Reborn From the Cosmos

Arc 5-Qualifiers-Prologue

Callan’s father drilled into him from an early age that to get anywhere, he had to work hard. The further he wanted to go, the higher his ambitions, the harder he would have to work. No one owed him anything. The opposite. As a commoner, as a man without the talent to become one of the powerful casters who dominated the Harvest Kingdom, his father warned him that he would have to fight for anything he earned less someone snatch it from him.

If he listened to his father’s words, the greatest he could hope for in his life would be slaving away beneath someone else’s banner, allowing a ‘greater’ man to protect him and being content with what honest labor could bring him. To dare chase a greater dream could only invite disaster. He and his family were small fish in the monster-infested ocean known as Quest, home of the guilds and the renowned Grand Hall.

However, dream he did. The one who had given him that dream was Kierra Atainna.

A foreign beauty, hailing from the land of the elves. Green skin that reminded him of the vibrant plants in his mother’s herb garden, fair silver hair, and eyes that seemed to embody summer itself, shifting from vibrant green to a glowing gold. The kind of woman that could inspire stories, but she didn’t resemble any of the maidens men sung about.

She was no princess waiting to be swept off her feet by a powerful knight after he proved himself to her father, though she was of royal descent if the rumors could be believed.

She wasn’t the young village girl with knowledge of the forest, finding and bandaging up the legendary hunter after a bout of misfortune, though her healing prowess was incredible by anyone’s measure.

She could fight, oh, how she could fight, but he couldn’t imagine her as any great hero’s sidekick.

No, Kierra Atainna was a walking war totem. She attracted to her those who sought to make their future with blood and violence. She offered people like him, those who thought they would spend the rest of their lives at the whims of others, a path to power. Training them and then pitting them against one another, inciting them to use their fellows as steps to climb higher.

Like the horrible stories of man-eating demons his grandmother used to tell him when he misbehaved as a child, the elf demanded blood and circus, taking delight in their struggles. On the other hand, she was a saint, cleansing them of every ail and ache, gifting them with wealth. Tying together the opposing sides was an unquestionable strength, a physicality enhanced by magic.

Combined with her strong personality, Kierra collected followers like a flower attracted bees. The promise of power engendered in them a near fanatic loyalty and a culture of fierce competition. Callan had shed blood, sweat, and with his face buried in the dirt after a particularly grueling training session, tears for her. Enough that a sane man might have already been scared off, returning to his simple circumstances with a new appreciation.

But a man in love could not be considered sane.

Callan wanted the money, the power, and the fame, but what he wanted most of all was the woman herself. He longed for her healing caresses to linger in passion, for her eyes to see him not as a project but as a man. He wanted her to be his bride, fantasized about lifting her veil on their wedding day. He fantasized more about lifting the hem of her wedding dress on their wedding night, with a frequency that anyone who heard of it would denounce as unhealthy. After all, the object of his romantic obsession was a married woman.

He knew he was not good enough for the elven beauty. She had made it clear that she desired strength and ambition. A husband also needed money to provide for a household. Things he lacked but things that could be fixed. He felt confident, maybe unreasonably so, that in time, he could become a man worthy to stand by her side. He had the determination to do so.

However, all of it would be for naught because of the greatest obstacle standing in the way of his love. An initiate by the name of Lourianne Tome, Kierra’s wife.

Amusingly, she was the reason he’d ever met Kierra in the first place. And the reason he was currently moving through the Grand Hall’s residential area right after dawn.

Callan broke into a jog, having caught his breath. He raised his hands to his mouth and blew on the frosty digits. Winter was coming, announcing itself with biting morning winds and freezing nights. Snow was unusual but they were close enough to the Bleak Peaks that if the Lords became active, they would feel the effects. Something quite likely if the information he was running to deliver was accurate.

His meeting with Lourianne Tome…had not gone well. Having heard of her wife, Callan found himself lingering outside her home, eager to catch a glimpse of the no doubt mythical figure that enamored his love so thoroughly.

Instead, he found a dark-skinned girl with suspicious brown eyes trudging home after apparently playing in mud given the state of her. To wait in apprehension for the appearance of a heroic figure worthy of sweeping the powerful Kierra off her feet and instead meet a woman, a girl younger than himself, with the appearance of a laborer…words couldn’t quite describe how he felt in that moment.

If he had to try, he would say he was disappointed. Confused. Betrayed. Hopeful. If his imagined obstacle was just a simple initiate, he might still be outclassed but his goals didn’t feel impossible.

That thinking and his jumbled thoughts gave him the confidence to step into her home. Behind closed doors, Lourianne Tome showed she was not the simple girl she appeared to be. At the very least, she was unhinged.

One moment, the picture of civility. The next, she jumped on him, her hands over his throat, murderous rage in her eyes.

She was also far, far stronger than she appeared. She didn’t have the heroic image he expected but by the saints she had the strength. It felt like a man five times his size held him down. She was immovable as she slowly choked the life out of him. But more than her strength, what had terrified him was the unmistakable glee in her eyes. She enjoyed it and would have enjoyed killing him.

Unhinged.

Of all things, the timely arrival of Kierra had saved him. Callan was gladdened, of course. It seemed like a sign, but it was hard to keep his positive attitude. Her words belied how little she cared for him. She didn’t speak of him as a friend, or a student, or even a pet. Something lesser, little more than a passing interest. It made him wonder if she intervened to save him or for a more depressing reason like not wanting to stain the carpet. Or worse, to protect Lourianne from the consequence of murder.

He’d certainly seen evidence of her care for her, the elf transforming for a beacon of pain and violence into a simpering wife eager to please her spouse.

Seeing Kierra cowled almost scared Callan as much as having the life choked out of him.

While Kierra’s intervention had managed to save his life, it hadn’t been for free. Callan didn’t have much to offer but the devil in a girl’s skin had acquiesced to sparing his life in return for his service. Which is why he jogged toward their residence at the ungodly hour, dutifully carrying a report to his ‘lady’.

The sight of their house made his stomach turn. Partly from jealously, knowing that the resplendent two-story manor and its accompanying estate was far beyond his financial means. Partly from anxiety, as he never knew how Lou would react.

One day, she might be welcoming, treating him respectfully if distantly, and the next she’d lob insults, treating him like the dirt on the bottom of her shoe. The worse days was when he saw a ghost of her homicidal anger. She would make an innocuous comment about Kierra and then stare at him with the intensity of a wolf eyeing prey. Callan learned to speak quickly and get away when it happened.

Things weren’t all bad. Sometimes, coming to the Tome-Atainna residence could bring good fortune. He hoped toady would be such a day.

When he knocked on the front door, it was answered by the house’s head servant.

“Callan,” Geo greeted with a smile that warmed his chest. Without his love for Kierra, he might have fallen for her charms, despite her clear otherworldly origins. If the gray skin and pink irises weren’t enough of a giveaway, the horns would have done it. Her cute face and gentle demeanor easily swayed any hearts wary of her species. He knew she was an elemental but couldn’t identify what kind or from what plane. She refused to tell him, forced to silence by her contract.

“Good morning, Geo.” He inclined his head respectfully. “I’ve come for my report.”

“Oh? You seem excited.”

“Yeah, well, this information is good. Maybe good enough to impress that devil.” The arrangement he made with Lourianne Tome was to use his connections in the Grand Market to give her warning on good deals. He learned that the one surefire way to Lourianne Tome’s good side was through her seemingly unending desires.

She had no use for the baubles that usually attracted nobility, though she still listened when he spoke of the new pieces before they graced show windows. What drew her attention was the unusual. Traces from the other continents. Again, things only nobles would be interested in, bragging about pieces from places they’d never visit. Lands ruled by other species, hostile intelligent life, where their fancy titles and gold meant nothing.

The other things that interested her were weapons. All kinds and types though she took particular interest in bows and knives. For Kierra, as they were her preferred weapons. He put extra effort into locating information on those items but rarely bought anything in their name. Few could reach the elf’s standards.

He didn’t have anything that would appeal to Kierra’s tastes but his dedication to the subject had led to very interesting rumors. Rumors that after a little investigation appeared to be true and held the chance for a good opportunity.

“If you don’t mind, I want to deliver this news personally,” he said.

“Today must be your lucky day. Normally, summoning her from the arms of her wife at such an hour would guarantee her…annoyance, but she is already awake.” Geo closed her eyes for several long moments before opening them. “She has been informed. It may be a while before she comes. She does enjoy making you sweat.”

Callan grimaced. “I know.”

“Which again, is your fortune. Tell me. How are your studies coming along?”

He couldn’t stop himself from looking past her, reassuring himself that no one was nearby to overhear their conversation. It wasn’t a dangerous topic on its own but he had a feeling that his new employer would not be happy to hear him discussing it. “Materials are hard to come by. Summoning is not a popular art.”

Confronting Lourianne Tome directly was madness; she outclassed him physically, magically, and socially. That did not bring into account her elementals, Geo and the imp, Bell. However, therein lied his road to victory.

Summoning, the art of contracting elementals, beings that existed in parallel realms. They were bound to their summoner by an unbreakable agreement, gifting their contractor all of their strength and talent.

Callan might not be a caster but he had mana, same as every other living thing. If he could not use it, he might as well offer it to a being that could in exchange for benefits. A weak man could become a king if he managed to contract a dragon, or its elemental equivalent.

Knowing about the possibility didn’t make it any more feasible. Even as a summoner, Callan was lacking, as they were attracted by those with deep mana pools and practiced affinities. However, a summoner could offer more than their paltry selves and he could bridge his deficiencies with mana with knowledge. If only he could get his hands on said knowledge.

“Of course such a powerful art would be obscured by those in power.”

“Can you do anything to help?”

“Lourianne does not keep many summoning records in the house. Your best hope would be to bargain with one of the acolytes for entrance into the Summoning Hall. They may have the connections you lack.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” Kierra picked up average talent but most of her followers came from the foundation acolytes of the Hall. Callan had made acquaintances amongst their number through the exchange of blows. Not relationships that lent to asking for favors.

“A suggestion? Start with a gift. Few can look unfavorably on someone giving them something of value.”

“The last thing I want to do is give the bastards who are responsible for my frequent beatings anything,” he grumped. “What I really need is a teacher. I haven’t learned much but ask anyone about summoning and you hear the horror stories of idiots who let an elemental trick them or end up contracting some useless creature that sticks with them for life. Quickest way to learn something is to have someone show you the ropes.”

“There is an entire Hall dedicated to it. The masters are far beyond your reach but the acolytes may be amenable to giving you lessons.”

“I thought the same thing.” Though it irked him to think he would need to apprentice himself to someone his age, he could respect a difference in skill. “Same situation with the records, unfortunately. I’ll do what I can to work my contacts but…I think you would have a much better opportunity. That d—Lourianne must visit the Summoning Hall frequently. While she is doing her business, you can speak to someone who might be open to an arrangement.”

“It won’t be easy doing so under her notice. And you will have to provide the incentives to persuade them on your own.”

“Of course.” Callan hoped he could provide these incentives, anticipating a rough hit to his coin purse. Resources for a caster were expensive and it naturally made their ilk greedy and cruelly pragmatic when it came to business. “…you still can’t tell me what you are?”

“I have been ordered to obscure my origins,” she said, eyes downcast. “I hesitate to give you any information. Should she ask me about our conversation, I would be forced to reveal everything.”

He was forced to admire the contract the devil had managed. From the little he knew, contracting an elemental with no restrictions on their loyalty was incredibly rare and implied great skill.

“The Courtesan Hall. Have you heard of it?”

Callan cleared his throat to hide his shock, feeling a faint blush warm his cheeks. Anyone who lived in Quest heard of the Court. He reckoned most men with an appreciation for the female form had visited at least once. His father had given him enough coin to enjoy himself on his sixteenth birthday and the women of the Court had promptly stripped him of his coin purse and his ‘innocence’. He’d been a loyal customer, having little time or opportunity for proper courtship. That had stopped once he met Kierra, of course. “I know of it, yes.”

“You should visit. Perhaps ask some of the women or a manager about a being with my general description.”

Callan’s brow furrowed. “Alright. Wha—”

“No more now. She’s coming.”

He stiffened, mouth snapping shut. After a few moments, his ears straining to catch the slightest sound, he heard someone clomping down the stairs. It didn’t take long for Lourianne to appear.

She looked very different from the first time he’d seen her, not just because of her clean clothes and generally groomed appearance. Everything about her was different. Her dark skin was cleared of any blemishes. Her dark hair had a lustrous quality to it that he attributed to noblewomen of exceptional wealth, able to afford rare and expensive beauty potions, streaked with unusual strands of violet and silver. She always had a powerful physique but it was even more obvious now. He could also swear she’d gotten a bit taller, though the idea seemed ridiculous.

The most disconcerting change of all were her eyes. A bright violet, a color reserved for the prized showpieces in a garden, not a woman’s eyes. They were beautiful…and utterly incomprehensible. No human had eyes that color naturally. It screamed that she was other, the woman flaunting it. He had no idea what otherworldly powers she might have dabbled in to result in such drastic changes but he could only imagine it spoke to a greater mastery of summoning, which didn’t bode well for his plans to, at the very least, surpass his rival.

Her lips turned up in a mocking grin as she moved into the doorway, Geo stepping back with a bowed head to make room. “Mr. Self-Made. What’s put so much spring in your step that you hopped all the way over here before even the sun finished waking up?”

Callan bowed stiffly, ignoring the disgust the action evoked. “My lady. I’ve brought news that I think you will be most interested in.”

“Uh-huh.”

He waited a moment, hoping she would invite him inside to escape the biting cold. Instead, she raised her brows in an exaggerated expression that said, ‘get on with it’. “I have been listening for word on blades, as requested. In doing so, I noted that many of the smiths and armorers are fully engaged, no longer accepting requests. I went searching for the reason and confirmed this information from many sources.”

He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Fort Victory is preparing for another campaign into the Bleak Peaks, a big one. They’re recruiting from the local guilds and their knights have hired all of the smiths and armorers.”

“That? I already knew about it.”

Callan contained his reaction to a blink. That was mildly disappointing. The whole point of their arrangement was for him to deliver valuable information before others might become aware of it. However, he still had cards to play. “I also know two of the guilds involved.”

“Before you get to that…” She leaned against the doorway and crossed her arms. “Why do I care about this? You’re supposed to be scouring the market for interesting knick-knacks and a few knives for my wife’s collection.”

He wondered if her question was a trick. “Campaigns into the Bleak Peaks are funded by Duke James himself, maybe even the crown. They are always looking for bodies. With the representation of several guilds and knightly orders, there is no better opportunity to receive gold and recognition.” At least, his friend that had recently joined one of the guilds assured him so.

“Do you understand what you’re saying?” she asked, shaking her head as if listening to the ramblings of an ignorant child. “This campaign. I don’t know what in the saints’ names makes you think it’s such a wonderful opportunity that you have to come prancing up to my door. Think about it for a moment. The Bleak Peaks. The Land of Eternal Winter. The Impenetrable Wall. The Throne of Monsters.

“A bunch of crazy men with more brawn for brains are going to march into that hellhole in the middle of winter, at its absolute coldest and most miserable, to fight some of the nastiest monsters on the continent. Not because they have to but for ‘glory’. And they aren’t going to fight one or two. They want to push as far into that horrible place as they can, climb to the top of those mountains, and fight the creatures that rule that place, which are rumored to be as strong as dragons in case you weren’t aware.”

She pushed off the doorway and stepped toward him. Callan resisted the urge to take a step back. “You think I want to leave my warm house with my warm wife and my warm food to go fight against the nastiest bastards this continent has to offer? Does that sound like a great opportunity to you?”

When it was put like that… “No.” He certainly wouldn’t want to join the campaign. Fighting monsters, he could do. After all, improving was impossible without a proper challenge. The Bleak Peaks were not a challenge. They were a land of death. Even heroes were buried beneath the endless snow. “But you’re a member of the Hall. A caster.”

“Just because I want to become stronger doesn’t mean I want to spend my life fighting monsters. There are far more important things to occupy my time, thank you very much. Which makes your oh so important information useless.” She took another step forward. He couldn’t resist the urge to step back. “This isn’t the first time you’ve failed to deliver, Mr. Self-Made. Do you even listen to what I tell you? Starting to wonder if you come around so often because you’re hoping someone else will answer the door.”

“Not at all, my lady.” He’d genuinely thought she’d pleased with the information, though now, he felt he should have known better. Lourianne Tome was a violent, perverted, degenerate. It would stand to reason that she was a coward as well.

“I want to believe you, I do, but you make it hard with that poorly disguised contempt in your voice.” Her hand slowly reached toward his face and patted his cheek condescendingly. Then she pushed him.

Callan stumbled backwards, tripping over the top step. He tumbled painfully, managing to land on his back. The pain quickly began to fade but the insult filled him with rising indignation. He looked up with a glare but it froze on his face.

Those unnatural violet eyes glared down at him and her smile had a cruel edge. “There you go, Mr. Atkinson. Thought I’d remind you of your place since you keep forgetting.” She walked down the few steps imperiously. With a nonchalance that didn’t fit the conversation, she put a boot on his chest and pressed down.

Callan felt as if a house fell on him. He couldn’t get any air and his ribs cried that they’d break under the pressure at any moment. A hand reflexively went to her ankle but he didn’t try to move her, knowing it’d be a futile effort.

The devil of a woman leaned down, smile showing more teeth. “Do you think I’ve forgotten about our meeting? That I’ve forgotten that you’re an immoral, cock-brained idiot who had the audacity to stand outside my very home looking to steal my wife’s affections right in front of me? As ridiculous as the notion is, every time I remember the way you swaggered into my house and had the gall to look down your nose at me, I really want to wring your neck, you know? It’s almost impossible to resist.”

The pressure on his chest impossibly increased, straddling the edge of injury.

“The only thing that holds me back is the slim chance you make yourself useful. And you refuse to be useful. Hey, I know you’re not exactly living like a king, but you should value your life, huh? Your mother will cry at your funeral it I rip your head off your shoulders.”

He stayed quiet. Low as he was, outclassed as he was, even knowing she could crush him beneath her heel, literally, he had his pride. He stared up at her unflinchingly, waiting for whatever came next, lungs burning from prolonged lack of air.

“…staring at me so intensely. Hah, you know I won’t feel anything for you unless you’re a beautiful girl.”

She moved her foot. Callan breathed in deeply but he didn’t fool himself into thinking that it was over. Lourianne Tome was a predator that liked to play with her prey.

“You really are a lucky man, Mr. Self-Made. It’s one of the reasons I keep you around, hope some of that good fortune will rub off on me.” She huffed. “Today’s the first day of our end of year qualifiers. I promised to pick up my favorite saint with breakfast so I don’t have time to bully you. I could kill you but well. To be honest, you’re just not worth it. Saints, I feel like I’m kicking a starving orphan for trying to steal from me. Criminal, sure. Threat? Absolutely not.”

Callan felt his temper flare. The dominant thought in his mind was to lash out, show her how much of a threat he was. He held back, though. Not now. The time would come when he wiped that confident smirk off her face.

“Go on.” The toe of her boot jabbed his side. “Get out of here, carpenter. I’m sure you’ve got some chairs with missing legs to attend to.”

He didn’t hesitate, quickly climbing to his feet. He took one moment to brush off his clothes, a small gesture of defiance, before walking off, quelling the urge to run.

“Next time, bring me something worthwhile, huh?” he heard her shout after him before chuckling. His face burned with anger and he stomped a little harder as he made his way down the road. Her laughter haunted his thoughts, reigniting his anger every time his temper began to cool, like someone blowing on the embers of a fire.

One day…