May’s magic

The weight of the world did not merely sit upon Corin’s shoulders; it ground into his very marrow like the millstones of Lek’nloi. As he stood before the obsidian gates of the House of Jek, the Phoenix-marked blade at his hip felt leaden, a silent witness to the grim necessity of his return. The air here tasted of old soot and copper—the stagnant breath of a man who had forgotten the sanctity of life. Corin stepped into the cavernous gloom of the foyer. The shadows seemed to cling to the velvet hangings like weeping tar. There stood Jek, his silhouette framed by the dying embers of a hearth that gave no warmth.

"Jek," Corin began, his voice echoing with the rugged, earthy cadence of his village, yet tempered by a new, chilling authority. "How many souls have you sent to the Great Beyond? How many have you slaughtered whilst the world’s eye was turned?"

Jek turned, a jagged sneer cutting across his weathered face. "Not many, lad. A pittance. Only those who stood in the path of progress."

"A pittance?" Corin’s hand tightened on the hilt of his blade, the Phoenix mark beneath his palm throbbing with a dull, amber warning. "Then I shall show you the True Power. Not the gutter-magic of a murderer, but the True Light that judges the dark."

Corin closed his eyes, drawing upon the lessons of the steading. He breathed deep, reaching into the void where the Final Power ebbed and flowed like an invisible tide. He focused until his mind ached, a sharp, piercing heat behind his brow. Suddenly, a shimmering scroll of ancient parchment manifested in the air before him, humming with a frequency that vibrated in his very teeth. He reached out, his fingers trembling, and as his skin brushed the ethereal ink, the world exploded in white.

Light, blinding and holy, erupted from his pores. But the power was a wild stallion, unbridled and fierce. His hands ignited—not with the gentle glow of a hearth, but with a roaring, incandescent frost-fire that ate at his senses.

"Oww! Jek, help me! The Light consumes!" Corin bellowed, his voice cracking as the sheer magnitude of the hybrid force threatened to unmake his flesh.

With a grunt of annoyance, Jek lunged for a nearby oaken bucket, sloshing stagnant water over Corin’s glowing limbs. The hiss of steam filled the room, smelling of ozone and singed wool. Corin slumped, gasping, staring down at his hands. They were blackened, charred like lightning-struck timber, yet there was no pain—only a terrifying, hollow numbness.

"You tried to slay me!" Jek roared, kicking a piece of debris aside.

"No," Corin wheezed, pushing himself up. "I was only going to humble you. To hurt the pride that rots your heart."

"Out!" Jek pointed a trembling finger toward the threshold. "Get you gone, little freak! I have no need for your potential if it smells of burnt meat. Away with you!"

Corin departed the black house, the sunlight of the outer world feeling thin and pale. As he walked toward the Steading of the Killio, a strange sensation washed over his arms. The charred skin began to flake away like dry bark, revealing fresh, pink flesh beneath. The life-force taken from the fallen Dane V. moved within him, a silent, parasitic mercy that mended his bones.

At the gates of the Steading, the atmosphere changed. The Killio women stood in tall, graceful ranks, their eyes flickering with the silver light of their station.

"Welcome, mighty warrior and friend of May: Corin!" cried Eliveiv-ilio, her voice like the chiming of silver bells.

"I am a friend of May’s, Lord Corinth," added a noblewoman nearby, bowing low.

Corin blinked, the dust of the road still on his tunic. "Lord Corinth? My name is Corin, plain and simple as a mountain stone. Why call you me by such a high-born title?"

Vratyr, a man with a sharp gaze and even sharper robes, stepped forward. "May spoke of your deeds, lad. She said you brought low the shadows of Elineixe and Dane Versio. Is this true, my Lord?"

"Yes, it is true," Corin muttered, feeling the phantom weight of the blade. "But I am no Lord."

"Yes, yes," Acvorot chuckled, a dry, papery sound. "Just what she said you would say. Modesty is the cloak of the truly powerful, or so the scholars claim."

"Who said that? Which 'she' keeps her tongue wagging about my business?" Corin demanded, his patience thinning.

Eli-vagrobhai-ilio shook her head, her expression serene. "I am sorry, Master Corinth, but she commanded that her identity remain sealed behind a veil of silence. It is for your protection as much as hers."

"I demand to know her name, Killio!" Corin’s voice boomed, the Phoenix blade rattling in its scabbard.

Before they could answer, a boisterous shout cut through the tension. "Corin! My friend, the legends did not do you justice!" A man named Lando approached, grinning broadly.

"What... a man-olio?" Corin asked, confused by the presence of a male among the sisters.

"The only one, in fact," Lando beamed, clapping Corin on the shoulder with enough force to rattle his teeth. "I am your biggest fan, Warlord Corin. I have studied your footwork from the Battle of the Crags!"

"Corin," a familiar, sharp voice drifted from the terrace. May stepped forward, her eyes dancing with a mix of irritation and hidden affection. "I am here to train you. It has been a long age, hasn't it?"

"May!" Corin felt a surge of relief. "It is good to see a face that does not talk in riddles. Aidan, the Stalking Hawk, he taught me the ways of the Light and the Shadow. I chose the Hybrid path, May. I chose both."

The courtyard fell into a deathly silence. The Killio sisters gasped as one, a sound like a sudden intake of winter air. They began to whisper, their voices a hive of frantic bees.

"What? Is it such a crime to take the whole loaf instead of the crust?" Corin asked, looking around.

Makria-olio stepped forward, her face pale. "Master Corin... usually only the Great Masters of Good and Evil dare the Hybrid path. To take both is to house a hurricane within a clay jar. If you are a master of both, it means there is a darkness within you that matches your light."

"Step aside, the lot of you!" May barked, pushing through the crowd. "Let me handle the lad before you scare him into a fit."

The next morning, under the gold-leaf canopy of the training grove, May stood opposite Corin. "Focus on the power, Corin. Reach for it, but do not grasp. If you touch it before you are ready, it will burn the soul right out of your boots."

Corin closed his eyes. The scroll appeared again in the mind’s eye, ancient and terrifying. He reached out, his fingers hovering inches from the parchment. For minutes, he held his breath, the world around him fading. Suddenly, the scroll unrolled with a violent snap, wrapping around him like a shroud of living light. He struggled, his muscles locking, but the moment he fought against it, the pressure doubled.

"Embrace it!" he remembered, and as he forced his heart to still, the scroll vanished. He snapped his eyes open, drenched in cold sweat.

"May, what happens when the scroll wraps around me like a burial cloth?"

May’s face went white. "Scroll? Corin, it should be an Eagle. The power should take the form of the Great Bird of Prey. If it wraps around you... it should not do that. Remember, do not struggle. If you try to use it when I am not by your side, it will destroy you. It is a fire that does not care what it cooks."

"I need air," Corin gasped, stumbling away from the grove toward the outer perimeter.

The woods were silent—too silent. Out of the shifting mists stepped a figure that defied the natural order. It wore a black cloak that seemed to drink the light. Where a face should be, there were no eyes, only a singular, circular maw lined with rows of razor-sharp, triangular teeth. It stood a head taller than any man Corin had seen.

"Hello, Peyen of Tryionij," the creature hissed, the sound like wet leather tearing.

"What manner of devilry are you?" Corin asked, his hand drifting to his sword.

"I am a Daigo," the beast replied, its circular mouth twitching. "I devour whatever I desire. And you, little hybrid, are a feast I have craved for eons."

"Run!" Corin shouted toward the nearby sentries.

The Daigo lunged with impossible speed, entering the Steading’s ward-line. But the Killio were ready. A dozen women raised their hands, their palms glowing with a fierce, amber resonance. The Daigo shrieked, its body contorting as the concentrated magic struck it like physical hammers.

"Leave this place, shadow-spawn!" May screamed, her own power flaring like a sunburst. With a final, guttural howl, the Daigo vanished into a cloud of black soot.

As the dust settled, a tall, weathered figure stepped from the shadows of the main hall. His movements were fluid, like a predator in a man’s skin.

"Jack Morfing?" Corin breathed, his heart hammering.

The man looked at Corin, his eyes cold and distant, the mark of a Killus heavy upon him. He did not look like the hero of the old books. He looked like a man who had seen the end of the world and decided to survive it at any cost.

"Corin," Jack said, his voice a low growl. "I heard you were making a mess of things. I see I was not misinformed."

The gathered Killio drew back in shock. They knew the name. They knew the legend. But finding the Butcher of the Borderlands here, in the flesh, was a surprise none of them were prepared for.