Rory

The skies suddenly darkened once Rory and the Lionhearts arrived at the Black Shoal. The grim clouds finally turned malevolent, hinting at the potential rainstorm that was due to arrive. Meanwhile, the blue haze of Borealis still lingered like a shroud over Isarelle. Its existence was a constant reminder of the insanity that Vigil had inflicted upon this city.

Boris led the bulk of the Lionhearts through the streets while the scouts traversed the rooftops of the ruined buildings. Rory grimaced while he took in the state of the district. Stones crunched beneath his feet as he sidestepped the occasional corpse sprawled on the road. Every building in the area told a similar story—a shattered door, a collapsed wall, or caved-in rooftop caused either by a shrapnel from Thanatos or the earth tremors resulting from Borealis's explosion. Broken stalls and stages from the Aurous Festival littered the streets. Blank, sullen eyes trailed him as the Lionhearts stormed past.

The Black Shoal was the story of a shattered dream. And they weren't even at the northern part of the district yet where most of Thanatos had fallen.

"Boris! You need to see this!" One of the scouts shouted from a nearby rooftop.

"Halt!" Boris signaled the rest of those on the ground before running towards the closest collapsed building. Mana embraced his legs as he cleared the height of the building in a single hop. Rory quickly followed suit, but his ascent was noticeably more laboring. He winced at the obvious differences in their skills. Despite the gruesome training he endured so far, he still had a long way to go.

He shelved the thought to the back of his mind as he joined Boris and scouts at the edge of the rooftop. The northern part of the Black Shoal was finally in view. And it was clear as day where Thanatos had fallen. Entire rows of neighborhoods had been flattened. Giant fragments of the spire laid scattered across the district. The earth cratered in its vicinity. The streets became indistinguishable with everything buried under rubble. Against the backdrop of the malevolent clouds, it looked like the end of the world.

"There, to the east."

Rory followed the scout's hands. Five blocks down from their current positions laid a legion of ghouls and rodential monsters. They swarmed across the ruined grounds like a black tide, swallowing up everything in its path. Rory spotted Deathstrider at the rear of the legion. With every rise of his hands, more ghouls emerged from the rubble.

He's using the corpses of the deceased to fuel his army.

The realization made him grunt in disgust.

"Calm yourself, Your Highness," Boris suddenly said with an outstretched arm. Rory glared at the Lionheart leader. He hadn't noticed, but a sword had already materialized in his hands. His breathing was ragged with fury and his knees had already bent as though he was prepared to charge in.

"Why do you hesitate, Boris?" he snapped. To Rory, the course of action was obvious—cut down Deathstrider and put a stop to this insanity.

"Do you see the sickly haze around them?" Boris asked with the patience of a veteran. Rory narrowed his eyes, confounded by the question. As he focused his gaze, he caught the vague vestige of a foul-looking miasma permeating the ghouls and rats. The haze was pervasive, easily spanning three blocks as it appeared to move with the army. Rory suddenly noticed that it was eerily quiet. Aside from the dull stampede of the legion, he found no other semblance of life in the area.

"That miasma is the Gift of a man called Blighted Artist. It's an aura of pestilence. Any living being that makes contact with the haze will have their life taken from them. Even those with strong Exalted constitutions can only last for a minute without a Gift that can counteract its effects."

Rory couldn't believe his ears. "What the hell was such a monster doing inside Thanatos? Shouldn't he have been executed if he was this dangerous?"

Boris shook his head. "His Majesty was aware of the risks. But the pair was so effective during the conquest of the Saar that he wanted to make use them again." He snuck a glance at Rory. "Your father had many plans to expand Ardair's territories. The Saar was supposed to be just step one of his grand ambitions. But his current illness suddenly kept him bedridden."

I see. So they're like me. Another set of tools that have lost their purpose.

In another life, they might have been war heroes, laying waste to Ardair's enemies and bringing the kingdom to new heights. Instead, here they were, lashing out like mindless beasts as they wrecked havoc upon their fellow countrymen.

Father, you really left us a mess to clean up.

A scout suddenly drew everyone's attention. "Boris, there's a small detached force trying to fend off the pair!"

***

They soared across the rooftops of the collapsed buildings to get closer to the scout's discovery. The Lionhearts at the ground followed closely while eliminating any stray ghouls and rats lingering in the area. They were two blocks away from the miasma when Rory caught a glimpse of the Lionheart detachment.

A single warrior stood on the front line. A pair of pristine wings stretched outwards from their shoulders. They stomped ahead and swung their broad sword in a wide crescent. Their movements looked a bit flimsy, but the power of the attack was unmistakeable. The first row of ghouls and rats were rendered into gore by a single slash. As the blade sliced through the air, a burst of azure flames was also expelled at the apex of the arc. The radiant blue fire engulfed the accompanying the waves of enemies, reducing them to ashes.

Behind the warrior, several Lionheart soldiers were trying to provide cover fire with their Gifts and ranged weapons. The looming presence of Blighted Artist's miasma, however, made it difficult for them to assist. The sickly green haze seemed to linger at a fixed distance from the winged warrior, pushing and pulling back and forth with the warrior's movements. Rory narrowed his eyes and found a faint serene aura pulsating from the warrior's wings. Whatever the effect of the phenomenon, it appeared to be keeping Blighted Artist's pestilence at bay.

Who the hell is that?

The winged warrior's face was hidden by their helmet. Rory's never heard of an Exalted in Ardair who possessed this impressive array of abilities.

"We should go help," Rory stated.

Despite the winged warrior's best efforts, they were being gradually pushed back. The numbers of Deathstrider's legion and Karni's rats were too much for a single person to deal with.

"Calm. Wait for the scouts to come back," Boris commanded.

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Rory clenched his sword, itching to join the fray. Fortunately, the scouts that Boris sent earlier had returned.

"There are still civilians in the area. A considerable number of them, in facts. There are more Lionhearts at the rear helping them evacuate, but their progress is slow. The soldiers on the front lines must be buying time for their retreat."

"Boris!" Rory shot his mentor an expectant look. If civilian lives were at stake, then time was of essence. They couldn't afford to dawdle any longer.

"Heed my orders!" Boris yelled, his veteran voice spread across the area with authority, "We will go aid the Lionheart detachment against Blighted Artist and Deathstrider! Keep your distance from the miasma! Those who cannot fight at range must go to the rear to assist with civilian evacuation. Everyone else, follow His Highness to battle!"

Rory raised his sword to the sky. "With me!" he commanded as he imbued his legs with mana. He leaped down the rooftop of their lookout and sprinted towards the battlefield. Behind him, the Lionhearts roared in unison. A stampede of footsteps soon followed as they thundered across the ruins of the Black Shoal.

I can feel it.

Rory grimaced as his body tensed at the malice permeating the vicinity. The closer he got to the legion and miasma, the stronger the pressure pushing down on his chest. Sweat clawed down his neck—not from the exertion, but from his body's survival instincts stirred into overdrive. His hands tingled with a trembling buzz. He squeezed tighter on the hilt of his sword to compensate while preparing the mana from his Azurite brooch.

Lifeless grunts and bloodthirsty squeals entered his ears. The clatter was incessant like a swarm of locust. Rory climbed a mount of rubble. The legion stood less than a hundred meters from his perch.

With his eyes fixated on the battlefield, he intoned.

"Sword Rain!"

A cluster of mana pockets formed above his head. The pale blue energy crackled with violence as a garden of swords materialized into existence. The argent blades shone even beneath the umbral skies. Rory brought his hands down. The swords flew on his command like an army of loyal soldiers.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Steel rained down on the legion, bombarding the ghouls and rats from the flank. Blades cleaved through flesh and limbs, severing sinew and bone. Caught unawares, the legion was slow to respond as they were mowed down by Rory's onslaught. The rest of the Lionhearts soon joined his assault.

It's working! Rory smiled as he unleashed another deluge of blades. Ghouls and rats fell by the dozens, but they were quickly replaced by more. Rory's confidence began to wane as the minutes passed. Karni's rats never seemed to dwindle while the ghouls continued to rise time and time again no matter how much times he struck them down.

He blinked, suddenly realizing that he was short of breath. His head trembled with a split instance of vertigo. The disorienting effect brought him a sense of clarity as the haze of the battlefield momentarily lifted from his mind. When he looked up, Rory saw the sickly green miasma encroaching towards their perch.

"Move! Get away from the miasma!"

Boris's warning snapped him out of his daze. He and the rest of the Lionhearts immediately began to retreat from the mount of rubble.

"Rendezvous with the Lionheart detachment! We will combine forces!"

***

Rory's exhaustion immediately soothed once he stepped into the healing aura. The area around the winged warrior glowed with a somber sanctity. The gentle energy in the air felt light against his body as though he was wrapped in a loving embrace. Up close, the winged warrior looked majestic within their argent armor. The broad sword dragged in their hands as they approached. Rory snuck glances at it, admiring the craftsmanship and the esoteric tongue inscribed along its blade. It must have been materialized with mana like his swords, for he knew of no such techniques in Ardair that could produce a sword of this design. With their pure white wings untainted by the battlefield, they looked like a divine being descended from the skies.

As they got closer, Boris and the other Lionhearts suddenly kneeled in reverence.

"My name is Boris von Lionheart, Your Highness. These are men and I were assigned to the barracks guarding Thanatos. I have no excuses for our failures. I can only express my thanks for your hard work in keeping Blighted Artist and Deathstrider at bay."

For a second, Rory thought Boris was showing respect to him. After all, who else could be addressed as "Your Highness" here? When he realized that they were lowering to their heads to the winged warrior, however, he twisted his face in confusion.

W-Who—

"At least you aren't like the noble curs who decided to hide themselves while the city is being destroyed. Better late than never I suppose."

Rory flinched at the venom in the warrior's voices. He could understand it—he felt the same ire towards the nobles when Boris informed him of their absence during this incident. But that wasn't the cause of his reaction.

A woman? Wait, I've heard this voice before.

The winged warrior suddenly faced him. A hand moved to their face as they removed their helmet.

"Hello Rory. It seems like you finally decided to get off your ass and do something. Good job. I'm sooo proud of you."

Sarcasm drawled from her words. Rory's eyes went wide as he found himself staring at a familiar visage. Even if he wanted to deny it, the young lady's characteristic verdant eyes were too striking to dismiss. He inadvertently backpedalled in disbelief.

"A-Aoife?" he stammered, "Y-You! An Exalted?! Wait, when?! Why are you even here?!"

"I see you truly don't know anything." Aoife looked at him with a face of thinly-veiled pity. "Vigil kidnapped me on the night of their attack on the Academy. I Awakened from that experience. As for why I'm here, well, someone had to take your spot at the Academy." She raised her hand and gestured at the destruction around them. "This was supposed to be a small vacation with my friends. Instead, here I am, having a grand ole' time on the opening day of my first Aurous Festival."

Boris dipped his head even lower. Rory could nervous sweat running down his neck. "Your Highness, I apologize. We—"

Aoife waved him off with a contemptible grunt. "It's fine. I don't blame you. Actually no, you are at least partially responsible for allowing Thanatos to fall. But don't mind me, I'm just airing out my grievances."

…Was she always like this?

Rory listened to his half-sister in disbelief. While they were born in the same year, Rory never had many opportunities to interact with her. She was only recently legitimized into the royal family and allowed to be involved with the affairs of the family. In his memories, she always looked alone with a pensive, distant look on her face during their rare encounters. He was told that the death of her mother had affected her greatly.

The last time he saw her she had been an Ordinary who was still unsure about her new status as a royal princess. Quiet. Demure. Unassuming. A wallflower.

Now she had the appearance of a divine being. And she radiated the presence and confidence to match the look.

"Sir Boris, I hope you have a wonderful plan to clean up this mess you're responsible for," Aoife said, her eyes suddenly shining with displeasure. Rory shuddered from the bloodlust permeating from his sister. "Because frankly, I'm getting tired of fighting these bastards."

***

"Deathstrider's legion is strong, but their numbers could be dealt with. The main issue is Blighted Artist. With his pestilence in the way, it'll be difficult for us to fight properly," Boris said. As if to reinforce his point, Aoife suddenly expanded her wings. The angelic constructs glistened as it radiated healing aura to counteract against encroaching miasma. Even now, they were in a slow retreat. The legion's advance was unstoppable, and Aoife's healing aura had a limited range that paled in comparison to Blighted Artist's miasma.

"He's at the very back of the legion the last time I saw him," Aoife said before turning to the crowd of Lionhearts, "Does anyone happen to have a Gift with a long interference range? Like a few kilometers maybe? Preferably also strong enough to kill ghouls and monstrous rats?"

Her demands were met with silence.

You can probably count on one hand the number of Exalted that would fit those requirements.

To his surprise, however, Boris suddenly spoke up. "His Highness is probably the best candidate out of everyone here."

Huh?

Before he could protest, Aoife immediately faced him. In the back of his mind, he wondered how she suddenly became the one in charge. Boris implicitly ceded his authority to her when they met. I'm also a prince of the royal family, though? Then again, he was currently in exile—his authority had never been lower.

"What's the effective range of your Gift?" his sister asked.

"…Five hundred meters. Beyond that, I lose control of my swords."

"And the power?"

"Stable. Enough to tear through the ghouls in one cut. The monster rats might be an issue, but I can probably take them down in one blow if I slice a vital."

Aoife let a shrill whistle. "Not bad," she said while mulling over ideas in her head. Rory winced at the vulgar gesture.

"Five hundred meters is still too short to reach Blighted Artist without entering his miasma. Deathstrider will also be guarding him from any assassination attempts with his ghouls," Boris pointed out.

"Hmmm, I have an idea. It's…well, frankly, it's a stupid idea, but it might just work," Aoife exclaimed while eyeing Rory like he was a toy. He suddenly had a terrible premonition. "Rory, how much do you weigh?"

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