Leonidas felt the world tilt on its axis as he returned to sensation.

  Pain.

  Power.

  Energy.

  The building force inside him had abated in its ferocity, diminished to a dull, throbbing reality as he opened his eyes to survey the world around him. Pain faded slowly, surrendering to returning sensation as the same energy that had unmade him wound its way into his muscles, his bones, his organs, the very core of what made him himself.

  Not a thing, not a weapon, not a tool.

  A man. Flawed, once-broken, woefully limited—but a man in truth.

  The first thing he noticed was the diminishment of the light around him, the banishment of the bruise of storm clouds, and the lack of thunderous lightning strikes. The sudden retreat of the radiance that had obfuscated his senses and frozen him into a state of suspension and immobility via the pillar left him momentarily disoriented. His eyes traced the arena, curiously, and he saw a myriad sea of watching faces staring up at him.

  Awe.

  Terror.

  Worship.

  They observed him as if witnessing the birth of a biblical revelation, and the feeling of such focused attention sent goosebumps rippling across his body beneath the comforting weight of his [Archon’s Warplate]. Power lingered there, too, he noticed belatedly, clinging to the material of his armor like a living thing.

  Around him, the pillar continued to dissipate, and he felt himself fall—suddenly and without warning.

  He descended at speed, dropping toward the manastone floor of the arena at a reckless velocity, and gritted his teeth in preparation for a savage landing. His Psi surged, his Core roared—the mana within it now magnified in both purity and might—and then abruptly he stopped. He didn’t slow, he didn’t decelerate in any perceivable way; he simply ceased his descent.

  Confusion overrode concern, and Leonidas found himself hovering several inches above the Arena floor. He was held in what felt like a web of intent, halting his impact, but not demonstrably impeding his freedom of motion.

  What the hell is—

  Before he could even think his confusion into rational consideration, his vision was obscured by an all-too-familiar message, and he snapped his eyes to it instinctively. When he did, his gaze widened slowly as he scanned its contents and internalized what it said. Despite himself, despite the chaos, despite the pain, he felt a wry and self-satisfied smile snake its way across his features.

  Congratulations, you have successfully passed your [Tribulation Tempering]!

  [Description]: You have passed through the crucible of Body Reforging, harried and obliterated in turn by the force of the Heavens’ screaming. As a result of defying the odds and surviving a near-impossible challenge, your body has been codified and solidified with greater promise. As a Cataclysm, your development has been tailored to better fit your chosen Evolution, and will serve as the foundation of your future rise.

  [Effect 1]: Your body has been [Tribulation Tempered], increasing your Health and Stamina by 10%.

  [Effect 2]: Your Mana Channels have been [Tribulation Tempered], reducing the backlash of wielding your [Cataclysm Core]’s power.

  [Effect 3]: Your organs and skeletal structure have been [Tribulation Tempered], increasing all physical attributes by +5.

  Leonidas read over the system screen with growing disbelief, and very nearly laughed out loud—halted only by his own realization that he was being watched by a large number of people. His gaze swept over the written text once more, and then he swiped to dismiss the screen. The moment he did, a second took its place, and this time his eyebrows rose fully in surprise upon reading what the screen contained.

  Congratulations, you have successfully codified your [Knight Oath]!

  [Description]: By codifying your [Knight Oath], you have taken the first step on a long and eminent path of development. Your Code has been ratified and synced to your mind, spirit, body, and Core. As you grow in strength, your [Knight Oath] will awaken new benefits based upon your actions, choices, and strengths. Beware, however, that you do not destroy your Archetype by wilful or unknowing violations of your Code. All Knights must walk a path of conviction, and for all the benefits you may reap, only destruction awaits those incapable of adhering to their own words!

  [Oath Effect 1]: Your [Noble’s Resolve] has been upgraded to [Archon’s Will], increasing its potency and effect due to synergy.

  [Oath Effect 2]: You have successfully unlocked [Coup de Force: Deux], allowing you to increase your combat power. When used following [Coupe de Force: Premier], this ability’s Stamina Cost is reduced to 50% of normal.

  Leonidas stared at the second System screen in stunned surprise as he read over it once, and then read over it again to be sure he wasn’t imagining what it was he was seeing. An upgrade to his [Noble’s Resolve] was one thing, but a new offensive ability, one which was ostensibly designed to be chained with his prior one? That wasn’t just an additive skill; it was multiplicative. The implications were… astounding. His ability as a direct combatant would be increased threefold or more if he learned to wield them both properly.

  When he reached up to dismiss the System screen, yet another took its place, and he swallowed a mirthless smile. It seemed like the System was not done with him yet, nor, perhaps, for a while to come.

  * * * * *

  “{He will be free soon,}” Uriel observed, his considering tone pulling Ceruviel’s attention away from Achilles’ suspended body. “{When he is, you know what I will desire, Ceruviel. If you have conditions—}”

  “{Of course I do,}” she cut in flatly, ignoring the flicker of annoyance that crossed the Dawn-Lord’s face when she did. It served him right, in her mind. Uriel’s single-minded pursuit of his ‘duty’ was as grating now as it had been a century prior. “{I will permit you to conduct an initial questioning here, but for anything beyond the surface, it must occur away from prying eyes—including Aylar’s. The boy has secrets, Uriel, that I swore to keep for him, and even if I must begrudgingly trust you, I will not trust the vipers, rodents, and sycophants arrayed around us.}”

  “{You realize you are including Terrans, Nobles, Royal Guard, and my Dawnguard in your statement,}” Uriel noted with a twitch of his lips as he repressed a smile, which, for the usually reserved Duke, may as well have been a guffaw.

  “{I do, and I am,}” Ceruviel said back with a flash of vindictive glee. Let him choke on that bold admission, the self-assured golden scoundrel. She loved him in a way it was difficult to quantify, and knew she could trust him, but Divines if Uriel Aventus did not make her want to rip off his arms and beat that impassivity into oblivion by his own fists.

  “{So long as you are aware,}” her counterpart noted in that infuriatingly composed tone. She could never quite get him to break, at least, not easily. “{I am glad you are not going to cause a… ruckus… over my intent, but I should warn you: I will not be lenient with him purely based on your affiliation, Ceruviel. Squire or not, he must be weighed—and you are clearly too close to this matter to do so yourself in a way that is satisfactory.}”

  Ceruviel bit back a scathing insult at his words and settled for a frosty eyebrow arch instead. Uriel was insufferable, not because of his manner, but because he was right and it galled her. He was, more often than she ever wanted to admit, unerringly accurate in his assessments. A traitorous part of her—traitorous to her own pride, that is—had wanted this outcome as well. If Uriel judged her student and subsequently found him worthy, she’d have an indispensable ally in assuring his safety and acceleration.

  If he judged the opposite, however…

  Her eyes slid up to the hovering human, and she felt her Core twitch.

  If the Dawn-Lord was convinced that Achilles would be a threat to Dawnhaven, she knew what Uriel would do. It was as much a part of his charm as it was his most infuriating and, as a candid admission to her own private thoughts, terrifying trait. In single combat, she was reasonably certain she could defeat him. She had before, but they had never fought with their lives at stake, not against one another.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Sword versus Spear.

  Light versus Psi.

  Duke versus Duchess.

  The result of that contest was unknown for Ceruviel. She could not fathom ever actually trying to kill Uriel, but without Achilles, more than just her dreams for the Archon Order went up in dust—her plans for Aylar’s soldified Queenship may very well follow the boy into doom if he was exiled or killed, and she could not allow that—neither the loss of the Order’s future, nor of Aylar’s potential trump card.

  And besides, if she were truly honest with herself, it was not all selfish.

  She had grown fond of the fool boy, no matter the shortness of their time together. His experiences, past, and resolve had left an indelible mark on her, and while it may have been an effect of his Sovereign Ambition, it felt more poignant than that. Achilles had managed to find a way to nestle himself into her graces, more than almost anyone ever had before. She knew, as well, that Sinalthria had designs for the boy and Synthra—and that only spurred her decision.

  If he could bring the Guild Mistress utterly and completely on-side…

  Her thoughts turned to expansionistic possibilities, and her jaw locked.

  Yes. Achilles would have to be protected, no matter what it cost.

  Her eyes shifted to Uriel, and a pang of accepting regret lanced her heart.

  No matter who it cost.

  * * * * *

  Aylar observed Ceruviel and Uriel as they stood in conference upon the balcony, sunray-golden eyes affixed to nightflower-purple, and felt her nerves soothed by their united presence. The Dawn-Lord and Dusk-Lord had always been at odds in terms of personality, but their cooperation had been something that took her breath away. They were like beacons made manifest, a pair of unassailable statues of heroism breathed to life.

  The way they spoke was intimate, absent romance, and close without compromise. They personified their aspects, in the non-System sense, more than she would have believed had she not spent time in their company in the years since the Integration. Uriel Aventus was the radiance of the Sun in truth, as resplendent as the dawn for which he was named, and as unyielding and focused as the radiance he commanded.

  Ceruviel, in comparison, was the perfect inversion of him: impulsive where he was measured, impassioned where he was calculated, and as cold and ruthless as he was—even if only shown by the Dawn-Lord in increments—warm and considering. They complemented one another in a way that made her faintly wistful. She had wanted a friend, a companion, of that kind since she had first read the tales of her mother’s heroism as a child.

  In the Regents of Dawnhaven, she saw that dream manifest.

  Pure, without naive innocence.

  Passionate, without conflicting ulterior motives.

  Polarized, without overt hostility in each action.

  The Princess-Royal shifted her eyes from the murmuring pair, whose words were too low for even her Tempered senses, and instead looked toward the arena. The pillar remained, suspended, even after the attacks had ceased. The clouds had dissipated rapidly, but the suspended Terran hung still upon its near-zenith, like an onyx carving rendered with lifelike aristry.

  His body remained frozen, suspended, utterly inert despite the cessation of the tempest.

  Her eyes searched him in consideration, mulling back to what Ceruviel had told her time and again: his importance, his impact, the effect he would have on the world around him. There was an immutable truth to that now, one she could neither deny nor defy. Leonidas Achilles was a piece on the board, one whose presence would shatter or shape the future of her ambitions and the security of Dawnhaven. It was a sobering thought, when compared to the truthfully infantilizing way her people—and even Aylar herself, she knew—had viewed the Terran species.

  Slow to adapt? No, just slow to accelerate.

  Inherently weaker? No, just finding their strength.

  Definitively less capable? No, just lacking the right catalyst.

  She had seen, now, the culminative impact of a Terran who reached their potential—that shattered the conceptions of what was and was not considered normal, and dared the world to challenge his convictions. She had seen Leonidas fight, seen him struggle, seen him survive against a creature even she would have been unable to defeat. Not just survive, but dominate.

  Her eyes swept the still-swollen spectators, and she accepted the truth.

  There was no putting this Djinn back into its flask.

  Leonidas Achilles had upended the narrative of Haelfenn supremacy, and of Terran inferiority, to an incomparable and unimpeachable level. He had achieved something beyond the capacity for denial and had awakened the hunger for glory and advancement within his species. She could see it, not just in the crowd, but even in the Terran merchants that were scattered throughout the Royal Box.

  The Haelfenn Aristocrats watched the suspended human with a mix of suspicion, distrust, fear, and even, in some rare cases, naked awe.

  Her people were a proud breed, but even they understood the sight of history being made, and that was what Leonidas had done. He had made history in a way and through achievements no one could have ever foreseen or predicted. He had defied fate, defied the odds, and become a being of indispensable value. The fact that he was Ceruviel’s Squire, in that moment, was something she was eminently thankful for.

  Only the Dusk-Lord’s power could withstand the hordes that would come for him. Whether to use him, attempt to ally with him, or even use him for his genes—they would all want something, and it would take a being of the Archon’s singular might and implacable force of will to keep the avaricious predators at bay.

  “{Your Highness, are you well?}” Enquired a familiar voice, drawing Aylar’s attention.

  “{Guard-Captain Tychar,}” she greeted the familiar face with a genuine smile. “{Thank you for your concern. Yes, Captain, I am well. The Dawn-Lord’s arrival was most fortuitous for us. I will be certain to thank him after all is resolved, for both his intercession, and the wherewithal to summon one of my most capable Captains.}”

  At her words, Tychar offered her a genuinely appreciative bow.

  “{You flatter me, Princess.}”

  She did not miss the way his eyes drank her in as he spoke, nor the proximity of his position, but these things she kept from her mind. Tychar was on her list of potentiates, after she had been convinced to at least consider the notion of marriage, repulsive though she still found the thought of a loveless arrangement.

  The Haelfar was the son of a Viscount, and more than that, had been personally mentored by the Dawn-Lord in the past. He was a gifted and powerful guardian, and she knew his ability to be accepted as a candidate for Kingship was suitably reliable. Still, she could not coerce her own feelings, and there was nothing in the way of love or even base lust in her for Tychar.

  He was, in some strange way, too perfect for her, and his desire for her, so nakedly displayed, somehow mitigated her own ability to reciprocate.

  She was tired of being lusted after for her title and what it might grant others.

  “{You only receive the acknowledgment you are due, Captain, no more. Flattery is for lesser souls,}” she said, trusting he would catch her subtle deflection of his intent. “{Now, I must speak with the Regents, if you would excu—}”

  Aylar’s words were cut off by a collective gasp that echoed through the crowd, and she turned, seeking whatever had caught their attention, only to find herself staring at it nigh instantly.

  The pillar was shrinking, focusing in, condensing into a beam until it finally shattered with a sound like a colossal, ephemeral sigh.

  From within that dissipating, glittering shower of sundering radiance, Leonidas descended, dropping like a stone at such speed that her heart travelled to her throat—right up until the moment his pitched descent was abruptly truncated, and he came to hover some few feet above the Arena Floor. Her gaze tracked him as he floated there, and she faintly marvelled at how normal he looked. He had undergone a harrowing ordeal, but all she saw was a stoic Knight; an indomitable, budding force of nature.

  The sundered pillar's fragments drifted slowly down around him in a rain of filaments, unearthly in their beauty.

  Tychar was forgotten at this sight, his spoken words lost on her as she strode forward and joined her paired mentors and guardians at the balcony—followed, after a moment, by much of the assembled courtiers and persons of note.

  Below them, Leonidas appeared to be reading System notifications, if his swiping and mild expressions of glee or concern were anything to go by. So engrossed was he in it, in fact, and the crowd in him, that when that moment of stunned, awed silence was broken, it made even Aylar jump in surprised reaction.

  “{Leonidas Achilles.}”

  The name was spoken in a boom without effort, originating from the golden-armoured titan that was Dawnhaven’s Dawn-Lord, as Uriel Aventus made himself known.

  The crowd turned as one toward his address, and then back to Leonidas.

  The Terran Squire, himself, only looked away from whatever he was reading and lowered his arms—his sword still held loosely in his off-hand, and his blue-as-sapphire eyes locked in on the Morning Duke.

  “{Dawn-Lord.}”

  The address was respectful, but so too was it poignant. There was no deference in the words, Aylar realized. Leonidas acknowledged the Dawn-Lord, but he did not defer—not that it should have been as much of a surprise as it was. He was Ceruviel’s squire, and if that particularly terrifying presence could not cow him, it was highly unlikely the Dawn-Lord’s presence alone would succeed where the Dusk-Lord’s no-doubt body-breaking training had failed.

  “{I would have words with you, Black Knight,}” the Dawn-Lord said, taking care to use Leonidas’ moniker in a way that Aylar was sure held some deliberate intent. “{Can you walk?}”

  Aylar furrowed her brows at that question and faintly squinted to try to enhance her view of Leonidas. He looked fine to her, but she lacked the Dawn-Lord’s Tempering. Could he see something she could not? It was very likely, despite her chagrin at the possibility.

  “{I can,}” Leonidas said, glancing at Ceruviel for a moment. “{For now.}”

  The last was added almost unwillingly, and Aylar glanced at Ceruviel to see the tell-tale wisps of psionic power flicker from her eyes. She doubted anyone else, but Uriel would have the ability to discern what she had done, given she alone held close proximity to the prickly Duchess.

  “{Very well,}” the Dawn-Lord said with a tone of cold, rational judgment. “{Then attend me in the Royal Box.}”

  Leonidas looked back at Uriel for a long moment and then spoke again.

  “{Why?}” he asked simply, boldly, and directly.

  Aylar felt her eyes widen fractionally as her [Heroine’s Will] took effect to maintain her composure, and she internally cursed the Terran’s dauntless pride. If there was anyone in Dawnhaven, it was unwise to challenge over traditional authority or duty; it was Uriel Aventus. She adored the man like an uncle, but he would not forgive—

  “{The matter of your future and its impact on Dawnhaven remains, Terran. Duchess Latherian has made her case on your behalf, but it is my duty to safeguard this city and all its peoples—both of my blood and not. I will question you, and how you answer will determine my judgment on if the risk you present to the people of this Colony is outweighed by the benefits you may bring for its future.}”

  Here, the Dawn-Lord’s voice hardened.

  “{I will not ask again, Squire of the Archon.}”

  Leonidas’ eyes narrowed at Uriel’s words, and for a moment Aylar wanted to shout at him to do as he was told—until, blessedly, he abruptly inclined his head.

  “{I shall attend, Dawn-Lord.}”

  A sigh of relief left her. It was going to be—

  Aylar froze when Ceruviel’s voice entered her mind.

  +{Master yourself, and dispense with these childish reactions. This is not the time to act like a girl with her first crush, Aylar. The real danger has not yet arrived. Uriel will not be lenient, and while he will be fair, he will account for everything—including the reactions of the other people around Achilles when he questions him.}+

  The Princess stiffened at Ceruviel’s words, and she felt herself immediately scan the surrounding crowd, assessing them with a critical eye.

  Oh no. No, no, no. They already want him dead.

  +{And that, Aylar, is why we must ensure he is not hanged by the rope they have already knotted.}+

  Do you have a plan?

  +{I do,}+ Ceruviel said in the affirmative. +{And once Sinalthria’s daughter arrives, it will be time for the two of you to do your part.}+

  Synthra? The Sorceress? Why is she—

  +{All things in time, Princess,}+ Ceruviel said as Leonidas started, with straight-backed poise, toward the tunnel entrance that would lead him up to the crowds and the Royal Box. +{For now, you need only steel yourself. This will be the knife’s edge upon which Dawnhaven balances, and if we fail here, I fear the ramifications will spread far beyond a single dead Terran.}+

  Aylar felt her heartbeat spike, and then calm with a flash of [Heroine’s Will].

  Somehow, she knew the Duchess was right. Dawnhaven’s fate may very well have already been tied to Leonidas.

  They could afford no mistakes, lest one wrong move doom them all.

  Please comment on what you liked or with theories you have!

  will be more System Screens in the next Leonidas POV.