Custos Maritor cleared his throat. "Fear clouds your judgement, priestess. Why should we abandon him, just because he is Godless? Shall he possess no betters, not on earth and not in the heavens? Shall he receive no guidance from us, his superiors? It is our duty. I will perform the ritual myself, if it is such a problem, and bind him to Maricorus."

The Coven's leader turned her neck slowly, scorn in her face. "You do not understand these matters intimately, Primus. That goes for you too, Senior." She glowered at Preagusta. "A knowledge of legionnaires and war does not grant you insight into the Pantheon. I am clouded by fear?" She smiled bitterly. "Then you are buried by ignorance. Here in our midst is a man who has avoided submitting to our Gods. He willfully embodies a magia which contests their authority. Unwittingly, you undermine the very principles upon which the Imperium was formed. The Aetas Arcanum–our allegiance to the Pantheon. Do you know nothing of history, Primus? Do you understand the brevity of our campaign here? Or do you conquer only for your career and your allegiance to these plebs?"

"I am no dullard," the Senior Primus said. "And neither is Custos Maritor. You overstep your mark, Aetheria."

"My mark?" she laughed harshly. "My duty to the Gods, you must mean? The highest calling in our Imperium. Our mark…" She shook her head in her chest, smiling. "No matter his accolades in battle, all of that became irrelevant when he upturned the very earth."

The warmagi Aetheria glanced at him cunningly and lowered her voice. "If you are no servant of the Pantheon, then you are no citizen of Auctoritas. The Gods suffered no equals when the Pantheon was created. Why should we now?"

Aetheria's cloak swirled as she spun to face the Imperator, forming a wind which ruffled the tent's walls and subdued the brazier's flames. "My Imperator, discharge this legionnaire and place him into my possession. I would discover his mind, his magia, and if it is necessary, end his bloodline. Such heresy is infectious." Her head half-turned to the audience behind her, hood concealing her expression. "That much is evident."

Shocked, Skippii held his breath Imperator for a reaction. His face was like granite. Still, he did not speak. Perhaps he had his doubts? With each breath of silence, Skippii's nerves sweltered.

"He swore an oath to me." Preagest Summitus took a step forward, in line with Aetheria. "To Cohort II. To the Ninth. Not to the Coven, not to Goddess Kylin, nor warmagi Aetheria." He turned at the Coven's leader. "You do not speak for the Pantheon, not in whole. We are all astral, all children of the Gods. Your will is not absolute."

Aetheria did not turn towards him, but remained fixed on the Imperator. "The power which I witnessed should not have been possible by one magi. Even I would struggle to summon that which this boy has done alone. The Coven act as a communion in prayer. The heretic acts alone. Their Gods corrupt and fray the very fibres that bind them to humanity, corroding their minds. As such, they cannot unite with one another, but need not, for the devils bloat them with power. That is precisely what I witnessed from my vantage."

"You're wrong. I am not a heretic," Skippii said, before he could stop himself.

The whole forum turned to face him. Even Aetheria's lips were hesitant for a moment.

"I am a legionnaire. My oaths are true," he said. "And what's more, that day when we pinned the Ürkün to the river and rockface, we would have bested them without bloodshed had you not intervened. They were trapped. They would have surrendered if you hadn't attacked them. If you have such good insight, why couldn't you see that?"

"Skippii," Custos Maritor warned from behind, but the rush of anger had already claimed his mind.

Fires crackled beneath his feet, and he clenched his fists to contain them. "Three hundred Ürkün, I counted. That could have been three hundred slaves, or prisoners. We would have avoided a fight. But you attacked them without thinking. They were desperate, ready to throw themselves on our spears and take as many legionnaires as they could with them."

"My thoughts are not for your knowing," Aetheria smiled, but her hand creased her cloak in a fist. Beside her, the two other Coven magi drew themselves up to face Skippii, daggers in their eyes. Suddenly, Custos Maritor was at his side, and Praegesta Summitus was close by, hand calmly upon the pommel of his sword.

"Kylin herself speaks through me," Aetheria said cooly. "Not your authority, nor that of the senate, nor any within this legion supersede the Gods. It is only for my respect of Titus Virelius that I have suffered this insolence so far, but know that should I wish to take the boy–wish to strip him from this world–I would do so before your very eyes, in whatever manner Kylin desires, and no matter-"

"Be still."

The voice fell like a heavy axe into a woodblock. It rang deeply through the pavilion, felt in his chest as much as in his ears. The Imperator sat upright on his throne and waved Custos Maritor forward. "Primus, you know this man the best. Give us your conclusion. Speak briefly."

At length, he spoke, though his old voice teetered with nerves. "When traditional tactics in battle no longer serve a purpose, what do we do, my Imperator? How does the Legion respond?"

"We adapt."

The Imperator's eyes fell upon Skippii. The weight of the entire Ninth Legion was held within them. "For the first time in a very long time, I have encountered a weapon which I do not know how to wield. I shan't dismiss you, Skippii Altay. Nor shall I punish you, for you have committed no clear offence under legion doctrine."

"But Imperator," Aetheria gasped. "He withheld this power from you. Deceit begets devilry."

The Imperator sighed deeply. "We are all no longer deceived. Matters such as these, the likes of accusation and heresy, can complicate the heart. You may say one thing of his intentions, but Praegusta says another, and the arcanus Kylinissa yet another. However, if I am to judge by his actions-"

"I would know his intentions in full if you would only release him to me so that Kylin…"

The Imperator held up his hand, demanding silence. His face stern, marbled by age. At length, his eyes fell on Skippii, and there was a softness in them.

"Septimus Tenoris. That is the name of the man who you defended upon the riverbed?."

Skippii bowed his head. "Yes, my Imperator."

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Titus Virelius smiled. A finger drifted to the long scar at his throat. "It was a Septimus who saved my life when I took this scar. Not related by blood, I am sure. But, perhaps an entwinement from the Gods–a sign from Aequentia. The Septimus of mine was sacrificed in his moment of valour. But here you stand, barely a scratch, and brave enough still to oppose the Coven of Kylin."

The Imperator's eyes flickered with mischief, but he did not show a smile. "Can you not tell us what acheron bestows your powers? Do you have no notion at all?""

"That is, in part, why I did not approach the Arcanus sooner," Skippii said dry mouthed, and licked his lips. "I do not know, my Imperator. But I have searched, and prayed, and sought to hone this gift. Through practice, I have bent it to my will. Or so I thought I had. Yesterday… I mean that day, I acted in desperation. I lost control, I can't deny that." Skippii bowed his head. "But if I ever discovered corruption of the enemy within me, I would not hesitate. I would not beg for mercy, except for a swift blade."

He took a deep breath. All the eyes of the forum crawled up his spine, prickling his scalp with sweat. "A stallion untrained only grows worse with each spring. More unpredictable and dangerous. If you would let me, I would train this magia between my duties as a legionnaire. At most times, it obeys my will. And my will is yours to command, my Imperator."

A silence fell over the pavilion. Two large braziers crackled and coughed smoke up to funnels in the roof. Skippii felt their glow on his skin, and their heat in his core. The firelight shone on the polished iron speartips held aloft by the Imperator's guard. Each eyed Skippii coldly, but harsh of all was Aetheria's stare. The magi's eyes were wide, frozen in indignation. Her lips were sharp; it seemed as though a prayer was poised upon them, as a bow drawn to length.

Without meaning to, Skippii shifted his right foot back, approaching a fighting stance. But then he caught Praegusta's eye. His Senior Primus looked at him sternly, thick eyebrows creased to a discerning point. He was awaiting Skippii's next action, judging his merit, trusting that his good word had not been misplaced.

With a shaky breath, Skippii unclenched his fists and faced his Imperator. At length, he spoke.

"There are legends of old, predating the Aetas Arcanum, which speak of men wielding extraordinary powers. Junos of Gryphonis, who in ancient times of 700 O. faced the progenitor Kronaia fleet alone. He is said to have risen from the waves–a body of water–and smashed their vessels against the rocks. Or Mountainwalker Di, a hermit who sold her powers to the armies of ancient Summitas–who alone demolished the walls of Vestia–and so ended the siege of 435 O. But whereupon being paid, the Summitans stabbed her to death, for they feared the Vestians would buy her favour and crumble Summitas in revenge.

"Or my favourite, Utoten the Elusive, 276 O. The genius appeared in people's dreams, commanding them, empowering them, governing them across many seas to raise such a commercial power as the world had never known, nor known since. With his wealth, he funded the second port of Vestia, and four more port cities in Philoxenia, one of which became Aretynos. Upon his death, none of his subjects recognised his face, and none could be declared his heir, but his face is still etched into four marble pillars at each of those ports, and minted onto Aretynos coins to this day.

"Each of these tales predates the Aetas Arcanum. In each, one hero acted alone, ever before the Imperium was formed around worship of the Pantheon. There were no covens of magus as we have now. Perhaps their power came from the very same Gods, only more potent in their devotion. But who is to be sure? I am a tactician first, politician second, and priest last of all. I do not indulge in comfortable untruths. There is much we are still learning about heresy, and magia of the wild–dominion beyond our Gods. Today, it seems, we have the opportunity to learn even more. Skippii Altay's blood may possess the lineage of legend. However, where he not under my command, the Coven would seek to extinguish it, would you not?"

"Why risk incursion, Imperator?" Aetheria said. "Why provoke the Gods?"

"Because," the Imperator said, rising. "I am an old legionnaire. And when I find a golden spear, I do not toss it aside or donate it to the temple. I thrust it deep into my enemy's heart, and there pin him to his black gates."

The Imperator's gaze was like a campfire in the dark, drawing him in, until it felt like they were the only two people in the pavilion. "I trust your companeight are aware of your magia?"

Hesitant to implicate them in his own secrecy, Skippii nodded slowly.

"And you have received their council?"

"I have, my Imperator."

The Imperator hummed deeply. "I would not be where I am had I ever underestimated, or undermined, that bond. I see that you speak plainly and truthfully, and so I shall do the same. You have my leave, Skippii Altay. Walk free, under the condition that you will learn to command this magia. Outbursts of rage weaken the phalanx, no matter their form. Remain in formation. Reserve your strength. And remember this: No matter what powers have awakened, your oaths bind you. I may call upon your power, er the battle for Nerithon. Be ready."

Skippii bowed and took his leave, avoiding Aetheria's razor eyes. Once outside, he strode as fast as he could from the Imperator's pavilion and beyond the interior palisade. His head was so swollen with thoughts that it took him until mid-afternoon to find his companeight's tent. The infused flowery scent of the pavilion clung to his cloak, leashing him to memories of the counsel. Again and again, he re-lived their conversations, grimacing each time he remembered having raised his voice to the Coven of Kylin.

Their pitch was empty when he arrived–his companions out for drills or labour. Skippii sat alone by the dwindling embers. The words of Legion IX's Imperator were lodged in his head.

"I may call upon your power." It hadn't been a vision or waking fantasy. He had gained the Imperator's favour. No greater thing had he ever dreamed of accomplishing, and it was only his second week with the Legion.

His companeight returned in the evening. Tenoris was relieved, and threw an arm around his shoulders as he sat down beside him. "So, you survived the lion's den, Skip?"

"Just," he said, then summarised the events for their eager ears. When he mentioned the Imperitor's final address, all were stunned, except Cur, who whistled grandiosely.

"You're his prime pig. Better fly straight, Skippii, or you'll disappoint."

"What does that mean?" he said, in no mood to be made fun of.

Cur grinned and shrugged.

"What will you do now?" Fulmin asked.

He chewed the question over. "I've got to figure it out. Everyone knows now. There's no point in being secretive. You know, in a way, the Coven are right. If I can't control this thing, I might go up in flames and take a whole phalanx with me."

"Well, don't dawdle," Cur said. "I haven't survived three campaigns only to be burned by the likes of you."

"Why not?" said Orsin. "A few burns might make you prettier."

"Don't worry," Skippii said. "I think I only exploded like that the other day because, if I hadn't, Tenoris and I would have died."

"Excellent," Cur said sarcastically. "So all we must do, as legionnaires, is avoid all peril at all times, and we won't risk being suddenly burned alive."

"Then there is no danger," Tenoris announced. "If we are to find ourselves in such peril, and Skip loses control, then blessedly we shall perish in a blaze of glory."

"A blaze," Fulmin repeated dauntingly, rubbing his fire-scarred hand

"It won't come to that," Skippii said. "Trust me, I'll work on it. I'll control it. Every day. Every moment I'm free of my duties, I'll work on it."

"And I will help," Cliae smiled gently.

"I too," Tenoris added, "Should you require it."

"We can pick up both your chores," Orsin said. "We don't mind, do we? Do we, Kaesii?"

"Huh?" Kaesii was red faced and out of breath–he had been the first to throw his shield down and sit atop it. "What, more work? Slave's work?"

"Whatever it takes," Orsin said.

"Is that beneath you?" Drusilla said, throwing his shield down beside.

Kaesii raised his chin loftily. "I'll do my part as is required."

"Thanks," Skippii said.

"What drills are you thinking of?" Orsin asked. "How will you train it?"

"Cliae knows a system," Skippii explained. "The same as how magi of a coven invoke magia from their Gods."

"And you can do this alone?"

"Yeah, but thanks." The sincerity of their conversation settled like ash after smoke. Each of them fidgetted, unsure of themselves. Only Arius seemed completely comfortable with the silence.

"As long as it doesn't get in the way of my drink and gambling," Cur nodded to himself.

"You don't have any money left to gamble," Orsin said.

"It's never stopped me."

Skippii laughed as his comrades jested, and finally, blessedly, his mind ventured from such trepidatious things.

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