Andrew Rowe - On the Shoulders of Titans

The most charitable interpretation I could devise was that she’d used up some of her power making the spires. That seemed like a good deal of effort, even for a deity.

If the spires had purely served as a way to give out magic to humanity, I might have even called that a benevolent decision. But with tens of thousands of people that entered the spire disappearing each year, I had a hard time believing yet.

And even if the spires were purely meant to help us… Maybe she could have set up a way to give those of us who’d lost someone some real closure.

There were common answers for all that, too. That it was up to humanity to solve our own problems. To prove ourselves and grow as a species.

It had always come across to me like a king telling a pauper that he just needed to try harder.

In other words, complete nonsense.

“Corin? You okay?”

I’d gotten distracted with my own introspection again. “Sorry. I’m just…processing.”

“I understand. It has to be a lot to take in. But you were right this whole time, Corin. Your brother is out there. You should feel vindicated by that.”

I didn’t like other people telling me how I should feel, but I knew Patrick was only trying to cheer me up, and I was grateful for that. I took a breath. “It’s…he’s not like what I expected.”

Patrick gave me a sympathetic look. “Of course he’s changed. It’s been five years, and who knows what he’s been through in there?”

“Yeah. I just… I guess I wasn’t expecting things to go this way. I think I’ll be okay, I just need to adjust my plans a bit.” My words sounded hollow, but I tried to believe them.

“Okay, good. Just let me know if you need anything, okay? If you need to rescue Tristan from the spire, I’ll be glad to help!”

I gave a little laugh at that. “Thanks, Patrick.” I paused for a minute, then added, “You’re a good friend. I don’t deserve you.”

Patrick scoffed. “That’s silly. You always used to stick up for me when we were little. Friends help each other out. That’s what we’re here for.”

“Thanks.” I took a breath. “I think I need a little time to myself, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course. If you need me, though, you know where to find me.”

I nodded and waved. Patrick left the room.

The conversation should have helped. It was nice to know that Patrick was there to help me if I needed it.

But he was right — I wasn’t happy about what I’d learned about Tristan.

It wasn’t just that things hadn’t gone the way I’d expected, although I had to admit that was a part of it.

It was the sinking feeling that the person I’d been talking to was Tristan, but that he was so far from the brother I’d lost that I wouldn’t recognize him.

It was the nagging worry that whatever Tristan had become after five years away was not the type of person that I could trust.

And, perhaps, that he might even end up being my enemy.

Questions, frustrations, and scenarios wouldn’t stop running through my mind. Morning light was pouring in my window before I finally slept.

I woke to the sound of clashing steel.

I literally rolled out of my bed, drawing Selys-Lyann in a single motion.

If Orden had seen that the first time she’d tested me with that midnight ambush, she might have been impressed.

There were no intruders in my room. The sound of metal was coming from above me.

I rushed out the door still wearing my night clothes. I had my phoenix sigil pinned to my pants, so I wasn’t completely defenseless if we were under attack.

I found a stairwell leading up, terminating at a hatch. The sounds of clashing metal were closer now. I opened it cautiously, keeping my sword in my off-hand.

A blur of motion crossed over the open hatch, too fast for me to follow. I stepped back instinctively, taking a parrying posture, but nothing followed me down.

A glance told me that the hatch led up to the rooftop, which was a flat design of solid stone. This mansion was built less like a standard house and more like a small fortress.

I pulled myself up onto the rooftop, taking a defensive pose.

A black-garbed man flashed past me, swinging his sword in a broad arc. A shockwave ripped out of his blade, arcing toward his opponent. As he twitched his left hand a moment later, the shockwave split apart into six separate projectiles.

On the opposite side of the roof, Derek calmly swiveled on his heel, cutting apart the projectiles with a sword in either hand. He had a smirk on his face. “That the best you can do?”

His attacker, Keras Selyrian, raised a hand to his chin. “No, but I’m not sure if you could handle anything more. After all, you’re unarmed.”

Derek’s twin swords — ordinary training swords, not magical ones — fell to pieces.

To my left side, I heard Patrick and Marissa laugh. They were sitting with plates on their laps and a bottle of liquid between them.

Sera was standing a few feet away, watching the exchange with folded arms, but her eyes were curious.

Patrick turned to me almost immediately. “Hey, you’re awake! Come sit, they’re just getting started.”

I groaned as I realized what I was witnessing.

Yesterday, Keras had made a remark about taking Derek up to the roof.

Apparently, that hadn’t been a joke.

I was half-tempted to just go back downstairs and pull a pillow over my eyes, but my stomach grumbled at the sight of the plates in front of Patrick and Marissa. “…Is there extra food?”

Patrick waved me over. “I’ll share and we can get more downstairs later.” He patted the rooftop next to him. “C’mon.”

Keras and Derek paused their exchange to allow me to get close enough to sit down next to Patrick. I hadn’t brought the scabbard for Selys-Lyann, so I just put it on the ground next to me and kept an eye on it to make sure no one stepped on it.

Patrick offered me an apple, and Marissa handed me a block of cheese. I nodded gratefully to both of them.

Sufficient.

I sat and ate while the two swordsmen repositioned themselves.

The roof was huge, probably fifty feet long and maybe thirty feet in width. Normally, it would have been more than enough room to spar safely, even with us innocent bystanders sitting and watching.

But these were hardly normal combatants.

I sincerely hoped they were paying enough attention to avoid collateral damage. The barrier from my phoenix sigil wouldn’t do much against a direct hit from either of them.

“You need me to fix those?” Keras waved at the broken swords that Derek was holding.

“No need.” Derek held up the two hilts and concentrated. Blades of fire extended from the shattered metal, flickering in the wind but retaining a near-solid state. “I think you’ll find this somewhat harder to cut.”

Keras took a step forward, taking a medium fencing stance with his sword blade extended. “You might be surprised.”

Derek rushed forward, crossing the rooftop at a sprint. He swept the flaming blades downward. Keras raised his own weapon to parry, but the fire swords went right through it without resistance.

They were fire, not steel, after all.

Keras stepped back, avoiding the cuts a moment before they landed.

Then the flaming blades separated into pieces and dispersed.

Derek stared downward at the hilts, then looked back up toward Keras. “I’m going to be honest, I’m pretty sure that shouldn’t be possible. Fire doesn’t work like that.”

Keras grinned. “Anything can be cut. At least if you’re me.”

Derek narrowed his eyes. “I suppose I’ll need to put in a hint of effort, then.”