The
next time he opened his eyes, he was back in the alley. Rain fell
from a starry night. It had felt like a dream, but no time had passed
at all.
When
he sat up abruptly, the creature stared, taking a step back in
confusion.
Arthur
looked around, his heart sinking. His brother was still there, lying
broken like a discarded doll. The blood seeping from Tysten’s body
made his own heart ache. He pushed himself to his feet and walked
toward his brother. He didn’t realise he had two legs to stand on.
He didn’t see the steam rising from the newborn flesh of his right
arm, the rain hissing as it touched the restored skin. His entire
being was focused on one thing.
He
turned to the creature, which was still trying to understand what had
changed. But in that moment, Arthur felt no fear. Instead, he was
filled with a cold, divine pity for the nine-foot beast. It would not
survive this night.
As
he stood, a burning sensation ignited in his chest. The very air
began to waver and shift from the heat he exuded. He walked calmly to
his brother’s body.
A
voice, calm and ancient, spoke in his mind. Arthur. There are
three presences here.
He
crouched.
Your
sister, a budding spark. Your brother...his light gutters out.
His
heart clenched.
And
a third. In the sky. Watching. Their power is...considerable. Be
careful
“Thank
you, Brea,” he whispered, barely looking up.
He
focused on Trysten, the blood, the unnatural angles of his legs, the
wounds that made movement impossible. “You can leave the rest to
me, Brother” Arthur said, forcing strength into his voice.
He
saw the faint, bloody smile on his brother’s lips as he took his
last breath.
The
monster, sensing the birth of something dangerous, attacked while he
was unfocused. It slashed at Arthur’s neck with the same lightning
speed that had taken his leg. The sword screeched to a halt against
his skin, unable to penetrate.
The
creature frantically tried to force the blade, but it wouldn’t
budge. Arthur met its struggle with a stare so terrifying the beast
faltered. Before it could retreat, Arthur’s hand snapped out,
grabbing the blade.
It
tugged with all its might, but it was nearly impossible to break his
grasp. The steel began to hiss and steam in his hand, growing
unbearably hot. As the creature winced in pain, Arthur gave a simple,
almost lazy flick of his arm,
A
shockwave of force tore down the length of the sword. The nine-foot
monster was ripped from its feet as if yanked by an invisible giant,
its grip on the hilt severed. It flew backwards and crashed into a
pile of refuse.
Arthur
stood, holding the steaming blade before bursting into flames.
Fire
enveloped his entire body, reducing the sword in his hand to nothing.
In that moment, he didn’t realise, nor did he care. His focus was
solely on the eradication of the abomination before him.
The
flames around him grew brighter, illuminating the alley in a harsh,
golden light. They grew hotter, so intense the monster’s skin
blistered and blackened if it even drew near. He stood in a crater of
char and ash. The monster’s instincts were sharp; sensing it
couldn’t win, it tried to flee.
It
was a futile attempt.
Arthur
simply raised his flaming hand.
“Burn
it all.” He whispered.
Fire
erupted from his palm. A concentrated river of annihilation that
rushed towards the creature. It was a massacre. The thing was
vaporised where it stood. The flames didn’t stop, carving a hole
the size of a small house through the alleyway wall and revealing the
main street beyond. Silence fell over the alley, broken only by the
patter of rain and the faint crackle of dying embers.
Only
when the flames receded did Arthur realise his arm and leg were fully
restored. But something else was different. The fire had destroyed
his clothing, leaving him naked. His body was no longer his own. His
hands were, darker, more tanned. His limbs felt longer, his frame
broader. He was taller.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
A
smug, feminine voice echoed in his mind. “My vessel deserves a body
fitting of his heart.”
His
eyes scanned the carnage, finally spotting a cloak on one of the
fallen. He didn’t feel right about it, but he had no choice.
Whispering a prayer, he removed the garment and wrapped it around his
shoulders. The coarse fabric was a sobering weight. A mantle of the
sin he would now have to bear.
“Are
they still there?” Arthur asked, looking up at the sky.
No.
They left as soon as you erased that creature
A
being that could fly… The thought was staggering. Why didn’t
he help? Arthur wondered. He
turned back to his brother and lifted him into his arms.
Your
sister approaches
He
snapped out of his thoughts and reluctantly turned his head toward
the alley entrance. Freya was peeking around the corner.
“You
shouldn’t be here,” Arthur said, then stopped. His voice was also
different. Deeper. It made Freya jolt, freezing in her tracks.
He
saw her take in the tragedy, her small body shaking. When her eyes
landed on him, they were full of apprehension, not recognising the
stranger standing before her. Then her gaze fell on Trysten in his
arms, and her eyes widened with drawing sadness.
Arthur
walked toward her. “Is he…?” she asked, tears welling in her
eyes. Besides Arthur, Trysten had been the only one she completely
trusted. To see him like this broke her heart, and in turn, broke
his.
“Our
brother is a hero amongst men, Freya,” Arthur said, his new voice
gentle. “He saved us all.”
She
was taken aback, confusion written across her teary face.
Overwhelmed, Arthur tried to alleviate the tension. He offered a
smile, a smile for his brother, a smile to promise her he meant no
harm. The same smile that was as bright as the sun.
“What?”
he said softly. “You can’t recognise your dear ‘’?”
The
moment she realised it was him, she broke down. As he drew closer,
she hugged him, burying her tear-and snot-streaked face in his
abdomen.
He
heard Brea sulking in his mind about “if she had gotten his new
body messy already…”. He laughed at her complaint, a wet broken
sound. He commended Freya for her bravery, for walking into the
terrifying alley to find him.
“I
was scared at first,” she mumbled into his cloak. “But I closed
my eyes and sensed something..it was faint, but I followed it.” She
then casually changed the subject, inspecting him from head to toe.
“...Why is your hair so red?.. And why do you have a mark on your
forehead?”
Arthur
was speechless. She was a Synchrite. She didn’t even know how to
sense Flo signatures, but she had done it on instinct. Even he
couldn’t do that. Was she a genius? He looked down at Trysten. Why
hadn’t he told anyone he was a Synchrite, too? It didn’t matter
now, he was gone.
As
they said a prayer for the lives lost, Officials finally poured into
the alley. He was questioned extensively about the carnage. He told
them everything, the creatures, his brother’s sacrifice, his
encounter with the Phoenix, Brea. Their scepticism didn’t fade
until he opened his palm, a tiny, obedient flame dancing at its
centre. The lead official, a man described as having a face like
chiselled stone, finally knelt. “The Phoenix...”he whispered, his
professionalism crumbling into something between terror and
reverance.
With
no prior record of him being a Synchrite, they saw his raw,
undeniable potential. An invitation to the Chimera Cross Trials was
sent. Though it was framed as a choice, his attendance was mandatory.
The Church had recognised not just as a Synch, but a prominent one.
Matthew
was never found after the ordeal. The bastard was likely too ashamed
to show his face. A cowardly noble would not be treated lightly. A
small bitter part of Arthur hoped Matthew was suffering, haunted by
the memory of Trysten’s sacrifice. The larger part of him just felt
the empty space where a brother should have been.
He
found his brother’s betrothed and broke the news to her. She didn’t
scream. She just folded in on herself, as if Trysten’s death had
physically hollowed her out. One of her hands rested unconsciously on
her stomach, a gesture that spoke of a secret grief he couldn’t
even fathom.
“He talked about you constantly,” she finally
said, her voice ragged. “How he wanted to name his son after the
person he thought of so highly.” Her grief was a mirror of his own,
and in it, he saw his brother’s legacy living on.
He
was asked to light Trysten’s funeral pyre. He accepted, and with
Brea’s guidance, formed a divine bow and arrow of flame. He heard
he awed gasps from the crowd but brushed them off. Soon, his
brother’s body was gone, leaving nothing but a faint trace of guilt
in the air.
His
father performed masterfully at the remembrance of the victims who
had died that day. His face was a mask of solemn grief for his fallen
heir and measured pride for his newly ascended son who avenged them.
His eyes, however remained the same throughout, distant and
calculating.
His
“mother” celebrated her son’s status as the Phoenix’s avatar,
her joy feeling like a hollow performance. The feeling was so alien
to Arthur, he didn’t recognise the woman. The woman he considered
his real mother was long gone. He only felt disgust.
A
few days later, the summons came. He was required to go to a special
place in Geneeva. He didn’t want to leave Freya alone, but he knew
that to protect her, to protect everyone, he needed to learn more
about Synchrites. He needed to make this power his own.
He
told her it was only a short farewell. He told the Church he would
only agree if they promised to leave his sister alone. The birth of
another Synchrite was like the holy grail to them, but Arthur
wouldn’t let them use her. He vowed that if they ever touched her,
he would burn it all to the ground.
He
left with a Church’s escort, the title “Rising Sun” feeling
less like an honour and more like a weight. The next stop was
Geneeva.
