Chase woke to a hush that lingered over dawn's early light.
The upheaved land stretched before him, a broken tapestry waiting to be mended. Today, the earth-wielders would begin the long task of leveling it.
He took in the grim scene in front of him, scanning the quiet, waking valley. With a soft sigh, he bowed his head, closing his eyes in solemn prayer.
"May the Mother rebirth this wounded land… and lend strength to those who touch the soil," he whispered.
Then, as if sending his prayer on the wind, he murmured, "Hopefully they can level it by dusk."
His gaze drifted from the devastated land to the makeshift shelters and tents scattered like fallen petals across the valley.
As he made his way toward the Crisis Marshal's lodging, a tall, lone silhouette caught his eye, someone ascending the slope toward the mountain's peak. He squinted, recognizing the figure just before he vanished from view, and followed him eagerly.
Once he had closed the gap, Chase cleared his throat and called out gently, "Good morning!" leaning slightly forward as he raised his hand in a small, almost playful wave.
Kanan paused mid-step, glancing back to find the divine royal greeting him.
The wind caught Chase's silken hair and flowing vassal robes, lifting them with the grace of morning mist. Against the soft blush of dawn, his figure shimmered, elegant, poised, serene, and still.
Like a vision whispered into the waking world.
His striking figure made it hard for Kanan to look away. For a fleeting moment, Kanan simply watched him approach.
The bitterness he harbored toward the capital's lackluster response seemed to ease, if only a little, under the presence of this delicate man.
He bowed his head low, hand to heart in the formal gesture. "Good morning, Your Grace," he returned, his voice quieter now, almost reverent.
Chase waved his hand down. "Call me Chase. You're Kanan, right?" he said, offering a sly smile, his eyes briefly admiring the brutish build of the towering man before him.
"Yes. Pleased to have your company on this peaceful morning, Your Grace." Kanan scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "I mean... Chase," he corrected himself, the name feeling foreign on his tongue.
Calling a divine royal of Azarette so casually didn't sit right, especially not for someone like him, a mere aspirant.
Hmmm. Yes. I should be friendlier with him. It would be good for me, Kanan thought darkly, a sharp edge beneath his composed exterior, stark against the calm reverence he kept on his face.
"Where are you headed off to now?" Chase asked, intrigued.
"To the peak to check the trajectory of the hemogoblin. Though I might need to climb one of the sentinel trees to see if its still going south east," Kanan advised as he lead the way to show him where he was headed off to so early in the day.
Chase walked along side Kanan. He too was curious just how much the hemogoblin has trudged forth since its manifestation five days ago.
He also wanted to get to know this aspirant from Enmaat. There was a feeling he couldn't shake… that he needed to keep an eye on him, or something unforeseen might unfold because of him.
"Hmmm. I understand that you're an aspirant from Enmaat. How diligent of you to be taking it upon yourself to do such a task without hesitation or instruction for that matter," Chase thought his eagerness to help out was impressive.
He wondered if Kanan was after something else.
"I'm simply fulfilling the desperate request made by the Captain since I arrived," Kanan said matter-of-factly. "And as an aspirant from Enmaat, I need to show conviction and resolve toward the country I've committed myself to, both in learning and development, and in times of crisis such as this."
Chase snickered slightly as he looked away, then cleared his throat before speaking.
"Is that so? Well, thank you for your kind servitude. Is it entirely because you're eager for that recommendation… or are you planning to involve yourself in a political position once you've acquired enough footing here prior to your return to Enmaat?" He raised one eyebrow, keeping his sly gaze fixed on Kanan.
He noticed the slight flinch Kanan tried to shrug off by swatting at a bug hovering just above them as they walked through the denser part of the mountainside.
Kanan thought for a moment before offering any hint of his true ulterior motive for choosing to be an aspirant in Azarette. He looked down gently at Chase as he scratched the side of his forehead.
"You are very keen, Your Grace," he said, letting out a short sigh. "I actually want to prove to my father that I, too, can be reliable when it comes to political stance and advancement for Enmaat."
Kanan stared ahead as they reached the peak of the mountain. "But I wouldn't want to involve myself directly in taking up a political position altogether." I just want… my father's approval, he thought to himself as he bit the inside of his lip.
With that, he cleared his throat, knocked on the trunk of one of the sentinel trees near the cliff, and leapt high from one branch to another, making his way to the top of the towering tree.
Chase raised a hand to shield his forehead, trailing Kanan's ascent with his eyes, watching his agile movements as he climbed the sentinel tree.
Hmmm. He's got a brutish build, but he's pretty agile.
Chase watched the fluid, practiced motion with which Kanan climbed, his body weaving through the branches like it was second nature. He must've trained hard to move like that, he mused, eyes trailing upward with subtle interest.
He licked his lips… slow, deliberate, like savoring the taste of a thought he wasn't supposed to enjoy.
Prove yourself to your Father, huh? Sure.
I bet you're aiming to establish dominance by going toe-to-toe with a Defender of the Ash to be a suitable equal for a divine royal's approval.
I've seen this attempt before, you can't fool me.
If that's your game, aspirant… I wouldn't mind seeing how this all plays out.
A devilish smirk curled at the corner of Chase's mouth as his gaze lingered. There was something thrilling about peeling back Kanan's motives, and maybe playing right into them.
Upon reaching the tip of the sentinel tree, Kanan scanned the horizon, unsettled by the absence of any clear trace left by the hemogoblin.
Without wasting a moment, he sprang from the heights, cutting through the wind in a swift descent. He struck the ground with a solid thud. One knee bent, the other foot planted firmly, his fist pressed to the earth in a crouched, grounded stance.
Dust lifted around him in a soft burst, and for a heartbeat, he looked as though he were kneeling before Chase. Silent and powerful.
Chase raised a hand, offering silent assistance. Kanan accepted the gesture, gripping his hand firmly as he rose to his feet, now standing before him.
"Forgive me, Your Grace," Kanan said under his breath as he brushed the dust off his pants and shoulders.
"I can no longer see the maledict's current path… it has now vanished beyond the jagged mountain in the distance." He averted his gaze, eyes fixed on the horizon, a flicker of fear crossing his face.
Chase turned, his eyes sweeping across the distant, zigzagging trail the maledict had carved through the dense forest south of Aurea Reach.
Though faint, the path seemed to veer distinctly eastward. He knew they'd need to be fully prepared to follow and purify every grim, corpse-fingered inch of it.
"Let's head back down for now," Chase said, his voice light with intention, pulling Kanan from his thoughts.
"We should get breakfast started for everyone before we pick up the maledict's trail." He cast Kanan a playful look, hoping to chip away at his grim mood. "I heard you make a wicked bowl of egg drop soup."
Kanan responded with a sidelong glance, a faint nod, and the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips as they began their descent from the peak, making their way back to the tents to prepare for the morning.
— — —
That same morning, Idris awoke with the dawn, and the comforting aroma of eggs, crispy bacon, and toasted bagels generously slathered with cream cheese soon filled the kitchen. He meticulously prepared the hearty meal for his students and Sena, but opted to eat his own portion first.
With a sense of quiet purpose, he then made his way out, heading to patrol the riverbanks closest to the cursed vein.
His morning rounds were a familiar ritual.
When his patrol ended, and he noted with satisfaction that no one had wandered too close to the river across the fence of the Emberlit Diadem, he returned to the welcoming warmth of his home.
Upon reaching his room, Idris pulled forth a chest from beneath his bed.
Made of ancient Ugartan oak, it was as long and low as the bed frame itself. Its dark, heavy wood bound by thick, tarnished iron bands.
These bands were intricately hammered with swirling, stylized motifs of stars and twinkling clusters, alongside a fearsome three-headed saber-toothed smilodon whose body tapered into twelve writhing cobra tails.
Heavy bronze studs dotted its surface, gleaming faintly against the aged timber, while the reinforced corners were embellished with gilded, interlocking ancient pangolin scales, now dull with the patina of forgotten ages. The sheer weight and craftsmanship whispered of a forgotten, powerful era.
He slowly opened the chest, exerting some force to lift the heavy wooden lid. With his heightened senses, he felt around the contents, his fingers grazing familiar textures.
"Hmm… This should be good enough to train them with," he murmured to himself.
He reached in and carefully gathered a selection of weapons, setting them aside for the day's duel and discipline training.
Once he had made his picks, he waved his hand toward the floor. The floorboards shifted with a soft groan, and from beneath, a cluster of thick roots emerged, twisting upward into the shape of a large, gnarled hand.
It reached forward with quiet purpose, gently curling around the weapons before sinking back into the earth, taking the selected arms with it.
When Idris sensed the familiar rhythms of Sena and his students stirring, soft footsteps, the rustle of garments, the distant clatter of kitchenware, he gently closed the chest once more.
With quiet resolve, he rose to his feet and made his way out of the room, heading toward the kitchen to join them for breakfast.
He poured himself a cup of coffee and settled into the seat beside Sena. Lifting his left hand, he gently patted her head while taking a sip of the warm drink.
Sena, now used to Idris's quiet gestures, simply continued to enjoy her breakfast.
"Where were you last night?" Kishi asked, glancing at Kanon as he picked up a bite of eggs and bacon. "I checked your room and it was empty." A slight furrow appeared on his brow.
Kanon let out a soft giggle and brushed off his tone. "Hmmm… I slept with Ms. Yukari. Why? You need anything?" she replied, taking a sip of her tea without meeting his eyes.
"Hmpf," was all Kishi managed in return.
A quiet weight settled in his chest. He felt a flicker of jealousy, not the childish kind, but something softer, more uncertain.
Kanon could easily crawl into bed beside Sena and be held.
He wanted that too. Just the simple warmth of curling up next to someone, like a big sister who'd pull him close without questions. Or a motherly embrace.
But he wasn't a little boy anymore, and he knew it.
Seventeen felt too old to ask for that kind of closeness, and too young to let go of wanting it. So he said nothing, letting the feeling sit quietly behind his eyes as he chewed his breakfast.
Idris cleared his throat.
"Today, we'll do weapons-based training. I've prepared some weapons in the basement for you all to use later. But we'll start with wooden swords and spears first."
Upon hearing this, Sena eagerly swallowed the food in her mouth, wiped her lips in haste, and beamed. "Oh! I have a wooden sword and katana!" she announced, eyes gleaming with pride.
Idris didn't need to face her to return the sentiment. A faint half-smile touched his lips.
"Sure. Let me have a look at it later."
Without another word, Sena jumped to her feet and darted to her room. From beneath her bed, she pulled out her hand-carved wooden sword and katana, then hurried back down to the kitchen, hugging both weapons close to her chest.
Kishi and Kanon had just finished their meals when she returned, their eyes following the oddly heavy-looking 'sticks' in her arms. The siblings exchanged a glance, saying nothing.
Practically glowing, Sena thrust her handmade weapons toward Idris.
He works with wood! He'll know right away if these are good! She thought excitedly.
Idris, finishing the last of his coffee, extended both hands. With his right, he grasped the katana; with his left, the sword.
The weight hit him immediately.
An intense, sudden heaviness that nearly pulled his arms down. His fingers instinctively tightened around the hilts as he absorbed the impact.
These weren't sticks.
Not by any stretch.
They were dense. Unnatural.
Nearly unliftable.
He carefully set the katana on the table and, using both hands, lifted the sword again to study it further.
His hands moved slowly along its form, measuring the grain, the spine, the balance. Though he couldn't see it, he could feel the power fused within.
Sena slid back into her seat beside him, eagerly awaiting his thoughts.
"I carved these out of the woods I gathered from the Silvershroud Forest," she said, pride dancing in her voice. The memory of her raw, splintered hands filled her with an odd satisfaction.
Idris gripped the hilt tighter. His fingers traced the blade, and a frown shadowed his face. This wasn't normal wood. Not even close.
"You carved this?" he asked, one brow raised.
The sheer weight, purpose, and unnerving malice he sensed pulsing from within the grain was staggering.
This is Silvershroud wood, he thought, astonished.
Fully steeped in maledict essence... and she carved it?
The Silvershroud Forest was an aberration. A place where every root, every petal, every beast simmered in dormant malediction.
It wasn't just haunted, it was saturated.
The trees alone were said to resist even divine flame. Snapping a twig from its woods was near impossible. And yet... this woman carved a sword.
His grip remained firm, jaw tightening slightly in disbelief.
No one… not even seasoned woodbinders had ever been able to create a weapon from Silvershroud. And now here it was.
Heavy as lead. Alive with something else.
And carved by Sena, no less.
Idris felt no flaw or imbalance in the sword's length. His hand then shifted toward the katana still resting on the table. Its presence seemed to pulse faintly, like it had a will of its own.
He set the sword down gently and reached for the katana.
This one was even heavier. Far heavier. But he kept his composure, refusing to show the strain in his arms as he lifted and assessed it.
Beside him, Sena's anticipation radiated like quiet heat.
Her silhouette, once a blur of a man holding a child, now shimmered with strange distortion. A bit warped. Blurred at the edges.
A bead of cold sweat gathered at Idris's temple. He couldn't even command or will these "sticks" to respond. That alone said everything.
The Silvershroud wood had listened only to her.
Her will, her protection, her survival.
It had all etched into the grain with purpose.
What seemed like simple carved weapons now carried the full weight of someone who had endured… and endured alone.
He swallowed hard at his thoughts.
With care, he set the katana back down, steadying the table with one hand as the weight threatened to tip it.
Then, resting his hand gently atop Sena's head, he gave her a subtle nod and pivoted toward her.
"You did very well in carving these," he said quietly, pride threading through his voice. "No one breaks a twig in Silvershroud, Sena. Let alone crafts weapons from its trees. This is beyond remarkable."
Sena tilted her head, brow furrowed in confusion.
"What do you mean? But… I was able to carve them. It took a while, sure, but it didn't seem all that hard."
Idris exhaled softly, a half-chuckle in his breath.
"Of course," he murmured.
"You couldn't have known. The maledict essence runs through every root and rock in that forest. Surviving there alone is already a feat."
Kishi and Kanon, quiet until now, exchanged glances. They both eyed the weapons still weighing down the table.
Kishi leaned forward curiously, reaching for the wooden sword. "How remarkable can it really be?" he muttered.
The moment his fingers wrapped around the hilt, the sheer weight he did not expect to come from a simple-looking wooden sword jerked him downward.
The sword slipped from his grasp and hit the floor with a thunderous crash, dragging the edge of the table with it.
The katana slid off after it.
Dishes clattered and scattered across the room, one bowl spinning wildly before toppling to a stop.
All four stared in stunned silence.
"…Damn," Kanon finally muttered, staring at the toppled sword and mess at the floor.
"Those are some heavy-ass weapons, Ms. Yukari."
Her tone was dry, but the awe and sarcasm in it lingered, unhidden.