“I think it's about time we talked about what happened.” Days passed, Tyr began to recover, and the city along with him. Magic was a powerful force not just for convenience, and though the streets were significantly quieter – signs of the conflict were mostly gone. Altogether, the attack hadn't been much more than a seemingly random event. Whatever it was, it had only lasted one night before the creatures remaining had vanished beyond the lip of the crater. Not all had sought to fight until their death, most of them seemed intent to leave rather than participate in the slaughter, and they had.

“And what, exactly, would you like to talk about?” Tyr was moody, courtesy of his poor health and sleepless nights spent amidst fevered dreams. He didn't like sleeping. Every time he did it, the dreams grew more vivid and convoluted. Dreams... More like nightmares.

As always, he lay in his bedchamber in the estate. Away from the needles and prodding fingers of those irritating doctors who treated him like some kind of science experiment.

“You've clearly awakened to your aspect, and it wasn't during the attack. Why did you lie to me? I thought we were friends?”

Tyr was stung by the accusation. To Iscari, his friend had hidden his capabilities from all of them and wasted a lot of time in the process. To a normal person, a talentless peer was a blessing, but to a primus – it was a source of incredible fear. Even Octavian felt it. What if primus' were losing their powers? What if his grandchildren and all those after were born as mundane mortals? The world would fall into chaos, or at least the lands of men would. Tearing themselves apart while their enemies came for what was left.

“I haven't awakened. Isn't that obvious?”

Iscari believed him, he couldn't help it. Tyr was his closest friend and the man he looked up to the most. Like a brother, just like their fathers before them. The hurt and vaguely concealed rage at being accused was plain in his sunken eyes.

“Alright...” Iscari held his hands up in surrender. He was weak when it came to this particular individual, whatever the case. “Then... Don't you want to know what your aspect is? How did you even do that?”

Primus' could give, serving as a living standard. They could take, too. Tyr had done both at the same time, intermingling their life force and sustaining himself, and... Returning more than he'd taken. The law of equivalent exchange existed in all things, magic or not, and he'd flaunted that somehow. Forbidden, too. Yet nobody could blame him, the damage would've been much worse otherwise – and with his primacy, their ignorance protected them from learning the truth behind just how fel that power was.

To be swept under the rug, assured by the council. Publicly, Tyr had been the focus of a twelve archmage ritual. They'd take all the credit, but it was better than throwing his friend to the churches, and Iscari had verified it in a heartbeat.

“I...” Tyr had sought it, even lusted after the truth for as long as he could remember. But now... He knew what he'd done. He had the eyes to see and a brain to consider. It hadn't been a spell, but the offering of his spira to others. Not consciously, not something he thought he could repeat. His spira had ravaged the bodies of those pressured by it. Enhancing their own, permanently, and leaving a void their bodies were unaccustomed to. Some had fought under his command until their hearts had given out – dead and lifeless. “If that's my aspect, then I don't want it.” He replied, resolute.

“Why?” This was something the prince of Varia could not understand. It should have been Tyr's most triumphant day. An advent for celebration. Of course it was foul, in some ways, but if man knew what a primus was or what they did... They'd feel worse over it. To influence all races was an incredible thing, something that could bring peace and bring about true solidarity.

“One, I haven't awakened. I may be an idiot but I'm absolutely certain of that. My father explained enough about it. Not to mention that all primus' are like giants. We're tall, but my father stands somewhere just sky of eight feet. Isn't yours taller?”

“They argue about it. Yours claims my father wears platforms, but yes... By an inch or so. Why does that matter?”

“Because for some reason – all of my memories associated specifically with my father are as clear as day. I can remember every conversation I've ever had with him. What other question would a child ask than why his father stands two heads above every man? He is a titan, and so are all the others, because their awakening made them that way. Do I look like a giant to you?” Tyr asked.

“I see your logic, but you can't ignore the truth. They can remain ignorant but we both know you forced your own will upon the world energy. Only a primus can do that, and through it we summon our aspect. No?”

He was right. Tyr knew he was right. “Then...” He didn't want to ask – but he had to know. “What do you think my aspect is?”

“Honestly... I don't know. Jartor is strength, Octavian is endurance, Ragnar is presumably fire but he doesn't share, just calling it the war flame. Cortus was fear – or so they say. And Alexandros is the primus of pride... Or something like that. He and my father are not on speaking terms and haven't been for a while.”

“Varia's made enemies of the republic?” Tyr snorted. The republic was a poor, backwater collection of hovels. Either empire could smash them like a bug. Their warriors might be famed, but Haran's army numbered near two hundred thousand and that was before calling charters or conscription. And Varia's was much larger if they were to call the banners. In the millions, Jartor had said they were the largest army on the face of the earth.

“No.” Iscari laughed. “Primus' don't war, it's not our way. Apparently, my father beat Alexandros in some republic game. A diversion, and Alexandros claims he cheated. Father insists that he didn't, and further insists that Alexandros submits to his 'greater mind for strategy'.”

“Did he?” Tyr asked. “Cheat, I mean.”

Iscari shrugged. “Yeah, probably. My father is a proud man. Very stubborn, kind of like you. I'm not like him and have no interest in quarrels between kin. We're all we have, and it's not like they're making more of us.”

“I guess... If that was the case, Haran and Varia would never stop fighting.” The legendary rivalry between the primus' of the twin empires was just that. Legendary. Even the people participated, though they remained most friendly about it. “So...? Any ideas?”

“I think...” Iscari sighed, tapping his finger on the table and leaning forward. “An aspect is an inborn quality of men. Something we all have. Based on the trend of the current generation – those younger than our fathers and Vidarr – its quite likely that yours is of the emotional spectrum like mine is. Something all men have in them regardless of their station. That being said... From what I've heard... War is possible, something anger or avarice related. Conquest. Wrath. Domination.”

“Sounds like slavery to me...” Tyr frowned. Of all the things he could claim as an aspect. Iscari was granted hope, presumably upon his awakening the ability to give that to others. To bolster their spirit. It was a powerful thing, perhaps one of the strongest. Perfectly matched against the now dead Cortus, and near unbeatable. An army that did not flag or flee even under the worst circumstances would be terrifying. “You got lucky. But I don't want to force other people into following my orders.”

Something in him told him that this was not the case.

“Lucky?” Iscari chuckled. “Who would want an aspect like hope when wrath exists. Sounds bad ass in my opinion, what you did there in the city was... I felt it. That was absurd. Emotions all hold sin, that's what the churches say, and for all its purity 'hope' can easily be turned toward greed or ambition, there is no such thing as an evil aspect if that's what you're worried about.”

No. I don't think that's it. None of those make sense to me. They weren't the source of that, but somehow I feel like it'd even worse than those mentioned...

There had been no forcing it on other people. He hadn't reached into them and pulled something out, they had done it instead. Others had reached inside of him and taken what was not theirs, and he had offered it. Whatever it was, it had changed them permanently. If not for all the dead, maybe in a way that would've caused no end of problems to the future. Tyr didn't want it, not until he knew what that thing was. The way it had felt, in the moment, was transcendent – but now, looking back...

–

“...Why am I here...?”

“To advise.” Professor Wilhelm, Urden, Leda, and Kael surrounded a patient. Frozen in stasis before the 'change' had been been given the necessary time to warp their body. These instances were rare nowadays, but they happened at random. Not just in Amistad, but everywhere across all the known kingdoms. Varia had mobilized for war, as had Haran and the republic.

Amistad had seemed in poor straits, but it was worse elsewhere. Of the 1.1 million in civilian population they'd only lost about 80,000. Only one attack, but some other kingdoms were already worse off.

“I think this is a bit beyond my... Er... Expertise...?” Tyr replied. He could heal scratches and cuts, not something so profound as regrowing or attaching a new limb as real healers could. His sacred flame was novel, but no substitute for real healing magic. It was better for growing plants than healing wounds. From Tyr's perspective, it was worthless.

“Except it's not. This thing that's happening.” Leda drummed her tiny fingers against her lips. “It's fairly similar to what happened to Magnus Casterling. Just... Different, somehow. Spellbreakers are rare, you know, we'd like you to give it a shot. They don't actually line up to diagnose patients, and the data your provide might just save thousands of lives.”

“If you pass.” Kael mimicked her movement in a mocking way. Despite the grim situation, his sarcasm remained whole and his personality as irritating as always. “Lernin says we'll raise your grade in healing by a letter. I remember when you came here and everyone cooed about your talent, now your might get a B-... How exciting...”

“All I know is that their anima is out of balance. Like...”

“Like two people living in the same body?” Wilhelm asked abruptly, and Tyr nodded. “We know that, but how it happens is the problem. I... We, want you to try to break this curse. At least gives it a gods honest try.” As a ward master, he'd been studying the reversal of arrays for decades. That's what curses were, simplified, and not even he could figure out how it worked. Stasis consumed an incredible amount of energy, and it wasn't permanent. At any time, it could be one of them inside the pod. “We are on a timetable.”

“Okay.” Tyr replied. Finding no sense in arguing with the professors. He reached into the stasis field ,utilizing an enchanted leather glove and allowing his sacred flame to envelop the persons body. A woman, and an old one, with wrinkled skin and face frozen in an agonized scream. “Can I get paid for this with money rather than--”

“Time. Table.”

Stuck between a rock and a hard place. Tyr didn't much care about what happened to Amistad, but he couldn't forget the child that had changed in his arms. And the promise he'd made in his anger. A man keeps his promises.

Curses were rare, a form of magic not practiced by many due to its inconsistency and complex ritual involved. Weeks or months of work to give someone a rash, or cause a man to bald. Nowadays, there were spells that could do that and more, far more efficiently, but the 'ultimate' magic still required ritual, and this seemed to be the case. Curses were absurdly easy to ward against and even though the study of witchcraft was a valid one, it was purely academic. A study of theory to step into a greater understanding of magic. Their ignorance was a double edged sword at times.

In times like these, where two curses had cropped up within a year that none of their healers had the ability or knowledge to fix – it couldn't be a coincidence. Tyr pushed his energy into his 'patient', keeping the sacred flame on the surface of her skin to serve as a guide through which his spira could flow. She was hot, even in stasis. And then, he found it... Lurching back from the table with uneasy steps as it lashed out at him.

A mass of blood red energy swirling about the woman's mana core. Slowed by stasis, but not stopped by it – revealing its own nature to the prince. He clutched at his head, feeling remnants of whatever it was crawling over his skin like a million ants. Trying to find a way in, only to be unraveled when it made contact with his spira.

“Can you fix it?” Urden asked in anticipation.

“Probably more appropriate to ask if he's okay, first...” Wilhelm gave her a meaningful look, grabbing their student gently by the arm and steadying him.

Tyr explained what he'd seen. His knowledge on these things was no better than their own, grossly inferior in truth. Through his observations, they were able to make a determination. But...

He shook his head. “I can't fix it. I don't know if it can be fixed. I'm either not strong enough, which is likely, or this thing has no cure.” His gift allowed him to feel and see that which they couldn't – but when subjected to the sacred flame, the mass would peel the mana woven into the magic away and feed on it. Like a parasite. Preventing him from taking hold of it as he had with the curse upon Magnus, it was far more virulent and predisposed to leech energy. “Okami?”

The wolf whined, refusing to approach the subject. His hackles were raised and he left the field hospital. Answer enough.

“That's good enough.” Kael had a grim look on his face, sending Tyr away and conferring with the others. “Thoughts?” He was no healer, only capable of using light metamagic as most archmages were, but Urden was different.

“It confirms what we already know. Not much more than that.” Wilhelm shrugged. “The bigger question, for me, is why he can't fix it. Shouldn't sacred flame be enough to break any curse if there's enough of it?”

“Not quite.” Urden offered her conjecture. As soon as Tyr had left, they terminated the subject and incinerated the body. Nothing a child should be made to see, but necessary. “Sacred flame encompasses only one aspect of life. Growth in particular. This isn't a curse as we understand them. We know that because it remained self sufficient. Stabilizing itself when he tried to attack it.”

Curses could be powerful, but they had a weakness. Their structures were composed almost universally of entropic energy. Constructs and arrays buried in objects – or people if the caster was clever enough – that could exist forever. That was, until the fine balance of the spell was successfully broken. It sounded easy, but it was anything but. Every curse has a shell or a way to defend itself, with spellbreakers being those rare enough to unravel or even devour the magic powering it – with no backlash. That was where the distinction lie, like putting a finger to a lit match.

Some curses could be drowned in light, which would 'break' them, but also wound both the healer and the patient. Spell breakers were exceptional rare among mankind, and could do all of that and more. It wasn't so well understood a vocation to be more specific than that.

“I am inclined to agree with your assessment, and wonderfully explained.” Lernin joined them, nodding. He saw to the proper disposal of the woman's corpse, having no family of her own – all he could offer her was a quiet ceremony with few witnesses. Burnt to ash in the norther custom. “So... Not a curse?”

“No, there is dark magic but it is almost entirely composed of anima.” Urden shook her head. “Like a curse, it lies dormant until influenced by external stimuli. Maybe a signal of some sort. Structured like one, but with a biological component beneath. It has both a form both physical and etheric. It also seems to be... Contagious.”

“...Contagious?” Kael backed away from the ashes of the corpse. “Do we have it?”

“No. Well, yes, but no – you don't. And you can't catch it.” Urden denied it. She could see the mass in the woman's body and the other patients. It wasn't impossible to diagnose, only treat. “You'll notice one thing in particular about this malady. The vast majority of victims are D rated mages or below. Barely mages at all.”

“What about the council mages? I saw some turn with my own eyes and they don't make a habit of hiring D ranks.”

“Only after hours of fighting. If this thing behaves like a curse and a virus, catalyzing into a tumor within the body to grow into something akin to a parasite... It was clearly engineered to kill lesser mana-capable individuals. The fact that it killed a few council mages is only a coincidence, likely stemming from the fact that they exhausted so much of their own energy and fell below the threshold. Does that make sense?”

“In some ways.” Lernin pursed his lips. “But it certainly answers the question regarding who did this.”

“Hastur.” Kael already knew. Anima was thick around the phenomena, boiling up inside of the creatures until it ruled them, taking everything unnecessary from their body and shaping them anew. She was a brilliant healer, but he had his own talents. “I think its time you sent me to Baccia to deal with that rat once and for all.”

Wilhelm scoffed. Lernin remained glaring at the place the woman had lay. “You'd lose.” He said softly. “We must prepare. Leave Urden to her research and keep an ear out, and don't do anything ridiculous in the meantime.”