A guttural snarl tore through the frigid air, sharp as shattered ice. Joric’s expanded senses, already attuned to the subtle shifts in the valley, flared with alarm. A knot of corrupted energies, a familiar chill, solidified in his perception: the revenant. It was here, and Ser Kaelen was fighting it.
He moved, a blur across the snow-dusted ground, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. Every thread of his awareness strained towards the clash, painting a grim picture before he even reached the scene. Kaelen’s weary movements, the revenant’s unnatural swiftness. A heavy thud, a pained grunt. Kaelen was down.
Bursting through the sparse stand of pines, Joric found Kaelen pinned against a boulder, one arm twisted at an unnatural angle. The revenant, a ghastly echo of the mountain cat Joric had dispatched days prior, loomed over him. Its eyes, once bright with feral life, were now twin points of sickly viridian light, radiating malevolence. Dark, ethereal tendrils snaked from its claws, seeking to tear at Kaelen’s flesh.
“Joric! Get back!” Kaelen’s voice was hoarse, strained, but laced with an urgent command. He struggled, a blade in his good hand flashing uselessly against the spectral form. “It’s a revenant! Physical attacks mean nothing!”
Joric didn’t heed the warning. He saw the threads of un-life, the corrupting energies that held the creature together. He extended a mental 'gesture', reaching for the reality-defying construct. He intended to unbind it, to simply unravel its essence. But the revenant shrieked, a sound that grated on Joric’s soul, and lashed out with a spectral paw. Its corrupted energy recoiled from his nascent attempt, a wave of cold dread washing over him. The creature was too potent, too actively resistant to a simple dissolution.
“Then how do I kill it?” Joric shouted, his breath clouding in the cold.
Kaelen, pushing himself up despite his injuries, grimaced. “Fire! Or pure light! A disruptive force, Scion!”
Pure light. Joric focused. He had often used his abilities to warm his hands, to subtly accelerate growth in plants, to mend small objects. He attempted to manifest a searing heat directly onto the revenant. A faint shimmer appeared around the creature’s spectral form, then dissipated. The revenant merely hissed, undeterred.
Kaelen watched, his brow furrowed with a mix of surprise and concern. “Not like that, Joric! Focus it! Condense it, then launch it!”
Launch it. The words resonated with a memory of childhood, of stones flung with meticulous aim. Joric shifted his focus. He sought to gather the ambient energies, not to simply *be* a warmth, but to *contain* and *project* it. He imagined a stone, a perfect sphere, forming in his palm, but instead of granite, it was pure, concentrated force. The unseen energies around him responded, coalescing. A small orb of shimmering, violet-white light began to pulse in the air before his outstretched hand, humming with latent power.
He pulled his arm back, mimicking the motion of a sling. His mental 'gesture' was firm, precise. The orb shot forth, a swift, burning projectile that slammed into the revenant’s spectral chest. A raw, piercing wail erupted from the creature. The violet-white light adhered, searing into its corrupt essence.
The revenant thrashed, slamming itself against the snow-covered ground, attempting to extinguish the consuming energy. But Joric’s control was absolute. He poured more intent, more energy, into the focused disruption. The light intensified, burning away the threads that bound the revenant to this plane of existence. The creature’s form flickered, its emerald eyes dimming, its thrashing growing weaker.
Moments later, with a final, chilling shriek that echoed off the Spires, the revenant dissolved into nothingness, leaving only scorched earth and a lingering miasma. A profound silence descended upon the valley.
Kaelen let out a long, ragged breath. Joric, too, felt the tension drain from him, leaving him trembling slightly.
“Is it truly over?” Kaelen asked, his voice rough.
“Yes. For now.” Joric stepped towards the patch of disturbed snow. He could still sense the residual, corrupt energy, a discordant hum in the weave of reality. “Absorb the remnant, lest it draws others.”
He knelt, extending his hand over the scorched earth. It was an instinctive action, one he had performed unknowingly on the mountain cat itself. He imagined drawing the discordant hum into himself, not to consume, but to understand, to neutralize. A faint, greenish-black aura, like wisps of smoke, rose from the ground, seeping into his skin. A chill spread through his limbs, sharp and exhilarating, yet strangely unsettling. It was a sensation of raw potency, of the world’s fundamental energies augmenting his own. A thrilling, eerie pleasure unfurled within him, making his skin prickle.
Kaelen watched, his good hand pressed to his ribs. “Is this truly your first time absorbing a creature’s essence directly?”
“Yes,” Joric replied, his voice quiet.
“Unbelievable.” Kaelen shook his head slowly. The growth of a Scion’s power was a gradual process, honed through rigorous study and practice. To instinctively draw strength from a slain creature, and with such raw aptitude… It spoke of an innate potential Kaelen had only heard whispered in legends. “Such power, untaught, unrefined… it is prodigious.” Kaelen cleared his throat, pushing himself up with a wince. “I have been… terribly discourteous, young master. May I inquire after your House?”
Joric felt a familiar discomfort at the abrupt shift in Kaelen’s demeanor. He had seen it before, this sudden deference from merchants or passing guardsmen who mistook his quiet competence for noble bearing. He did not want Kaelen, injured and vulnerable, to humble himself.
“Let us tend to your wounds first,” Joric said, already moving towards the injured Sentinel.
—
Kaelen groaned softly as Joric carefully applied a salve crafted from crushed mountain herbs to the gash above his brow. The wound, deep and ragged, seeped dark blood despite Joric’s gentle ministrations. He then bound it with strips of clean linen, salvaged from his meager stores. Joric's home, simple but practical, always held remedies for minor ailments or cuts from stray branches.
How he wished his abilities could heal such a wound instantly. He had mended small tears in fabrics, resealed cracks in clay pots. But to reknit flesh, to bind bone, required an expenditure of intent that would leave him utterly drained. Healing a scraped knee on a lamb was one thing; repairing Kaelen’s deep lacerations and twisted arm was another entirely.
“My apologies, young master,” Kaelen murmured, his voice softer now. “To think I forced one of such station to perform such a task.”
“I’ve told you,” Joric stated, his voice even, “I am no master. Just a shepherd, tending my flock. My father was a man of the mountains, or so my mother said.” He met Kaelen’s gaze, trying to convey the truth of his words without offence. *Do not treat me as a lord.*
Kaelen held his stare for a moment, then a ghost of a smile touched his lips. He let out a soft sigh, as if conceding a point. “Alright, alright, shepherd. No need for such intensity.”
Joric felt a flicker of amusement in return, a rare, small laugh escaping him.
“But tell me,” Kaelen continued, his expression serious, “why does a Scion of your obvious power, a weaver of reality, live as a simple shepherd in these forgotten valleys? It does not… suit you.”
It was the same question Joric had posed to Kaelen, in reverse. He found he could not answer with the same quiet pride Kaelen had shown for his duty as a Sentinel. Shepherding was his life, his refuge, but not his calling.
“It’s a long tale.” Joric began, his voice flat, recounting his childhood. His mother’s whispered warnings of the Dominion, the cruelties of nobility, the necessity of hiding his abilities. Her unwavering belief that such power invited ruin. His silent, meticulous practice, hidden from all eyes, shaping his understanding of the world’s fundamental order.
Kaelen listened, his gaze distant, as Joric finished. A slow nod followed. “Your mother was wise in her caution.”
“You think so?” Joric asked, a trace of surprise in his voice. He had expected Kaelen, a Sentinel sworn to the Dominion, to dismiss such fears as provincial ignorance.
“Twenty years ago,” Kaelen began, his voice gravelly, “the House of Velorius, whom I served, clashed with the House of Solara. Of three thousand sworn Sentinels, almost a third were lost. Nine hundred men, gone.” His gaze grew distant, fixed on the dying embers of the hearth. “The truly bitter truth is that every man and woman I called friend, my own wife, my son… they were among that number. Only I, by some twist of fate, returned.”
Kaelen’s face bore the weight of decades, a quiet grief Joric could only begin to fathom. A sorrow as profound, perhaps, as the aching void left by his own mother’s passing. He remained silent, allowing the unspoken anguish to settle between them.
After a long, heavy silence, Kaelen visibly collected himself, a subtle shift in his posture. He turned his gaze back to Joric, a newfound resolve in his eyes. “Your mother’s fears were understandable. But if she erred, it was in her assessment of your potential. Your talent far exceeds that of a simple knight, Scion.”
“Does it?” Joric felt a faint tremor of unease. His mother had spoken only of knights, of men of muscle and steel, never of such subtle power as his own.
“It is humbling to admit, in my current state, but I am considered a capable Sentinel. Yet, you felled a revenant that would have tested my full strength, and you did so without formal training, without even knowing the proper way to draw its lingering essence.” Kaelen took a sip from the goat’s milk Joric had offered, then set the horn down. His declaration was quiet, but firm. “That level of innate ability, Joric, places you among the high-born, perhaps even among the Architect’s chosen.”
For Joric, the words felt unreal. He had always believed his abilities, though potent, were simply *his*. To be defined by them, to be categorized as something other than what he was… it was disorienting.
“My mother said my father was a knight,” Joric mused, feeling a pang of doubt. “Could she have… misjudged him?”
“Lineage is not destiny, Joric,” Kaelen explained, patiently. “The Weave of reality sometimes manifests differently. A Scion of the Architects may be born to simple stock, or a renowned noble house may produce a child with no affinity for the threads. Such cases are rare, but they happen. The gifts are given, not inherited.”
Joric thought of the villagers below, the blacksmith’s stout frame, his wiry son. The baker’s family, all fair-haired save for one dark-haired daughter. The variations in the world, the subtle differences in every being.
“For that reason,” Kaelen continued, his voice softer, yet imbued with urgency, “I believe you must descend from this valley.”
“Why?” Joric asked, a strange mix of dread and anticipation stirring within him.
“Because the Dominion, humanity itself, needs more Scions, more Sentinels. We are not yet masters of this world. Primal forces stir beneath the crust of order, forgotten entities from ancient times yearn for dominion. And the noble houses, consumed by their own squabbles, often overlook the true threats. A strong, virtuous Scion like you is desperately needed, Joric, even if it’s just one more.”
Primal forces. Forgotten entities. Joric had only ever heard such terms in his mother’s old tales, fanciful legends of a distant, impossible past. To him, they were as unreal as the mythical gods. But in Kaelen’s words, they became tangible, a looming shadow beyond his secluded valley.
“Besides,” Kaelen added, a knowing glint in his eyes, “it is a profound waste to see a talent such as yours wither here. You are not truly content, living as a shepherd, are you?”
Joric paused, the unspoken truth hanging in the air. He had dodged Kaelen’s earlier question, but now, faced with this plea, he couldn’t deny it. He shook his head slightly, a confession of his own unspoken yearning.
“Your mother’s fears, while rooted in experience, are largely exaggerated for someone of your caliber,” Kaelen pressed gently. “Ordinary knights might walk a perilous path, but even the great houses show a measured respect for powerful Scions. And you, Joric? There is no question.”
“So I wouldn’t be… seized? Forced into service by some distant lord?” The lifelong caution, ingrained deep, still surfaced.
“As with all things in this world, there are no absolute guarantees,” Kaelen admitted, a flicker of honesty in his gaze. “But your power would grant you agency. Influence.”
Thoughts raced through Joric’s mind, a turbulent current. A part of him longed to believe Kaelen’s words, to embrace the purpose he offered. Yet, the ingrained fear of the Dominion, of unseen power, refused to vanish entirely. The conflicting currents created a heavy tension within him, a silent battle of reason and instinct.
Kaelen sat patiently on the rough bed, his arm cradled, waiting. The silence stretched, long minutes ticking by in the quiet mountain home. Finally, Joric spoke, his voice low, almost a whisper.
“What could I gain… if I left?”
Reading the nascent determination in Joric’s eyes, Kaelen smiled, a genuine warmth spreading across his tired features. “That, Joric, depends entirely on what you truly desire. Wealth, acclaim, power… or perhaps kinship, purpose, and a deeper understanding of the world’s unseen energies. A place where your gifts might truly flourish.”