Shackled Exalted

Rory

When the ground finally stopped shaking, Rory pried himself out of the rubble.

Dim light streaked in from the rooftop. The ceiling had caved in and the walls of the fortress had been battered apart by the relentless earth tremors. As he glanced around and took stock of his surroundings, he had an unsettling realization.

The Lionheart fortress that stood as the bastion of Thanatos had been destroyed.

What was going on? Were they under attack? What the hell was that deafening explosion earlier?

He swiped with his hands. The sword constructs near him quivered with intent. Controlled by his will, the constructs slashed apart the wreckage that stood in his way. The air was chock full of dust. He coughed to expel the foreign particulate from his lungs. He knew he was fine otherwise, but a cursory patting down his body confirmed his lack of injuries.

Slowly, within the halls of the fortress remnants, Lionheart soldiers began to rise from the ruins.

"Assess the damage! See to any injuries!"

An order was called by the highest-ranking Lionheart in the area. Rory stumbled towards him, still dazed, his swords hovering close by in case he lost his balance.

"Your Highness, it seems you're okay."

Rory bared his teeth into a vicious grin. How considerate of you. The scout warrior before him was called Boris. A well-respected leader of the Lionhearts, Boris had been his personal instructor during his last month of exile spent in this Lionheart fortress. It was Aidan's request—the Crown Prince personally demanded for Rory to be trained so that he would never embarrass the royal family in front of a crowd again.

Boris had done just exactly that.

The man was the epitome of a military veteran. He acted without care for Rory's status as a prince and subjected him to all sorts of torturous training. Even now, Rory could feel his body aching—not from the fortress's collapse but due to residual soreness from his daily drills.

"More or less," he muttered, patting off the dust on his shoulder, "Now tell me, what the hell is going on? Are we being attacked?"

Boris waved him off. "No. It's nothing that you should be concerned about."

Really?

The bastion of Thanatos was destroyed and there's nothing for me to be concerned about?

Rory grimaced. His feelings towards Boris were complicated at best. He detested the man from his brutal treatment of him, but he also felt a begrudging respect for his skill and instruction.

Still, this wasn't something he could look away from. His exile in the Lionheart fortress gave him little access to the news and affairs going in the kingdom. He hadn't even known the full details of what unfolded at the Academy banquet. He knew about Vigil and he had heard a glimpse of Melody Lain's voice broadcasted over the city before the fortress imploded.

It didn't take a genius to know that trouble had come to Isarelle.

"I've obliged you so far as your student, Boris. But now I can't pretend to be ignorant any longer. Tell me everything you know," he demanded with the air of authority.

Boris gave him a sidelong glance. After a few seconds of silence, he let out a heavy sigh. He quickly brought Rory up to speed about Vigil's appearance in Isarelle, the bombs spread throughout the city, and now the presumed destruction of Thanatos.

Rory wasn't sure how to react.

Never thought that tower would ever fall.

Thanatos was a symbolic reminder that Exalted were not all mighty in Ardair. Step out of line and a lifelong sentence awaited you in the hellish confines of the spire. It was supposed to be a nebulous deterrent to enforce order and a hope for Ordinaries that even Exalted were not above the law. Its destruction was a harrowing premonition.

"If Melody's words are to be trusted, it seems Vigil managed to release some of the inmates of Thanatos. We have unconfirmed reports that they're rampaging through the city right now. It's presumed that they have access to Azurite."

"And what of the nobles? And House Belle?"

"They've shown no inclination to intervene."

They're just going to let the terrorists desecrate the city?!

Rory clenched his jaws. His hands were balled up, trembling.

Are they planning to make use of this incident to make a political play? Or are they just hiding out of cowardice?!

Both possibilities drove him mad. But what angered him the most was that he was doing the exact same thing. While Vigil wrecked havoc upon Isarelle and its residents, here he was, hiding within the confines of this fortress surrounded by guards.

At the end of the day, he was just a hypocrite.

He chewed on his lips. Suddenly, he was taken back to his disgraceful display at the Clash of Dawn.

The agonizing sting of his chin. The ferric taste of blood and sand in his mouth. The stunned gaze of the crowd as they realized his loss. The sight of Emil's shadow looming before him. His mind overwhelmed with madness. The feeling of his blade sinking into Emil's back. And then the unbearable shame as he tackled to the ground by the Academy staff.

Tragedy came in threes. It was never the first mistake, but the subsequent ones that drove a person to ruination.

Rory's first mistake was taking Liesel for granted. His second was losing against Emil. His last was not being able to accept his defeat with grace.

I vowed I would never be a coward again!

Why was he exiled here to train if he was just going to hide from danger?!

Why was he given a second chance to remain in the family if not to redeem himself?!

"Heed my command!" Rory declared with authority, "I, Prince Rory von Astraea, will lead the rescue of Isarelle. The Lionhearts of this fortress are to accompany me!"

Boris and the Lionheart in the area stared at him in disbelief. The disgraced Second Prince was suddenly issuing orders in the midst of a crisis. Aside from his bloodline, Rory had no real jurisdiction over the Lionhearts. That privilege belonged only to the King and the Crown Prince.

"This is a royal decreed! Isarelle is being desecrated by terrorists! The nobles are silent while its residents are crying out for help!" His voice grew low with ire. "I refuse to sit idly and watch. Not again. And I know you all feel the same way. But if your duty to protect me is the reason for your inaction, then follow me to battle!"

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There was a slight pause.

Then the Lionhearts rallied to his call with a thunderous roar.

***

A small company of soldiers accompanied his descent back to Isarelle. Boris led the way from the vanguard while Rory stood beside him. The Lionhearts moved with an organized poise—their speed hurried, yet not panicked as they made rapid progress towards the Black Shoal.

If it was me a month ago, I wouldn't have even been able to keep up.

His time spent in this fortress felt like a blur. Each day was a battle to survive the torturous training. Boris battered him mercilessly until he couldn't move anymore. When night arrived, he would be in bed paralyzed with pain. Sleep didn't come easy despite his fatigue, so instead, he would think about everything that led up to his exile.

His sense of inferiority towards Aidan. It led to his attempt to assassinate his own brother.

His complacency towards Liesel. He took their arranged marriage for granted and never tried to understand her beyond their social obligations.

His anger towards Emil. He felt like he had stolen everything that he was meant to have.

Was I jealous of these people? Did I envy them for having what I lacked? After many sleepless nights pondering, he finally arrived at his own conclusion.

No, it wasn't envy that drove his actions.

He was scared.

Rory feared being worthless.

As the Second Prince, he was keenly aware of Ardair's twisted nature. Those who possessed no value were fated to be discarded. Everything that he did—every mistake and act of cowardice—it was all to reaffirm his value and reject the reality that his existence might not be necessary. And yet, ironically, it was those same actions that resulted in his disgrace.

I thought my life was over after that.

But I was wrong.

His social status might have never been lower, but he was still alive. Painfully and humiliatingly, life trudged on. He was still a prince of the kingdom. He was still a member of the royal family. Despite their differences, his brother and father hadn't abandoned him. And despite the damages he dealt to the royal family's reputation, he was still given a second chance.

In Ardair, that alone was a privilege few could afford.

I won't squander this chance.

As they descended down the hill towards Isarelle, the aftermath wrought by Borealis came into view. The cliff that formerly held Thanatos had been tore asunder as though it had been mutilated by the maw of a legendary beast. An enormous hole was left in the cliffside, destroying the foundations that held the overhanging rock face together. Even now, chunks of stone continued to flake off. In hindsight, maybe it was his family's hubris to build a tower on a cliff like this, but who could have thought that a bomb of this destructive would be built by human hands?

Rory winced as he turned towards the direction of Isarelle. Dense clouds of dust overhung from the Administrative District and the northern neighborhoods of the Black Shoal. The devastation was evident even at a distance away. The entirety of the Administrative District appeared to be crushed by the collapsing spire while the Black Shoal was drenched in chaos from a swarm of rats and ghouls.

These were apparently the Gifts of Vigil's Karni and Deathstrider, one of the inmates of Thanatos.

Damn you both, he cursed, suddenly enraged. Today was supposed to be the opening day of the Aurous Festival. Just how many people came to the city to celebrate? Just how many residents of Isarelle were looking forward to this annual event? Just how many people's wishes were crushed by the terrorists' actions?

Rory's mind blanked. All prior thoughts about his shame, his disgrace, and his redemption faded. Now he only wanted one thing—to see the evil plaguing the city driven away and brought to justice.

With a burst of mana, he sped towards the Black Shoal. Boris and the rest of the Lionhearts immediately followed suit.

Aoife

The sickly green miasma indiscriminately spread through the ruins of the Black Shoal. Anything alive that fell in its grasp was immediately devoured of life. Plants withered. Wood rotted. Animals whimpered before meeting death.

Amidst the encroaching pestilence, ghoulish monsters trudged forward. They advanced like a rising black tide, daring to swallow everything its path. Their uncanny, grotesque appearances bared resemblance to the fallen residents of the Black Shoal. When Aoife noticed the faint glare of mana radiating from their vessels, she gritted her teeth at the truth—this disturbing machination was the working of an Exalted's Gift.

This is blasphemy!

"The sickly aura is from Blighted Artist. The ghouls are likely from Deathstrider. His Gift allows him to reanimate corpses," Diana explained, "Both were inmates of Thanatos."

Ghouls weren't the only creatures emerging from the pestilence. Karni's monstrous rats accompanied the ghoul army like cavalry, herding the mindless spawns into organized columns as they barreled through the Black Shoal. Somehow, the rats were fine. By some twisted logic, it was sensible. Rats were the original carriers of plague; it made sense that they would be immune to the effects of pestilence.

Aoife gripped onto her sword. Blood and fleshly chunks dripped from the argent blade. They were already dirtied by an earlier onslaught by Karni's rats. And now, she was suddenly staring down a deathly fog and an army of reanimated corpses. Sweat drenched her helmet. Her hands buzzed with adrenaline. The earth beneath her foot was beginning to vibrate from the weight of the advancing legion.

"Maintain your distance from the green fog! I'll keep the miasma at bay! Only engage in melee if you're in the clear!"

The Lionhearts weren't happy leaving their princess alone at the vanguard, but they had no choice. They knew at a glance that they stood no chance if they made contact with the pestilent aura, even with their Exalted constitutions.

Aoife was the only one who could withstand its effects.

She extended her wings. Pale azure light radiated from the plumage. Valkyrie's healing aura enveloped her proximity like a cradle shielding against the encroaching death. Her healing aura was a natural counter against Blighted Artist's miasma. The issue, however, lied in the gap of their interference range. While Blighted Artist could cover nearly an entire block of the Black Shoal, Aoife was limited to just a few meters around her body.

Here it comes.

The stench of death blasted her nostrils. The warbled grunts of the deceased echoed in her head. The disfigured abomination of reanimated flesh swarmed her sight. The legion was upon her.

Aoife swiped her hands and intoned. A wall of azure flames ignited before her, consuming the first line of ghouls. The spawns squealed unintelligibly as flesh melted and crumpled, unveiling their skeletal remains. She winced, overwhelmed by the visceral revulsion stirring in her guts. She knew the ghouls were not human anymore. The bodies that they've stolen were long dead. But the warbled noises they made still had enough resemblance to humans. Just enough to make her feel like she was killing innocent people.

How dare they!

Desecrating the dead was one thing, but turning their corpses into monsters was an unforgiveable sin. She was suddenly reminded of her mother's fate. She could not allow this madness. With a swing of her sword, she sent another wave of ghouls into the flames, hoping that the azure blaze would not allow them to rise again.

Shadows loomed in her periphery. Her head pivoted on a swivel, finding two of Karni's rats charging at her from the flanks. Their vicious fangs gleamed with anticipation. Spittle leaked from the root of the grotesque protrusions. She froze for a split second before fear compelled her to take a step back. Valkyrie's healing aura receded with her brief retreat right as a pair of Lionhearts rushed forward.

The shield bearers took the brunt of the rat's assault. Arrows and phenomena followed, burrowing deep into the rat's torsos. With a dying screech, the monsters fell. Aoife was relieved until she realized her error.

The two Lionheart shield bearers were suddenly on their knees. Their hands were on their throats as they coughed uncontrollably. Blood and pus poured from their eyes and nose. The flesh on their face began to melt and turn black; their essence stolen by exposure to the miasma.

Aoife stepped back to her original position. Valkyrie's healing aura advanced, pushing back the pestilence swallowing the Lionhearts. Their conditions immediately improved, but the damage was already done. Scars and disfigurement remained on their faces. She couldn't imagine how bad things looked beneath their armor.

"Diana! Get them back!" she called.

Terror gripped her heart as the reality of their situation finally settled in. The Lionhearts were barely exposed to the miasma for a few seconds, and yet that's all it took before they were brought to the brink of death. She was the only one who could stand in the vanguard, but the legion of ghouls and rats were too much for her to deal with alone. Most of the Lionhearts in Diana's detachment possessed Gifts that enhanced their strength in melee. With Blighted Artist's pestilence, they were completely locked out of the battle.

If only Emil was here.

She grimaced as the ghoulish cries of the Deathstrider's legion resound again. The azure flames she conjured earlier was beginning to fade, revealing the surging black tide that stood behind it. The second onslaught was about to begin. Meanwhile, Blighted Artist's pestilence continued to advance. While it couldn't pierce Valkyrie's healing aura, the gap in their interference range threatened to envelope Aoife and the Lionhearts' positions.

"Begin a slow retreat! Those who can't fight because of the miasma should go speed up the civilian evacuation!"

She gave her orders just as her thoughts were drowned out by the legion's stampeding charge.