Nick felt the windstream rock the boat as the mirror swerved, along with everything else in the cabin. He slammed his hand against the nearest wall to brace himself as the shaking continued. His other hand held tight on the sole source of light in the room, a ruby gemstone.

The turbulence subsided, the shaking dying to a whimper, and Nick sighed in relief.

Around the room, everything was scattered everywhere. Once coiled ropes were now sprawled in snake-like masses on the floor. Spare emeralds, rubies, and quartz were flung out of their sacks onto the floor. Rolling and clinking against each other and the wooden boards. Books that were resting atop his straw bed were flopped across distant corners. Pages from the wind filtering between the boards. Not that it was well kept before, but the harpy windstorm had thrown everything asunder.

He’d get to cleaning up the mess, but first he needed to check himself.

Nick peered at his face in the mirror, hanging by string around a nail against the wall. Black hair cut in usual Vislandan fare. Short, clipped, and an unkempt length on top. Brown eyes, a taut nose smeared with dried blood, and chapped lips from exposure to the dry winds above the clouds. He was shabby, but knew if he cleaned himself up, he didn’t look half-bad. At least judging by the few glances thrown his way from the ladies. During the one time he pulled into an Imperium dock.

However, in Vislanda, land of the Nephilim, he was plain. Both in looks and ability.

Nick moved the string holding up the mirror down one nail, bringing it to his chest. Three red lines from shoulder to shoulder. A parting gift from the aberration. The wound was but skin-deep, otherwise he would have been dead. At the moment, all he felt was a dull ache. Nick hadn’t even bothered to check until he noticed the front part of his wool jacket was completely shredded. Maybe it was battle frenzy. The phenomenon where people shrugged off pain from anything less than a mortal injury in the midst of the excitement of a fight.

He tapped the edge of the red line with a finger and bit down as it stung. Patching it up was going to hurt a lot. However, it was better than risking rot settling into the wound, and he had neither the time or coin to spare for a proper healer.

Nick bent down to pick up a rolled-up cloth bandage as well as a bottle of clear grain liquor. When he uncorked the flask, he could smell both its cheapness and its strength. The merchant he picked it up from said drinking it would be like traveling a day into the future, everything in between forgotten in alcoholic stupor.

He dabbed the brew onto the bandage, drenching it lengthwise. With the bottle emptied, he took a deep breath and began wrapping it around his chest.

It was like fire and ice at once. Nick heaved, biting his lips, squeezing the ruby in his hand, and clenching his toes. He strained as he looped his shaking hands around his chest, tears of pain dripping from his eyes. When the whole chest was encased, he tied the remainder into a knot to finish the ordeal and took a seat.

That was one of the more painful experiences he had to endure. Another step on the long road ahead.

He grabbed a scuffed-up shirt, one of his few spare clothes, and stuffed it over himself. The remnants of the wool jacket lay to the side, bloodied, torn, and likely beyond repair. Shame. Miri bought it for him as a gift last winter. One of her more thoughtful gifts.

His stomach growled, as if it sensed the complete absence of food in the small shack.

He picked up an emerald rolling to and fro across the floor. He didn’t need to worry about keeping this one charged since the aether extracted from the auroral currents earlier would keep the engines running till he made it home.

Nick squeezed and willed. Green light pulsed out as aether was drawn out of the gemstone and into his body. Hunger, thirst, and even tiredness vanished with each passing moment. Injuries such as the chest wound however, remained.

As far as Nick knew, he was the only person in the world who could absorb aether like this, without consuming it as mana. None of the books he read mentioned such an ability. No human, Innatum, or Nephilim.

With his needs taken care of, Nick was left to the humming of the passing wind, the occasional clink of scattered gemstones on the floor, and the contemplation of his thoughts.

Even though the battle was long past, he was giddy with excitement. He had beaten monsters from the old continent, and an aberration at that. All with nothing but his own natural skills and abilities. He thought of what he would be able to do once he became a Bracer. He remembered Eric’s own abilities, and saw it was a precursor of the power within his grasp. He recalled the looks on men’s faces. Looks of awe… and fear. His father taught him fame and attention were vicious addictions, but he couldn’t help but want to see those looks again.

On the other hand, he was terrified. The madness was getting worse. He remembered the first time the urges rose, when he was ten, during a fight with one of the other children. It consumed him. Valdric and another adult had to pull him off the other child before he caused fatal harm.

His father thought it was just natural impulses and gave Nick his usual spiel on discipline and self-control.

However, Nick was now twenty, and knew these weren’t normal feelings. Every year, every month, their intensity and frequency grew. The madness even started to take on new forms. Like moments where it seemed like his head was about to burst from its seams, from millions of things writhing to escape. Not even sleep was an escape. His dreams were haunted by the same unnatural things. Beings of black and violet moving forward with inhuman precision. Their eyes soulless and empty, displaying apathy to the destruction they wrought in their wake.

And just as before, none of the books he read knew of such a malady. Not even healers could help him. He stopped asking, lest he gain a reputation as a future madman.

Both the madness and his ability to absorb aether was part of the same mystery that was himself. He knew the key remained in the ancient capital of the old continent. The place where he was found.

His foot brushed against the page of a book on the floor.

“Probably best to clear them out,” he thought.

Nick reached around, gathering the books in his arms. As he did, he noticed excess papers stuffed between the pages. Notes he had scrawled on with ink, whenever he thought he found something that could shed light on himself, mainly in titles such as Chalder’s Bestiary IV Edition on Creatures of the Old Continent or Collected Theories on the Ancients. Other times it was something that just caught his interest such as A Brief History of the Western World (With Annotations) or Great Feats of the Reclamation War. One book in particular Principles of Human Rights by infamous Adrestan writer Charles Diderot had hundreds of notes. That book was one of his greatest influences, second only to his father.

The stack on his arm was reaching his chin, but they were only a small part of the collection left to him by Valdric. All of them read and studied with thorough intensity.

However, the reason why, all started with the last book on the floor of the cabin. A small leather-bound green journal sitting on the floor.

Nick picked it up. This was no lengthy tome or treatise. Rather, a simple recording of the life and thoughts of one man. Valdric Wendier, better known as Valdric Thunderfury. One of the most famous Reclaimers and Bracers of the century. Fabled member of the Eight Companions who breached the Outer Wall, progressing the Reclamation War more in a period of ten years than the last two millennia combined.

It was here Nick discovered the true history of the man who raised him, who seemed little more than a crippled arms instructor whose main hobbies were fishing and drinking. It was the story of a man who overcame the circumstances of birth, who rallied and spearheaded others to fight on and free the old continent of the aether-monstrosities which drove out humanity’s ancestors.

It was here Nick read about the final desperate moment as Valdric sallied past the Outer Wall, pushing past horrors the likes of which had never before been seen. A valiant effort, only to be end in betrayal and abandonment, as the other Reclaimer Guilds abandoned their pledge. The Companions, surrounded and encircled by enemies, escaped only through Valdric’s own efforts. An effort which cost him wounds that forever ended his days of fighting. Valdric made it out alive, carrying little more than the sword sheathed on Nick’s belt and a black pod the size of a sack which he retrieved from one of the temples. A black pod that later opened to reveal a little baby boy.

Valdric raised that boy as his own, who was joined later by two other children. His reputation ruined by the guilds, he reluctantly withdrew to live out the rest of his remaining days in Vislanda, birthplace of his Nephilim Companions. However, blame and anger seethed among them, and even here, Valdric received the brunt of it. His former friends abandoned him to his life in obscurity as they moved on to take their place as the rulers of the country.

Nick could feel anguish and rage simmer just remembering the words, during a time he was twisted with grief at his father’s death. The man he knew did not deserve this treatment. Valdric was kind. One who had no meanness in spirit. Strong yet slow to anger. A man of character who walked with a cocky smile on his face, who never raised his voice lest to impart an important lesson. Gentle to the last minute with even his dying wish staying true to that nature.

Nick couldn’t help but see himself as he read the story. He well understood it all. The guilt, the outrage, the anger, and the resentment. However, Nick would not let fate dictate his life, not like how Valdric accepted his own fate at the end.

Death was preferable to what he did now, bowing before the whims of an antiquated world. A world where the circumstances of birth dictated one’s place. A world where the gifted Nephilim and Innatum ruled over the common stock. A world that couldn’t distinguish between physical strength and strength of character. Not realizing one depended on the other.

He picked up the journal, placing it atop the other books. He picked up one of the unstrung ropes on the floor and bound the stack together, setting it by his straw bed.

Nick would fulfill Valdric’s wish tomorrow, and afterwards he would set out on his own path.

He turned his eyes to the wall opposite the mirror. The ruby cast a red glow upon the parchment straddled against the boards. A partial map of the world.

In the west, a single continent dominated the page, split in three by Nephilim-ruled Vislanda in the North, the Adrestan Republic to the south, and the vast fractured Imperium at the center. It was almost poetic, when he looked at it. A battleground of ideas. The old ways entrenched in the north, with the new ways rising from the south. The two clashing in the middle in a conflict that had raged for half a decade.

To the south stretched the long dry landmass, ruled by two civilizations older than nearly all the others. The Barkhan Sultanate and the Pythian Shahdom. Nick only knew fragments of them, but was aware the two were plagued by enough internal issues to worry about anything beyond their coastlines.

Fractured Islands dominated the middle of the map. The three largest were clustered south of the Imperium and east of Adresta. This was the Kingdom of the Isles, renown for the freedoms granted to their citizens and the land of human innovation. It was in their forges where the first Bracers were created a century ago. Countless other useful inventions came out every year.

North of the Isles were the Voratian City-states, civilizations built on island clusters. Nick would make a stop by one of them, to reach his ultimate destination as his eyes moved to the east.

The eastern half of the map was covered by a massive landmass. The old continent, whose borders extended well beyond that which he saw on paper.

The mapmaker even drew lines illustrating the zones. The Fringe, The Outskirts, The Interior, and the Outer Walls of the Ancient Capital. Each extending deeper and deeper inland. Each zone possessed a species of aether-monsters, described in the bestiary and Valdric’s journals. Harpy swarms, Giant arachnids whose venom melted through steel, flesh-eating goblin packs, hulking cyclopes whose eyes lanced petrifying beams, and these were just the beginning. Monsters who grew in strength the further one drove inland, to the source of the calamity, the Ancient Capital.

A swath of ocean, known as the Spearhead, cut in an unnatural straight line to the center of the continent from the southwest. Deep into the Spearhead, the artist had marked out a semi-circle for Reclaimer City. Nick’s ultimate destination.

It was originally a settlement founded by the Paragons eons ago. A rallying point to reclaim humanity’s homeland from the aether-monsters which drove them out long ago. Now it was a bustling city who stayed true to its original purpose, to be the staging ground of the Reclamation War. A place where one’s life was always on the line. Where no matter their station, one rose upon their wits and abilities or fell with the rest of the middling crowd, joining the names of those who perished in service to the great good.

Nick touched the map. This was where he belonged.

It was a place where he wouldn’t be throttled by an archaic hierarchy. Where he could reject physical limitations by becoming a Bracer and earn strength by slaying monsters. Where he could earn and enjoy the splendors of wealth. Where he could see and enjoy the greatest of humanity’s inventions. Where he could find glory in battle, fighting a war not for the whims of state or man, but for the greater good of all.

It was a place where he could find answers to questions still remaining. Where he could solve the mystery of the madness within, before he succumbed to become a raving lunatic. To know who he was or what he was.

And most importantly, the place from which he would fulfill the promise he made to himself, when he finished reading Valdric’s journal. To honor the man who raised him by accomplishing what Valdric could not. Bring an end to the Reclamation War.

And Nick was a man of his word.

All of these goals, were the purpose for the last five years. Five years of preparation. Five years of training.

To become a Reclaimer was to pledge one’s life to a minimum of four years in service to the war. Most perished on their first day. However, Nick knew he had it in himself to not just survive but thrive. After all he had taken on a group of monsters, and not just any fringe creature but an aberration. And he had won.

Nick eased his eyes off the map, putting his thoughts to rest. For now, he had more pressing matters at bay.

The cabin was still a mess but it could be taken care of later. Perhaps tomorrow, to make his final departure preparations. For now, getting home was the priority.

He creaked open the door, a gust of cold swept through, sending goosebumps prickling up his arms. The liquor-soaked bandage felt like ice. He winced, and pressed on.

Nick glanced over the edge of his deck, watching moonlight reflect off passing clouds. Below that was the glittering waters of the sea. He glanced back to the steering board at the center of the deck, and stepped forth to brace it for maneuver. Before making any sudden movements, he looked into the night-sky.

A few auroras passed above, streaming to the north pole where they would funnel back into the earth. With his bearings set, he shifted his glance away from the auroras, to the south.

There were few places outside of the old continent where concentrated aether from the earth’s mantle drifted to the surface naturally. Nick was looking at one.

Towering above the shadowy land in the horizon, rose a spire stretching above cloud cover. Floating dark islands brimming with the lights of human civilization drifted around it. At the peak was a beacon of white light spearing up to the heavens until it scattered into auroras far above.

Seraphil, capital city of Vislanda. A wonder of the world, who was both a source of inspiration to artists and the source of Vislanda’s wealth. The city where Valdric’s old so-called companions wined and dined while the man rotted away in obscurity. Nick gripped the steering board and narrowed his eyes as he looked away. He always thought its light blinded more than it illuminated.

Either way, it made a fantastic landmark. Based on the angle of the spire from the moon, it was about time to move. He swerved the steering board, and the emerald wind engines shifted, turning the boat towards land.

***

Nick picked out a seedling latched to his hair as he walked along the cobblestone road. He glanced down at one of the irritants and flicked it into the open plains. The moon and the light of the spire cast a blue-gray light upon the path ahead. Bright enough he didn’t need to pull out a ruby for illumination.

He stepped along, with nothing but his clothes and two jingling pouches tied to his belt. One with Vislandan coins while the other held Eric’s gift.

Everything else, his sword, the goods, and the boat was left in the seaside cove he discovered eight years ago. He had been using as his personal hide-out for the last five. Nobody suspected a thing this far north. All the attention was centered to the south, along the border with the Imperium.

Another seedling nicked his arm, and Nick grit his teeth. He dug through his shirt to remove the offender. The problem with the cove was in getting to it on land. Through a path laden with forest and foilage, which was in full bloom this early in the year. He could still feel some less-annoying offenders scattered throughout the cloth, and resolved himself to change clothes after dinner.

He crested over a hill, and the town of Sevola came in sight. It was built during old times, evidenced by ancient pale walls which surrounded its perimeter. A dock stretched out to sea, a few dingy boats swaying at its edges. Like the walls, the dock was a remnant of the past, to an era before the first Innatum developed wings for flight, ascending from common humanity into the Nephilim.

The boats and the dock were maintained by Cedric. An old man who loved collecting old things. He was one of the odder folks in town, but Nick had fond memories of visiting his house. Of listening to him regale stories of his artifacts, to a time long past.

Pale two-story family houses with sloped roofs were scattered throughout the town, sprouting up like weeds along the landscape. A consequence of growth without direction. The entire town brimmed with them, save for a flat section of dirt along the wall. The training grounds.

Normally it was empty. This evening however, there was a stone altar at the center, surrounded by five sculpted pillars in the shape of a hexagon. All in preparation for tomorrow. The Day of Ascension.

Nick hurried toward the town gate. Judging by its closed doors, he was already late and he also wanted to avoid a specific encounter with a specific unsavory character.

Standing next to the doors was a spindly looking man about Nick’s age. He was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, dressed in a pale uniform consisting of a simple buttoned coat and set of trousers. Atop his head was the signature Vislandan helmet, sloping around his neck and covering his entire face save for the mouth. A mouth that was open wide and snoring.

Nick kept a distance of five paces from the sleeping watchman and leaned over.

“Hello sleepyhead.”

The man bolted upright, nearly tipping forward. His arms uncrossed themselves and flailed as he tried to regain his balance.

“Who-Who goes there!” He crouched into a combat stance. One hand out with fire gathering in its palm. The other hand tipped his helmet, which got crooked in the ensuing struggle, back into place.

Nick smiled and shook his head. “It’s just me Felix.”

“Oh.” The man eased up, the fire in his palm vanishing. He finally got his helmet in a way that could see. “Nick! Didn’t expect to see you working late tonight.”

Felix was an Innatum. Able to naturally draw aethereal energy without a Bracer into his born affinity, which in this case was fire. He was also a good person albeit a bit lax with his duties.

“Preparations for the Earl’s party.” Nick shrugged. “You know how he is.”

“Ouch,” Felix rubbed his helmet. “Sounds rough. I heard he had something special planned out for his daughter’s party tomorrow.”

Nick grit the side of his teeth in a sheepish manner at the mention of the Earl’s daughter. “Uh-huh… it is what it is though.”

Everyone in town thought his day job was as a servant in the Earl’s mansion. It was true he worked for the Earl but not exactly as a simple servant.

“Figures.” Felix yawned, pushing the gatedoor open. “The old man’s doting nature is legendary. Anyway feel free to go-“

“What is going on here!”

Nick’s heart sank to his stomach at the voice of the unsavory character. His hair fluttered as a gust of wind tore down from above as something flapped its way down. He sighed and looked up.

A winged man dressed in the same uniform and helmet as Felix drifted from the gatehouse above the wall. The newcomer stopped just short of the cobblestone, his wings billowing dust straight into Nick’s eyes, who raised a hand to block the debris. Probably done deliberately, knowing the man’s demeanor.

The man’s helmet obscured most of facial features, save for the scowl present on his mouth. His collar, unlike Felix, was striped in gold, to show that he was a Nephilim.

Seraph-Knight Volkar, commander of the lowly Sevola garrison and a man who was very sour of that fact. If the madness ever took Nick, he knew that Seraph-Knight Volkar was the one of the first people on a long list of names he’d go after. Probably among the top five. Thankfully, the fight with the aberration had sated those urges. At least for the night.

“Who is this!?” Volkar pointed his finger at Nick. However, his eyes were on Felix, who was standing at attention. “Privos Legunda, why have you failed your duty. Anyone entering town after the hour of nine is an immediate report to me.”

“Sir! W-Well…”

“Well? Well what?!”

“Easy there good sir,” said Nick. “It is just Nicholas Wendier.”

Volkar shifted his gaze and Nick could see the sneer through the helmet. Nick resisted the urge to roll his eyes, all it would do is give him an excuse to badger him more.

“Ah yes, you…,” said Volkar. “For what reason are you out so late?”

“Just work at the Earl’s mansion.” Nick knew Volkar was perfectly aware he worked for the Earl. However, the man had a personal grudge against him, or maybe he was just saw Nick as easy prey. Countless times, he had been questioned for no particular reason other than to waste his time.

Volkar’s nose twitched. “You smell like stale liquor. Drinking on the job?”

Nick swore in his head. He forgot about the bandage. If Volkar saw it and the wound, that would raise more questions, and drag this out even longer.

“A few of the servants and I just had some fun afterwards.” He shrugged, keeping his shirt tucked up. “We worked hard for tomorrow’s festivities. What can I say?”

“Hmph! As expected of those of wastrels,” Volkar brushed his hand over his chin. Nick was hoping he would just let him be for the night.

“Very well,” he said and Nick let out a mental sigh of relief. “But I’ll be keeping an eye on you. Don’t go trying anything funny you hear?”

Nick dipped his head forward in a bow. “Wouldn’t dream of it sir.”

“Good.”

Volkar flew back up to the gatehouse.

“Ugh,” said Felix. “I can’t take working with that man.”

“I feel you,” said Nick, feeling bad for the watchman.

“I’m actually thinking of signing up for one of the mercenary troops.”

That got Nick’s attention. “Weren’t all the regiments full? I thought they are all deployed south to assist the Imperators?”

“They are but they aren’t enough. Rumor has it the Adrestans are sending teams of Bracers across their border. Enough that the current regiments can’t deal with it, so the Council agreed to levy more to keep the peace.”

“Really?” That was news to Nick. “I thought the Adrestans agreed to stay out of the conflict.”

“Thought so too but you can’t trust their lot.” Felix shook his head. “Figures. They want to upend the entire order of the world, why should they care about the sanctity of a written treaty?”

“Interesting… Do they even have the ability to hire enough Bracers to send? I thought all of them are fighting in the Reclamation War.”

“That’s what you’d think, but times have changed.” Felix lowered his voice to a whisper. “Supposedly, word has it they are training Bracers in secret at Reclaimer City, and smuggling them back across the sea.”

“What? What about the Reclaimer commitment? Four years of service to the cause?”

“Again, Adrestans. They have no respect for the old principals.”

Nick thought back to what Eric said. “Nowadays any old schmuck can get a bracer and a few gemstones or two. Provided they got the money for it. Now that don’t mean they will know how to use it. But you can always pay for an instructor.”

“That is… troubling.”

“It is,” said Felix. “One of the Council Heads is going to Reclaimer City to straighten it out with the elected Archon for that reason.”

“That’s news.”

“Yep big news.”

Nick rubbed his chin. He wanted to ask more questions but he had to get going.

“That’s a lot to think about.” Nick stepped past Felix. “I have to get going though.”

“Wait!”

Nick stopped, looking over his shoulder.

“Um… I was wondering.” Felix looked down, clasping his hands and toeing his foot around the dirt. “I heard Lara Belver is back in town. I know you live with her family… I was wondering. I don’t know her well but you seem like you do. Would you mind introducing me?”

Nick smiled. It wasn’t the first time someone asked him this.

“I will, but no promises. You have my word.”

“Thanks!” Felix rubbed the back of his head. “I appreciate it. You’re a good person you know that?”

“I try to be,” said Nick.