Mangowo
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Chapter 39: Left Alone
🕑 Added 2024-09-15 00:30:01 +0000 UTC(I'm in the middle of reworking chapter 37, might've fumbled it a bit, haha. Enjoy the chap, had fun writing this one!)
Well, I wasn't exactly parading around with my usual mug now, was I? Couldn’t help but wish for a mirror—or a puddle, at the very least—to catch a glimpse of my current visage. Perhaps there was a lake nearby where I could have a cheeky peek... but skulking off for a gander in these woods? Absolute tomfoolery, that. Yet, the urge to know was gnawing at me like a particularly pesky itch. Was it worth the risk? Probably not. But curiosity’s a right nasty piece of work sometimes. More so now than ever. And Lotte had the gall to say there was nothing wrong with my head! Bah!
Stephan was chewing over his thoughts before finally speaking up. "When I first saw you, you looked just like her. Right down to those blue eyes and the shape of your horns."
Someone who looked just like me? Well, bugger me sideways, now I was intrigued.
"Someone you knew?" I nudged, raising an eyebrow—or at least, the spot where my eyebrow would be if I still had one.
"Well, not exactly," he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. "I’d seen her... maybe three times, at most? She’s the daughter of our sect’s Matriarch. Princess Vernia was what they called her—though ‘Princess’ is more of a title. She was next in line to inherit the Matriarch title."
Fascinating, that. To think my old face was a dead ringer for some high-flying princess. Still, this only made me more curious. Beastkins always tickled my fancy—they weren't all gathered under one banner like the other three races. No, they had their sects, each one with its own little population.
I had thumbed through a few dusty tomes at Jord’s about the lot. Mostly those rumoured to have warriors and mages of golden core calibre. There was this Ironfang Sect, famous as all get-out. Their race was Tusked Voruun—hulking, muscle-bound beast-kin with tusks protruding from their lower jaws. Proper fearsome, they were. And their leader was known to have reached the golden core.
Not that I could dig up much about them from human lands. For obvious reasons. Humans loathed them, and it made me wonder if the sentiment was mutual—whether Beastkins held a grudge against other species as well.
But before I went haring off down that rabbit hole, there was the burning question at hand. I knew I was a dragon at the moment, but if there was a Beastkin race that resembled my old form so closely that I had a doppelganger as their princess, I needed to know more.
"Now then, I understand that each Beastkin sect has a variety of races under their banner, but I was curious—which one do you belong to? And by extension, this... Princess Vernia?"
Stephan went silent, simply staring at me. I let out a nervous chuckle. "Did I just ask something daft?"
He shook his head, chuckling. "Hah, no wonder your manner of speaking is so similar to those humans. I initially assumed you hailed from Vraal'Kor as well—just from a different sect."
Ah, yes. Probably should've mentioned where those damned cultists nicked me from. "Aurelia Empire. Randall, to be precise. That's where I grew up. Hah, should've mentioned that earlier."
Stephan just laughed even harder. "No wonder! I should have guessed from your accent. It’s as plain as the nose on your face. No one from Vraal'Kor would sound like that!"
Hold on a tick. "Wait, just how different is it, then? I mean, we're speaking the same language, aren't we? Yours isn’t exactly miles apart from mine, if you ask me."
"That's because I learned to mimic the empire’s accent."
I squinted at him, "I’m guessing there’s a story behind that?"
Stephan nodded. "Well, the Bloodtide Sect is primarily made up of Horned Drakkaris, and both Princess Vernia and I belong to that race. And from what I can tell, you were one too. Though, it appears… you weren't aware of that?"
"I—well, I grew up mostly around humans. So, I had no clue what I was. Always wondered, though. I knew I was a ...horned Beastkin, but there are plenty that fit the bill. Never once did I hear of Horned Drakkaris. Naturally, information was scarce. There wasn't much about us in the books I had access to."
"Well, that figures. Sooo… about me, then. In Vraal'Kor, every sect, including the Bloodtide, values strength above all else. It’s practically ingrained in our culture. I… was born with scarce magic, which is as good as a curse over there. In Vraal'Kor, duels settle everything. And when I say 'everything,' I mean everything. Disputes, grievances, even trivial squabbles—settled with a duel. Bring shame upon a family, and they'd challenge you to a duel to preserve their honor. While there are rules, they’re mainly for the higher stages. Early on, it's more of a free-for-all."
I could see where this was headed..
He carried on, "It’s all in the name of the Ancestral Guardian's will, they’d say. A way to keep the bloodlines strong, to weed out the weak. So, when it came to me, born with magic so scarce that I couldn't even form a black core, it was a given that I'd be an outcast. Orchestrated against from the very start. I was expected to keep my head down, never make a fuss, never draw attention. Even among family, my presence was tolerated at best."
He paused for a moment before continuing. "Our …rituals are harsh. Coming-of-age ceremonies involve trials, tests of strength. Those who fail are marked, not physically, but culturally. Seen as blemishes on the sect. My parents… they had their reputations to think about. They couldn't afford to have a son who couldn't even summon enough magic to defend the family honor in a duel. There was a …tradition, that such children, the magically weak, were sent away. For them, it was a matter of survival; for the family, it was to avoid disgrace.”
Stephan shifted, perching himself on a jagged rock, releasing a sigh.
“So, in the end, my parents decided to send me away. To the human lands. They said it was to give me a chance at life, where magic wasn't the be-all and end-all. But it was also to rid themselves of a liability. They arranged for me to live among humans, to learn their ways. It was with pointed purpose; I was to blend in, adapt, and maybe, just maybe, find a place where I wasn’t judged solely on the magic in my veins."
I inwardly winced at the thought. Hah, humans could be quite a pain too. They, like so many, held magic in the highest regard. But... what I’d seen in Aurelia wasn’t nearly as brutal as what Stephan described. Perhaps having a humdrum job here would be infinitely preferable to being challenged over a slight misstep and killed in a duel. I knew the Beastlands' inhabitants were primal by nature, but this… this was something else entirely.
But still...
“Do you hate them for it? For valuing honour above your life?”
He let out a bitter chuckle. "I don’t. Why would I? I loved them—so, so much. My mother never truly abandoned me. She was an enchanter—or, well, what we called a Coresmith in the Beastlands. Our magic was worlds apart from anything I’ve ever seen among humans. Not just in nature, but in how it was applied. Human enchanters used external materials to craft their devices, but a Coresmith... they used their own internal mana as the very foundation of their work. I saw it when my mother forged things; her mana became something physical as it passed through the forge. I wasn’t allowed to study it until I’d proven myself, but it was mesmerising. Nothing like what I’ve seen from human enchanters.”
My eyes widened at this revelation—a tangible form of mana, as an actual ingredient? Bloody hell! How could that even work? My curiosity about Vraal’Kor was only growing by the second. How different was their magic? What paths did they tread? I wanted—no, needed—to know more. But that was a mystery for another day. I couldn’t go anywhere even if I wanted to.
Stephan, oblivious to my inner ramblings, carried on. “Hah, by the time I left, I had five manashield bracers, two warded amulets, and a shadowcloak mantle. She armed me to the teeth, trying to keep me safe. How could I ever hate her? She loved me more than anything. I just wish… I could’ve told her that I loved her just the same.”
He dabbed at his eyes, not saying a word at first, then let out a laugh. "Hah, sorry about that. Went on far longer than I should've. But yes, in a nutshell, that's how I ended up with this human accent. Spent the last five years in the capital city of Caerlum. Mother and Father dropped by last month, I was quite shocked. Little sister finally ascended to Yellow Core. Wanted me at the ceremony." His smile turned dark. "Now I wish they'd just forgotten about me and never visited."
And that's how he lost them, wasn't it? Those cultists caught him while he was on his way back home with his parents.
I swallowed hard. Fate, as Lotte would say. Was everyone's end preordained in such a grim fashion? Mine would have been, too, if Lotte hadn't been there. But hadn't I managed to dodge my fate? The one that led straight to death? Didn't Lotte contradict herself when she said Fate was a relentless beast?
I...didn't know. Maybe I was missing something. It was Lotte, after all. How could she ever be wrong? I shoved the thought aside; I could ask her directly, after all.
"Are you alright?" I asked.
"Hah... I don't know. But it felt good to let it all out. You're a good listener, Jade."
Heh, maybe it was time to switch topics. I puffed out my chest. "Oh, that I am! I can even dish out some good advice...sometimes... after listening... though not always, mind you. My thoughts can be all over the place! Also, now that I think about it, 'Stephan' is a rather odd name for you. Sounds like something you'd hear in the capital. I assume it's not your real name?"
He chuckled. "No, it’s not. Had to change it. Tradition, you know? Leave the sect, leave the name behind. So I picked this one to blend in."
"Well, what's your real name, then?" I prodded.
"Are you sure you want to know?"
I nodded eagerly, my serpentine head bobbing up and down.
"Yaroslav Koravich. That was my name. It means the opposite of what I am. Fierce and brave, my arse." He let out a chuckle, the sound more bitter than amused.
Now that was a proper Beastkin name if I ever heard one. "So, all this time, you were just putting on this accent! Go on, then, let's hear you say something in your proper voice!"
"I wasn’t faking it! I learned it!" he protested.
"Oh, I don't care. Just say something!"
"Erm, what do you want me to say?"
"Just announce your name! Say you're fierce and brave!" That must be what his name meant, after all.
"No!"
"YES!"
He sighed, looking more exasperated than anything, before clearing his throat. "Eet ees I, Yaroslav Koravich. Ze feerce and brrahve!"
I stood there, momentarily stunned, before bursting into a fit of laughter—the kind that wheezed and rattled out of my maw in the most unsettling fashion. Stephan joined in, his laughter mixing with mine. “Oh, ancestors, I never thought I'd hear myself say that!”
"Well, you’ve said it, now you ought to believe it too!"
"Suppose it's high time I started, isn’t it?"
"Indeed. And... thank you for sharing that. Makes me all the more eager to visit your homeland now. Perhaps I'll even meet this Princess Vernia you've spoken of."
His eyes lit up, excitement overtaking his earlier reluctance. "They hold a festival every year," he began, his voice animated—ah, blast it, what was I supposed to call him now? Stephan or Yaroslav?—"where all the sects compete to earn the recognition of the ancestral spirits. The victor receives their boons. This year, it’ll be hosted by the Bloodtide sect. Still a few months away, ofcourse, but if you manage to reclaim your Drakkari form by then, you could come along, maybe even take part!"
It was truly fascinating, and clear as day that Stephan—err, Yaroslav—was utterly captivated by it. His smile stretched wider at the mere mention of the festival. For a moment, I glanced skyward, toward the moon. Odd thing, really; it wasn't the usual stark white but full of those strange hues tonight. "One day," I murmured, still gazing up. "I’d be happy to visit."
We lapsed into silence, both lost in our own thoughts.
“Well, I suppose I should be off, then,” he said eventually.
I nodded. "Barn… be quick, please. If I call for you and trouble's about, make sure Yaroslav is safe before you rush to me. I can manage, not that I'm out looking for trouble, but life's been rather... wacky lately." I probably butchered his name with my pronunciation, but it was the thought that counted, wasn’t it?
Barn responded with three affirmative clacks.
"Just call me Stephan," he chuckled, starting to float upwards. As the invisible cocoon of force around him gently lifted him above the treetops, he glanced back at me. His smile in that moment was something else—pure, genuine, his face lit up by the silvery glow of the moon. He raised his hand and waved. "I’ll be waiting. Be safe."
I raised a claw, waving back, feeling a strange numbness creep over me. And just like that, his shape blurred as Barn whisked him away at such speed he vanished into the night.
And I was left alone, in that silent clearing.
Comments
matt
It's the name itself. Very Russian.
CringeWorthyStudios
Eh, kinda hard to tell accents in text. Especially if they’re not using region specific slang.
matt
Fucking finally got rid of the dead weight. Also, Cringe it's very clearly meant to be Slavic.
CringeWorthyStudios
A really bastardised German accent for beastkin, it looks like? Thanks for the chapter!
