Vescrutia: Legacy

High above the Emerald Ascension mountains, where the perpetual emerald storm raged like a furious, living entity, the light of Solara painted celestial artistry. Its jubilant rays, the color of ripe peaches and rosé wine, cascaded over the churning grey-green mass, managing only to pierce fleeting, ethereal shafts of light into the tempestuous heart of the Denkou sky.

Beneath that tumultuous ceiling, within the kingdom hidden and suffocated, a different kind of storm brewed.

It had been this way since Myos's abduction of the throne, his false proclamation as the Fourth Emerald King, and his usurpation of the true ruler, Dracovis. Myos's reign had descended like a tangible darkness, more chilling than any mountain storm. His iron demands and cruel intolerance had choked the vibrant spirit of Denkou, leaving its people trembling and resentful. The true heir was gone, a shadow whispered only in hushed tones and fearful glances, having fled Myos's wrath–or so the official story went. Unrest festered, a volatile gas threatening to ignite into not just civil disobedience, but all-out war between disillusioned commons and the fractured nobility.

In a twisted parody of statesmanship, Myos had announced a tournament. Pitched as a fair chance for any soul to fight for a coveted spot in his 'royal guard,' regardless of birth, it was a thinly veiled trap. Optional for the fearful civilians, it was mandatory for all current heads and would-be inheritors of the kingdom's four noble houses. Commissioned under the guise of easing discontent and creating space to address the nation's woes, its true purpose was far more brutal. It was a single, blood-soaked maneuver to murderously butcher two birds with a myriad of bloodied stones: to crush the embers of rebellion smoldering in the districts, and to purge the 'snakes' – the loyalist nobles – who still slithered within his courts.

A mere single day remained before the tournament began. A cruel spectacle designed to force father against son, mother against daughter, cousin against aunt and uncle, staining families with the inescapable blood and regret of this internal war. The irony was a bitter poison: this self-inflicted wound consumed all focus, blinding the kingdom to the looming threat of the B'halian Empire, their ships already nearing Denkou's hidden borders.

Yet, despite the grim state of Denkou, all hope was not lost. Underneath the veil of the physical realm, in the tranquil, shimmering expanse known as the Pathways – the ethereal collective space woven by Denkou mages – a faction gathered. They were the Kakushi, the "Hidden Snakes." Originally formed centuries ago as the throne's unseen blade, protecting it from rot within and threat without, they stood vigilant still. They knew the truth behind Myos's rise, the darkness from which he had sprung, and fought daily to unravel his shady dealings and heinous plots. They were also the only ones actively focused on countermeasures against the encroaching B'halians, an external threat Myos blindly ignored. Operating under the King's ever-vigilant, paranoia-fueled gaze, they had to take extreme measures for their very survival, their meetings a critical lifeline.

Their gatherings took place precisely at high noon, the time traditionally dedicated to prayer and observation of Fulgora, the radiant entity who had blessed the first Emerald King, their progenitor, with the power and prosperity that built Denkou. In the Pathways, physical form was shed, leaving only the essence. Here, seven essences shimmered in the tranquil expanse, a kaleidoscope against the soft, internal light of the Pathways, thought flowing telepathically through private mental channels – a sanctuary safe from the prying ears, and minds, of Myos and his loyalists, even the King himself.

A deep emerald pulsed steadily, the resonant frequency of Koselik of House Ri'ore. Close by vibrated a sturdy, earthy brown and green, belonging to Oberion, Head of House Urso. Beside him, a younger, brighter green flickered with nervous energy – Evant, Oberion's son and heir. A brilliant, almost crystalline blue resonated with the sharp, clear thought-patterns of Esmeralda, Head of House Flonne. A sorrowful, deep indigo pulsed with weary strength – Leviathan, father of the former, now dead, Emerald King, Dracovis. Near him, a complex pattern of muted gold and shifting grey hovered – Queen Regent Onohall, mother of the false King Myos and widow to Dracovis. And finally, a still, watchful silver, the essence of the Kakushi's unseen leader, Code-Name 'Stone.'

"One day," Koselik's thoughts echoed, clear and sharp within their shared consciousness. "One day until the spectacle. Myos calls it a unifying event. We know it for the slaughter it is."

"The pits are being prepared," Evant projected, his essence trembling slightly, the nervous energy radiating through the ether.

A wave of empathic dread rippled through the group. Oberion's resonance deepened with paternal concern. "It is worse than any battleground, Son. Forced fratricide, cousin against cousin, under the guise of loyalty trials. He means to break us, scatter our strength, and eliminate us quietly."

Esmeralda's blue essence flared, a flash of bright light in the internal dimension. "And the people? Those who volunteer? They will be lambs to the wolf. He offers them a lie, a chance at 'status,' and those desperate or foolish enough will walk into the jaws. This is the spark that ignites the unrest into uncontrollable fire."

Leviathan's indigo pulsed with cold fury, a turbulent eddy in the serene space. "He sits on my son's throne, orchestrating our destruction, while the true threat approaches unseen. The B'halians..."

"Their scouts have breached outer wards," Stone's silver essence projected, their presence a steady anchor, a rock in the turbulent currents of their shared fear. "Myos ignores all warnings. He is too consumed with his internal purge. He believes the storm is his shield. He is wrong. The B'halians have ways through the maelstrom. Ways we barely understand."

Onohall's essence, the complex gold and grey, offered a thought weighted with a strange pragmatism, a weary understanding of her son's twisted mind. "His paranoia is a double-edged sword. It makes him blind to the obvious external threat, but his vigilance inward is absolute. We cannot directly prevent the tournament. To attempt it would expose us."

"So we participate?" Evant's concern was palpable in the mental channel. "We fight our friends, our allies? Kill them, or be killed by them? And for what?

Oberion's essence pulsed firmly, a solid presence. "We survive, Evant. That is the goal. We survive to fight Myos another day, and to face the B'halians when they come. The tournament is a test of endurance and adaptability, not loyalty to Myos. We must appear to comply."

"But how do we endure without... without doing his work for him?" Esmeralda asked, frustration lacing her thought. "How do we fight without breaking the bonds we need against Myos and the B'halians?"

Koselik's sharp emerald thought cut through the despair. "Coordinate. Identify allies forced into the pits. Arrange 'matches' if possible, perhaps through exploiting the seeding process? If not, fight only to disable, if the rules allow such 'mercy.' If forced... target those most loyal to Myos, if they appear in the pits. Use the chaos."

"Chaos could be opportunity," Stone projected, their presence a silent, calculating force. "Myos will be focused on the duels. His attention will be elsewhere. We need eyes and ears everywhere in the grounds tomorrow. Identify weaknesses, opportunities. And most importantly, identify precisely *how* he intends to track the 'snakes' and the rebels during the event. The tournament structure itself is a trap, but the method of springing it is what we need to expose."

Onohall's essence shifted, her knowledge of Myos's methods chillingly precise. "He has eyes among the handlers, the medics, even the crowd. He trusts no one who isn't overtly loyal. Look for those who seem... too zealous in their duties—those who report whispered conversations, or seem to mark individuals." There was a hint of weariness in her thought, perhaps the pain only a mother could feel witnessing her child's descent.

"And the B'halians?" Leviathan's indigo pulsed with urgency, the external threat a constant, gnawing fear. "While we are butchering each other, they draw closer. We cannot fight two wars at once. The tournament must somehow become a means to an end against both threats, not just an obstacle."

The silence that followed was heavy, even in the ethereal space of the Pathways. They were the kingdom's last secret line of defense, yet they were being forced into a no-win scenario by their own false king. The tournament was a vise, squeezing the life out of the loyalist nobility, while the external threat loomed, unnoticed by the tyrant.

Just as despair threatened to fully engulf their shared consciousness, a seed of something else, something fragile and vibrant, began to shimmer. "There is yet still hope..." Evant's thought projected, hesitant but firm, resonating with the palpable intuition of something more than just survival.

"Dalazar is soon to return," Koselik's voice joined, adding to the growing light.

"The letter Evant brought back said that he will return within three days time," Onohall confirmed, her essence steadying slightly.

"The true heir?! We thought him lost," Oberion exclaimed, his paternal dread momentarily forgotten in the face of this unbelievable news.

"My grandson, my youngest boy," Leviathan's indigo pulsed with a sudden influx of emotion, a mix of awe and paternal pride. "He has always been passionate about the people, even being born with such meager magic he still put his kingdom first."

"But he is without the birthright... Onohall herself revealed it was being stolen by Myos," Stone rebutted, the hope battling with ingrained knowledge of the rituals of succession.

"No," Evant's thought came, stronger now, infused with the certainty of direct witness. "I have witnessed it for myself. Dalazar has awakened both as an Ascendant mage and the inheritor of the Emerald Soul."

Collectively, they were all in shock. The sheer impossibility of it hung in the air of the Pathways. Myos's claim to the Emerald Soul, the source of the Emerald Kings' power, was the cornerstone of his usurpation. If Dalazar truly possessed it...

"What's more, he trains with the Conservatory to master the power used by those who fought off the B'halian Empire before and during the Fosfur event ages ago," Evant added, the weight of his revelation echoing through the silent observers. The ancient, almost mythical power that had repelled the B'halians once before.

The implications cascaded through their minds. The true heir, alive, returning, and wielding power ancient enough to challenge not only Myos but the looming B'halian threat itself. The terror of the impending tournament did not vanish, but it was suddenly viewed through a new lens. Survival was no longer merely an act of defiance; it was a necessity to bridge the gap, to hold out until Dalazar's return. The tournament, the very trap designed to destroy them, might now just be the forge where they desperately clung to existence, waiting for the dawn that was three days away. The darkness of Myos's reign still held them, and the immediate threat of the pits loomed, but for the first time since the usurpation, a true, burning hope for Denkou flickered in the heart of the Kakushi.

The silence that had fallen over the hidden chamber wasn't silence at all, but the quiet hum of seven minds linked, their thoughts and emotions intertwining in the shared psychic space known as the Pathways. The echoes of Evant's message, delivered mere moments ago across the precarious connection, still resonated – a tiny, incandescent spark of hope glowing fiercely in the crushing darkness of their collective despair.

"And he is learning... the old ways?" Koselik's thought projected, sharp and piercing, cutting through the initial wave of shock with his characteristic focus on the practical. His essence pulsed, a vibrant emerald, already calculating the myriad, improbable possibilities. "The Fosfur Event... that power used was legendary. If he masters it... he could stand against the B'halians and Myos."

"But three days," Esmeralda's projection shimmered, her essence a crystalline blue, beautiful but tinged with the immediate, brutal reality pressing down on them. Three days until he returns. The tournament... the slaughter... is tomorrow. The stark contrast was a physical ache in their shared awareness.

"It shifts very little for the immediate threat, yet the tournament will not be settled in a day's time. I speculate it will run at least three days as well." Stone's silver essence remained the unwavering anchor in their mental space, their thoughts like cool, clear water cutting through the rippling emotional surge. "We must still survive the tournament. We must still gather intelligence on Myos's methods. But now... now we know what we are surviving for."

A small, cautious wave of optimism rippled from Evant's young green essence, the messenger still buzzing with the improbable news. "Myos stole the promise of the power. He prepared the ritual, intended to siphon the Emerald Soul's latent energy into himself upon Dracovis's death. But he failed. Dracovis, in his final moments, somehow diverted it. It didn't vanish; it simply... waited. Waited for the true, selfless heart of the lineage to find it."

Koselik's emerald essence steadied, his thought regaining its sharp edge. "And Dalazar, the prince considered weakest in magic, thought to be drained of it, has awakened the deeper well?"

"Precisely," Evant confirmed. "He fled to Neov, sought refuge near the ancient places. The Conservatory, though hidden, found him. They recognized the potential Myos missed. They saw the soul, not just the blood."

"Three days," Oberion's earthy essence rumbled, grounded once more in the harsh reality of their situation. "He returns in three days. The tournament is tomorrow. This changes everything, and nothing. We still face the pits, the selection, the slaughter. Dalazar cannot be here to prevent it."

Esmeralda's crystalline blue essence shimmered with renewed determination, hardening like newly formed ice. "But he can be here to end Myos's reign. The tournament is a means to an end, remember? Surviving it is paramount. But now... preserving key individuals becomes even more critical. Dalazar will need allies who understand the kingdom, who haven't been broken or eliminated by Myos's 'purge'."

"The letter Evant received outlined Dalazar's progress," Stone's silver essence projected, their presence a calm center amidst the swirling emotions. "His training with the Conservatory is focused on countering the B'halian methods. They are preparing him not just to reclaim the throne, but to lead the fight against the external threat Myos so foolishly ignores. His return aligns perfectly with the B'halian advance."
Leviathan's indigo essence calmed somewhat, shifting from raw fury to strategic intensity. "Then the tournament is no longer just about our survival or sowing subtle chaos. It is a filter. We must identify those forced into the pits who are not loyal to Myos, those who still hold a sliver of hope for Denkou, who could stand with Dalazar. And we must, by any means necessary, help them survive."

"Help them survive against each other?" Evant questioned softly, the inherent difficulty of the task weighing on him.

"Against the system Myos has created," Stone clarified. "The tournament is designed to force loyalists to kill loyalists, rebels to expose themselves, and everyone else into submission through fear. We cannot stop the fighting entirely, but we can influence outcomes. Focus on protecting those we know are Kakushi sympathizers or potential allies among the noble houses and even the commoners forced or lured into the pits. Koselik, your network among the common people is vital here. Identify who shows up, assess their spirit."

"Oberion, Esmeralda, Evant – as participants, your task is the most dangerous," Stone continued, the weight of their roles heavy in the shared space. "Not only must you survive, but you must observe. Look for the signs Onohall mentioned – the overzealous handlers, the suspicious medics, those marking individuals in the crowd. Myos will have a system to identify the 'snakes'. We need to expose it before the purge can be completed after the tournament."

Onohall's essence pulsed with a somber understanding, a silent acknowledgment of the cruel irony that they sought to undermine her own son's reign, to dismantle the very traps he meticulously set. "My son's mind is a twisted labyrinth of suspicion. He will have multiple layers of identification. A word reported here, a gesture noted there, combined with performance in the pits... it will be a complex web. Trust no one you do not already know is with us. And be wary of those who suddenly show excessive loyalty to Myos – they might be plants."

"What of the fighting itself?" Koselik asked, returning to the bedrock practical challenges of the pits. "If two allies are pitted against one another?"

"Coordinate beforehand where possible," Stone instructed. "Use the seeding if we can manipulate it, though Myos will have safeguards. In the pits... fight to disable if the rules allow. If lethal force is unavoidable against an ally... make it look convincing, but ensure it serves a greater purpose. Target high-ranking Myos loyalists if the opportunity arises. Turn his trap against him where you can."

"This is a knife's edge," Esmeralda stated, her crystalline essence sharp with the tension of the impossible balancing act. "We must appear loyal enough to survive, but not so eager that we seem like Myos's dogs. We must help allies without exposing ourselves. We must gather intelligence while fighting for our lives."

"We do this for Dalazar," Leviathan projected, his thought anchoring the group, pulling their separate essences into a single, overwhelming shared purpose. "For the true Denkou. For the hope he represents. We survive the tournament, we gather the fragments of the loyalists Myos tries to shatter, and we hold the line against Myos's forces until he arrives."

A fragile but potent sense of purpose knitted the seven essences together in the hidden place. The dread of the looming tournament hadn't vanished; the specter of the blood-soaked sand and the cheers of the terrified crowd was still a cold knot in their shared awareness. But it was now overlaid with the electric potential of Dalazar's impending return. The next day would still be a dance with death, a brutal trial of skill and will in the belly of the beast. But now, they danced not just for survival, but for the dawn they knew was just three days away, carried on the shoulders of a prince they once thought lost forever, who now held the legendary power of the Emerald Soul.

"Tomorrow, we descend into the pits," Stone's silver essence vibrated, a silent, shared promise echoing through the Pathways. "But we go with purpose. The tournament begins Myos's end."

The silence in the Pathways was broken only by the soft thrum of their combined presences, a silent acknowledgement of the storm raging in the physical world and the darker storm brewing within the palace walls.

"There is yet one other thing...I must disclose," Onohall's essence shimmered, the golden-grey light intensifying slightly.

"It is not by mere greed that my son has made such a drastic change...." She continued, her voice resonating directly in their minds, heavy with regret. "He is beset by an ancient evil...one that I have been sworn to secrecy. But with all that I have lost, and yet stand to lose, what we all stand to suffer... I cannot in good faith withhold this secret any longer." She further explained, the words tumbling out with a mixture of fear and determination.

A profound silence settled again, denser this time. Leviathan's indigo essence seemed to dim slightly, his weary strength pooling. "Are you sure? Once it is spoken, there will be no turning back."

She affirmed her choice, her essence steadying. "I am. Part of the blame for all that has transpired is the very way we of the Denkou have lived up until now. Secluded, untrusting, secretive. We feign community but yet we don't even trust our noblemen who fight tooth and nail to keep us safe with the truth...of the greatest threat slumbering within our midst." She exclaimed, her essence radiating a fierce conviction.

"What are you saying, Onohall?" Oberion's earthy essence radiated confusion, tinged with a new wariness. The Queen Regent was far from a fearmonger, so whatever it was she was about to share was terrible indeed.

"Myos is possessed by a vengeful entity known as Azar, a Djinn of Sapphire flames whose hatred for our Kingdom runs deeper than the veins of illuminate beneath the mountains crust. Ains, the founder of our line, defeated and absorbed the Djinn's power, but its twisted nature sought to corrupt the First King. But with the power of light, a force within him known as Ao, he managed to keep the creature contained. However, Azar is a furious flame who feeds off the misery and discord of our people. After being defeated by Ains, he became an inheritance to those who bear the Emerald Soul." Onohall elaborated, the lore heavy on her essence.

"Ao? We have never heard of such an energy." Esmeralda's crystalline blue essence pulsed with focused inquiry.

"You have...for it is this very force that is the spark beneath the golden glare of the Ascendant mages." Stone's silver essence resonated, quiet but absolute.

"Ascendant Mages are those who have managed to tap into the small reservoir of this energy hidden within the genetics of all noble mages, as those who are direct descents of the original chieftains. However, those known as Ka'ne, or 'Bringers Of Light,' are the inheritors of the fullness of Ao." Onohall continued, the pieces of ancient history linking together. "An Emerald King who possess both the Emerald Soul as well as awakens as a Ka'ne is known...as the Beryl Sun. None save for our founder himself have held such a title." She explained, as the anxiety in the others built, a creeping dread spreading through their essences.

Except for Evant, whose brighter green essence merely flickered with familiarity mixed with apprehension. He had known part of this truth because of his travels with Dalazar.

"We...do not know from where the first king came into contact with this power, only that it has the ability to stand against chaotic forces. We believe it to be the essence of Order. A very old power whose origins we have not been able to trace," Onohall said.

"Dalazar was born the next vessel for the Emerald Soul and Ao, but Azar's influence was able to corrupt Myos from a young age. A portion of him entered Myos and siphoned magic from Dalazar, sealing the breadth of his powers away and feasting on the remains.... Yet I believe that somehow Dalazar managed to expel Azar from him, leaving it to return fully to Myos...it would speak to his drastic change in nature." She continued, the implication hanging heavy in the Pathways.

"Wait...are you saying that Dalazar is...." Oberion's voice trailed off, his essence radiating disbelief.

"Yes, Father. I can attest to this first hand...Dalazar has...a unique power within him that allows him to absorb the souls of those his gaze is set upon." Evant explained, his essence firm despite the tremor of nervousness.

"What?!" Leviathan's indigo pulsed violently with shock.

"What lunacy is this?" Oberion exclaimed, his earthy brown essence rippling with outrage and disbelief.

"It would align with Lady Onohall's story." Esmeralda affirmed, her voice calm and measured.

"How so?" Oberion demanded.

"This Azar, was absorbed by the First Emerald King, yet it is apparently unknown how a master of lightning magic did so to an entity of flames... Perhaps the Beryl Sun is not just a master of both Ao and the Emerald Soul's lineage magic... but has the capacity to contain such raw, chaotic power." Stone explained, his silver essence unwavering, the cruel logic chilling.

"This raises many questions and far more concerns. Then it stands to reason, that Dalazar truly is our only hope against these forces threatening our home." Leviathan said, the weariness in his essence now layered with a grim determination.

Evant remained quiet, his essence still. There was much more that he wanted to divulge, the full terror and wonder of Dalazar's capabilities, the things he had witnessed. But he felt as if it was not his place to do so. They had enough burdens and revelations forced upon them for one sitting. Right now, the focus needed to be thwarting Myos and, by extension, Azar's plans. He would leave that task, and the explanation of its full terrifying truth, to his King to handle when the time was right.

"I shared this for you all to exercise the utmost caution. It is for this reason, keeping Azar and his whispering madness contained, that the Kakushi were first formed after he nearly caused the kingdom to fall to ruin during the reign of the second and third Kings.... Tomorrow, let us fight for the body, mind, and soul of our kingdom." Onohall ended, her essence holding a fragile but resolute strength.

A sense of resolve, sharper and brighter than the dread they had carried moments before, settled amongst them. The storm still raged outside, Myos's tyranny still suffocated Denkou, and the pits of the tournament awaited their unwilling participants. But now, the darkness was not absolute. High above, perhaps, Solara still painted hope on the storm clouds, and beneath, within the hidden heart of the kingdom, a flicker of the true Emerald Soul, the potential Beryl Sun, had been found, a beacon promising a dawn after the long, false night.

One by one, the shimmering essences began to fade from the tranquil expanse of the Pathways, returning to their physical forms, carrying the weight of immediate danger, but also the electrifying, terrifying truth: the true king was coming home.