Chapter Text
The night is stormy. Lightning and thunder are crashing relentlessly outside the windows of my room in the barracks. Up here on the Royal Isle — an island floating in the sky — the storm feels closer.
And it feels like a reflection of my thoughts and inner-turmoil, given form in natural phenomena.
I put my pen momentarily down to rub at my temples. These reports are coming in more frequently, despite the Order of Royal Knights’ best efforts to investigate the matter. Gruesome deaths and injuries, seemingly caused by lightning. Not the kind of lightning crackling out there in the storm — that would have been a lot easier to understand. No, this is something more sinister. Much, much more sinister.
The incidents have been occurring close to a certain little village on the edge of Doran. As much as I try to be completely detached, this is the village Hel grew up in, to which she still occasionally visits to check up on her parents’ now unoccupied home.
Come to think of it, that was years ago now, back during the school vacation after our Fifth Year at the Academy, when I had dropped by for an inspection, as part of my duties under my father’s ducal house. I had found Hel there in her village — along with Satanas, Feltina and Brunel — meeting up for group studies to tackle their homework. That boy — Cassius Roud, was it? — the son of the village head — had obnoxiously claimed that Hel and him are to be married or something …
I shake my head, focusing back on the paperwork and stacks of report on my desk in front of me. It would not do to think of proposals and Hel’s marriage prospects. Especially not after the last time she and I had spoken. I had proposed to her. It was the first proposal I’ve made, despite having received countless myself. She had refused my hand. But if you ask if things are bitter between us, I’d say no. We had a bit of a heated argument over it — nothing too unusual for us — and had gone out for dinner right after. So, no, I wouldn’t say things are too bad. But …
I sigh, frowning at the latest report on the lightning casualties.
I think I’m beginning to see a pattern here. I have my suspicions. But, if they turn out to be true, then we’re dealing with a curse so dark and ominous that it would make the whole business with Städal almost laughable. And if she somehow gets involved …
The door swings open, and my roommate — both in our Academy years and now in the Order — walks in. His Highness Prince Zenon Bal Zeus Doran, third Prince of the Kingdom of Doran, my cousin, and my closest friend.
“Still working, Alois?” His Highness calls out from the doorway.
“Mmm.”
“You work too much,” His Highness scolds lightly, squeezing my shoulder as he passes by my desk. “You haven’t seen Nanalie in awhile, have you?”
“It can’t be helped,” I reply without looking up. “We’re going on the operation to subdue the strange lightning phenomenon tomorrow, and I’d like to be as prepared as possible.”
Out of the corner of my vision, I see His Highness frown at me for changing the subject, but he doesn’t push. That’s the kind of friendship I have with Prince Zenon. He’s always understanding , quietly supporting from the sidelines, and never pushing — well, not usually, anyway. He’s very easy to get along with.
“Yes, the operation …” Prince Zenon looks troubled, as is the common expression worn by every knight when talking about this situation. “I don’t like it. I’ve got a bad feeling about it.”
“As do I,” I agree.
“Have you discovered something, Alois?”
“A pattern is emerging,” I reply. “I have my theories. One in particular is becoming more probable. These deaths and injuries — they seem to be more than just physical. If I’m right, then this is a curse that affects the victims emotionally and physically. But, I’ll have to confirm it for myself tomorrow. I’ll need to examine and analyse the magical signature before I can be certain of it.”
“Alois, whatever you do, be careful,” Prince Zenon says earnestly. “Of course I trust you. No one is more capable at these things than you are. But … given the reports, Alois, don’t do anything that would put yourself at risk.”
“Mmm, the same goes for you, Your Highness,” I reply, just as earnest.
Prince Zenon snorts. “I’m not the one who’s always throwing my self in front of danger to protect a certain somebody.”
“Oh, yeah?” I raise an eyebrow. “I heard from Brunel you recited your Prayer of the Guardian Spirit during the final showdown against Städal, knowing the cost of that spell, even though one of your legs was already frozen over.”
“Says the guy who was actually frozen over entirely, after casting the same spell of his own too,” Prince Zenon snorts and rolls his eyes.
“How troublesome.” A quiet laugh escapes me, despite myself.
His Highness chuckles with me.
“It’s getting late, Alois. We should get some sleep. You need to be fully rested for tomorrow.”
“You go ahead, Your Highness,” I say, returning to the paperwork. “I’ll rest once I’m done with all this.”
***
Everything about this feels wrong. Even the air is heavy, saturated with something vile.
The First, Third, and Eighth Platoons have been deployed for this operation. As the unit specializing in magic, the First Platoon under my command rides at the front — close behind the Commander and Prince Zenon, who is the Vice Commander. Ordinarily, we would hold the rear, taking up position at the back of the formation, our magic striking from range. But this phenomenon is so blatantly arcane that placing anyone else in the advance would be reckless.
We circle the marked area from above on our pegasi, searching for the source of the problem. My eyes narrow at something below on the ground, and point it out to the Commander and Prince Zenon.
“Do you think that’s it?” Asks the Commander.
It’s a rough-hewn rock, pitch-black and twisted like a lightning bolt.
I nod, sensing the repulsive waves of magical energy emanating from it.
“We can’t get a close enough look from up here,” observes the Commander. “We’ll need to land.”
“Wait,” I caution, just as Commander Grove is about to give the order. “Don’t land too close. We need to be careful and approach from afar. We can’t be sure of its effective range.”
“Good point,” agrees the Commander, turning to bark out precise orders.
The moment our boots hit the ground, the First Platoon moves at once, weaving defensive spells while the other units fall into formation.
We advance slowly. Apart from the malignant energy radiating from the object, nothing stirs. Until—
“TAKE COVER!” the Commander roars, as bolts of black lightning erupt in every direction.
I hear the cracks as all the defensive barriers my unit erected are breached instantly. Without hesitation, I cast a charm shield to encompass the Order. The magical barrier protects us from being instantly consumed by the maelstrom, but this is only a temporary reprieve. Shockwaves shake the air as the lightning bolts collides with the flames blazing out from my shield, while I begin reciting the Prayer of the Guardian Spirit.
“Infinite Gods Above and Holy Spirits of the Blood, hear my prayer—
In mine own name of Hades, I beseech you:
Blaze incandescent this ground below,
And with flames make red the sky above.
Let the power of every living creature fuel this fire,
That its brilliance may outshine the noon sun itself.
Flaring light,.
Burn with all the power of the First Blood.
Grenade. (Consuming Flame.)”
A vortex of flame is exploding out from the fingertips on my right hand.
“Alois!” Prince Zenon shouts, concern sharp in his voice, knowing the cost of such a spell. Ordinarily, the Prayer of the Guardian Spirit requires the maximum amount of magical power one possesses. But I don’t so much as flinch as I release the spell. Perhaps it’s because I have so much magic to begin with — it had caused me no end of trouble when I was a child — but, despite the drain of power, I’m still alright.
With an enormous explosion, the bolts of black lightning are repelled and forced back. I can’t allow them to scatter randomly, so I manipulate the force to slam them directly back into the source. The spell causes what sounds like an earthquake, leading to the destruction of the black rock.
Before we can even draw breath, the maelstrom of black lightning condenses into a single bolt — towering larger than Castle Shuzelk itself — and hurtles straight for Prince Zenon.
Damn it. A blast that concentrated would tear through my shield.
Running the numbers in my mind, I know the truth. In a single motion, I hurl myself in front of my cousin, flinging an arm be hind me to throw him back as far as possible, clear of its path.
“ALOIS!!!” His Highness’s scream rips through the storm.
But I don’t regret it. I know what I saw when my Prayer of the Guardian Spirit had touched the black lightning. A quick analysis had revealed to me the nature of the curse. And when the multiple bolts had coalesced into one, I had seen its intentions. This is no mindless storm. It’s a living malediction and driven by a purpose. It’s a curse that has a life of its own, fueled by and connected to a demon. And at the heart of it, it wants the ice witch who had destroyed Städal — it wants her.
“Hel.”
Not only did it try to take Prince Zenon, but her, too?
Gritting my teeth, I wrench my magic wide and draw the curse into myself. I let it pour through me — all of it — then bind it tight, wrapping my power around it, pressing down from every side.
The lightning condenses within me, its blackness seared into light beneath my magic, even as I feel it tear viciously at my heart and memories.
You really think I’d just let you do what you like?