Primordial Unleashed: Epic Progression Fantasy

is companions had brought their shields close to the fire, sitting atop them, speaking irreverently with the arcanus. Tenoris had proffered his shield to her and knelt, speaking softer than Skippii thought him capable. It seemed she was giving a simple communion–not the interrogation which he had feared.

Remaining just outside the firelight's glow, he considered his strategy. But uncertainty clouded his vision. He knew very little about the pantheonos who accompanied the legion–their politics and policies. He had only once approached an arcanus in his youth, and asked about the fires which he had begun to detect underfoot. But he had been shooed away–the pantheonos couldn't fathom that a road-born child was awakening to a magia beyond their Gods'.

Soon, they would come to know it in truth. The fires had burned brighter with each step they took towards the besieged city of Nerithon. What hope did he have to hide such power from those who possessed the sight of the Gods themselves?

Cowardice breathed down his neck, coaxing him away from the firelight. Perhaps he should disappear into the camp and wander aimlessly until the arcanus abandoned her duties and left…

But the thought unsettled him. He had never fled from a fight before, and would not start now. Be it tonight or tomorrow, he would have to face her eventually. Steeling himself, he staggered towards the fire, and towards the providence of the Gods.

"Bona-vera," he greeted, as casually as he could muster.

"Skippii Altay, I presume," she responded quickly, as though she had sensed him coming. Her cloak was dyed the dense blue of a storm cloud in dusk, sheltering her smooth oak-brown hair. Her features were fine and fae. Her eyes were cunning like foxes'. In truth, she was beautiful, which made her all the more terrifying.

"I am Clarivoxa Kylinissa, your arcanus. I've been informed of your encounter with the heretic magus, but I'd like to hear it from your own lips."

"Okay," he agreed, sharing a nervous glance with Cliae. "We–Tenoris and I–found the Ürkün in a farmstead. There were three of them, but we didn't know at the time that one was a heretic magus."

"When did you know?" Her smooth, wispy voice seemed to float on the air itself.

"When he started growing these… clouds, almost… No, they were more like pools of dark energy in his hands. And stones, which he threw like bolts."

"Here." Fulmin rose and tossed a shield at Skippii's feet. Pale patch-wood marred his cohort's insignia, but it would block an arrow again.

"Good as new," Fulmin announced. "Better, even. Luckier, apparently." He glanced skeptically at Orsin.

"A fine throne," Tenoris rumbled.

Skippii sat atop it and recounted the day's events to the arcanus. Fatigue and bodily pains dulled his wits, but he made sure to omit the part where he had melded with a vast ocean of magia and became a fireball of wrath. His mouth felt dry, the words cumbersome on his lips. He had never been any good at lying–never had much use for it. Rather, he embellished Tenoris' fight in the hallway and killing-blow against the heretic.

"He was injured, when I chased him. Limping."

"Then what happened?"

Kylinissa listened intently, tracing the rim of a silver plate fixed to her ceremonial standard. Rested in her lap, the standard's cross-beam was decorated with charms, beads and feathers–tools of a kind which arcanus used to oracle the Gods and root-out heresy. She was silent as he spoke, watching his lips move as though she could see the lies escape his mouth upon each breath.

"Is that all?" she asked as he finished.

"That's all I remember," Skippii said. "The dark magia and the stones."

"Do you have one of these stones?"

"Here," Orsin said. The veteran had been listening nearby, and tossed the arcanus a pouch. She pocketed it without thanks.

"You are lucky, Skippii," she said. "Not many legionnaires can say they have faced a heretic and survived, let alone bested one."

He exhaled deeply as anxiety drained from him. Clearly, Kylinissa did not suspect him, and was not here to interrogate him. Bowing his head, he averted his eyes and spoke with a false sincerity. "I thank the Gods. The pantheon must have been with me."

Once again, the arcanus was silent, reading him like a tablet. "I will inform the Coven of Kylin." A thin smile crept across her lips. "Though, they may be a little offended that their most sacred mission was accomplished, quite easily, by two legionnaires."

"The Coven?" Skippii's heart sank. They were the last people's attention he wanted to draw. Twelve warmagi whose sole task was to face the heretic magi in battle.

Kylinissa smiled. "They shall hear that Skippii Altay bested an Ürkün magus with the help of his valiant companion, Septimus Tenoris."

"Excellent," Tenoris beamed across the fire.

"Brilliant," Skippii said, less emphatically. "It's an honour."

"In return, I should grant you an oracle with your Gods, Skippii Altay."

With a jolt, he looked at her, but his jaw was too heavy to speak.

"Oh, what a blessing," Tenoris said eagerly. "Perhaps you beseech Hespera for luminous answers. Or Aequentia? I suspected their mischief on this day."

Skippii swallowed dryly as the arcanus fixed him with a steely gaze. If Hespera's moonlight were to shine upon him as it had Tenoris, there would be no hope in concealing the truth.

"I am quite tired," he said. "And I do not want to keep you too long, arcanus."

"Skip," Tenoris hissed. "Do not turn down such a chance for us to admire the aura of our Gods."

Skippii sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry but… I don't think we need to trouble her Luminescence with such dark and tainted matters."

"Oh, but I am sure Hespera would like to behold her champion," Tenoris said.

"Who is your acheron?" Kylinissa asked.

Bowing his head so that the heavens could not read his lips, he spoke. "None. I am astray."

Cur scoffed, but Skippii gritted his teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

"Whom do you worship?" Tenoris asked softly.

"The Pantheon," he said. "But, none… I have no father, you see." Raising his chin, he looked each of his companions in the eye. "It's a little different, growing up on the road in foreign lands. No temples, no family except for the impedimenta. It's not like I chose to be astray."

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"First legionnaire I've met who's astray," Cur said. "How did they let you in?"

"They let me in," he growled, "because I passed disciplina training. My superiors decided it."

Kaesii shifted uncomfortably atop his shield. "I thought it was against-"

"It is against," Skippii snapped. "But they make exceptions, sometimes."

"I suppose they had to," Cur murmured, glaring solemnly into the campfire.

An uncomfortable silence swept over their companeight as each man held his tongue. Anger rose within Skippii–a heated call to action. If any of them doubted him–questioned his place amongst the legion–he would prove by whatever means necessary that he was their equal, if not their better. Looking from one to another, he challenged them with his gaze.

Tenoris straightened himself and cleared his throat. "It seems, our superiors were correct in their judgement, as always, for today, our astray companion bested the most devoted heretic. I doubt verily that such deeds go unnoticed to the heavens."

Skippii took a deep breath of the night's air, cooling his vex. Too quickly, he had been angered, and almost lost control. He had almost brought a sliver of that power from the earth into his lungs, and into his fists. Bowing his head, he submitted his speeding heartbeat.

"They do not," Kylinissa said levelly. Her eyes were blunt and unblinking, impossible to read. "Astray or not, all under the heavens are within the pantheon's domain. I may still oracle your fates, if you wish."

Skippii opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't find the right words. He did not want to hear what the Gods had to say about his day and his awakened magia. If the worst was true, and he was cursed, he would be exposed in front of all his companions. But if he protested any more, he would only arouse more suspicion. Trapped, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply, unclenching his fists.

"Then, yes," he said dryly. "I would like that."

"Whom should I beseech?"

"Oyaltun," Orsin spoke, piling more wood on the fire to light their small camp. "Let her Sentiescence shed some light on this situation. That is, if you don't mind me taking the lead with the suggestion, Skip?"

"Sure, yeah," he said, relieved to be rid of the choice. "Good idea. That works. Oyaltun."

Kylinissa looked upon him for a moment longer in silence, her dark eyes discerning his expression just as she did the ritual plates. "So be it."

Unlatching the largest of three silver plates which formed her staff, she thrust it into the fire's base, shovelling the coals onto its surface. Next, she withdrew a clump of clay from her knapsack and wet it, moulding it in her hands, forming an oval shape with a rift down the centre. Squeezing with thin fingers, she created grooves over its surface, like a parallel maze or puzzle board. The embers glowed beneath her as she worked, casting her face in a shadowy glow, illuminating her eyes.

"What is the importance of this sculpture?" Tenoris whispered.

"It is an effigy of the mind," she spoke, placing it on the plate's embers. Covering each hemisphere with her hands, she mouthed an inaudible prayer. Her cloak fell about her shoulders and face like a deepening shadow until only the pale of her hands were visible.

Slowly lifting from the embers, she passed a waterskin to Skippii, then cupped her hands before him. "Pour."

He did so as carefully as possible, but his hands trembled, and he spilled a little on the grass. Bowing her head, she whispered into her cupped hands. All the campfire was quiet, unnaturally so; even the sounds from nearby fires and the legion at large seemed suddenly dulled, as though a tent's flap had been drawn over their proceedings.

Raising her head, Kylinissa extended her hands to Skippii. In her palms was a mirror of ice, frost-capped and glittering.

"Hold," she said.

A sensation of dread crept upon him as he did so. The ice stung him as he touched it, but he didn't flinch. Kylinissa directed his hand over the silver plate, and he felt the heat of their coals. A hot flush–a stab of panic–and the fires erupted.

Kylinissa shot away from the flames with a yelp, but Skippii felt no pain. Only power. Only pleasure.

Suddenly, he realised his error. Retracting his hands, he clutched them tingling to his chest and glanced nervously at the arcanus. He should have mimicked Kylinissa's alarm, but it was too late. Her eyes were wide, mouth agape, but slowly they creased into a discerning scowl.

"Skip," Tenoris breathed. "You felt no pain?"

"Erymenes' hearth," Fulmin said. "How did you do that?"

As quickly as they had risen, the fires died. In the plate's centre, the clay sculpture had greyed and cracked in the heat. Tentatively, Kylinissa removed it from the fire and placed it on the grass before her, then looked Skippii in the eye. "What did you sense?"

His heart rattled, and he was too shaken to lie. "A power, not unpleasant."

Kylinissa scowled slightly, then her expression softened to neutral. "That was… unexpected."

"Wow," Tenoris exclaimed reverently. "Were those fires of fortune, or…?"

"Shouldn't have done it with an astray," Cur jabbed.

"You're wrong, old legio," Kylnissa said, inspecting the clay sculpture. "Normally, to oracle for an astray is tepid, not tumultuous. Something else is at play here."

Skippii froze, as all the world disappeared, and only the arcanus remained before him. Had she seen what he was? Had the fires revealed it? How cruel. He only needed a few days to explore his magia–to understand himself. It had come upon him so quickly, and so soon, the very same day, he would face judgement. How would he defend his case? He was not prepared.

"However, these cracks…" The arcanus' fingers traced the clay sculpture. "Are unusual."

Doubt crept upon him, festering like sickness in his stomach. It was not fair. He was a legionnaire, he would not let them take that away from him. If she claimed he was a heretic, then he would protest it. He would die tonight, if necessary, adorned in the red cloak which he had fought so hard to obtain.

"The heresy of your encounter lingers." Raising her chin, she looked him dead in the eye. "Do not worry. Oyaltun has not rejected you, which certainly would be alarming. Rather, she herself has been alarmed, it seems. There must be a trace of the enemy on your skin. Wash yourself well tonight, legio. Do not go to sleep without doing so. Find a bucket and brush. Slave."

Cliae came to attention by her side.

"Go to the stream, quickly now. As for you, Skippii Altay, do not worry. Heretic magia is filthy. It leaves a stain, more so on the astray, whose souls are sometimes dirtied by its immoral allure. But I have no doubts that this is not the case for you. For one, you killed the enemy."

"I did," Skippii said sternly. "I killed him without hesitation, nor fear of death."

"I do not doubt your allegiance," she said.

"None of us do," Tenoris said loudly, turning to look upon the companeight. "Skippii is a hero. The Gods have recognised that. But what hero walks away from battle undirtied by the enemy's blood? This darkness is merely a splash of the heretic's essence."

They were silent, some withdrawn in thought, others inspecting Skippii with cautious eyes.

"You speak the truth, as always, Tenor" Orsin said. "If I ever brought my spear to the throat of an enemy magus, I'd brag about it... Maybe not as much as you have."

That got a muted laugh from the recruits.

"But honestly," Orsin continued. "I hope that will never happen, because more than likely, it would be my dead body telling the story, and where's the glory in that?" He smiled. "These are dark thoughts and strange omens, but they don't trouble me. We might have only travelled for a couple of weeks together, but I know good recruits when I see them. We've met a fair few, haven't we, Cur?"

"Ragtag and velvet," he grumbled. "But, not the worst."

"The Gods say one thing, right?" Orsin addressed the companeight as the arcanus listened on. "And they often make it way more complicated than it needs to be. No offence, lady divine."

Kylinissa gave no reaction.

"But, as a legionnaire, I say another. Astral, astray… let's put this strangeness to bed. Skippii will wash, and I will wash with him. We should all do so. We all got near the enemy's corpse. Thank Gods it was a corpse. Thanks to Skip and Tenor. Then, let us share a tent tonight as men do, and rise tomorrow, clean of the day's sins."

"Who made you a poet?" Cur said, but not bitterly. The rest of his companions agreed with subdued grunts.

Fastening her ceremonial plates back onto her standard, the arcanus departed with a brief word of prayer. "May her Luminescence guide your rest."

The merriment of victory which had brightened their evening had long since set with the sun. Embarrassed, Skippii kept to himself while they washed. Then, with nothing left to drink and no light with which to gamble, his companeight retired to their tent.

But Skippii remained alone by the fire for an hour or more. His mind wandered on the day's events like a grindstone milling grain. Slowly, he came to accept reality… That, since this morning, he had awoken an unknown magia which had laid dormant all his life. Truth was, he had not changed, not significantly. He was still his mother's son and a legionnaire, and would do anything to cling to that honour.

Likely, his best course was to follow Cliae's advice: find somewhere remote away from the legion and put his magia under scrutiny. Draw upon the power and observe its aura, test its limitations.

Finally, he rose to enter their tent when a cold finger tapped him on the shoulder. Startled, he turned, expecting the arcanus to have returned. But nobody was there.

"Hello?" he said, staring into the shadows between tents. An icy wind brushed his cheek, and something twinkled in the air. A few lonely snowflakes drifted over their campsite, falling into the smouldering ashes of their fire. He felt as though he was in a dream. Holding his hand out, he caught one, and felt it melt into his palm. Then, as quickly as it had come, the wind passed, and the night was returned its spring mildness. Skippii glanced around once more, unable to shake the sense that someone was watching him.

It had been a long day. He may be at risk of going a little mad.

Retiring to bed, Skippii fell swiftly into a deep sleep.