Coated in Vermeil: Introduction the Cordo

[The Conservatory]

Continued from here...

Jaq and Subori stood at the water's edge with the waves lapping at their ankles. It was a clear day, like most of the days on the Jaida Coast and they were chatting lightly about how best to introduce Dalazar to accessing the Vermeil Realm. Top of moind, the directive that Zero left for them before taking on the Lucis Acolyte's latest offshore mission: Prep anyone willing and able to defend the coast from the B'halian Empire. In the absence of their fearless leader, Subori and Jaq Erxia had a pretty easy time so far, maintaining the Atelier was simple since anything that fell out of place returned itself to its rightful position given enough time. Their management of the interpersonal relationships along the coast proved to be a much more hefty task for the pair. The Conservatory already bore the burden of proof that it could be a beneficial force for the Jaida Coast and its residents, but the coming incursion of the B'halian Empire pushed many of the tribes to source their own devices to shore up their own defenses.

After the Second Annual Neo Festurus, the Gafren Tribes and Titanians of the Nogris Jungle both returned to their traditional combat preparations, developed over generations and repeatedly used to squash numerous other invasions into their regions. They both sported long, storied histories of complex war tactics that they leaned on rather heavily in the face of this renewed threat. The Atlantean tribes of Mares Vidas returned to their aquatic communities and kept little communication with the human tribes, understanding that their relationship with the Empire is and has always been different since their Order meant they had more in common with the invading Elvs than the Humans they shared a modicum of contempt for. This didn't keep some individuals from working with The Conservatory in their mission for understanding between all the tribes of the Jaida Coast, but those Atlanteans stood in a stark minority.

For the most part, The Conservatory drew membership from smaller tribes with a less organized resistance force, those who could benefit from the sense of community the most. A large component of this beneficial relationship was the Vermeil Realm and the power of their Cordos sleeping within. Jaq and Subori had been studying better ways to introduce people to the concept since Zero left, highlighting a particular set of his literature collection focused on willpower and manifestation. He sourced the collection himself from all over the world, and their vintages ranged across centuries, but the wealth of strategies they provided could be leveraged to introduce the realm to anyone and let them harness the power of their Cordo with the right exercises.

The Vermeil Realm awaited them and Dalazar, the place where he'd be able to bring form to his will and find a new power to reclaim his throne and defend Jaida with. With clear goals in mind and an open heart, he should be able to acquire the ability with little trouble.

[Dalazar Denkou]

Dalazar watched the courier gallop away, the small leather pouch containing his letter bouncing against the horse’s flank. He hoped the rider was swift and discreet. The message was simple enough on the surface, a mundane missive about his health and travels, but woven beneath the surface was a thread only his mother would unravel.

“The mountain hawk circles lower than the shadowed valley’s peak. Three suns upon its return, should the valley remain shrouded in mist, seek the shepherd's moon.”

A parable of his journey, his return timeframe disguised as natural omens. If anyone intercepted the letter, it would read as the ramblings of a homesick noble out on a grand tour. But his mother, the astute Queen Onohall, would understand. The hawk was him, the mountain his lineage, the shadowed valley the current unrest of Denkou under Myos. Three suns meant three days to the capital. The shrouded mist, a metaphor for Myos’s tightened grip, and the shepherd's moon, an ancient code for their hidden safe house in the city.

He turned away from the receding figure, his mind still churning with the news from his contact in the resistance. Myos’s tournament was a blatant power play disguised as a display of strength and unity. Unity built on fear, Dalazar knew. Myos, in his paranoia and hunger for control, saw enemies in every shadow. Any dissent, any flicker of independence, was extinguished with brutal efficiency. The mandatory tournament, forcing nobles to fight for what they already possessed, was a way to sow discord amongst them, to thin the ranks of potential challengers, and to terrorize the already oppressed common folk further. Azar, Myos's insidious advisor, was the true orchestrator. Azar whispered poison into Myos's ear, feeding his brother’s paranoia and twisting his insecurities into a weapon against their kingdom. Dalazar understood Azar’s game: fuel the flames, fan the hatred, and reap the chaos. Azar sought to drag the kingdom to the brink, bathe in its destruction, and gain power from its despair. Dalazar clenched his fist, the anger a cold knot in his stomach. If allowed to continue, Azar wouldn't just weaken Denkou; he'd break it, leaving nothing but splinters for the vultures circling their borders. Those vultures being B'halia.

“I must not let that happen,” he breathed, the wind snatching the words and carrying them out to sea. His gaze drifted towards the two figures waiting patiently for him at the edge of the coastal path. He took a deep breath, the salty air filling his lungs, starkly contrasting with the crisp mountain air he had grown up with. He had spent the last year traveling, honing his mind and body, learning the ancient ways of his birthright, distancing himself from the viper's nest that Denkou had become under Myos. So much had changed, the loss of his right arm, a heavy reminder of the perils his naivety and arrogance could cause. But duty called, and he answered, emerging from a voyage to confront the darkness that had claimed his homeland armed now with the knowledge of their true history...and anthem. He loosened the emerald scarf around his neck, the silk a familiar comfort against his skin.

"Had I never left the mountains, I wouldn't have known the coast was so beautiful."

He said to the pair. He was a small bundle of nerves. Though he had witnessed them summon their Seige Weapons, Dalazar was unsure what it would feel like, what his weapon would manifest as, or worse yet, could he even summon one, to begin with? He swiftly removed himself from such thoughts. It wasn't a matter of could or can't for him. It was a matter of when. He was determined to do what it took to succeed. His kingdom depended on him, and the stakes were too high for him to falter now. He relaxed his shoulders, letting the tension filter itself out.

[The Conservatory]

“That just shows you how important it is to get to know your neighbors,” Subori said, splashing some water around with his webbed toes. His wide mouthed curled a smile that could be seen from the highest peak of Emerald’s Ascension, or at least he thought it did. He was excited to bring Dazuma up to speed, remembering his own first encounter with th latent power of the Cordo hidden within him. At the Full Moon Jams that they hosted preceding the Neo Jaida Foundation, the Lucis Acolytes sometimes stepped out from their mysterious compound deep in the Southern Shadelands to enjoy some of the musical stylings of Far-Land. Most of the Jaidans in attendance departed to their respective arenas for the evening, but that left Far-land and these, often younger, Acolytes to share notes and philosophy. Subori and Jaq offered some semi-private lessons in music and their instruments and the Acolytes traded their insight into this realm of will they appreciated music’s ability to pierce. The first time Subori sensed his Cordo within himself, he almost fainted from excitement. Jaq didn’t have such a visceral reaction, but sported the most level head of their band mates.

“I know the feeling,” Jaq said as Dalazar waded into the water. “My tribe rarely ventured outside of the crater’s rim. The Titanians often made it difficult to travel as they were very distrustful of anyone . I’m grateful to feel like a part of the Jaida Coast.” Her tribe lived in a depression deep within the Nogris Jungle, carved out by a meteor impact long ago. It created mineral rich soil and natural irrigation from underwater springs that provided for them locally without the need to venture further into the jungle to clash with the Titanians or other tribes from beyond the jungle. Making her way to the coast opened her eyes to a whole new world of possibility and the Full Moon Jams showed her the real value in the connections between individuals that create lasting bonds between tribes. “Have you or anyone you know been to a Full Moon Jam? I don’t think I’ve seen many Denkou in attendance.”

The Atlanteans, and the Terrestrials kept typically to their native biomes and the Lucis Acolytes, to Sol Gamera, their ascetic sanctuary. Full Moon Jams started by Far-land reintroduced the disparate tribes of the Jaida Coast to one another and bridged a gap the time after the Fosfe Incident. They shared stories and songs centered around the Knights of Jaida and their ordeal to defeat the Mazoku. The Acolytes revealed each one had an example of the Cordo within them. They began sharing the many ways their force of will could be harnessed, making new connections between the different regions in the Jaida Coast and the Knights of Jaida. If he’d attended one before, she knew exactly the exercise she would use.

[Dalazar Denkou]

"Neighbors...yes...I suppose you're right about that..."

The words, spoken aloud to Jaq as they stood knee-deep in the cool, azure water of the Jaida Coast, lingered on the edges of Dalazar’s mind a moment longer than usual. Neighbors, comrades… friends. Concepts that had once felt foreign, almost treasonous, within the rigid walls of the Denkou kingdom. For generations, his people had cultivated an isolation so profound it bordered on paranoia, viewing any outsider with suspicion, any alliance as a temporary tool. They were masters of illusion in the art of saving face , of intricate defenses, of power wielded from the shadows. But they were also slowly suffocating within their self-imposed cage, teetering on the precipice of internal collapse.

Dalazar’s thoughts drifted inwards, a familiar ache settling in his chest. His people were fixated on maintaining their power, on fiercely guarding a legacy that was now, starkly and brutally, revealed to be built on land stolen from others, resources pilfered from unsuspecting races. How different things could have been, he mused, if their ancestors had chosen connection over conquest, had fostered genuine understanding instead of fragile truces built on fear and the fickle tides of trade.

Like he had done with the conservatory once upon a time, as he had done with diamond dust months ago...as he had done with Okina.

“I know the feeling,” Jaq said as Dalazar waded into the water. “My tribe rarely ventured outside of the crater’s rim. The Titanians often made it difficult to travel as they were very distrustful of anyone . I’m grateful to feel like a part of the Jaida Coast.”

Jaq’s willingness to share even that small piece of his past, that vulnerability of admitting to a similar history of isolation, was enough to cause Dalazar’s shoulders to relax. It was…nice. Nice to be around someone who understood, even if only a little, the suffocating weight of ingrained distrust. He had also come to understand the profound wisdom behind Subori’s words, words echoed through generations of tacticians: no war was ever won alone.

Even the great empire operated not through sheer might, but through the domination and integration of other fae and elven races, a vast, multifaceted army built on forced unity. The power of genuine unity, of willing collaboration, was something his people once knew, once practiced with sincerity centuries ago, before the paranoia and the lust for dominance had taken root. Now, they were divided, fractured not just from the outside world, but amongst themselves, suspicion rife even within the highest circles.

But that was why he was here, on the shores of the Jaida Coast, risking everything. He was here to be the voice of reason, the steady hand, the push of purpose that would knit his fractured homeland back together. That was his duty as King. As family.

“Have you or anyone you know been to a Full Moon Jam? I don’t think I’ve seen many Denkou in attendance.”

Dalazar’s gaze drifted across the shimmering seas, towards the horizon where the sky met the water in a hazy, seamless blend. A mental image flickered in his mind: his rooms in the Denkou palace, padded with books and tomes of all kinds, their spines whispering secrets in forgotten languages. His personal guards, their garments engraved with protection runes and weapons always at the ready, were ever-present, their hawk-like eyes missing nothing. The mere thought of venturing to a public festival, unguarded and amongst a crowd of diverse races… for him, it remained a distant, almost fantastical concept.

“I, unfortunately, haven’t had the pleasure,” Dalazar admitted, a faint regret coloring his voice. “But… my knight, Evant, he attended once.”

The mere thought of Evant warmed Dalazar’s heart, a comforting ember glowing amidst the cold weight of his responsibilities. Evant, his most trusted confidante, his protector, and something more that they rarely spoke of aloud but understood implicitly in the shared glances and lingering touches. The tale of Evant’s time spent at the Full Moon festival was indeed one of their most cherished shared memories. Love for the way of the sword aside, Dalzar and Evant held a mutual love for music, serving as a strong foundation for what allowed their affection to bloom as it had the present day.

“He shared his memories of the music; it was like I was standing there”

Denkou possessed telepathy, a subtle, often unreliable gift in the chaos of the material world. But within the shared nexus of connection known as the Pathways, a psychic network woven through the very fabric of their being, they were able to share experiences in much more vivid detail, even creating entire replications of sensory input. Evant, knowing Dalazar's yearning for experiences beyond the gilded cage of the palace and his own deep love for music, would often recreate moments like the Full Moon Jam within the Pathways.

He painted sonic landscapes with his mind, weaving tapestries of rhythmic drums, soaring flutes, and the joyous, unrestrained laughter of the crowd. For Dalazar, who had been largely confined to the kingdom for most of his life, these shared experiences were a lifeline, a window to a world he was forbidden to touch physically but could still embrace within the sanctuary of their minds.

[The Conservatory]

Subori's eye widened, recognizing Evant's furry cloak from somewhere in his memory banks. He didn't say anything, but let out a knowing hum while the water lapped at his ankles. Jaq nodded in agreement, hoping the memories Evant shared with Dalazar held some pertinent insights.

"Lovely," she began. "Subori, Simon, and Virgil already started the Full Moon Jams by the time I discovered them, but the music they played spoke directly to my soul, or so I thought. So many of us, musicians, dancers, performers, we all came together to jam to the single tune and I think Jaida is made better for it. But I think what also connected us was the Cordo within us, within all creation, responding to our harmonious jam."

Jaq stepped toward Dalazar and took a deep, calming breath while she found her center, the same way she did back in Atelier Jaida. "This Cordo, this force of will within all of us, is special because it responds to the influence of its surroundings very well. You have a Cordo, Jaida has a Cordo, it's fair to say that even Vescrutia itself could have a Cordo, and all these Cordos are accessible to us in the Vermeil Realm. The Acolytes of Lucis devote a ton of time to exploring that realm and the ways it connects all of us, but the first step in accessing it is... harnessing? Accessing? Activating? The verbiage is still under construction, but you have to understand your own Cordo first, and then you open a pathway to the Vermeil Realm yourself." Jaq chuckled to herself, language was not necessarily her strong point, especially when it came to the litany of terms used in the common tongue, but everyone had a different relationship to their Cordo, so it made sense the verbiage was flexible.

Subori poked started wading gently through the water, rolling his webbed toes through the sand beneath them in the cool clear oceans. "You're so wordy, Jaq."

"I want to make sure he has the general idea before we get to the metaphysical components," Jaq shot back at Subori. "Not everyone likes to pull a mystic firearm out of thin air on a whim."

Subori rolled his eyes and waded around, turning his back to the pair, still a little embarrassed the Buster Rifle didn't materialize the way he wanted. Subori had a lot of experience bringing out his own Cordo, but the more advanced techniques got the better of him often. Jaq, often responsible for reining him in, had ample experience guiding the uninitiated and overzealous through the process with a high level of success, even if they didn't get it the first time. Subori knew this, but always wanted to get to the fun part first. Satisfied with the caecilian's silence, Jaq pressed on and held her hand out in front of her body. She turned her palm upright and a silvery-white glow emanated from it, outlining her whole hand. With another deep breath, the glow produced a single white orb above her palm, glowing with the same silvery-white energy. It pulsed with her heartbeat, hummed in tune with the ebb and flow of the waves lapping on the coast, danced in the blowing winds.

"You'll need to find a harmonic place between you and your center to bring this out. It's different for everyone, but there's a natural rhythm between all things that's unique to you that your Cordo responds to. Being able to find it is the first step. The Full Moon Jams were helpful for many of us in being able to bring this out, but it doesn't work for everyone. You can start by listening to your heartbeat, and then trying to sync it to your breathing. After that, sync both with the sound and sensation of the waves at your feet. You'll probably be able to feel it in your mind's eye first before manifesting it, so go slow if you need to."

Jaq had the masterclass set up, a Cordo 101 class that anyone could follow as long as they're insightful enough. It courl take a few tries, but she was confident they could make some good progress here.

[Dalazar Denkou]

Dalazar listened, brow furrowed in concentration. Jaq's voice, calm and patient, had just unveiled a concept that felt both profoundly intriguing and utterly outlandish. This “Cordo,” this inherent will residing within everyone, was no mere muscle to be flexed, but something far more nuanced. It resonated with its surroundings, a living echo of the world. Jaq spoke of his Cordo, Jaida’s Cordo, even Vescrutia, their planet, potentially possessing a Cordo of its own. And all these individual currents of will flowed into a shared space, the Vermeil Realm, a place explored by the Acolytes of Lucis.

Magic, as Dalazar knew it, the disciplined art of Denkou mages, was about shaping naten, the raw building blocks of reality, with one's will as a tool. But this Cordo… it seemed to be will itself, not as a tool, but as the very source of power. Jaq hinted at manifesting siege weaponry, pulling cannons and ballistae into existence, not through intricate glyphs and chanted incantations, but from… willpower? The concept was so abstract, so divorced from the tangible mechanics of magic he understood, it bordered on the fantastical. Yet he witnessed it happen before his eyes.

"You'll need to find a harmonic place between you and your center to bring this out. It's different for everyone, but there's a natural rhythm between all things that's unique to you that your Cordo responds to. Being able to find it is the first step. The Full Moon Jams were helpful for many of us in being able to bring this out, but it doesn't work for everyone. You can start by listening to your heartbeat, and then trying to sync it to your breathing. After that, sync both with the sound and sensation of the waves at your feet. You'll probably be able to feel it in your mind's eye first before manifesting it, so go slow if you need to."

“Okay,” Dalazar murmured, pushing back his skepticism, a seed of curiosity already taking root. He extended his hand, palm open to the sky, mirroring Jaq's demonstration. He closed his eyes and focused inwards. Thump-thump, thump-thump. His heart was a steady drum against his ribs. He drew in a breath, slow and deliberate, then exhaled, willing his breath to meet the pace of his heart. In… out… thump-thump, thump-thump. He could hear the waves now, the rhythmic crash and retreat against the sandy shore. He tried to weave their cadence into his internal rhythm, a pulse, breath, and tide triad.

Memories of the Full Moon Jam surfaced, vivid and bright. The music, swirling, joyous, profound. He remembered Evant, his friend, painting worlds within their minds with sound during those jams, crafting shared realities of pure, unadulterated feeling. The joy, the swaying bodies in unison, the sense of collective soul. He reached for that feeling, that memory, and with his outstretched hand, he willed the Cordo to manifest. A faint glimmer flickered into being, a hesitant spark in his palm. A slight spark of silver glimmered, but then. It dispersed, vanishing as abruptly as it appeared. He tried again, focusing harder and willing it with more force, but only emptiness greeted him. Failure.

The nascent light, real or imagined, was gone. Dalazar stared at his empty palm, a wave of disappointment washing over him, sharper than he expected. Had it been wishful thinking? A trick of the afternoon light dancing on the waves? No, he was sure he felt it, felt something. He glanced around, sinking onto the warm sand, the weight of his frustrated expectations heavy on his shoulders. Siege weapons from willpower. It still sounded like something from a fever dream, a fantastical tale spun by a delirious storyteller. But despite the logical part of his mind screaming absurdity, a different part, a deeper, intuitive part, resonated with the idea. That faint glimmer, whether real or imagined, had vibrated with a different energy, something beyond the familiar currents of magic. It was… internal, emanating from within, not drawn from the world around him.

"I'm thinking about the weapon too much...leaning on Evant's feelings and not my own."

He said, taking another deep breath.

"Let me try again...I think I got it this time."

[The Conservatory]

Jaq and Subori watched with expectant eyes as the silvery white light ignited in his palm and flickered out of existence. They looked at one another with a knowing smile, nodding in concert before chuckling confidently.

"Good first try," Jaq said, extending her free hand to him. "Here, hold my hand. maybe you can get a sense of it through me." She deliberately let the phrase open for interpretation, her own Cordo had its own will, its own rhythm, its own sense of harmony that allowed it to be brought forth. There were a number of things that could help him make a material connection to his own, like hearing a song played first before trying to play it yourself rather than just reading sheet music. Subori took a whole seat in the water, letting most of his body except for his nose and eyes slip into the ocean, letting Jaq take Dalaar through the exercise. He felt he could benefit from a few more reps with the exercise himself, but didn't want to take anything from Dalazar's experience.

[Dalazar Denkou]

He locked his hand with Jaq's, their palms meeting, fingers tangling in a familiar grip. Jaq’s presence, solid and calm beside him, was like a deep root holding firm against a rising tide. Dalazar closed his eyes, took another deep inhale, slow and measured, and exhaled, letting the tension bleed away.

The Full Moon Jam memory returned, not just a static picture, but a living current. This time, it bypassed the visual stage, the intricate dance of bodies in the flickering torchlight, and settled purely as a feeling. He saw Evant in his mind's eye, eyes closed, lost in the music, fingers a blur over the strings of his instrument. The melodies weren't just sounds; they were tangible things, weaving through the clearing, seemingly plucking at the very fabric of their minds. Dalazar remembered how the music had resonated, not just vibrating the air in his ears, but humming deep in his bones, a sympathetic chord struck within his soul. He hadn't simply heard the music that night; he had felt it, a shared breath, a collective heartbeat under the vast, luminous eye of the full moon. Everyone in the clearing had been swept up in the same powerful current of sound and feeling, a single, flowing river of shared experience.

It wasn't just joy that had filled him, but something far deeper, a profound sense of connection to everything and everyone around him, a piercing serenity that had washed over him, leaving him feeling cleansed and renewed. He pictured Evant again, standing amidst the gathered people, bathed in the ethereal glow of the moon, the music flowing outwards in palpable waves, encompassing them all, binding them together in an invisible weave. The glimmer of that feeling returned, a soft light behind his closed lids, and yet…Dalazar felt he needed to reach beyond just this familiar emotional echo. It was powerful, yes, but it wasn't the spark he sought for the Cordo to ignite. It was Evant's memory, not his.

Jaq’s own steady ebb, the quiet strength flowing through their joined hands, was an anchor, a maestro's baton holding his cadence steady as he navigated the turbulent waters of his own consciousness. It was then, in that space of grounded searching, that a precious memory, often kept locked away, returned to him. A memory of his mother, his father, and his two brothers.

The storm of the Emerald Ascension had grown terribly powerful that year, lashing at the kingdom's borders. His father, the king, normally a bulwark against its chaotic energy, had been laid low by illness for some time. Dalazar remembered the scent of the sickroom, the worry etched on his mother's face. She had made soup, a recipe handed down through generations of mothers, thick with herbs and love. He and his siblings, ignoring their father's weak warnings about catching his sickness, had crowded around his bed, drawn by a need to be close, to offer what little comfort they could.

Dalazar could still taste the soup – the savory broth, the tender vegetables – and feel the warmth, not just from the bowl, but the immense warmth of the love that had gone into making it. He remembered the spark of connection as his eyes shifted between his mother, his father, and the familiar, beloved faces of his brothers, all gathered there in that quiet, anxious moment. His heart…his heart had never felt so utterly full, so complete, than in that single, fragile moment where he and his family were together, whole and unbroken by the looming storm or the shadow of illness.

Holding onto that memory, not just the scene but the overwhelming feeling of that unity, that profound sense of belonging and love, sparked something deep within him. It wasn't the vast connection of the Jam, or the serene peace, but the intense, focused warmth of that moment, his heart's truest home. Tear pooled in his eyes as here recounted something he thought was lost to him. A bond, a connection, the root of everything that pushed him onto this journey to begin with. His family, and the desire to protect them.

This time, when he extended his awareness, it was different. Not with forced expectation, straining his will against the void. Not with the desperate need to make something appear. But with an open receptiveness, a quiet invitation. He was listening, feeling, remembering. And in that space of quiet receptivity, born from the warmth of family love, a different kind of warmth began to bloom in his palm, gentle as the first blush of dawn.

It started as a faint hum, a subtle vibration that resonated not just in his hand, but throughout his chest, deep within his core, a feeling of awakening, a core warming. Then, a light began to coalesce, softer, more assured than the anxious flares of previous attempts. It was a gentle luminescence, the color of a silvery dawn breaking over the horizon, a soft, pure luminance washing away shadows. It pulsed gently, not fading and flickering erratically like a dying candle, but breathing with a slow, steady rhythm that echoed his own heartbeat, a living ember now kindled in the crucible of his hand.

It felt… alive. Not just inert light or energy, but a presence, a nascent consciousness observing him as he observed it. He could sense a subtle energy radiating from it, a gentle push against his palm, like the tentative beat of a tiny, hesitant heart reaching out. He held his breath, afraid to shatter the fragile connection, to dispel this wondrous bloom through sheer force of will. He focused his mind, not forcing it to stay, but simply observing it with awe, appreciating its delicate existence.

He watched the subtle pulses, and marveled at how it seemed to respond, almost imperceptibly, to the subtle shifts in his thoughts and feelings. A wave of awe washed over him, a spark of wonder igniting in his chest, and the light intensified, burning brighter, vibrant and undeniably alive. A flicker of doubt, a whisper of fear that he was somehow deluding himself, that this was just a fleeting illusion born of desperation, and the light softened, paling back to a gentle, less intense, yet no less present glow.

He understood then, with a clarity that felt like dawn breaking in his own mind. It wasn’t about conjuring something from nothing, a forceful, ego-driven act of creation. It was about attuning himself, finding a conduit, opening a channel to something that was already there, within him and all around him, a vast, interconnected web of will that permeated existence. This Cordo, this personal force, wasn't a muscle to flex and strain against resistance, but a song to harmonize with, a rhythm to join, a current to surrender to, guided by the deepest, truest feelings within him.

The light in his hand, still faint, still fragile, but steady, was a beginning. A whispered note in a symphony yet to be fully heard, the first brushstroke on a vast, unpainted canvas of potential. He closed his fingers gently around the glimmer, shielding it, feeling the warmth seep into his skin, a promise of untold power, a whisper of the Vermeil Realm beckoning from across the threshold of his understanding. He opened his hand again, the faint light still there, pulsing softly, a small ember of will now truly kindled within the vastness of the world and his own being.

He had a ways to go, the path to the Vermeil Realm still shrouded in mystery, but for the first time, the impossible, the daunting, terrifying idea of wielding siege weapons from the depths of his own will, seemed not just possible, but tantalizingly, breathtakingly real. Dalazar felt a surge of quiet determination. He had found the key; now he just had to learn to turn it.

[The Conservatory]

"That's better," Subori said, bubbles rising just beneath the water's surface, his eyes brightened by the light of Dalazar's Cordo coming to life before their eyes. It glowed steadily, maintaining its integrity in the bright sea air around them.

"Yes it is," Jaq said, releasing Dalazar's hand, confident that he could maintain his composure without her supplementary energy. "That's it, your Cordo, the Force of Will. It takes a bit of mental fortitude, physical stamina, and creativity to really make use of it, but you just fast tracked the intro course."

"How's your body feeling?" Subori asked, still bubbling in the water. Jaq looked him up and down to assess his physical state. She waited a moment, seeing if he could keep the light's integrity for an extended period of time. The Force of Will acted like a spark to the kindling of the body and spirit, without a medium, the flame would extinguish. The Vermeil Realm held many avenues that could amplify and channel the Force of Will, but entering it took more fortitude than bringing your Cordo to life. To take the next step, they needed to see how long Dalazar could maintain this manifestation to know if they were entering the next phase as a group or he could step into it himself.

[Dalazar Denkou]

The taste of salt was crisp on Dalazar's tongue, carried by the wind that danced the same restless rhythm as the light waves against the shore. His hand trembled slightly, not from the strain of holding a heavy weight or the bite of the cool air, but from the sheer, delicate balance required for the task. A mote of pure, shimmering light hovered in the space just above his open palm. It was no bigger than a captured dewdrop, yet within its core pulsed a light that drew its energy directly from the forge of his will.

"I did it."

A hint of wonder, a touch of fragile triumph laced his voice. He opened his eyes, the silvery light pulsing with his gaze. This Cordo felt like shaping clay from pure intent or perhaps the mold itself, simultaneously making Will the substance and tool. It was strange, yes, yet despite its foreign nature, the sensation wasn't alarming. It felt... right. Welcoming. As if this connection was always meant to be his, a more profound truth beneath the practiced surface of his magical arts.

"It's a bit tricky to maintain."

Physically, he wasn't under much strain. Not enough to force him to yield, at least. There was a pull on his stamina, but the pressure he was experiencing was manageable, a contained tension rather than an overwhelming weight. This, at least, was familiar territory. Dalazar had spent his entire life honing his mind and body, tempering his very spirit. Lacking the inherent, voluminous Naten reserves of other noble mages, he'd become a craftsman of magic, meticulously refining his internal vessel to channel the power he could access with maximum efficiency and control. An effort that paid off immensely when his anthem fully awakened, his state as an ascendant mage confirmed his Emerald King birthright. It was a mountainous force, like holding the very storms of the Emerald Ascenion in one's chest, a raw, untamed lightning surging, unyielding. Yet, Dalazar had spent the last six months since his awakening mastering the art of coexisting with that power, fine-tuning his physical and spiritual form to withstand and harmonize with its tumultuous fluctuations. The contained tension of maintaining the Cordo mote was a whisper compared to the roar of his anthem.

"But... I think I can handle it."

Jaq's stabilizing presence was like someone cupping their hands around a candle, protecting it from the wind as another tried to light it. Yet after the flame had been sparked, Dalazar himself felt confident that he could hold his own despite increments of struggle. He had to be, for when he needed to draw on this power, for the battle to come, he could not count on Jaq and Subori being there.