Chapter 3: Steel and Whispers
The Aether Beasts moved like shadows on fire.
Snarling with ethereal fangs and eyes that glowed like dying embers, they descended upon the Aether Warrior squad with wild, mindless fury. Their limbs stretched unnaturally mid-strike, smoke trailing behind like banners of war. Every claw swipe gouged through stone like paper, sending chips of rock skittering across the ancient path. A low, guttural growl vibrated in the air, a promise of impending violence.
Arian didn't stop to think. There was no time for the cold grip of fear, no space for the doubts that usually plagued his quiet moments. Here, amidst the shrieking of the beast and the clang of failing steel, only instinct remained.
His katana, Kagayaku, shimmered with a strange, silvery pulse, a faint hum resonating from its very core that only he could perceive. As the cries of the squad rang out and the beasts closed in, his feet moved of their own accord, a blur of motion that defied the very ground he stood on.
Pain, instinct, and something deeper—something silver, ancient, and undeniably potent—ignited in his limbs, turning his body into a conduit of raw, focused power.
One of the beasts, a hulking mass of shadow and jagged bone, lunged at a warrior who had stumbled, its maw wide, revealing rows of translucent, razor-sharp teeth. Arian was faster. He slid under the beast like water, his body almost melting into the motion, a whisper of silver light trailing behind him. He rose with a single, elegant upward slash. His blade sang—a pure, high note that cut through the chaos of battle.
Silver light flashed, blindingly bright, momentarily illuminating the grotesque features of the creature.
The beast shrieked—a haunting, metallic sound like steel rending against steel, or a thousand souls screaming in unison—before it collapsed into a swirling vortex of smoke and dissolved into the wind, leaving nothing but a faint scent of ozone and ash.
A shrill voice, laced with disbelief and awe, rang out behind him. "What the—?! Who is that?!" It was Miri, her fiery hair a stark contrast to the swirling dust.
Another beast, larger and more agile, charged, its shadowy form blurring as it closes the distance in a terrifying heartbeat. Arian twisted aside with a sidestep so fluid he almost forgot he had bones, a dance of death honed by countless solitary training sessions. Kagayaku arced once more—clean, efficient, merciless—and the second creature burst apart mid-lunge, its ethereal essence dissipating before it could even touch the ground.
The squad, initially in disarray, their formation broken by the sudden onslaught, found their footing. The momentary shock of Arian's appearance galvanized them.
"Regroup! Flank left!" shouted a tall woman in radiant, burnished gold armor, her voice cutting through the din like a perfectly forged blade. Her sword, held with unwavering confidence, glowed with luminous threads of golden Aether, a beacon against the encroaching darkness. She paused just long enough to throw a sharp, assessing glance at the boy who had just saved two of her team with impossible ease. Her eyes, the color of polished jade, are narrowed.
"Who—?" she began, her question abruptly cut off.
"No time!" Arian shouted back, his voice surprisingly strong, already moving. His mind was a maelstrom of calculated movements and sharpened reflexes, leaving no room for introductions or explanations.
He surged forward like a current of quicksilver, a silver blur against the darker forms of the remaining beasts, cutting down another creature that tried to circle behind the squad and ambush them from the rear. Silver Aether sparked in the air with each movement, dancing like lightning trapped in liquid, leaving ephemeral trails that shimmered before fading.
One of the warriors, a stocky young man wielding a hammer of rough-hewn stone, gaped openly, his mouth slightly agape. "That's not steel. What kind of blade is that?!" His voice was a low rumble, barely audible over the renewed sounds of battle.
"Less gawking, more smashing!" the captain barked, her own golden Aether flaring as she met a beast head-on, her sword a blur of light.
With renewed confidence, the Aether Warriors rallied. Their elemental powers—ash, gale, frost, volt, mist—flared in every direction, turning the tide of the skirmish. Fire burst into rings around Miri, engulfing one creature in searing heat. Arcs of raw lightning lanced the creatures from Ral's outstretched hands, making them shriek in pain. A delicate, intricate snowstorm coalesced from Lune's fingertips, freezing one of the beasts solid in a crystalline prison before a devastating bolt of stone from Bran's hammer shattered it into a million glittering fragments.
The tide turned swiftly and decisively. The beast's mindless fury was no match for the Aether Warriors' coordinated attacks, augmented by Arian's silent, silver-tinged fury.
Minutes later, a heavy silence fell.
The beasts lay vanquished, their spectral remains drifting like soot in the wind, a chilling testament to their ethereal existence. The only sounds were the team's heavy breathing, the faint crackle of fading Aether sparks across the scorched battlefield, and the distant chirping of crickets, oblivious to the battle that had just transpired.
The armored woman, Captain Lucelia, approached him, her golden sword still held loosely in her hand, a faint glow still emanating from its blade. She stood tall and sharp-eyed, every inch a commander, her gaze unwavering as she appraised him.
"You," she said, her voice calm but firm, a stark contrast to the recent chaos. "Who are you?"
"…Arian," he replied, sheathing Kagayaku with a soft, almost imperceptible click, the silvery hum fading. "Just a traveler." He kept his gaze on the ground, a habit he'd developed over years of being an enigma.
One of the warriors, the girl with flame-orange hair and a temper to match, Miri, squinted at him, her arms crossed over her chest. "That blade… it cut through those monsters like butter. And that wasn't an ordinary Aether either. You're not just a traveler. No ordinary traveler moves like that, or fights like that." Her voice was laced with a mixture of suspicion and grudging respect.
Arian shrugged, a small, almost imperceptible movement. "I… guess I'm a good traveler?" He offered a weak, uncertain smile, a rare deviation from his usual stoicism.
She rolled her eyes, but a faint smirk touched her lips. "More like a ridiculously overpowered traveler."
The captain, however, offered a slow, deliberate nod. "Well then, Arian. I'm Lucelia, captain of this squad. You saved our lives. For that, we owe you." Her gaze lingered on him, a silent question in her eyes. "Here take this." Giving him a pouch of silver florens.
He blinked, caught off-guard by her directness. "I didn't do it for payment." The words came out a little too quickly, betraying a flicker of discomfort.
"Still." Lucelia crossed her arms, studying him with an intensity that made him feel as though she could see right through him. "We'd be dead without you. If there's anything you need, anything at all, consider it yours."
"Uh, maybe… just a guide to the nearest town?" He shifted his weight, suddenly feeling awkward under her scrutiny.
Lucelia raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "That's all? After what you did?"
"I'm a traveler so I just… need to keep moving," he confessed, the familiar ache of restlessness stirring within him. He rarely stayed in one place for long.
A pause, heavy with unspoken questions. Lucelia studied him for another moment, then, with a small, knowing smile, she nodded. "Very well. We're heading back to the capital. You can travel with us. But… don't vanish mid-march. I'll send Kael to tackle you and bring you back." Her tone was light, but there was an underlying firmness that left no room for argument.
From the back, a quiet boy, Kael, raised his hand lazily, his face pale under the moonlight. "Uhmm… please don't make me. He looks fast."
The squad laughed—somewhat nervously, the tension of the battle slowly receding. Arian just gave a small, awkward nod, a faint blush creeping up his neck. He wasn't used to this kind of camaraderie, this easy acceptance.
Two Days Later
The journey to the Kingdom of Langarim—"Enduring Light," as one warrior explained with a proud, expansive gesture—wound through winding riverside roads that glinted under the morning sun and moonlit forests where ancient trees whispered secrets to the passing breeze. They moved at a steady pace, the rhythmic crunch of their boots on the earth a comforting counterpoint to the quiet conversations.
Arian traveled in mostly awkward silence, a shadow flitting at the edges of their lively group. He ate little, spoke less, and always kept a watchful eye on their surroundings, a habit ingrained through years of solitary wandering. He felt like an anomaly, a strange silver splinter in a vibrant, golden tapestry.
The squad clearly wanted to know more about him, their curious glances and hushed whispers a constant presence, but no one wanted to be the first to break the unspoken barrier. Except, of course, for Miri.
"Okay, okay!" The orange-haired girl finally threw her arms in the air on the second day, her patience clearly having reached its limit. They had just made camp, the scent of woodsmoke and roasting meat filling the air. "I can't take it anymore. I need to know." She pointed an accusing finger at Arian, who was methodically sharpening Kagayaku by the dying embers of a small fire, his face obscured by shadow.
Lucelia sighed, rubbing her temples. "Miri, don't—"
"I'm just saying! He doesn't talk. He doesn't eat with us. He sleeps like a bat. Look at him!" She gestured wildly towards Arian.
Arian, who had been meticulously cleaning the hilt of Kagayaku, paused, a piece of dried jerky half-raised to his lips. "Like… a bat?" He genuinely sounded confused.
"You hang off trees sometimes!" Miri insisted, hands on her hips. "We saw you this morning, practically upside down!"
"I don't hang. I just lean," Arian corrected, a faint flush creeping up his neck. He had thought he was being discreet.
"With your whole back??" Miri's voice rose in exasperation.
The others chuckled, their tired faces softening with amusement. Even Arian almost smiled, a fleeting curve of his lips that vanished as quickly as it appeared. He wasn't used to being teased, or to the feeling of being part of a group.
Lucelia, seeing the ice finally begin to thaw, eventually gave in and introduced them all more properly, settling around the campfire. "Alright, everyone, introduce yourselves properly. Arian, you too."
Miri, the Ash Aether girl, went first, eager to share. "I'm Miri! I like to punch things and talk about punching things. And I'm the best Ash Aether user around!" She threw a small, controlled fireball into the air, which promptly fizzled out. "Usually."
Bran, the Stone Aether user, was next. He was massive, with calloused hands and a calm, quiet demeanor that belied his immense strength. He gave a shy wave. "I'm Bran. And… I'm also a great baker. Best sourdough this side of the continent." He gestured to the fresh loaf wrapped in cloth beside him, which indeed smelled delicious.
Sera, bubbly and small, a Mist Aether user, giggled, her eyes sparkling. "I'm Sera! I can make things disappear and reappear in a puff of smoke. One time I accidentally turned our camp into a foggy maze on purpose. It was hilarious!" She winked at Arian, who looked mildly alarmed.
Kael, stoic and fast as a blink, the Gale Aether user, simply nodded. "Kael. I'm fast." He demonstrated by vanishing and reappearing almost instantly from behind a tree, making Arian's eyes widen slightly. Rumor was he'd accidentally outrun a horse once, leaving the poor beast winded and confused.
Lune, elegant and quiet, Frost Aether, spoke softly, her voice like tinkling ice. "I am Lune." She said little, but her icy remarks were known to melt people faster than Miri's fire. She offered Arian a small, almost imperceptible smile.
And Ral… Volt Aether, lanky, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, too clever for his own good, and apparently a compulsive prankster. He leaned in conspiratorially. "Ral. And I prefer my pranks to be… electrifying."
Ral fell in beside Arian that night, as they took turns on watch, the stars like scattered diamonds overhead. He whispered, his voice low and conspiratorial, "Wanna see what happens if I sneak ghost peppers into Bran's stew tomorrow morning? I've got some saved up."
Arian stared at him, genuinely shocked. "…You're insane."
Ral grinned, his teeth flashing in the dim light. "I take that as a yes."
Arian shook his head, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad after all.
Langarim: The Capital
When the capital, Langarim, finally came into view, shimmering on the horizon like a dream made manifest, Arian stopped walking. He wasn't the only one; a collective gasp swept through the squad.
The city was… impossible. It defied logic and gravity, a monument to Aetherial mastery. Built seamlessly into the side of a colossal mountain, its towers spiraled like horns toward the heavens, their tips seeming to pierce the very clouds. Glowing veins of raw Aether, harnessed and purified, lined the massive walls, pulsing gently like the kingdom itself was alive, its heart beating with ancient power. Bridges of pure, solidified light arched gracefully between impossibly tall buildings, defying structural engineering, and floating ships, their sails catching the wind like giant, gossamer wings, drifted lazily through the air, ferrying citizens and goods.
"I feel like I walked into someone's dream," Arian muttered, his voice barely a whisper, his eyes wide with a childlike wonder he hadn't felt in years. He'd seen grand cities, but nothing like this.
Sera, who had been watching his reaction, beamed, her face alight with pride. "We get that a lot! One time a merchant fainted at the gates. Thought he'd died and gone to the Aether realm."
Lucelia, ever practical, approached Arian at the gleaming Aether-lined gate. She handed him a small, surprisingly heavy pouch. "Silver florens. You'll need food and a bed. This city can be expensive if you don't know where to look."
"I didn't ask—" Arian began, attempting to refuse the unexpected gift.
"Consider it a reward from the Kingdom," she interrupted, her voice firm. "And… a small bribe. Kingdom rewards do not disappear like smoke. Accept it."
He bowed slightly, the weight of the pouch feeling strange in his hand. "Then… Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," she replied, her voice cool, but with a hint of something more, something akin to curiosity. "We still don't know what you are, Arian. Or why does your blade sing with silver and not gold."
That Night
Lucelia's squad house was modest but warm, tucked away on a quiet street near the central market. Carvings of stylized wings and shimmering stars lined the windows, hinting at the Aetherial nature of its occupants. Arian was given a spare room, a small space with a comfortable bedroll on the floor and a thick curtain for a door, offering a semblance of privacy. Not that he slept much. His mind was a whirlwind of the day's events, the sheer spectacle of Langarim, and the constant hum of the silver mark beneath his skin.
Lucelia sat with him for tea before bed, the warm, fragrant steam curling between them. She didn't bother with small talk, cutting straight to the point as was her nature.
"You said you're a traveler," she began, her gaze steady, "But that sword, your instincts in battle… you've had training. Formal training, not just wandering the wilds."
Arian looked into his tea, watching the small patterns of the leaves. "I trained with blacksmiths. Miners. Learning how to work with metal, how to move in tight spaces. No magic schools. No Aether books. Nothing like that." He omitted the part about the whispers, the silver dreams, the impossible movements that sometimes felt like another entity guiding his limbs.
"Then how do you move like a shadow? How does your Aether react mid-swing like that? It's unlike anything I've ever seen." Her brow furrowed in thought, a genuine puzzle in her eyes.
He didn't answer, simply stirring his tea, the silence stretching between them. How could he explain something he didn't understand himself?
"Hmm. Mysterious," she muttered, a faint smile playing on her lips. "I get it. You've got secrets. But you're lucky. If you hadn't helped us, the city guards would've detained you for questioning. We've had Silver-marked criminals before, rogue Aether users who misuse their power."
"…I'm not a criminal," Arian said, his voice quiet but firm. The idea chilled him to the bone.
"Good." She stood, her tea cup empty. "Because if you were, Sera would've filled your room with a suffocating fog and Ral would've filled your boots with eels before you even woke up."
"Eels?!" Arian exclaimed, blanching at the image.
"You don't want to know," Lucelia said with a dry chuckle, turning to leave. "Get some rest, Arian. And don't think about the eels."
That Night, Again
He tried to sleep, the city's soft hum a strange lullaby. The comfortable bedroll, the quiet house, the feeling of safety – it should have been enough. But the silence, too, held its own terrors.
Then, the whisper returned. It was faint, almost imperceptible, like the softest breath of wind across a desert.
Help me…
Female. Distant. Like the echo of a memory buried deep within a forgotten riverbed, yearning for release. A cold dread, familiar and unwelcome, settled in his chest.
He sat up abruptly, heart pounding against his ribs, Kagayaku's presence a comforting weight beside him. His chest, where the hidden silver mark pulsed faintly, glowed once—twice—then faded, the whisper receding into the depths of his mind.
"…Not now," he whispered into the darkness, a desperate plea for respite. He wasn't ready. He couldn't be.
But the voice didn't answer again, leaving him alone with his racing thoughts and the chilling silence. He lay back down, pulling the blanket tighter, but sleep remained a distant, unattainable comfort.
The Next Morning
He stepped out for a walk, hoping the cool morning air and the vibrant city would clear his head, shake off the lingering echoes of the whisper. He found himself wandering towards the bustling market district, the smells of freshly baked bread and exotic spices filling the air.
And immediately—
"Found you!" a bright, eager girl's voice rang out, cutting through the general market din like a clear bell.
He barely managed to react, turning just as a blonde whirlwind of energy, no older than himself, latched onto his arm, her grip surprisingly strong. She was dressed in light, practical clothes, her hair a wild mane that seemed to defy gravity.
"Uh—what—?" Arian stammered, caught completely off-guard. He hadn't expected to be ambushed by a tour guide.
"Ivelle," she declared proudly, pulling him along without preamble, her bright blue eyes sparkling with irrepressible energy. "Lucelia asked me to guide you. She said you'd probably brood in an alley or something and get lost, or worse, get into trouble with a street vendor who thinks you're trying to steal their candied nuts."
"I wasn't brooding…" Arian protested, struggling to keep up with her pace.
"You were absolutely brooding," Ivelle stated, nodding sagely. "I saw it from a mile away. Brooders always look like they're about to solve the mysteries of the universe, but mostly they just need a good breakfast."
"…Maybe a little," Arian admitted, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips.
"See? I knew it! Now, let's go! I'm the best tour guide ever. I know all the secret shortcuts, all the best pastry shops, and all the grumpy cats who hate tourists."
Before he could escape or even formulate another protest, she dragged him along the cobbled streets, a whirlwind of boundless enthusiasm.
She pointed at pastry shops, their windows laden with sugary delights, describing each confection in mouth-watering detail. She introduced him to a particularly portly ginger cat named Lord Tummywhiskers, who regarded Arian with disdain before demanding scritches from Ivelle. She even did a dramatic slow-motion reenactment of their last battle—with herself playing both the terrifying monster and the valiant hero, complete with sound effects—and got caught in a fruit cart mid-spin, sending apples and oranges tumbling onto the street.
Arian barely dodged the cascade of fruit, managing to catch a rolling apple with surprising dexterity. He handed it back to the exasperated vendor.
"You're… uh… energetic," he managed, slightly breathless from trying to keep up.
"I'm Air Aether!" she declared, puffing out her chest proudly. "I move a lot! It's in my blood. Can't sit still for two minutes." She demonstrated by blowing her bangs upward with a small, controlled puff of wind.
"See? Whoosh!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide and earnest.
He stared, genuinely impressed. "…Wow."
"I know, right?" She beamed, clearly pleased with his reaction. "What's your Aether, Arian?"
"…I don't know," he admitted, the familiar uncomfortable silence settling between them. He always hated that question.
"Oh." She blinked, her bright expression faltering slightly. "Are you lying?" Her tone was direct, disarmingly honest.
"No." He shook his head, looking away.
"Hmm. You don't have a liar's face." She tilted her head, observing him with an unnerving perception. "More like a 'tragic backstory' face. Like you lost something really important."
"...Thanks?" He wasn't sure how to respond to that.
"It's not a bad thing! Main characters always have tragic backstories. It makes them interesting." She seemed to take it as a compliment, which Arian found both baffling and strangely comforting.
They reached a tall overlook on the city's upper levels that showed the sprawling city beneath them—veins of Aetherlight winding like luminous rivers of stars, the floating ships tiny specks against the vastness of the sky. The wind, surprisingly gentle at this height, tugged at Ivelle's hair.
Ivelle sat on the ledge, her legs dangling freely over the dizzying drop, seemingly unfazed by the height.
"So," she said softly, her voice losing some of its usual exuberance, replaced by a thoughtful quietness, "what's your dream, Arian?"
"…Dream?" He looked at her, then back at the impossible city, feeling a pang of something he couldn't quite name.
"Y'know. What do you want to do? Get rich? Become an emperor? Start a soup shop with the best sourdough bread this side of the continent?" She winked, clearly referencing Bran.
He hesitated, the words caught in his throat. It was a question he rarely allowed himself to consider, a fragile hope he kept locked away. But looking at Ivelle, so open and unburdened, he felt a strange urge to be honest.
"…I want to be strong enough that no one can ever take anything from me again." His voice was barely a whisper, raw with an old pain. The wind, as if acknowledging the gravity of his words, seemed to fall silent around them.
"That's… heavy," she said quietly, her cheerfulness completely gone, replaced by a somber understanding. She didn't press, didn't ask for details. She simply listened.
"It's honest."
"Yeah. I get that," she said, her gaze distant, as if seeing something in her own past. The silence stretched between them again, this time not awkward, but companionable.
Then she looked up, her bright blue eyes twinkling once more, the cloud of seriousness lifting. "You've got a cool sword. You saved a whole squad. You're mysterious. You've totally got the main character vibes, Arian."
"…What?" He blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in tone.
She grinned, a flash of her usual irrepressible self. "Never mind."
They laughed, the sound carried away by the gentle wind.
And for the first time in days—maybe weeks—the whispers inside Arian went quiet. The silver mark on his chest hummed with a quiet, peaceful warmth, a beacon of hope in the vast, confusing tapestry of his life.