Dual Wielding

There was silence as Corrin descended the stairs into the abyss. Silence and darkness. The only sound he could make out was that of his own heartbeat, and the darkness was so pervasive, it made closing his eyes seem bright by comparison. His mind was set though, and he continued descending, one step at a time.

Finally, there was a change, and the complete darkness brightened to something more akin to a moonless night, and he could see the end of the stairs ahead.

Corrin reached the bottom and found himself in a decrepit, man-made room, which looked as though it should’ve long since crumbled away to the passage of time. Cracks spiderwebbed along the floor and walls, parts of which had fallen as chunks to the ground. Oddly, one part of the walls seemed in perfect condition. A ring around the room towards the top, with strange symbols carved into the stone, appeared untouched, pristine as though it had been carved yesterday. In the middle of the room was a small dais, on top of which was a decaying, empty throne cut from rock.

“My my, Corrin, you’re in quite a rough shape, aren’t you?” A voice sounded from the middle of the room, and he felt it in his head, carrying such authority that it shook his very soul. With a start, Corrin realized that the throne wasn’t empty. In the darkness surrounding him, he’d failed to notice that the throne was somehow even darker than the rest, as though the very light in the room fled from it. As he squinted, he realized a figure, the void itself, sat upon the throne, darkness wreathed around it like a cloak.

“Who are you? How do you know my name?” he demanded, drawing his sword even as his hands began to shake.

“Someone who wants to help you.” The figure spoke soothingly, having made no movements in Corrin’s vision.

“You’ll have to excuse me being wary about trusting a shadowy figure sitting at the bottom of the dungeon.” Corrin laughed dryly, covertly wiping sweat from his palms. For all the creature in the lake scared him, it was a being he could comprehend. This thing was different, like it didn’t truly belong in the world; something entirely unnatural. Just being in its presence made his mind feel like it was overheating.

“Good instincts,” The figure laughed in a raspy tone. “You are correct. Were I free, I would be the end of you. The end of everything natural within this world. I wish to destroy it, in its entirety, it is only because I am sealed here that I do not. Eventually, I will break free, and this world will know ruin. It will be soon… very soon. But I have lived to watch kingdoms rise and civilizations fall, and I will live to watch your life burn away in a puff of smoke, dissolving into nothingness. What then, is ‘soon’ to one such as I? How many of your lifetimes could pass before ‘soon’ comes to be? Lying to one such as you is beneath me. If I say I can help, I can. I will not hide my intentions.”

Corrin soaked in the meaning of those words, and somehow he felt they were true. “And if I killed you? Right here?” He held his sword towards the darkness.

The room began to shake, as the figure expanded, the darkness spreading up to fill almost the entire room, leaving Corrin the only pocket of substance in the sea of nothingness. Booming laughter echoed in his mind, causing a wave of nausea which nearly knocked him over as the air grew thin, making his breathing difficult and labored. “I welcome you to try, child. But if it were so easy, I wouldn’t be here now, speaking to you. You are strong, but make no mistake, far greater men than you have already failed to do just that.”

His words rang true, and Corrin knew from stories that spirits—if that’s what this thing was—couldn’t lie or break oaths. “So, why would you want to help me then?” He managed. Something about this darkness was unnatural, his whole body felt like it was going to freeze. He wanted to just lay down and…

The shadows retreated back to the throne and took the form of a man once again. It sat, unmoving and quiet for a long while. “Have you not felt the pain in your chest?”

Corrin looked up, able to breathe again, the cold pulling away from his chest, though the blanket on his thoughts remained. It was like his mind was swimming through syrup, and just thinking was exhausting.

“You know about it?”

“Of course. I know everything, child. You are suffering from mana poisoning. Since the fall, you’ve been breathing it in without even knowing what you were doing. Without a channeling technique, it will kill you. It will only get worse, slowly and painfully tearing you apart from the inside.”

Corrin shuddered, the pain was already unbearable, he couldn't take any worse. It was from the power—the mana he'd been breathing in? It made sense, but it was ironic that the very thing that kept him alive was also what was killing him. “How can I fix it?”

“You cannot.” The darkness warped in a way that reminded Corrin of a smile, “But I can. You need only grant me physical contact and I will imprint a channeling technique on your soul. I will even heal your physical injuries as well.”

Corrin remembered the pain. Oh, spirits that pain… He nearly stepped forward as soon as he heard it could be healed, but he managed to hold himself back. There was something he needed to do… something Fenfreth had mentioned when dealing with powerful spirits. “Swear on your soul that you won’t harm me, physically or otherwise,” He remembered.

The laughter returned, “You think yourself a smart child to make a deal with a demon, do you? Soul oaths are taxing, do not make them lightly. Still, if you step forward, I, Azoth, swear on my soul to not bring you harm of any kind.” He held out a hand.

Corrin mulled it over for a few brief moments. Though Straetum never produced mages, he’d heard that soul oaths were binding for any who wielded magic, especially for those with great power, which he presumed that this Azoth had. He’d like to pretend that it was for some logical reason that he made the decision he did, and he didn't see what Azoth had to gain by helping him like this. But in the end, he simply didn’t want to die, and he didn’t want to feel that pain again. He stepped forward towards the darkness.

"Heal me."

"Of course."

Azoth reached out; a phantom’s hand thinner than a skeleton stretched towards Corrin. He found he could no longer move as the hand touched his skin. Then, like an ice pick being driven into his sternum, it slipped into his chest.

Corrin’s world was swallowed in darkness.

***

Wyn was on fire, literally. Ethereal, purple-white flames filled his vision as the spirits around him swirled hundreds of feet into the air, like a thousand burning stars, so bright he thought he might go blind. He dropped to his knees, splashing the water on himself, desperate to put out the flames, but it had no effect.

Only after a minute of panic did he realize the flames didn’t hurt at all. He looked up to see Iillia smiling tenderly. She waved a hand and the flames sputtered out, leaving him unscathed. “Well, Wyn? How do you feel?”

Wyn patted himself up and down, checking for burns and found… nothing. The cuts on his back, the bite on his leg, it was all gone, or at least the pain was, the marks still remained, though they’d closed slightly.

His expression must’ve given it away, because Iillia smiled wider, “Be careful, spirit fire revitalizes and burns away toxins, it does not truly heal. It will allow you to ignore your injuries temporarily, preventing them from worsening, and it will aid in the healing process, but they are still there. In the short term, it will be alright to use them as normal, but be careful about overuse.”

Wyn bowed deeper, “Thank you Great One. I am not worthy of this gift. But I must ask, if the injuries aren’t healed… even if they were, how can I help Corrin?”

“Healing is not an ability I possess. My brother could heal you, but he is not here. More than this, I cannot grant you power, only the ability to seize it for yourself. And that is something I have already done. Search inside yourself, and—” She abruptly stopped, her head snapping to the northeast, towards The Windfall Mountains—towards the tomb. “No… It is too soon. He shouldn’t have stayed awake… what did he see?”

Iillia waved her hand, and a constellation spread out in front of her like a tapestry. Wyn glanced at it for only a moment, but a brief spike of pain shot through his mind as an endless series of images flashed through it.

Vaguely, thousands, no millions of visions played before his eyes, though each individual image was hazy at best. And there were just so many of them, it was like trying to drink an entire lake all at once, as soon as he’d seen it, it had completely overwhelmed him.

“Careful, child,” Iillia chided him without even looking up. “If you’d looked a second longer, your mind would have been lost. Even for me, this is difficult, and by no means an exact science, but it is necessary.”

“What were those visions?” He asked.

“My children share many things with me: sights, sounds, memories, and even dreams.”

“You have a lot of children.”

She smiled, “Indeed I do.”

After a minute of silence, Iillia looked up towards Wyn, white rings spinning around her eyes. “I see… he is gambling. That is less troubling, though leaving such a thing to chance is unwise. You play your pieces Azoth. I will play mine. Wyn?”

“Um, yes?”

“You will want to begin running back to Straetum. Your friend is fine, he should be arriving on his own soon, but you need to make sure he has a village to come back to.” The surface of the pond rippled as an image appeared on its surface. Monsters were flooding out of the Founder’s Tomb, hundreds of them: terrifying creatures of all shapes and sizes.

Wyn’s chest tightened, “They’re heading for Straetum?”

“Yes.”

“What can I do to stop them?” Wyn asked, desperate, “I’m still far too weak. I can’t save anyone, much less protect the whole village. Please, I need you to help me!”

Iillia reached out a hand, pressing it gently against his chest. “I would not choose the bearer of the flame so lightly, and I don’t believe I made a mistake. You have the power Wyn, you need only reach out and accept it. Your dream is your strength, believe in it. Now go!”

She pushed his chest, and Wyn found himself running, his cloak billowing behind him as he tore through the mists. The pain was gone, and even if it was going to harm him to do this, he needed to get back as soon as possible.

“Wyn,” Iillia’s voice echoed in his head, but he kept running. “With my blessing, this forest is now your sanctuary as much as mine, it will not impede your travel. You will be beyond my reach soon, so take these last words to heart. Eia will accompany you, trust in her as you would a family member, and she will prove a valuable ally. Most importantly, should you master the greater flame, return here and we will speak again. Until then, be safe.” The impression faded, leaving only the sound of the wind rushing in his ears as he tore through the forest.

Sure enough, the mists parted before him, cutting a path straight out of the spirit glades. The fantastical sights blurred in his vision as he broke out of the tree line and back into the storm, tearing across the ground like a bolt of lightning. Corrin was alive, that much was good news, but if he didn’t make it back to Straetum quickly… Elry, his mother, Khaeli—images of his loved ones flashed through his head, and he somehow picked up his pace even further. Eia swooped through the air in front of him, pulsating rapidly.

Finally, he crested a small hill and the village appeared. It didn’t seem like it was under attack yet, but based on the pace of the monsters he’d seen, there would only be minutes until they arrived. How was he supposed to stop them? He couldn’t even fight his way through the few dozen that blocked the passageway, let alone the hundreds he’d seen in the surface of the water.

Iillia said you can do it, he told himself. He had no choice but to believe her.

He rushed into the town’s garrison, the door groaning on its hinges as he forced the heavy metal door open faster than it liked and stumbled into the building, dripping water all over the wooden floor. Straetum was a small town, so the “garrison” was really just a small building where most of the weapons were stored, and where the two dozen or so men with any combat training met if a spirit beast or rogue monster needed to be driven off. In reality, there were only about five full time guards who had received similar training to Wyn and Corrin, though it was less focused on the dungeon in particular.

“Monsters— North— Need to hurry,” Wyn sputtered, nearly doubling over as he caught his breath, chest heaving.

The guard on duty, a young man named Elior, scrambled to his feet. “Wyn? What the hell are you doing here?”

Wyn explained the situation as best he could, leaving out some of the details as he tried to get the message across. Eventually, Elior seemed to get the idea—the mention of a new flood quickly spurred him into action—and ran off into the storm to gather the townsfolk.

Still breathing hard, Wyn took off again towards his home. He didn’t continue the blistering pace from earlier, as he’d need all the energy he could save, but he tore through the streets like a specter in the night, reaching his family’s home in only a minute.

He threw the front door open, already yelling for his family to wake up. Just as he reached the doorway to his mother’s room, she opened the door in a nightgown, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Wyn? Sweetie what is it?”

“Mom, we have to go! I’ll wake Elry up, we need to get you to the garrison, the town is about to come under attack.”

He could see the fear clearly flash in her eyes, but her back straightened and she nodded affirmatively. This wasn’t the first time she’d been through this.

Within minutes, the three of them were out the door, Elry on Wyn’s shoulders as they rushed to the garrison.

Bells had started ringing across town as people flooded the streets, some carrying weapons: pitchforks, hammers, knives, even the occasional bow. Some carried children, or assisted the elderly as they rushed to various shelters. Most would be headed to the garrison though, as it had been expanded and fortified for exactly this purpose after the last dungeon flooding.

Wyn grabbed his mother’s hand and pushed through the crowd of people, leading them into the stone and iron building, which had already filled more than halfway as people crowded together. He lifted Elry off his shoulders and set him down next to his mother. His younger brother was panicked, still not aware of what was happening as Wyn and his mother tried to calm him down. Eventually though, Wyn heard the howl of a beast echo in through the doorway.

He turned to leave, but his mother grabbed his hand, holding him back.

“Please Wyn…” He’d never heard her sound so scared, “I can’t do this again.”

Wyn reached out and placed a hand on his mother’s. “Mom, I have to go. They need me. Don’t worry, I’ll be back before you know it.” He forced a smile onto his face and gave a hug to her and Elry before turning once again.

Is this how my father felt? Did he smile at her as he left?

He ignored the quiet sobs behind him, he ignored the worry for Khaeli, for Corrin’s siblings, for the town itself. He shoved it all down as he stepped through the door to the garrison, moving against the stream of people going in.

The rain pelted his head as the sound of warning bells filled the darkness, muffled by the ever-present rumble of the storm.

His eyes hardened as he took a deep breath, centering himself as he, and Straetum itself, prepared for bloodshed.