By the end of Arcturus’ first real day in the Rubastra Estate, he’d faced ten waves of enemies (including the first) across a ten hour period, and earned himself three more levels for his efforts. He’d managed to keep going even with the power of two level ups bubbling under the surface, albeit with some measure of difficulty as he partially worked to keep himself from giving in to the pressure of the System — but the moment he gained the third level, Arcturus had had only enough time to call out a warning before he’d blacked out from the building pressure.

He’d slept for two days to work off the exhaustion brought on by suppressing his level ups, and then he’d returned to the training room again on the third morning to resume his sessions. Pleased with his progress, Tylariel had decided to take him to the next level of opponent: Thugs with improvised stabbing weapons, and some pieces of hide armour.

With the fire of determination that had been lit previously, Arcturus carved through them ruthlessly.

The hours turned blurred as Arcturus rampaged through the ranks of enemies his Mentor put out to test him, incurring cuts, bruises, and critical injuries only to be fully restored by a level up the same night.

This pattern continued, and hours turned to days, and days into weeks.

By the end of the first month since he’d arrived at the Rubastra Estate, the Arcturus Regis Valoura that had arrived — naked and terrified, with no idea of what was happening — was all but erased. In his place was a new man; one who felt truly alive for the first time in his twenty-one years of life.

After commending him on his growth by the end of his second week, Tylariel had agreed to mix his regular training room sessions with Aetherblade practice; teaching him the tricks, tips, and skills that every Archon required to properly master the esoteric and unique weapons they wielded. Despite his limitations in the realm of elemental spellform, and the combat techniques that were unavailable to him due to that deficiency; he found her lessons to be immensely helpful for his development.

When he wasn’t training, Arcturus’ days were filled with meditation or irregular jaunts into the Outer City with his friends. Adam, Danica, Andy, and Caeara — who quickly grew to be a welcome companion to Arcturus — hardly remained idle when Arcturus was training. When he was busy, they were too: Attacking the city’s Dungeons with gusto, determined not to let his lack of depreciation render them weak by comparison. In the first month of his training, all four had reached new heights: Adam himself hitting level thirty-five and prompting a wild night of celebration that all of them regretted the next day.

Several trips had been made both to Luthaire and Maurice, and Arcturus’ Aethersmithing skill had risen several Levels thanks to Luthaire’s aid, and Angela’s enthusiastic assistance. Having learned he had a relationship with the renowned bladesmith, Tylariel’s sister had insisted on meeting him and — unable to refuse the kind-hearted woman — Arcturus had agreed. By the end of the first month, Angela had started spending as much time with Luthaire as she did at her shop, and Arcturus had started to suspect that something far more than a mutual love for smithing had developed between the two of them.

Another discovery had been the rise of the ‘Synergy’ percentage on his armour, a mystery that Arcturus had only in his third week figured out: His armour’s gems fed on his blood, and the armour itself reacted to his magic. The more of both it was provided, the higher the Synergy rose. By the end of the first month, it sat firmly at 96%.

One major observation Arcturus had made was that his form of levelling via the Rubastra Simulacrums had a very clear point of depreciation, where no matter how challenging Tylariel made the enemies — using everything from werewolves to a Hydra at one point — there was a clear ‘ceiling’ through which Arcturus struggled to break. Each level became harder, and each bit of progress became more difficult to grasp.

By the first week of the second month, his progress had slowed to a crawl.

After consulting with Adam, the two of them had reached the same conclusion: Simulacrum training was depreciating, and the System was either passively or actively punishing his lack of interaction with real-world foes. They had compared the rate of growth between Arcturus and his friends when they had been the same level, and realised quickly that where he was struggling; their forays into Dungeons had let them continue at a steady pace of evolution, one that continued well into the level thirties.

Tylariel had received the news with irritation, at first, and had doubled down on the tried-and-true method of training she’d known: Throwing fiercer, and more savage foes at Arcturus in order to attempt to jumpstart his evolution again.

Aside from a minor spike, which had ended quickly, her efforts had yielded no results.

By the second week of the second month, Tylariel had finally relented and conceded the point that Arcturus and his friends had argued: If he wanted to continue to grow, he needed to do so the Nephilic way.

That, finally, had resolved itself into an agreed necessity: Arcturus would acquire an Adventurer’s license, while keeping his Nephilim nature hidden, and start taking turns within Dungeons. While Tylariel expressed continued misgivings about the way it might impact his learning, she had also conceded that his need for growth trumped all else. She’d also agreed that his friends had proven more than capable as companions, and could be trusted to watch his back during the more dangerous Dungeon dives.

Sumeko, Jess, and Jakob had chosen to go their own way by the fifth week, citing a desire for freedom that couldn’t be had in their current situation. As a show of good faith, however, all three had pledged their oaths of loyalty to Arcturus; ensuring that they could not betray him without consequence. While he’d been sad to see them go, having grown close to all three in the weeks he’d spent training under Tylariel, he’d wished them well: He knew what it was like to feel trapped by something you didn’t want.

As for the Villa itself, it had become something of a home for him through the passage of time. His objectives hadn’t changed, but his acceptance of his situation certainly had. He no longer felt as… set upon with regards to his bloodline or the expectations of those around him. For all her cold ruthlessness, Tylariel had proven to be a source of comfort in her own way: Providing stability and structure in the place of the chaos of his initial experiences in Terra.

While her methods of instruction were easy to construe as cruel, at times; the results spoke for themselves. In the time since he’d given himself to her not-so-gentle guidance, Arcturus had become a different person — and developed a confidence and lethality his friends and allies had commented on positively over the course of the month and a half.

There were also times when the harsh noblewoman let her proverbial hair down, and showed the remnants of the fun-loving socialite she’d been in her youth; including a particularly wild night of drinking that had ended up with her vanishing with Andy of all people. That was still an image Arcturus was working to purge from his mind, weeks later.

Thus it was that when the sun rose on the first day of the sixth week of his stay in the Rubastra Estate, Arcturus awoke to the rising sun and smiled. Not only had he been able to reach one more level the day prior, but the new day marked the date that he had set for acquiring his Adventuring license and booking his first Dungeon crawl.

Arcturus turned away from the open window, stretched with a satisfying crack from various parts of his anatomy, and eased himself up out of bed. His HUD helpfully informed him it was 0616, which meant he had nearly four hours before the time he’d arranged to meet with his friends and venture out into the city. His first and primary focus was to enjoy a hot shower to wake up, but that had to take a seat. The new day also marked another important milestone: He could push his armour’s synergy to 100% with the ritualistic blood-saturation he’d been performing every morning for weeks.

That doesn’t sound insane at all.

Arcturus had become studiously good at taking his inner voice’s snide, oftentimes derisive comments in stride over the weeks. In fact, he’d simply resolved that he was either traumatised or a little insane, and promised himself not to let it affect his interactions or day-to-day reality. The result had been a massive easing of his cumulative stress, and a reduction of his self-doubting hesitation.

A new attitude wasn’t enough to remove over a decade of self-esteem deficit, but it certainly helped in not letting what he had taken to calling ‘Earth baggage’ weigh him down. He focused on the positives of his former life, and used those positives to motivate himself: Key among them the potential for reuniting with his parents, and rescuing Amélie from whatever cult-like indoctrination the Church had performed on her. It wasn’t that he doubted Adam knew what he was talking about, either.

Arcturus just refused to give up, and that was that.

“Let’s see what happens when you Synergise with a vampiric suit of armour.” He mused to himself as he entered his closet and set his eyes on the racked pieces of plate, activating his [Telekinesis] and manifesting a talon of compressed force over his right forefinger. He brought the make-shift scalpel to bear against his left palm, and cupped his hand as blood seeped from the wound. As quickly as he could, he pressed his hand against the faintly-glowing ruby at the centre of his breastplate.

Immediately he felt the very subtle, but now-recognisable draw as the gem started to essentially drink the blood as it left his lacerated hand. It didn’t perpetuate the blood flow, but it took advantage of it while it occurred, and Arcturus had found that his wound would only close once he removed his hand from the jewel. It was like an artificial form of localised haemophilia.

His eyes closed and he also tapped into the well of power within himself, the very one he’d initially feared and failed to properly comprehend during his first days on Terra. On command energy flowed through his left arm, streaming into the gem through his palm as he matched the blood flow with the flow of ‘pure’ Aether from his core.

He still didn’t really understand it, but the fear had long-since abated following his acceptance of the energy lurking in his core. His near-six weeks of training had yielded another benefit: He could, if only slightly, access two new forms of magic that seemed unique to that energy. Where before only Telekinesis existed in his arsenal, he had developed new and useful tricks through the constant meditation Tylariel had encouraged him to do.

First he could channel the ‘Creation’ side of the energy Geran had insisted he had within him, allowing him to produce white flames from his wounds that — to the external witness — seemed to emerge from his body and ‘burn away’ his injuries. The truth was far more nuanced and complicated, and involved a considerable amount of trial and error before he’d fully succeeded. If Danica’s assertions, made excitedly after he’d showed off the trick, were correct: It was the same magic that allowed him to perfectly heal himself during each Level Up. Creatively, he’d named it ‘Lightfire’ against his friends’ objections.

While he had yet to be able to heal any critical wounds — and testing that theory had been very unpleasant — on himself, he was able to accelerate the localised regeneration in any area he produced the lightfire to the point where he could close flesh wounds and several-inch deep cuts and penetrations within just under thirty seconds. Fractured or single-break bones were the same, whereas multiple breaks or shattered bones required either external help or a level up to restore.

As for the second form of use, it was to channel the ‘Destruction’ energy in an extremely logical way: What he called ‘Voidfire’. It was edgy and ludicrous, and he was absolutely thrilled with the name because of it. What was the point in having phenomenal powers if one couldn’t be a little dramatic with the naming conventions?

I still cringe for both of us when you call it that.

His Voidfire ability allowed him to fire small missiles — like the basic mage ability ‘Firebolt’ — at enemies within twenty metres; roughly the same radius his Telekinesis could be used before it started becoming a much larger drain on his mana, and lost some of its effectiveness. When Voidfire hit, it would act like a corrosive element and consume everything; armour, clothes, and living tissue. Enchanted armour slowed it down, and a very controlled test on Tylariel’s elemental armour ability found that he had to put considerable power into a voidfire bolt to even threaten to breach it.

Of course, Tylariel was a veteran Archon of several decades: It would be easier against those his age, or a decade or two on the path.

His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by what felt like an electrical shock, and Arcturus snatched his left hand back as if he’d been burned. In front of him, his armour seemed to throb in a way he could sense, and he somehow instinctively knew that he needed to put it on immediately.

Hesitation was the enemy of success, as training had taught him, and so he cast caution to the wind — over the strong objections of his more logical self — and started quickly donning the armour.

The vambraces were strapped to his forearms, his breastplate went over his head and was buckled in quickly, and his cuisses were placed against his thigh rapidly thereafter. His sabatons came next, followed by his pauldrons over his shoulders — and then, finally, his helmet was lifted and slid onto his head. In the weeks since he’d bought the Armour, Arcturus had been finding that he could never quite get it to fit comfortably: It had always been slightly loose, slightly tight, or moving back and forth between both states. It had been puzzling, baffling, and irritating until Andy had suggested that it very well might have been the lack of Synergy.

So Arcturus had focused on completing that process, and now, he would see the rewards.

A notification popped into his HUD just as the thought finished, as if the System had read his mind.

Do you wish to fully Soulbond and Evolve your Armour of the Veiled Prince (Mythic)?

Warning: This decision is permanent and cannot be undone!

YES NO

Arcturus stared at the prompt hovering in front of him, and then hesitated despite his desire for action. Would bonding it trap him in the armour? Was there some sort of side effect, especially since he needed to wear it to make it happen? The doubts crept in immediately, and his hand wavered from where he’d raised it instinctively to click ‘YES’. His eyes shifted back and forth as he considered his options, when his subconscious abruptly interrupted him.

Just do it, you coward. Otherwise you’ll whine about it forever, and I don’t want that headache.

Arcturus snorted, but his subconscious — for all its malicious taunting — had never actually sought his harm or impairment. Its life, he had come to realise, was bound to his own. Besides, the armour didn’t feel evil or malignant. It felt… eager. It felt like something that had been asleep for a very long time, and just wanted to wake up again. The very notion of armour feeling something was insane, but not even Luthaire had heard of armour that had a Synergy level tied to blood and magic.

Swallowing down his hesitation and cursing himself for a reckless idiot, Arcturus stabbed his finger at the ‘YES’ button before he could dither any further. Immediately another window appeared in front of his vision.

Congratulations! You have fully Soulbound and Synergised with Armour of the Veiled Prince (Mythic)!

Armour of the Veiled Prince (Mythic) will now commence its Evolution...

Arcturus jumped slightly when he felt a suddenly disorienting mix of cold and warmth along his body, originating from his vambraces. He lifted his arms and watched in stunned silence as black liquid flowed from the forearm armour, and noticed that the rubies across his body were blazing with enough light to cast it on the clothes and area around him.

The obsidian liquid slid over his wrist and coated his fingers, making its way up his elbow as well and swirling to a stop just under his shoulders. Once in place, it began to thicken and harden, developing into near abyssal black metal that conformed perfectly to the shape of his body. The small gem on his vambrace shifted as well as the vambraces themselves extended around the full circumference of his arm and thickened in turn. Where before he’d had a small ruby on each forearm, each forearm now held a glowing red jewel large and precisely cut enough to be at home in any King’s crown.

When it was done, he had swapped a pair of sturdy vambraces for elegant, lethal-looking plate armour that covered him from the tips of his fingers to the joint of his shoulder. He turned his wrists over in stunned silence and found that he had full range of movement as well. The armour had segmented itself in ways that defied understanding, but allowed him a range of movement that no full-plate ever should. His fingers flexed and he noticed that they felt almost naked.

In fact, when he brought his hands together, he actually received the electrical impulses of feeling from his gauntlets. He could touch each one and note the texture of the metal, and the solidness of its design. It was absolutely bewildering.

Worse still was when he felt the same cold-warm movement suddenly around his thighs and crotch, and struggled to suppress the sudden urge to use the bathroom it engendered. More plate wrapped itself around his legs and down across his knees to properly lock with his sabatons. Where before he had only had the thigh and boot armour, now his entire leg from groin to sole was covered. Reinforced plate had appeared over his knees, and the rubies from his thighs had migrated down to cover the kneecaps, while those from his sabatons had elongated and taken position atop his shins.

His pauldrons, too, extended from two dark metal plates into a segmented set of four tiered pieces of armour, reminiscent of the roman legionnaires he’d loved in his studies of history. The ruby on each pauldron seemed to melt and bleed out, forming into three on each shoulders, covering all but the final and bottom layer of the segmented shoulder armour.

His breastplate was seemingly the last to shift, and the most noticeable physically. Where before it had been equal parts too loose or too tight depending, seemingly, on the day; now it embraced and conformed to him like a second skin. The front of the armour tightened and moulded itself to his shape, while the sides flowed together to join what had once been separated by straps. His entire body was encased in the cold-warm flow of liquid metal, and the blazing ruby on his sternum expanded considerably — and then bled part of itself out.

Four new gems appeared down his torso, far smaller in size, and inset to each pair of stylistic abdominals forged into the plate. The end result was a beautiful set of four subordinate gems and a crowning fifth, taking up the space between his pectorals and over his sternum.

Just as Arcturus thought it was finished, however, he noted a flash of silver and looked across his arms, chest, and legs to see silver striations snaking their way across his new abyssal plate armour. They seemed to give off an inner light as they moved, flowing and weaving across the armour to outline edges and emboss reinforced layers with beautiful silver inlay. At the same time, he felt a subtle softness around his neck and turned to see a cloak of liquid darkness descending from the back of his armour to just above his ankles.

His eyes widened and he reached out to touch the fabric, marvelling at how simultaneously soft and disproportionately dense it felt. He could sense the magic radiating from it, and when he pondered it further, he realised that in his bewilderment and fascination he’d never bothered to cast [Inspect] on the new armour. He corrected that oversight immediately.

INFORMATION PANEL

BASIC INFORMATION

NAME Bulwark of the Reclaimer SLOT(S) Head, Chest (Multiple), Back, Arms (Multiple), Hands, Legs (Multiple), Feet TYPE(S) Enchanted RARITY Fabled CLASSIFICATION(S) Armour (Full Body) STATISTIC(S)

+5 to Strength

+5 to Vitality

+5 to Charisma

+5 to É̶͕͉̌ṙ̴̡̛r̵͉̂̃ŏ̵̳͖̓r̶̼̖͛̀

MODIFICATION(S)

Second Skin: This Fabled suit of plate moulds to its wielder like a second skin, and will adapt unceasingly to its bonded owner’s bodily changes. It will never fail to fit like it were tailored, and will enhance and protect its host’s body with the life-force it has been fed. Finally, this armour can be summoned and banished by its owner over a ten second period.

Summoning / Banishing Cost: 300 Mana

+5 to Vitality

Abyssal Power: The energies of True Oblivion have infused this plate down to its core, and have irrevocably altered its composition. It will perpetually enhance and supplement its host’s physical power, allowing it to satisfy the unending yearning for destruction suffusing its metal.

+5 to Strength

Illuminating Presence: The energies of The Highest have infused this plate down to its core, and have irrevocably altered its composition. The silver veins of creation essence along its form will perpetually enhance and supplement its host’s presence and aura, allowing its bearer to soothe and inspire those around them in the way the power of creation suffusing it desires.

+5 to Charisma

Mantle of the Reclaimer: An enigmatic power has formed within this suit of armour, and has forged a cloak of Abyssal Drachensilk capable of both enhancing the Bulwark’s durability and even obscuring the wearer from sight in places of darkness. Where this cloak originated from is a mystery, but its usefulness and rarity cannot be underestimated.

+1,000 to Durability

É̶͕͉̌ṙ̴̡̛r̵͉̂̃ŏ̵̳͖̓r̶̼̖͛̀

DESCRIPTION

This set of Fabled plate armour has been fully bonded to Arcturus Regis Valoura, and has subsequently evolved itself to best suit his needs in combat. Even among Fabled armours, this Bulwark can be considered impossibly rare.

For the uninitiated, it may merely look to be fancily created attire — but any true Aethersmith will know its worth after even a cursory examination. It is, as all creations of V̷͔͓̲̟̂̿́1̷̤̏̊͒̽͝7̷͈̮̲́͛͜͝ǎ̶̛̺̬̖̲̇͘͠3̸͖͈̯̳̉̇̌̀͘n̵̟̟̔ ̷͙̰̻̐C̵̯͘@̴̛͈̫͑̀͝ͅ6̴̠͈̞̈́d̵̬̺̼͌̎̆̋ȋ̶͔̲̭̤̝|̸̲͐̎̀\̸̣͖̳̘̤̎̔̐̄͘|̵͍̩͆̽4̴͉̀̏̔͝ḻ̴̛̈́̍s̴͖̘͇̣̠̈́̈́́̚ are, truly unique.

SOULBOND(S)

Arcturus Regis Valoura

Synergy: 100% / 100%

DURABILITY 3,000 / 3,000

Arcturus stared at the description for his armour, now renamed to ‘Bulwark of the Reclaimer’, and felt himself blown away. Not only were its stats insane, but it had gone up from Mythic to Fabled status, and even granted him some sort of bonus ability that allowed him to basically become Greco-Roman Armoured batman.

The nerd in him was screaming with joy.

You’re going to be intolerable now.

Arcturus ignored the voice in his head and did the next most logical thing: He immediately reviewed his information sheet and looked at the changes that had been wrought.

INFORMATION PANEL

BASIC INFORMATION

NAME Arcturus Valoura CLASS Ȁ̶̩͉̝̤͘͝r̴̥̥͕̐̌͒͝ć̸̫͓̿ͅä̸̧́̐̀n̷̲̏̌̀͜͝ẹ̷̜͙̈́̏ ̷̙̥͐̄W̴̮̘͂̓̊͝a̴̢͑͆͋ŗ̷̬̫̋r̵̪̯̋̓̅̕i̷̛͖̬͍ō̵͍͉͜r̸̡̻̗̜̿͒ RACE Nephilim AGE 21 GENDER Male LEVEL 19 TITLE(S) N/A

CONDITION

ANIMA 43 HP 2,307 / 2,307 10 Health Per Minute (HPM) AETHER 43 MP 2,307 / 2,307 10 Mana Per Minute (MPM)

ATTRIBUTES

Strength

Agility

Intellect

Vitality

Perception

Arcana

Willpower

Charisma

Luck

38 (43)

32

30

31 (36)

35

40

32

25 (30)

??

CORE SKILLS

SKILL NAME

DETAILS

Aether Manipulation

(Passive, Infinite Scaling)

[Click to Expand]

Inspect

(Passive, Infinite Scaling)

[Click to Expand]

COMBAT SKILLS

SKILL NAME DETAILS

Unarmed Combat

(Passive, Level 17)

[Click to Expand]

Stealth

(Active, Level 12)

[Click to Expand]

Aetherblade Wielding

(Passive, Level 19)

[Click to Expand]

MAGICAL SKILLS

SKILL NAME DETAILS

Psionicist

(Passive, Infinite Scaling)

[Click to Expand]

Telekinesis

(Active, Level 18)

[Click to Expand]

Lightfire

(Active, Level 14)

[Click to Expand]

Voidfire

(Active, Level 12)

[Click to Expand]

TRADE SKILLS

SKILL NAME DETAILS

Cartography

(Active, Level 15)

[Click to Expand]

Arcane Linguistics

(Passive, Infinite Scaling)

[Click to Expand]

Enchanting

(Active, Level 9)

[Click to Expand]

Aethersmithing [Core]

(Active, Level 12)

[Click to Expand]

Aethersmithing Infusion [Branch]

(Active, Level 12)

[Click to Expand]

Aethersmithing Diffusion [Branch]

(Active, Level 10)

[Click to Expand]

Cooking

(Active, Level 8)

[Click to Expand]

LEVEL PROGRESS

EXPERIENCE 500 / 2,000 25% Progress to Level 20

It made him realise how far he had to go when, even while looking at the incredible changes he’d wrought upon himself in six short weeks, he realised how far behind other Nephilim and Archons he still was. His friends had been at it for two years, and they had yet to break out of the C-Class classification for Nephilim. That had been another bit of information he’d gleaned; the rating system for Adventurers. It ranged from E-rated to S+-rated, with less than a handful S+ individuals ever recorded in the Empire’s history.

Andy had insisted that he’d be the next, but Arcturus had his doubts.

For starters, transitioning from each rank required — in a Nephilim’s case — levelling from one to fifty, and then completing a ‘Rank Elevation Quest’ that was different for each class, and subtly different for each individual. Adam had postulated it was the System’s way of mitigating ease of ascension through disseminated information, which Arcturus thought sounded perfectly accurate for the System. After that, their level was reset to one and they had to go through the process all over again, though they retained the attributes from their C-Class.

For Terrans it was a little different, since they didn’t have access to the System, and instead used ‘aether scales’ to measure when they were ready to undertake a Rank-Up mission. For the natives, there seemed to be a much more standardised process to it.

Even then not only were the quests for each Rank harder and harder, but the experience requirements became exponentially higher. By time a Nephilim or native hit A-rank, they were essentially one-person armies by themselves — and kept closely and carefully monitored by the Church and Government. There were several A-ranked individuals in every Dominion, and usually in positions to assist in keeping power firmly in the hands of those already in power. The resources and opportunities available to the ruling class meant that such strength developments were quite rare outside of the Aristocracy, or especially Lucky or determined Nephilim.

In fact, the complete lack of any S-Rank Nephilim on record was itself a mystery that nobody could really answer. Nephilim that grew close to the cap of A-Rank simply seemed to vanish from the Empire, likely in pursuit of whatever foe would allow them to climb higher. Looking at his progress, it was almost enough to rob the wind from his proverbial sails. His attribute depreciation might not have existed, but he had no inherent levelling advantages outside his inevitable disproportionate attribute increases — and that meant a very, very long grind to hit even B-Rank.

His perusal of his new attributes and admiration of his progress was abruptly interrupted by a loud, repeated knock at his door and Arcturus called out “Enter!” behind him reflexively while taking off his helmet. He’d grown used to the maids and their beautiful boss, Vivienne, entering and leaving his room with regularity during the day. He’d even turned his flirtations with Vivienne into something of a game, and started teasing her with looks at his body in growing levels of lasciviousness. Part of him still felt guilty, but it also felt good to be wanted — especially by a woman as stunning as the Estate Mistress.

“I’m not hungry just yet.” He called out to what he assumed was a breakfast check-in. “But thank you, as always, for checking in. I’ll be heading down to the main dining room shortly to meet with the Archon, and I can put my order in there.”

“It is good to see you are polite, at least.” A deep male voice intoned, before Arcturus reacted instinctively. Perdition was snapped into his hand from where he’d left it on the bed, and he ignited it with a blaze of monochrome fire as he stormed out of the closet to lay eyes on whatever assassin had intruded in his quarters. Tylariel had warned him about this; especially when it came to higher rank infiltrators. The Rubastra defenses were considerable, but not perfect — and she’d cautioned him to be wary for just such a circumstance.

What he saw when he stormed out, instead, stopped him dead.

A man who looked to be a very well-built mid-fifty year old stood watching Arcturus with his hands clasped at his spine, attired in a simple green tunic with a gold waist-wrap and a pair of black leggings, tucked into a pair of brown calf-leather riding boots. The first thing he noticed was the man’s gold eyes, which were a perfect match for Tylariel’s, and the brownish-red hair streaked with silver at the temples.

Arcturus knew who it was: There was a portrait of him in the entrance hall.

“Lord Rubastra.” He said automatically, his grip on Perdition lessening not a whit for concern it still might be an illusion worn by another, and not Tylariel’s father. “I wasn’t informed to expect you.”

The assumed Lord Rubastra observed him with an analytical, but not unkind gaze before he responded. “Given my arrival was sudden, I would hope not. I thought I’d come and check in on you, if only to see for myself what manner of charlatan had convinced my beloved daughter of such an outrageous heritage…”

Arcturus tightened his grip on his blade and subtly clenched his jaw.

“...and yet now, I find myself at a loss. You are, without a doubt, everything you say you are. I have the ability to pierce illusions, and I see not even an echo of one surrounding you. You are the spitting image of your father and grandfather before him, down to the glare in your eyes promising me a world-ending reckoning for my missteps.”

Arcturus blinked, and then forced himself to relax, lowering his aetherblade to point at the floor.

“I apologise, my lord, if I’m a little… on edge. My Mentor warned me about the possibility of assasins and—”

“Tylariel has ever been over-cautious.” The older man interjected calmly. “The Rubastra Estate is quite impervious to such infiltrations, I assure you.” His golden eyes lowered to regard Perdition more directly, and he arched an eyebrow at the weapon. “What an odd blade. Your father wielded fire as his base element, of course, but never in my centuries have I seen anything like that. You might actually have a completely unique weapon.”

“My magic is… complicated.” Arcturus said evasively.

“So it seems.” The veteran Archon replied with a nod, before raising his gaze to Arcturus once more. “I take it you are no longer concerned about my identity?”

“With all respect, my lord, I would be lying if I said that. I am, however, far less suspicious. I mean no insult, but my Mentor has given me strict instructions to—”

As if summoned, Tylariel burst into the room in a flurry of movement that very second, stopping Arcturus’ words mid-sentence and drawing her father’s attention as well. Arcturus was even surprised to see her a little out of breath, her artistic fingers braced against her hips as she breathed in air.

“Father! He doesn’t know! Don’t hold it against—!”

“Be at peace, daughter.” Lord Rubastra said with tangible warmth to his voice. “His caution is laudable, though your presence here will certainly help smooth over the remaining distrust I can see lingering in his eyes, I take it?” The last part was addressed to Arcturus again, and after a moment’s hesitation he nodded; deactivating Perdition and clipping it to the ready-made attachment on his new thigh armour without thinking.

He didn’t even remember noticing it, but instinct and subconscious memory won out over active thought.

“What she’s referring to, of course, is the courtesy between Archons.” Lord Rubastra continued as Arcturus sheathed his aetherblade. “Drawing your blade and keeping it drawn after I announced myself was, in fact, tantamount to a challenge.”

Arcturus’ eyes widened slightly at the older man’s words.

“Relax, my boy. I have no intention of cutting down my liege-lord’s lawful heir.” The elder Archon paused, as if remembering something, and then arched an eyebrow. “I take it by your presence here that I was correct, and Titus yet lives?”

“Yes, my lord.” Arcturus said immediately, feeling strangely compelled to make up for his unintended insult. “He resides on the shard I came from, along with my moth—”

Willpower Check successful!

Arcturus stopped speaking abruptly and then stared at the older man, who slowly smiled as the silence started to linger.

“Impressive. Very impressive.” He intoned with approval. “It is rare to meet an Apprentice with such a powerful will. Even fully-fledged Archons have been unable to recognise let alone resist my aura. You remind me of Titus when he was an Apprentice. You’ll make a fine heir for Honoris.”

“In time, maybe.” Arcturus responded carefully.

“Humble, too. I like that.” Lord Rubastra replied with an approving nod. “For the duration of your stay here, please feel free to call me Archon Tiberius, or — if you prefer — simply ‘Uncle’.”

Arcturus blinked, and turned to Tylariel, who was similarly staring at her father as if he’d grown another head. When Tiberius turned to regard his daughter, he laughed warmly at her expression. “He is the son of my oath-brother, Tylariel. Is it not appropriate?”

“Pardon me, oath-brother?”

“Oh yes.” Tiberius said as he turned back to Arcturus. “I wasn’t just your father’s ally, my boy. I was part of his Gilded Aegis.”

“You also knew him as an Apprentice?” He said, recalling the prior comment.

“Knew him?” The older Archon asked with a chuckle. “My dear boy, I trained him.”