Edgar looked at Lucian, spreading his hands with a helpless expression.
"? What sort of opinion could I possibly have? Do you expect to join you on the battlefield?Or perhaps say; 'Godrick is my lord, you must not kill him,' and you'd simply turn back?"
Lucian shook his head. "Of course not. You just need to stay here in Castle Morne. Godrick must die, but I thought it right to let you know in advance."
Edgar sighed. He had long known this day would co, but until Lucian spoke it aloud, he would never be the one to raise it.
"My stance hardly matters. I hold no position I must cling to. Castle Morne is rely an inheritance, nothing more. I harbor no special bond with Godrick. I followed his rule only because this fortress fell under his dominion. If you an to kill him, then so be it."
His gaze lingered on Lucian a mont longer before he continued. "Though I respect both the Ancient King and yourself, my title as a Banished Knight is but inherited tradition. That old glory lies too far beyond my reach to grasp. I have no grounds to lend my full support to either side. Caught between them… it is a painful place to stand."
"And after the rebellion at Castle Morne, my only wish has been to remain here, to watch over Irina as she grows."
Lucian nodded. Edgar's position was indeed awkward. On one side stood the sovereign of his family, on the other, the holand of his lineage. And yet he was estranged from both — a man caught in between, belonging nowhere.
"Still, I will support you. Supplies and intelligence — I can see to those."
It was not loyalty to Stormveil that swayed Edgar, but the debt he owed to Lucian. Lucian had saved Irina, had quelled the rebellion at Morne. That debt was one Edgar could not leave unreturned.
Hearing this, Lucian's heart eased. He had no wish to clash with Edgar. This was as good a resolution as he could hope for.
Leaving Edgar's chambers, Lucian made his way to Elyssa's door. A knock, and soon he was standing before her, intent on what had been long promised; learning the art of the Zamor Ice Storm.
A single day was far too short to master it, but even to begin was worthwhile.
Hearing his purpose, Elyssa agreed gladly — after all, it had been decided before. Taking her Curved Sword in hand, she led Lucian from the castle, to the clearing before the gates.
Here, the grass grew lighter and fresher than elsewhere — new shoots, still scarred by the last training. It was the sa ground where Lucian had once trained with Edgar. Now he returned again, to tornt the poor grass anew.
Elyssa stood facing him, extending her hand. "Place your hand in mine. I will see if you bear the talent to learn the Zamor Ice Storm"
Lucian laid his palm upon hers. A faint, frigid current flowed from her into him, coursing through his body. At places it caught, blocked, then moved on, circling within him before returning to her hand.
Elyssa frowned slightly. "Your talent for the Zamor Ice Storm is… not promising."
Lucian had expected as much. With no growth in Intelligence, his grasp of sorcery was ager. His brow furrowed, this was true folly.
"So… I cannot learn it at all?"
Elyssa shook her head, passing him the Curved Sword. "Not impossible. But slow. When the Banished Knights first ca to the mountaintops, their gifts were little better. They mastered it only over long years. But you do not have such ti."
"There is, however, another path. If you cannot learn it as sorcery, then engrave it into your flesh. Through battle skill, rember the flow of the storm — even if you cannot truly wield the spell, you can yet release it."
Lucian understood at once. It was like his first lessons with storm techniques: body before mind, form before thought. But this ti was different. The Zamor Ice Storm was magic at its root.
And with an Intelligence of nine… he was no mage. Still, it mattered little. If he could but force the shape of ice and snow into being, he could try to weave in the storm he knew best. Perhaps it would be weaker in frost, but the storm would lend its own strength.
Taking the blade, he felt a mory flare within him — a Zamor warrior, blade in hand, cutting through foes amidst a raging blizzard. The stance, the motion — unmistakably Elyssa herself.
Channeling what little sorcery he could into the blade, Lucian drove it into the earth. Frost gathered along its curve, spreading out in a whirling storm of snow and ice. The air froze, grass shattered like glass beneath the wind, soil turned hard as stone.
When the storm passed, all around lay buried in frost.
Lucian stood in silence, recalling the flow. To alter it would be no small feat. Though called a "storm," the art was in truth snow and frost at its core — the tempest rely its vessel. What he longed for was the opposite: a storm carrying frost.
A subtle but vast difference. With true intellect, he might unite both powers, making them greater than the sum. But he was a warrior of nine Intelligence. Sorcery was foreign to him.
He could mimic the technique, yes, but not unravel its secrets. And so, with a sigh, he let go of the thought. Perhaps later — with Sellen's guidance, or should he grow wiser — he might attempt it anew.
For now, he would brand the motion into his flesh, and learn it as battle art.
Again and again, Lucian raised the Zamor blade, releasing the storm of frost.
—
[T/N: 1 of 2 Bonus/Extra Chapter for your Powerstones]
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