mirage, but solid as scaled stone. I... this isn't right, where's the mirror?

Ghostly songs twirled in his head.

The world pulsed the crimson doomsong.

No, this isn't right, this isn't real.

He tried to breathe in ice. Icicle beasts crawled up the walls and through the streets, and drew their tongues over the marble. They dove into houses and estates with hungry, depraved intent. Relentless for the kill. Neven found himself without the strength to stop them as they stalked the ghosts.

In the main street, cracks shook the Grand Spire to its deepest core, and a lone, stuffed wyvern sat on the broken pedestal. Neven forced himself upwards and shambled his way to it, taking each step at a time, through both the ghosts and the crimson beasts. Energy crackled with his movement and along the mirage of wings as space distorted around the baby toy and forced open the very gates of the flow.

Against his screaming head and the pain which flayed his lungs as a bubble pulsing with veins grew around the city, across the cradle of their mountain home. It inched along the sky along bloody, arced glyphs. Neven reached out for the stuffy as the wings flapped in the pink mist.

Crimson overtook the blank eyes.

A distant roar drew him back when a giant shadow swallowed the city.

His temples threatened to explode when he raised his head to Naveera's fury.

The spires fell in slow motion, crushing the city of the living dead.

The stuffed wyvern — no longer a child's toy.

Horrid crimson depravity filled the beaded pupils and stared deep into his reflected soul. Wicked, mangled teeth slid out of its maw and dripped into a river of death. Black, tortured scales stabbed into its own body, then frayed outwards from underneath the skin.

A Derelict made out of the beloved symbol of Naveera.

Beautiful, graceful wyverns.

This was a monster.

In its eyes, a weakened, sapphire gazed wyvern whose feathers slicked with blood. Hunger glimmered the evil light, and when Neven tried to take a step back, the small wyvern in its depraved reflection followed its movement, feathers thinned against its body and clean-cut scales.

It opened its mouth, and lunged at him in one more instant.

It broke and scattered at his feet.

He jolted in the dark, but he cringed when a wet cloth pressed against his face. Out of the ocean of murk, bile rose up to his throat and he tasted vomit.

"Lotayrin? Can you hear me?"

Unable to find his scattered voice, he wiped his own face with the damp cloth. Water and tears slipped down his skin. The unnatural howl of the blizzard drove the ancient fear up his spine. It swallowed his home to nothing but its marble bones.

"Lotayrin, you're alright."

He caught his breath and scrambled to a sitting position among the blankets. Someone rubbed his back and all the noise returned with its beautiful melody within life. He found himself with a cup in his hands, forced to take another torturous drink — of water.

Right... I was in the healing ward and then...

He came back to the colourful world. He found himself in his own room with a couple of Healers hovered around him. No, that wasn't just hell. It was my hell. The hell of my heart. He cringed upwards, and rubbed his neck for relief. It tasted of nothing and burned him all the same, and he almost lost his grip on the cup, though the healer closest to him came over to assist. "Where are the others...?"

"Yours was rather... rougher than what we usually expect," they said. "Warden-Commander Faehariel thought it best to move you into a private chamber. How do you feel now?"

"Like I just got thrown into the Echo Obscura." He took another shaky sip of the water. It brought relief into his boiling blood with its cold touch.

"It'll pass." The Healer handed him another mug full of blue essence instead of crimson. "Here. Take a drink of this and your magick will stabilize. The worst is over now."

It was over, but stamped itself to the forefront of his mind.

He glanced at the door when Warden-Commander Faehariel walked in, a deeper frown on her face. "Lotayrin, good to see you're awake."

Neven frowned at the heaviness in her gaze. "Is something wrong? Is Kemal okay?"

"He's fine. Moreso than you were, his reaction was minimal in comparison," she said and took the nearest seat to the door. "Now... I only have a question."

"What?"

Her gaze remained its stalwart seriousness. "How long has your soul been awake?"

Neven blinked at her. "What?"

"It is a truth of Avaerilians, and I have met many of my time in the flow," she explained. "For Turns I have not seen its power come forth in that way for a very long time. If I had known, I'd have prepared further for the reaction the Derelict essence would cause you."

"You mean my song?" Neven crushed his blankets.

"No, I mean your wyvern soul," she insisted.

Neven smiled at her. "I... I don't know, wyvern souls aren't... aren't possible anymore. We only have our soul songs left for us. We can only bring forth our true souls to bear if... we can hear the song — the soul of Naveera."

Look in the mirror, Neven.

"Is this the first time it has wrapped around you in such a violent way?"

"...No."

"When was the first?"

Neven dropped his chin against his chest, then whispered, "When I first saw a Derelict outside of Irimount."

Warden-Commander Faehariel studied him, then stood up once more. "Get some rest," she said in response to his answers. "You need a lot of it."

He slumped back into the covers and tried to chase away the image of the city of Irimount, populated with the dead.