Zoron led Xerxes from the fires and voices. His heavy steps thudded softly through the snow as they moved deeper into the outskirts of the camp.
The celebration behind them faded, replaced by the quiet creak of frozen trees and howling winds.
Xerxes glanced around, then back at the elder. "Zoron," he asked, breaking the silence.
"Why did you want to speak with me alone?" He sounded puzzled, given the order of speaking 'one on one'.
Zoron stopped and turned slowly, his spectral eyes settling on Xerxes. He said simply, "I sensed unrest in your heart. Not doubt, but something more potent."
Xerxes didn't interrupt. He already had an inclination of where this conversation was heading.
"What you did bought us time. It also told Orpheus something important. That you are no longer uncertain."
Zoron tilted his head slightly. "But… are you afraid of what is to come?"
Truthfully, Xerxes was afraid, and he admitted that. For some reason, he felt as if sharing his thoughts with someone as seasoned as an elder would be alright.
"Of course I am. Every battle terrifies me. I'm not sure when the reinforcements I called for will arrive, and until then, I have to rely on my own strength."
It wasn't something he was used to. Over the past few months, he and Airi fought in tandem, and now he was alone. Everything felt heavier, slower, and more dangerous.
Xerxes looked back up at Zoron's towering frame. "And Orpheus," he mentioned grimly, "he knows the full scope of my abilities. The real him does. I only know a fraction of what he can do, although we had an advantage going into this… It's beginning to look a lot more dire in hindsight."
He paused for a moment, then exhaled deeply.
"But fear doesn't stop anything. Fear has never stopped me. Instead, what triumphs is my willingness to overcome that fear."
Xerxes lingered for a moment, then chuckled slightly after that statement. "Despite all of that, I'm not sure if the world cares about such ideals as bravery; it only rewards clear and cut actions. So, why are you asking me this anyway?"
Zoron studied him for a long moment.
"Bravery is loud," the elder said abruptly. "It is the will to step forward despite fear. But courage, courage is quieter. It is what keeps you standing after the step has been taken."
Zoron placed a broad hand against his chest. "This is what drives you."
Xerxes frowned slightly. He had never thought about the difference between bravery and courage that way. Was it that courage was born from resolve?
"What are you getting at?"
Zoron's expression hardened.
"For the Gem'rafh, strength alone has never been enough. To walk our path, one must possess courage, not dominance. And for what you have done for us, you've earned the right to understand our way of combat."
"Krosha Kar."
The name settled heavily between them.
Xerxes blinked. "You'd teach me?"
"Teach you?" Zoron repeated incredulously, whilst shaking his head. "Your body already moves within its principles. When I was shackled, I was able to sense your battle, and I felt it."
After a pause, his lips curled upwards slightly. "Whoever your mentor was, I wholeheartedly know that he was a great and revered person."
Xerxes returned the smile. "Yes. He was the best I could have ever asked for."
Zoron lowered himself and sat down, motioning Xerxes to sit with him as well.
He raised his four-fingered hand.
"Krosha Kar was born in the Great War of Succession. In that era, so much mana was used that the world was running out of available mana to utilise. I was a young child back then, perhaps the same age as you are."
Xerxes' eyes widened. He knew that the Great War of Succession was devastating, but he didn't even think mana could be limited; it was all around everyone, after all.
More than that, this elder had actually survived through that time of peril. The knowledge Zoron possessed must be amazing; not even their history books had as much as what was stored in his mind.
"Krosha means wisdom," he began. "Not power. It was gifted to us through Orion, a member of the Aurora clan, a clan of gods."
Xerxes allowed him to explain, not asking any questions yet, however much his mind was brimming with them.
"There are three key fundamentals. Krosha Kar is a style of combat, and we say it utilises the internal eye of man."
Lowering a finger, he started to explore the first fundamental.
"Exertion."
He pressed his palm into the snow, and earthen mana stirred from his hand, rising into a wall.
"If you use too little force," he said, whilst punching the wall, with his fist ricocheting back to him, "the world strikes back."
He struck again with excessive strength. It shattered, and the earth beneath them buckled. "If you use too much," he continued, "you leave yourself exposed and depleted of more energy."
Then, he reformed the wall and applied a measured pressure. Once again, he struck, and nothing happened; the wall stayed intact until, a moment later, it collapsed.
"This is the perfect amount of exertion; there's barely a difference in expended strength, but I figured out how much strength needs to be perfectly used."
Gesturing around to different objects, trees, moss, stones, and everything else in view, he continued, "Of course, in battle one must study this, which is why the battle of the mind is as integral as the battle of the body."
Xerxes watched intently, reflecting on his battle within the maze Orpheus had created.
In that place, he could have struck the walls with what he thought required all of his might, but that would have depleted his strength; hacking away at it senselessly would have wasted time.
He quickly began to understand how Krosha Kar tied in with other aspects Kaylun had mentioned previously.
"Exertion governs longevity. It is why our clan was able to survive where others burned themselves out. For those who grasp it quickly, we teach amplification of this fighting style, but due to our time constraints, it will not be possible."
Xerxes understood Zoron's reasoning. They only had a few days until Orpheus' next assault, and learning anything beyond the basics would be redundant.
"Precision is often used hand in hand with positioning. This shapes where the force goes, and this is harder to learn. A lot of it comes from battle experience, but we often talk about instinct."
"Throughout history, whether it be the Great War of Succession, the Aetheric Ascent, or the birth of light and dark, we as animals have honed and adapted our bodies to be efficient. We intrinsically understand where weaknesses are, and naturally, these are mana points on the body. Are you familiar?"
Xerxes was familiar.
Aemon had taught him this, but Xerxes had never thought of the application; he only saw it from the perspective of knowledge. However, that perspective had begun to change recently.
Tristan had shown him that the ankles were an efficient mana point for speed.
And Xerxes took it a step further by using the mana point of the brain to increase his reaction time and bodily functions.
"Everything you're saying is so straightforward. Is it simplicity that makes this style so domineering?" Xerxes asked.
Zoron nodded. "It is exactly that. No matter how complex we claim to be, there is nothing simpler than the mind of man, and when working within those parameters to the fullest, you become someone very dangerous."
The elder met Xerxes' gaze. "I should say that you already utilise this aspect the best. You accurately predict attacks based on the opponent's positioning, but Orpheus also understood that your positioning needed to be limited to mitigate your speed."
The wind shifted slightly, and snow drifted past them, and finally Zoron lowered all of his fingers.
"The last is timing."
"Timing decides when the force is exerted. But even more than that, if you know everything about your timing and the opponent's timing, your anticipation within battle will grow."
Zoron looked deeply into Xerxes, exposing one of his weaknesses. "I believe your trouble is not being able to think and move."
"These two should not be separated but instead used in unison. By knowing how long you have, you can easily come up with a strategy within your time frames."
Xerxes nodded. "I know I have that difficulty; it all felt overwhelming, but I believe when I have clarity, I can make it work. Thank you, Zoron."
The elder rose to his feet. "Whilst I have my men working, I shall put you to work. Now rise, and we will begin."
Xerxes rose; however, he dawdled for a moment and decided to ask a question. "I may be asking too much. I'm grateful you're ready to teach me, but after all of this, can you tell me about the Great War of Succession? I need to know more about it. And I wish to learn more about the gods."
Zoron raised an eyebrow. "I assure you, you are not asking for a lot, but when that time comes, I would like to know why."
Xerxes smiled and put forward a hand. "Well, up until then, we both need to survive this, and what sounds nice is…"
He looked up at the sky, envisioning a future. "Your people are finally safe, free to practise your tradition and culture. Then we can sit and chat for hours over some tea, extra sweet tea for me. How does that sound?"
Zoron grinned. "You have taste, young man. I myself do enjoy sweetened tea." He extended his hand and shook it.
Shared laughter rumbled between them, and Xerxes started entering a stance, ready to learn the new style of combat to gain every edge he could possibly have over the upcoming threat.
***
Somewhere within the Interpass, far from giants, far from any 'hero', a blindfolded man walked through the snow.
The wind did not trouble him. It parted, as though unwilling to draw his attention.
Orpheus stopped before a half-buried crate, its surface sealed in black iron. It was warded with sigils that would be recognised all across the continent of Elaijya.
At its centre was an emblem etched in dull gold: a symmetrical crest of balanced scales hanging from a jagged cross, black wings flared outward in judgement. Orpheus grinned.
He knelt, brushing frost from the lid.
"So you were not delayed after all," Orpheus murmured, his tone tinged with amusement and something close to affection.
"Good. A man was beginning to think they'd lost their nerve." With a soft twist of mana, the sigil began rotating, and the crate hissed open, releasing a sharp medicinal scent.
Inside, secured in maroon-lined compartments, rested a row of glass vials filled with a viscous liquid, a blend of deep violet and sickly green swirling together.
Orpheus reached in and lifted one carefully.
The liquid inside pulsed, faint veins of light crawled along the glass, and Orpheus' mouth opened in awe.
"Such artistry," he said quietly. "To think it was forged in the underworld of Layne." He began to chuckle. "They truly do breed innovation when desperation is given room to flourish."
He rose to his feet and turned slightly. Footsteps crunched behind him.
"You," Orpheus said without looking. "Step forward."
A soldier hesitated before obeying. Hundreds of soldiers watched as the young man stepped forward. He swallowed, then stood before Orpheus.
"M-my lord?"
Orpheus' head tilted as though he were listening to something only he could hear. Then he smiled.
"You should feel honoured. Do you wish to be useful?"
The flimsy soldier nodded profusely.
"Y-yes, sir!"
Orpheus' eyes glowed a radiant gold beneath the blindfold, and before the man had time to register his words, Orpheus jabbed the vial into his neck.
The soldier gasped, grasping at his throat as Orpheus finished releasing the liquid from the vial.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the soldier screamed, prompting the men in black to distance themselves.
The young man staggered and clawed at his throat, as if trying to rip something out of himself. He collapsed to his knees, convulsing violently as his muscles seized.
Veins bulged beneath his skin, spreading in branches of green and purple, crawling across his neck, chest, arms...everywhere.
His screams grew hoarse and distorted, almost beast-like, as his body began to change.
A pulse of power emanated, sending waves of wind in all directions.
Orpheus watched in amazement.
The soldier's bones cracked audibly. His spine elongated, his shoulders broadened, and his entire frame swelled. The steel armour he wore split apart with shrieking metal.
The soldier's pupils vanished, replaced by a molten gold sheen that shimmered ferally. It felt almost like them, like the Gem'rafh.
The transformation finished with a roar, and before the men stood something that was neither human nor giant, but something in between.
Orpheus laughed softly, delighted, while everyone else looked on in horror. "Yes… Yes, that's it. Look at you. You're beautiful!"
The creature turned, nostrils flaring, breath steaming.
Orpheus raised a hand. "Tier five mage, that is what you are… or were."
The mage stepped forward and launched a torrent of flame directly towards Orpheus in a frenzy.
Swiftly, Orpheus grabbed his leather trench coat and placed the base of it in front of him, deflecting the attack and withstanding it, though every ounce of heat could be felt.
It was exactly what Orpheus wanted.
A drug that could replicate the giants, and with this, he wouldn't need them. He wouldn't need the giants.
Orpheus began chuckling. "A man can kill them. I can finally kill them."
His laugh grew darker and more sickened as his men looked at him in reverence. The beast-like mage darted towards Orpheus in a rage.
Orpheus placed a hand on his face, and just as the beast was about to strike, he conjured earth from either side, slamming it together and crushing the creature between two massive pillars.
Blood sprayed across the snow as Orpheus walked forward.
"Each of you, take one," he commanded.
"You will endure the pain. You will accept the change. And in doing so, you will become something greater than you were."
Some hesitated. Others stared at the crate with naked terror.
But defying him now meant death, so the men reluctantly stepped forward, each taking a vial for themselves.
"Thank you, underworld. You've always understood that progress demands sacrifice." His tone softened. "And that family, their knowledge, wealth, and power are invaluable."
His boots crunched over the ice as he moved towards the distant lands of the Gem'rafh.
"Now, all a man can do is not allow the rabbit to hop too far. After all, the turmoil between Layne and Baratheon's trade routes didn't arise by chance. Oh, Xerxes, how you could have returned so simply."
He chuckled.
"A man was right to kill the dwarves, to kill the humans. How easily you could have passed through the trade routes, but that posed danger and uncertainty."
Exhaling, Orpheus said aloud, "Everything is going so perfectly. Amento is prepared. My men in black are stationed there, watching the Ice-Veined from afar."
"Support?" he questioned aloud.
"The Gem'rafh won't be able to get it."
His steps quickened.
"All it takes is this, Xerxes. A man will take the peerer artifact, take Airi from you, take that dwarf, and reclaim what is mine. My most valuable slave."
He whispered, "A cursed god."