Aviriel Luccello Btal

  Luccello pricked himself with a needle of light to confirm he wasn’t dreaming. His master spoke spiritedly, sharing stories from his past, explaining to the boy the importance of passing one’s trial. Cunning as a fox, the boy asked pointed questions, his blue eyes full of passion and suspicion.

  His audacity was insulting. Luccello’s feathers bristled at the boy’s tone, the urge to put him in his place itching at his wings. Yet, he restrained himself. Not in fifteen years had he seen his master this animated, this alive.

  The master had saved the boy from the brink of death. And in a way, the boy had saved him.

  It’d been years since the master had someone new to converse with. He must be channeling now; Psycho to enhance his feeble mind, and Bio to support his ailing body. Later on, he’d spend the night aching, contaminated. But for the moment, he seemed… happy.

  Still, the boy had to go.

  Yes, yes, his poor soul deserved saving, same as anyone else. But their adversary was devilish, and he might frame this discussion as the master taking on a new student, and follow with his threats. The pact was clear: no contact with previous students, and no teaching channeling to any new pupils. Teaching that boy Stenser medicine was treading a line too thin.

  Even if by some miracle they weren’t discovered, the boy was a distraction. Master Ku’s research was critical. One could say the fate of the entire Dunya rested upon its success.

  Master Ku broke into a hearty laugh at something the boy had said. Luccello turned, startled by the sound. He couldn’t remember the last time he had elicited such a reaction.

  Was the threat truly real, or was Luccello simply worried about his status as the master’s favorite?

  ‘Envy is a flame smuggled out from hell’, Master Ku used to tell his students. ‘Its first victim is always its wielder.’

  Luccello prayed silently for forgiveness and kept his beak shut. If this conversation brought his master joy, he would tolerate it.

  Mid-sentence, the master paused, his brow furrowing. Instantly Luccello realized what it meant and darted to Rico’s side.

  “Take the boy to the bedchamber,” Luccello whispered.

  “He’s staying?” Rico’s tail flicked with excitement.

  Master Ku rose, gaze fixed on the wall, sensing the incoming guest. “I just remembered I have urgent duties, I’m afraid,” he told the boy. “We’ll continue in the morning.”

  “I can wait,” the boy protested. “I’m not tired yet.”

  Master Ku placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I am tired. And your body hasn’t fully healed yet. Rest. You’ll need it for your journey.”

  The master strode toward the far door, his expression darkening into a sorrowful scowl, followed by Luccello and Pairi. His lips muttered a soft prayer for mercy.

  As they approached, the white Kahra flowers shrank into harmless buds, their buzzing silenced. Behind the doorframe, Infiji mushrooms folded their umbrellas, ceasing their sporulating. Luccello shuddered. While the Kahra’s electricity could be anticipated, the Infiji spores were imperceptible, burning the lungs of any who breathed them.

  The stairs wound deep into the earth, and by the time they reached the bottom, Master Ku’s robes were damp with sweat. Luccello lit the path ahead, guiding them to the maze’s entrance. It stretched for miles, its walls formed by the living roots of the Sedat tree, thicker than steel and capable of instantaneous regeneration.

  “I once lived in a maze like this,” Pairi began, launching into another tale that had never happened. “Deadly traps lay everywhere, monsters lurked at every corner. It’s a miracle I ever escaped.”

  “Let me guess,” Luccello said dryly. “Your absence angered your wife and nearly ended your marriage?”

  “On the contrary. She was with me, and we greatly enjoyed it,” Pairi corrected. “It was our honeymoon.”

  Luccello groaned.

  Quickly yet carefully, they navigated the maze’s many crossroads, avoiding its myriad lethal traps. Pitfalls led to Infiji-infested pits, while the dangling vines of Shanek Ivy waited to ensnare their victims before consuming their flesh. There were trip wires armed with volleys of Calila thorns, their icy venom capable of transforming any living organism into a frozen statue, and Deathfog lilies loomed in shadowy corners, ready to release acidic miasma that could dissolve flesh into formless heaps within minutes.

  Qlaqa orchids lined the labyrinth, their beauty concealing sinister effects. The more common breed clouded the memories of those who wandered too close, twisting their recollection of the paths they had taken. The rarer variety incited anxiety, fear, and anger, sowing fights among trespassers. Even the doors were booby-trapped; some led nowhere, while others concealed mounds of treasure designed to satisfy the greediest of intruders.

  At a dead end, the master waved his staff, commanding the roots to shift aside and reveal a hidden passage. More deadly flora thrived here, awaiting any fool that might try to infiltrate the master’s fortress.

  “Who do you think it will be this time?” Pairi mused. “It’s always tragic seeing friends down there. Though, I can think of a few faces I wouldn’t mind greeting. For example—”

  “Pairi…” Luccello trilled dangerously. “Don’t.”

  The master went at a trot, almost stumbling as he pushed himself forward. His face was a mask of calm, though his eyes betrayed his exhaustion and worry. The questions of whom they might find at the vault, why, and how, had always been more terrifying than anything in this labyrinth.

  When the master revealed another hidden path, there were almost tears in his eyes. He picked up the pace, leading them through corridors veiled in storm clouds and winding past serpents of noxious smog. They traversed damp, twisting passages, deliberately taking wrong turns to obscure their trail from magical trackers.

  At last, they emerged into an immense hall where over a dozen guardians encircled a grand gate.

  They were the skull-headed elementals that roamed the forest, their forms forged from wind, ice, fire, stone, and other primal elements. They sat idle, their personalities overridden, their wills reduced to unwavering loyalty to the master.

  Luccello had always been uneasy about relying on such creatures. Though their existence was concealed from remote detection, he feared a skilled mentalist might still uncover and exploit them. Worse, a powerful channeler who made it this far would not be deterred by mere elementals. They’d serve as a nuisance against them, a delay at best, hopefully long enough for the master to make it here.

  Upon their arrival, the elementals rose and formed a circle around them, bowing their heads, awaiting orders. With a wave of his hand, the master sent them retreating into cells hidden at the hall’s edge. With another gesture, the gate opened on its own.

  The massive door was the final defense, capable of withstanding earthquakes and blasts as powerful as volcanic eruptions. A spatial barrier nullified any attempt at teleportation, while a mental link transmitted images of anyone who tried to breach it directly into the master’s mind.

  Inside, the master walked past rows upon rows of glowing glass orbs, stacked twenty feet high. Each was spectacular: some confined a raging firestorm, a swirling tornado, or a roaring ocean, while others held a glacier or something even more wondrous. Ecosystems thrived within a few, while others contained writhing, fleshy bones that lashed at the glass, desperate to escape. Shadows danced in some orbs, while others shimmered with radiant light, and one held a blend of both, swimming together in perfect harmony.

  Each orb was an asterism in its own right. They were the fruits of fifteen years of labor, harvested regularly since their exile to these desolate lands. To an outsider, they would seem impressive, their shapes and powers a marvel, but not to Luccello. These globes were small and weak. The largest of them was only twice his size.

  The master’s previous collection had orbs larger than himself, their powers would put Pairi’s to shame. Luccello hadn’t even been allowed near certain orbs, their power so overwhelming that proximity alone might kill him.

  And yet, the fact that the orbs here were unimpressive was a relief. Though their very existence was a tragedy.

  As Pairi moved into the next room to retrieve an empty orb, the master approached his workshop table. Hovering above it, suspended by strands of golden light, was his most precious possession: the fragmented remains of a mystique asterism whose shape and color shifted with every glance. From one angle, it appeared as jagged pieces of a blue cube. From another, it became shards of a red sphere.

  It was magnificent, a masterpiece of magical craftsmanship. Its powers were limitless, unquantifiable by any logical measures. It was their key to victory. And hopelessly tainted with chaos.

  The master murmured another prayer.

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  “You’re getting closer to fixing it,” Luccello said. “You’ve come so far.”

  Smiling, the master scratched Luccello’s head, then sank into the padded chair beside the table. Luccello flew to an empty shelf, watching him in silence, wishing he knew words that could mend the hole in his master’s spirit.

  It was the fault of that seven-damned traitor. That backstabber. That thief. That murderer!

  Luccello’s blood boiled at the memory. That wretch had stolen the master’s life’s work, taking his very children as hostages, and forced him into exile. Trapped between mountain, river, and lake, mere miles from those who desperately needed his help and guidance. And if that wasn’t enough, he forced him to abstain from teaching, his one purpose and pleasure in life.

  If only Luccello had been there when the traitor revealed his true colors. He would have unleashed the full wrath of the Holy Hells upon him, smiting him into eternal Oblivion. He would have made him an example for anyone who dared to harm the master.

  “Are you alright, Luccello?” the master asked, worry creasing his face.

  Unruffling his feathers, Luccello dimmed the aura of light he’d unconsciously emitted. “Just a bad stomach, master. Excuse me,” he lied, then silently prayed for forgiveness.

  Pairi returned, placing the empty orb on the table. “We’re almost out of soulstone. I’ll need to arrange another shipment with Al-Tajer soon.”

  Tap-tap, the master drummed his fingers on the table, staring at the floating fragments of the asterism. Fifteen years. That’s how long he’d spent trying to untangle the curse that had corrupted it. Each passing day deepened Luccello’s fear that the traitor had let them reclaim it because he knew restoring it was impossible. That it was a cruel ploy to waste the master’s time and dangle false hope of a victory never coming.

  God help us, Luccello prayed. Cleanse my mind of these dark thoughts.

  As long as the master believed he could succeed, so would Luccello.

  Rising abruptly, the master snatched the orb and turned to face the far wall. The screams arrived first, distant and hollow, like an imaginary voice in a dream.

  Then the guest flew through the wall at an incomprehensible speed, falling horizontally toward the master. His passage through stone, root, and shelf left no mark, not even the faintest tremor to rattle the orbs. He landed on the ground before the master, still shrieking, his green eyes, wide and bloodshot, a look of abject horror carved upon his face.

  “Wh-where am I? What happened? How did I get here?” the man shouted frantically in Federian, scrambling to his feet. His gaze darted wildly around the room.

  Luccello did not recognize him. The man appeared to be in his early thirties, with short blond hair and a light stubble. He wore a sleek black two-piece suit made from the hide of a stealthy cosmic creature. Though the outfit would have no powers now.

  “Mjolin, my child, try to calm yourself,” the master said, slowly walking toward the distraught man. “I know it’s hard, but you can do it.”

  Upon seeing the master, Mjolin staggered back in shock, losing balance, and phasing through the wooden table like light through glass. Panicking, he scrambled upright, his voice rising in hysteria.

  “Stay back!” he yelled. His hands darted toward a fiery orb, but his fingers passed through it like smoke. Bewildered, he stared at his hand. “What have you done to me? Who are you? Where is my team? Answer me!”

  “I’m Ku Lala, your teacher. I taught you how to control your abilities a long time ago. Don’t you remember me, child?”

  Mjolin’s eyes flicked to the orb in the master’s hand, then back to the master. “Master Ku? It’s been… how long? Twenty-five years?” His gaze swept across the room, lingering briefly on Luccello. “What is this place? How did I get here?”

  “This is my home,” the master said. “You are safe here.”

  “Safe?” Mjolin said with scorn. “We were attacked! I was—“

  He stopped mid-sentence, hands flying to his chest. Frantically, he took off his leather jacket and linen shirt, his fingers searching his skin. But the discarded clothes disintegrated into tufts of light, only to reappear on his body a second later.

  “What? I-I was injured! It all happened so fast. We were on a mission and… and… Is this… is this your spell? Am I dead?”

  Master Ku nodded solemnly, tears forming in his eyes.

  Luccello had seen his master cry a hundred times before, and these tears were laden with something heavier than loss.

  With a jolt, Luccello remembered the man at last. He’s the one who’d accepted the master’s mission.

  “No,” Mjolin whispered, shaking his head. “No!” he shouted angrily. “You’re lying to me!”

  “I am sorry, my child,” the master said, his tears falling silently.

  “To hell with your sorry! Send me back to my team. Send me back or I’ll tear off that ugly beard of yours!”

  Luccello took offence, but the master only cried.

  “I’m sorry, my child. It’s beyond my abilities.”

  “Please,” Mjolin cried, dropping to his knees, body trembling. “I’d do anything you want. Send me back to my men. They are my responsibility, my friends. If you help me to save them, I’ll join your collection. I’ll become yours for eternity. Just please…”

  Master Ku placed a hand over his heart, his lips trembling. “Would that I could, I would give you my life.”

  Mjolin let out a raw, primal wail of anguish that reverberated through the room. It sent a chill down Luccello’s spine, making his feathers bristle. The man slumped forward, sobbing against the cold floor.

  For a long moment, the room was filled only with the sound of his cries. The master stood still, tears streaming as he wiped his face with a napkin. Pairi opened and shut his beak a dozen times, his self-restraint thankfully overcoming his impulses.

  Inside the orb in the master’s hand, a shallow creek began to form, its waters flowing weakly along a shore of white, sparking electricity.

  Luccello knew the master’s guilt wouldn’t let him speak, so he stepped in.

  “What you’ve suffered is most tragic, Mjolin,” Luccello said, landing lightly on the table beside the blond man. “But you can still avenge your fate. Tell us what you remember and hurry. Every second you remain outside your orb strains the master.”

  “It’s true? The orbs… you collect warriors? What am I, then? A ghost? A soul?”

  “I keep heroes,” the master corrected. “You are a simulacrum, a projection of light infused with the memories and personality of the one once called Mjolin Nornir. Your soul has long departed to its maker.”

  Mjolin stared at his trembling hands. “I’m… dead? It’s over?”

  The master placed the orb on the table and kneeled beside the crying man. When he patted Mjolin’s shoulder, the man recoiled, surprised the master could touch him.

  “You were a good man, Mjolin. I pray your soul has gone to a better place now.” A flicker of pain crossed the master’s face as he stood.

  “As for your murderer, the justice I’ll bring unto him will be legendary. He will be punished for his crimes. For all of them. In this life before the next.”

  The anger and hurt in his voice were palpable. That traitor had left a deep scar on the master’s heart that ached with every memory. He’d been the master’s prodigy, the son he loved most of all. Even more than Luccello.

  “Mjolin, speak quickly,” Luccello urged. “Your mission—how did it go? Was it successful?”

  “No, we were ambushed!” Mjolin exclaimed. “This stranger appeared amongst our ranks, said he’d been expecting us. He offered us to join him, and when we refused, he attacked. It was… chaos. We were like blind frogs in a boiling kettle. I don’t know what happened. He retreated into mist that came out of nowhere, and then these monsters charged at my team. We tried to fight back, but nothing worked. I think I… I accidentally hit Jorger. He was right next to me, and I was about to fire at one of the monsters, but I slipped, then an icicle fell on me, and then…” His voice broke. “I heard your voice in my head and felt myself falling, pulled at an insane speed. And then I was here.”

  Whimpering, Mjolin hugged himself and sank to the ground. Master Ku grimaced, his body visibly straining from keeping Mjolin’s projection intact.

  Abruptly, Mjolin rose and ran around, searching in every direction. “Where are my teammates? Have they not come yet? Are they alive?”

  “I have not marked your teammates, Mjolin,” Master Ku said. “I don’t know their state. I’m sorry.”

  “But you can still help them, can’t you?” Mjolin pleaded. “Please! I’d do anything you want.”

  “I’m afraid we’re stuck here, my friend,” Pairi interjected with a resigned shake of his beak.

  “Where did the attack happen? Was the man alone?” Luccello pressed.

  Mjolin rounded on him, expression twisted with rage. “Why are you so obsessed with the bloody mission? Wait… It was you! You sent us on that hellish operation! You cast us out to die!”

  “I’m sorry, my child,” the master said, his head bowed in shame.

  “It was supposed to be a stealth retrieval mission,” Luccello snapped, refusing to see his master scolded in his own home. “The risks were clearly explained to you. You’re a professional. Act like one!” He flapped closer. “Were you able to confirm the target’s location? Did you get a good look at the man who killed you?”

  Mjolin glared at him for a moment, then shook his head. “The place was empty. The man… he had wild red hair and eyes to match. He spoke softly, told us to tell him to stop trying, that these games were futile and embarrassing. Now I realize he meant you.”

  The master sighed, his shoulders sagging while Luccello exchanged a long glance with Pairi. They’d been tracking the red-haired man’s presence for years, meticulously planning this mission. The team they’d sent was rumored to be the best, and they’d failed miserably.

  With no chance of recovering the stolen orbs, their only remaining move was to repair the unrepairable asterism.

  Mjolin paced the room. “What happens now? You’ve gotten your report. Am I supposed to… vanish?”

  “That is up to you,” Master Ku said. “If you wish, I can dismiss this projection, granting you peace. Or you may stay and fight another day.”

  “How? What can I do like this?”

  “Your simulacrum retains all your skills, knowledge, and magical abilities,” Master Ku explained. “You may lend me your strength in the fights to come. God knows how much we need men with your abilities.”

  “I want to stay.” Mjolin nodded, still shaking. “That’s what I’d like to say, but I feel… cold inside, like there’s a hole in me I can’t fill. And I have to run as if that red-haired man is chasing me. Why am I so anxious? When will this feeling stop?”

  “It won’t,” Master Ku said gravely. “The simulacra I create are incapable of experiencing new feelings. They carry the final sensation they felt before death.”

  Mjolin’s eyes widened in horror. “So I’ll feel this way for eternity?”

  “I’m sorry. These are the limits of my powers.”

  Pairi cleared his throat. “It’s useful to know many other simulacra learn to adapt to the feeling, and focus on their given missions.”

  Mjolin retreated from the master and his orb. “There’s no way I can live like this. I feel his breath down my neck, searing my flesh. The pain in my chest is unbearable, and I’m worried about my men. I’m about to scream and tear my hair out, and you want me to stay like this forever?”

  Master Ku’s powers were formidable, yet not without flaws. Channelers often perished in battle, leaving simulacra shackled with pain, haunted by their last moments. Theoretically, the master could store them against their will, but he always refused. “I need heroes, not captives,” he’d say.

  Luccello had argued against this countless times. Simulacra weren’t real or conscious; they were constructs, no different from the elemental guardians at the door. He’d begged the master to at least give them the chance to acclimate to their new situation. But his master was too soft-hearted, having lost much of his children over the years.

  Which was why it was up to Luccello to convince the man to not let his skills go to waste.

  “You saw him, Mjolin. You know what he’s capable of,” Luccello said. “If we let him succeed, countless lives will be lost. But if you stay, you’ll have the chance to take revenge for your own death.”

  Mjolin shook his head, tears streaming down his face. “I’m sorry. I just want this torture to end. I can’t live like this. I need to rest. I’m so, so sorry.”

  Luccello turned away in frustration, praying for patience. Mjolin wasn’t the first to refuse the master and wouldn’t be the last. It was a shame the master didn’t have the heart to fully wield his power.

  “It’s fine, my son,” Ku said, embracing Mjolin. “I am proud of you, and you should be proud of yourself. You may rest now. Go in peace, my child.”

  Mjolin sobbed into Ku’s shoulder as his body began to fade, flickering to wisps of light from the feet up. When the last of his whimpers vanished, so did the river and lightning inside his now cracked orb.

  With a groan, the master’s knees buckled, but Luccello formed a chair of light in time to catch him. The master sat in silence, sniffling into a napkin. Around them, the globes seemed to dim, the energies within calming as if to join his mourning.

  Luccello stared at the orbs, imagining the day he’d be asked to spend eternity confined within one. Would he overcome his anguish, or would he crumble like Mjolin and beg for release?

  No. When my time comes, I’m staying with the master.

  The master wiped his face, then turned to the entrance. “Come meet my children.”

  Luccello and Pairi snapped in shock towards the door as Rico entered, guilt written all over his face, with Skye close behind.