Primordial Unleashed: Epic Progression Fantasy

The world darkened as their companeight dipped beneath the trees, putting their camp out of sight. Following the muddy trail which had led them to the valley that afternoon, they rose into the hillside draped in silence. Skippii's legs ached after so little rest, but he drew strength from the earth and found he could keep going.

The sensation was familiar to him. He realised at once that he'd been drawing power from that invisible source all his life, yet in smaller forms, such as to keep himself awake during the long night watch, or to muster the confidence to wrestle an older boy amongst the impedimenta. However, as an adolescent, he had only ever siphoned a trickle of the power–like a candle in a temple. Now beneath him was a burning brazier, and it was his to command.

His aching muscles relaxed, but a deep fatigue remained in his bones. There was only so far the magia could propel his body. He was beginning to learn that it required a careful balance, as with anything.

At the top of the valley path, their route evened out. Before him, it continued to climb into the ever thickening forest, but to the west, it wound beneath the bank and out of sight. After about an hour of climbing upwards, Skippii knelt to get his breath back and let the others catch up. Indeed, despite his injuries, he had marched ahead of them. Tenoris followed first, the thick legs of a farmhand well suited for any exertive task. With a single breath, he composed himself and stood beside Skippii.

"How are you feeling, my brother?" he asked.

The question caught Skippii off-guard. What did it matter how he was feeling? "Fine," he replied, pausing to compose his thoughts. "Tenoris, I have something to admit to you which you may not like."

"Speak freely," he said.

"Once the others get here."

Next up the verge were the two veterans. Orsin leant on his spear like a stave, red-faced but breathing steadily. Arius followed in long, slow strides, helmet hanging at his waist; his dark hair was longer than regulation allowed, sprouting down the back of his neck like a squirrel's tail. Kaesii heaved his bulk up after them, a few paces in front of Drusilla. The broad Summitus man came to the top sweating, black curly hair stuck to his brow, the bandage around his shoulder wet with blood.

Tossing his shield down, Drusilla crouched with his back against the path's opposite, but did not utter a word of complaint. Though the night ahead was filled with trepidation, Skippii's heart warmed to see his fellows accompanying him into the gauntlet.

"What's the plan then?" Orsin said, breaking the silence.

"Pick up the trail," Skippii said, though he knew it wasn't much of a plan. "Try and do so before the sun fully sets."

"First, we find their tracks," Arius spoke. His voice was smooth and deep, pronunciation precise. "Then, their den. And then…" he glared at Skippii, daggers in his eyes. "We become a nightmare."

"It won't be pretty," Orsin said. "We might have to kill men in their sleep."

"They'd do the same to us if they could," Drusilla said.

"Yes," Arius said darkly. "They would."

Catching their breath, the legionnaires picked up their gear, slinging shields over their backs, and made to depart. The pressure welled in Skippii's chest as he tried to contain the words that were bursting to get out. Finally, he could hold his breath no more. "There's something I must say before we go on."

"If you're going to thank us," Drusilla said. "Save your breath. I'm here for revenge." He pointed at his wounded shoulder. "The archer got away."

"No need for thanks," Kaesii added. "I'm just doing my duty. Where the companeight goes, I go."

"Fulmin would have joined," Orsin said, "But I made him stay behind. He was too injured, too tired for the journey. As for Cur…"

"Let the old curmudgeon rest," Tenoris said. "More glory for us."

"It's not that," Skippii said. "There's something I must tell you." He wanted to go on, but the words fled him. How could he explain that which he did not understand, except to demonstrate? Resting his spear and shield against the verge, Skippii held out his hands. "There's… I don't know what it is, but I can tell you for certain, I am no heretic."

In the silence that followed, his companion's faces grew concerned, all except for Tenoris, who appeared more curious. "Your hands?" he said.

"An ability. Maybe a gift." As Skippii spoke, he drew the power into him, slowly at first. The flesh of his palms turned red as though battered by a long day using a hammer. Fire licked at the inside of his chest, urging his lungs to pump the bellows. Restraining the urge, he eased more of the magia into his hands, willing them to glow.

Closing his eyes, he felt his connection to the earth grow with each breath like the roots of a tree sprouting from his feet, drinking up the warmth of the source. Untying his sandals, he stood barefoot on the pathway, toes sinking into the mud, and breathed deeply.

Like coaxing an ember to life, he fanned the flames until his body was alight. The mud beneath his toes started to mist like morning due touched by the sun. Thin vapours steamed off him in the cold air.

Skippii heard his companions gasp and curse. It sounded like somebody tripped and fell, but he kept his eyes shut maintaining his focus. A white-hot energy ran through his veins, barely contained–erratic, like rattling nerves–but Skippii fought to clench it in his fists.

Opening his eyes, he beheld the visage of his power as though entranced in a dream. Orange flames licked the length of his arms, forming an aura around his fists. The fire did not smoke except where it caught the short sleeves of his tunic and singed them.

Shaking with power, Skippii looked around his companeight. Their faces were aghast, Tenoris in particular was dumbfounded. A part of Skippii challenged them to say something–to accuse him. Anger rose with the flames inside him. He ached to release it–to strike and burn–but there was no enemy in sight. Still, the anger persisted, conquering his reasonable thoughts. Was that fear in Drusilla's eyes, and scorn in Kaesii's? Had they so quickly made up their minds as to what he was? Were they to condemn him for something neither they nor he could understand, let alone comprehend. Who were they to do so? His companions, or conspirators?

With a growl, he plunged his fists into the earth. The heat expelled. Magia fled him, and with it his seething delusions. How foolish he had been to anger so quickly. Kneeling, he looked up at his companions, awaiting their judgement.

"Sacred son," Tenoris whispered. "For you are one of Chrysaetos' himself."

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"Not Chrysaetos," Skippii said. "I'm sure of it."

"But…" Tenoris shook his head mutely. "Then Erymenes, lord of fire and metallurgy?"

Skippii shook his head. "I'm still astray. I don't talk to the Gods. I never asked them for their power."

"Extraordinary," Arius mused.

"You scared the shit out of me," Drusilla said. "What is it, Skip? What's wrong with you? How did you do that?"

"Magia…" Kaesii whispered.

"Of course it's magia," Drusilla said. "But which God?"

"None of them," Skippii repeated, rising to his feet. "I don't understand it either. It comes from within me. No rituals or prayer. No sacrifice. No learning."

"How long have you been able to…" Orsin said.

"One week," Skippii said. "But… No, I've felt this power in me my whole life, like you can feel your heart beating or your lungs moving. I thought nothing of it–just a warmness of the body–I told myself. Just a connection to the ground. Until…"

"Until the Ürkün mage," Orsin finished for him. "That's when it first came out?"

"Yes," Skippii said exasperatedly. "That's the first time that I did anything significant… that flames were actually inside me, and in my fists."

"You kept this from us," Tenoris scowled. "Why?"

"Because it's heresy," Skippii yelped. "Because I'm astray. I've no business with magia, not the sort that the Pantheon should possess. If the arcanus found out, I'd be expelled from the legion. Interrogated. But I'm not… I mean to say, it's not true. I don't know what this is, but I can't contain it any longer. It came out of me when I was pinned by the Apertorix. I'm sure Fulmin saw. I should not have lied to you."

Skippii's head swam, but the words were tumbling out of his mouth quicker than he could think. "If you do not believe me, then I will not hate you for it. Perhaps one of you is more wise about these things than I am, and you can see the corruption in me, even when I swear it's not there. Do as you will, please. Take the choice away from me. I can't bear it. Decide my fate, you have my blessing. But whatever you choose, know this: I am not a heretic. Whatever possesses me, it has not mastered my heart. It never will."

"Hey, cool down, Skip." Orsin patted his shoulder, and for a bit of levity, pretended to be burnt by the touch. Blowing on his hand, he smiled thinly before compassionate eyes. "Nobody's passing judgement tonight."

"And if they were to," Tenoris said lowly. "I would stand by your side."

Drusilla paced nervously, and Kaesii glared at his feet, but it was Arius who held Skippii's gaze. The intense legionnaire held his spear upright, shield by his side, giving nothing away of his emotions. He had seen how quickly the man could strike with a spear. If he wanted to, Arius could pierce him before anyone had a chance to react. But Skippii did not shrink. Whatever they decided, he would accept.

"Do not fear," Arius said. "I had guessed, before today, and made my mind. I will not condemn you. But tell me, what is the nature of this?"

Skippii sighed, dizzy with relief. "I can summon fire at will. It comes from the earth, from some sort of source deep down underground. But I feel it everywhere–not just a well here and there–and more potently in recent days. It flows through me and I become something else. I wish I understood it better so I could explain."

"The power comes from the ground?" Arius said.

"It feels like that, yeah."

"Magma?"

"What is that?" Skippii asked.

"Liquid fire. There is much of it underground. It surfaces as geysers. Steam. There are many springs in my city of Clidus. It is the power of the volcano."

"I think that's it," Skippii whispered, then cleared his throat. "I haven't had the time to really explore it while marching for six hours a day and getting ambushed and the like."

Tenoris chuckled merrily. "My brother, this is an extraordinary gift. To which God you owe this power, or whatever peculiar force, I cannot say. But let us not study idly like scholars, discussing the nature of a hammer and nail when it is simple labour that needs be done. Let us use this gift! Be not shy, Skip. Reveal to us your strength in the rescue of our friend. You have our backing and our oath."

"So long as you wear the cape," Orsin said, fixing Skippii's red cloak about his shoulders. "You are a legionnaire. Your body belongs to the legion, as does your power. This gift… this magia, wielded like a blade, is just another weapon for the Imperium."

"But the arcanus," Skippii said.

"You will not be able to keep it from them forever," Orsin said. "But I shall not be the one to reveal your secret."

He handed Skippii his spear, then turned to address Drusilla and Kaesii. "What do you have to be nervous about? This is our comrade, and he has spoken truthfully. Do you deny his words?"

"No," they each responded.

"Then embrace him. Do not fear him, for he is the legion Auctoritas."

Drusilla approached him coyly, then grasped his hand shakily and looked him in the eye. "I'll say a prayer to Summitor for you. Just don't burn the tent down while we're sleeping, alright, Skip?"

Skippii snorted and shook his hand. "I won't, unless Tenoris keeps snoring like he has."

Drusilla nodded. "Yeah, in that case, fair enough."

Kaesii remained stubbornly by the hill's verge, looking down the way they had come, back towards camp. "It doesn't make sense."

Skippii's heart sank, but it was Orsin who spoke up for him. "What doesn't?"

"We have a Pantheon for a reason." The Vestia-born legionnaire raised his chin stubbornly, blonde hair stark against the shadows of the fading sun. "Yes, I acknowledge that the world is strange, and I don't know the half of it… there's a lot of magia I can't comprehend, sure. But… that's precisely why the Auctoritas worship the Pantheon. Everything else is…" He blinked and shook his head.

Heresy, Skippii thought.

"It's wild," Kaesii said. "It's chaos. It's untamed. It's…." He nodded at the hillside–at the wilderness beyond their camp. Urkun lands.

"Are you a scholar or a soldier?" Drusilla chided.

"I am a soldier of the republic, bound by its laws," Kaesii said. As he regarded Skippii, his expression softened, yet did not break. "I trust you Skip, but if this is something you cannot control, and don't know its nature, then how can you trust yourself?"

The question felt like a punch to his gut. He tried not to let the hurt appear on his face or in his voice as he spoke. "I cannot, in truth, until it is upon me, and then the flames burn away all my doubts. It's like an instinct, like hunger. Once I satisfy it, I'm fine again. My mind has not changed, it hasn't wandered. Only, there's an anger. With the power…"

Trailing off, he grasped for an explanation. "It's hard to contain at times. My mind recedes in the smoke."

"That is a common problem that many young velvets suffer in battle," Orsin said. "But, so far, you've used it against the enemy alone. Correct?"

"Of course."

"Well, tonight we will have plenty of opportunity for that again."

"Build a bonfire of their bodies," Tenoris gleamed, the humour in his expression at odds with his words.

Skippii took solace in his companion's reassurances. Something inside him clicked, like a stiff lock opening to the perfect pressure. As his heart opened, a fresh breeze came in, cleansing his stuffy doubts.

"I am a legionnaire," he announced resolutely. "This power–whatever it is–it's my spear. I shall wield it for the legion. Doubt me if you will, and do as you must, but that won't change my path."

"I wasn't…" Kaesii started. "I didn't mean to doubt you, personally, Skippii. You caught me off guard, that's all."

"That's alright," he said with a wry smile. "I understand."

"I'd like to see how far you can go," Drusilla said, punching him in the arm. "Skippii the Fireball."

"Skippii the Scorcher," Kaesii muttered. "Fireball isn't original."

"So what?" Drusilla said.

Kaesii shrugged. "Names are important." He looked Skippii in the eye, and a curious grin crossed his lips. "Especially in legends."

"Somebody is coming," Arius interrupted, rushing over to the path's edge. Suddenly, their focus was drawn to the hillside and camp beyond.

"They followed us?" Drusilla said. "Do we go on?"

Tenoris marched to Arius' side. "They may think that we have deserted if we go any further."

Drusilla joined them. "But how did they know? We told the camp guard that we were on patrol."

"Ahh," Tenoris groaned. "To be made to abandon our quest now, embanked upon its shores. What ill fortune."

"Quiet," Arius hushed them. "Our guest is no random scout or guard. He is one of ours."

"The curmudgeon?" Tenoris asked.

Orsin laughed. "So the old man's joining us after all."

"Seems that way," Arius said.

"Who wants to tell him about Skippii the Scorcher?" Kaesii said.

"Skippii the Fireball," Drusilla amended.

"I could demonstrate again," Skippii said. "It's the only way to properly explain things. Would you have all believed me if I hadn't shown you?"

"That is true," Tenoris said. "If it is no exertion to you, Skip?"

"No," Orsin said. "It's a waste of time, and he'll probably be full of gripes. He might even turn back around and head straight to the arcanus to report it."

"So, we keep it from him?" An evil smile crept upon Arius' lips. "Can you imagine his surprise?"

"When battle begins and Skip bursts into flames?" Orsin's grin reflected the dark-skinned Clidusian's. It seemed that the two veterans had a wicked sense of humour. "Serves him right for being so late."