Instead of preparing for the Danghai conference, Orwell Mehest was playing chess. His opponent was a pale young man with a sinister feel, a crisp coat, and a malevolent smile.

“Do you think Chronicler will be there?” said the man, taking a pawn with a knight.

“Maybe, Mr. Balorian,” Orwell countered with a check with a bishop. “I don’t think you are going to be invited.” He scrunched in concentration as his opponent pressed the game with a pawn. “Vampires are pretty much hated everywhere in Phantasia.”

The man nodded. He knew exactly why his kind were so infamous. Sure, of the three major Vampire families, the Balorian was the least responsible for the pillage and human-farm, but it didn’t matter. The Neferia alone were heinous enough to fill for all their reputation. The Tulia isolationist and blood-sacrificing tendency were only marginally better than the mind-breaking perversion the Neferia bred.

Edward Balorian knew his family was the most welcoming to the other species as the trader of contraband. He once saw nothing wrong with how the Vampires were. They followed the law of the fittest. Saint or monster, Edward didn’t care.

Until the day, he crossed blades with that man — the Chronicler.

Edward didn’t stand a chance. That one mortal man destroyed every tactic he used. His proud sword couldn’t penetrate the Knight’s skillful defense. His offensive fell short against countless negations. That alone would be impressive enough. But the Chronicler did more than beat the monster, he reached deeper. Deep enough that he pulled out the humanity a monster never knew he had in him.

No one ever did that. No one had tried or cared until he came.

Chronicler proved Edward had a piece of humanity inside him — a part that long to be loved, to feel joy and love others. The Knight didn’t simply best the monster — he saved him. Chronicler was the first man to tell Edward that he could be a better man.

Through that man's guidance, Edward found himself with Orwell in a project he never thought possible. The connection with Orwell alone would be enough to guarantee his rise, but he got more than that.

Orwell confirmed what Chronicler scratched upon in their bout. There was another way out for the savage race called the Vampires.

That was how the Vampire Noble, Edward Balorian, found himself a guest in Diogenesis’ flying UFO. The days were hardly dulled. Orwell taught him something new about his genetics every day.

“Given what we learned, how far away until the Salvation Program is conceivable,” Edward asked, moving his king to defend against the check.

Orwell nudged his wire-frame glass, “Don’t hurry, my friend.” Orwell felt strange. He never would have imagined calling a Vampire a friend until today. It helped that Edward never tried to kill him. “We are in uncharted water. The Holy Grace Church is downright fanatical with burning every research that ever humanizes the vampire.”

Edward knew where Orwell was going, “You need more samples.”

“Yes,” Orwell didn’t even hide it. “It's nice for you to donate, but I need more to cross-reference.” Orwell moved a rook across the board. “I need to ensure the correlation between blood…”

The leader of Diogenesis’s voice trailed off.

“Blood addiction,” Edward offered, taking a rook in an exchange.

“Yeah, let go with blood addiction,” Orwell nodded, retaliating by taking the rook with his king. “I need to further clarify the correlation between blood addiction and the corruption by the Malice.”

“Very well,” Edward said. His brain spun into gear. “Ahh,” Edward arrived at the perfect solution. “I know a way to solve that problem—a perfect solution.” The Vampire then moved his queen. “Check.”

Orwell looked at the board. Interesting. It appeared he couldn’t avoid a checkmate in two moves.

“Good game,” Orwell toppled his king. “What are you planning?”

“You will like it,” Edward smiled ruthlessly. “I believe I can give us our test subject. You might even win some international brownie points for it.” Then a thought snugged on Edward. “What about the SCA? They must disapprove of our partnership.”

Orwell scoffed, “Why should I care? Chronicler and Dream never put the SCA’s mandate in their eyes. I simply agree with their opinion.”

“Dream,” Edward repeated the name. “I heard you ran into him recently, and it ended in your loss.”

Orwell snorted, “On my defense, I never engage him seriously.” Orwell smiled. “Truthfully, our meeting gave me new inspiration. I believe I owe him my gratitude.”

…

Remus Breaker’s camping van came with a gym, kitchen, a storage room, several bedrooms and a specialized training simulator. All features nicely tied together with a spatial-manipulation system that made it bigger on the inside (the TARDIS is proud.)

According to his mentor, the van’s name was the Perseverance.

Equipment aside, some training was better done outside the vehicle than inside.

Yuri felt the tug of the surrounding cosmos, and with the armor of Aura, he shrugged it off.

“Excellent,” Rem put his outstretched hand down. “Your Aura is now solid. Now time to teach you the greatest power of Mana.”

“Firebombing?” Yuri asked.

“No,” Rem chuckled. “It is funny how people presume the ability to destroy buildings and throw lightning is the most impressive.” Rem began his lecture. “Listen to me, Yuri. The greatest power a man can wield is knowledge, and Mana is a library.” Rem answered the query that popped into Yuri’s head. “Yes, Mana is the ultimate conductor of the Multiverse, but this also extends to memories. Mana records events, thoughts, and phenomena forming a spiritual ocean which contains bottomless knowledge — the Astral Realm. Your next lesson is to access it.”

“What is so impressive about the Astral Realm,” Yuri asked.

“Would it surprise you to know that is the place where Orwell learned his ice-theme Skill?” Rem said.

Yuri paused, “Wait, didn’t you say that is from his genetic modification.”

“It makes things easier,” Rem nodded. “But the power Orwell uses holds prestige above every type of cryogenic power in Phantasia. Sure, juicing on the Reverse Beast’s DNA in him allows him to use ice. But the cold of the universe? The ability to freeze Mana itself, suck in thermal energy, manipulate the property of ‘cold’ and slow down chemical reaction — those arsenals isn’t something a string of genetic material can give him.”

Rem walked around the clearing and began lifting rocks to illustrate his lecture.

“Within the Astral Realm lay the record of the very creation of the multiverse and its mysteries,” Rem began his lecture. “These mysteries inspired the creation of Skills and mystic art. They also play a part in creating the laws in which science operates. Through the usage of the Astral Realm, those with mastery over Mana can study those original forces and learn to wield them as a Skill. We dubbed those powers Arcane — the most powerful and exhaustive Skill anyone can learn. Once you study Arcane, can you be considered a blip to Malice, but even that isn’t enough to make it fear you. You need to trace the Arcane back to its originators — the Primal Arcane — and earn them. The moment you succeed in that honor, even the King of the Gods would hesitate to fight you.”

“Primal Arcane?” Yuri said. “I get the Arcane part, but what is it about tracing back to it?”

“Okay, lore-time,” Dream said. “When the Multiverse is created, several incredibly powerful artifacts result from it — the Imaginary Heritage. Those artifacts are considered the original — the prime — of all Arcane. They represent the height that every student of Mana can obtain and master. Let's take Orwell as an example.”

Rem sat beside Yuri and clarified his lecture.

“Orwell’s modification gave him the qualification to learn the Arcane called [Cryo Genesis],” Rem said. “This Arcane covers the mastery of creation and manipulation of ice and cold. Obviously not satisfied with the ability to create and move the arctic, Orwell dove further into Mana. After time and effort, he also learns the Arcane called [Cryo Law]. Now, Orwell also has an ability to regulate the law of ice he created. He can make never melting ice, slow down kinetic activity as he sees fit, and even freeze a person's mind-scape. With those two masteries in hand, he achieved the pinnacle of all Cryo Skill — [Cryo Supreme]. With that Primal Arcane, Orwell could be considered the ultimate authority figure of all ice. His limit is only his mastery and imagination. With [Cryo Supreme] Orwell could create a thermal energy sucking ice-planet and end Phantasia.”

“‘Thermal energy sucking ice-planet’?” Yuri repeated. “Is that a thing?”

“It isn’t,” Ciel said. “But with [Cryo Supreme] in his arsenal, that is within his power. Granted, those planet-ending feats require a full mastery of [Cryo Supreme]. Primal Arcane takes a decade of practice to master, so breath easy, Yuri. Orwell won’t be throwing a moon-size ice-cube at us tomorrow.”

“No fucking way,” Yuri gaped. He turned and saw L and T busily taking note with the stationery of darkness. “And what are you two doing?”

‘Taking note,’ T said. ‘This ability sounds damn useful.’

‘One question,’ L shamelessly asked. ‘Most skill has a Rank. Does Arcane—’

“Arcane are Rank-S by default,” Dream said. “Primal Arcane is an SS-Rank one obtains, but according to Symphony it is Rank at SSS once its potential is achieved.”

L dropped her shadowy pen.

“SSS,” Yuri said what all three of them were thinking. “Isn’t that the level the King of the Gods has been trying and failing to find?”

“Yup,” Rem answered.

“The highest level of power possible?” Yuri said.

“Well, there is EX-Rank, but those are unique cases,” Rem said. “But that will be a yes.”

L couldn’t help but squeak, ‘Do you have those too? The SSS-Rank Skill?’

The listening trio had reason to be terrified. Some races, like the Elf, possessed Passive Skills above S-Rank, and it guaranteed their permanent relevancy. S-Rank Active Skill was a bigger story. Active Skill was more devastating than Passive. It was like comparing armor to a missile. A lot of Phantasian have S-Rank armor, but the destruction the might of S-Rank missiles could create was stuff of legend even among the gods. SS-Rank was considered an extinction myth, and SSS-Rank was unheard of.

“Technically, I still haven’t mastered it, yet,” Rem said. “But yes, I — like every member of the Dawn — prefer Primal Arcane.” Rem shrugged. “. Knowing the Primal Arcane is the prerequisite to stand a chance against another user. Without it,” he paused, “well, you saw what happened to Shyme.”

…

“Achoo,” Shyme sneezed.

“Are you okay?” Serenade asked.

Both girls were hanging out in a disguise. Shyme was wearing glasses, a primped shirt and tattered jeans with a bucket hat to hide her wolf-ears. Meanwhile, the Serenade who enjoyed sensual fashion went for thick hoodie, baggy jeans and boots. Both women were uncharacteristically dressed for one purpose.

They were escaping Alpine’s beating session.

Unable to take the abuse from their oppressor any longer, the two nemesis united to escape their ‘training’. Adversity may forge character, but Alpine’s unreasonable attempt to correct their recent behavior only forged rebellion and camaraderie.

“I have a feeling someone is talking behind my back,” Shyme said.

“Who wouldn’t?” Serenade said.

Shyme sighed, “Yeah, you are right.”

Serenade quickly found another thing to talk about, “Hey, let's talk about your crash. I already met Dream, but what about your guy? What is this ‘Chronicler’ like?”

Shyme turned beet-red, “He is…”

Her voice trailed off.

Serenade waited.

“Kind,” Shyme said. “Gentle. I only saw him once, but kindness just radiated from him. There is this nobility and patience seeking from his very presence.” Shyme looked down-cast. “He is a good man.”

“I think the same can be said about Dream,” Serenade said.

Shyme snorted, “Dream is good, but he has this ruthless edge around him. Chronicler? He is just pure good.” Shyme added with depression. “He is a better person than me.”

Serenade didn’t reply. Shyme’s shame and regret weighed too heavily.

“You are right, Serenade,” Shyme continued her confession. “I am a fraud. My family ruins lives. Before Venistalis, I drove my very own workers to the brink of breaking.” Shyme laughed dryly. “All because I want to be accepted by the clan.”

“We all are,” Serenade said, remembering her position as the poster-girl for everything she hated about her people.

“Then Orwell trashed Venistalis and threw my superiority back into my face,” Shyme said. “I lost Cy.”

“I heard Cytortia is your best friend,” Serenade said. “How do you two know each other?”

“A long story involving two stupid girls being stuck on a deserted island,” Shyme smiled at the memory. “You should have a taste of Cy’s cooking. She was an awesome cook, even back then.” The Wolf-girl sank at her failure. “Cy was never a fighter.” Shyme began tearing. “I was supposed to protect her, and she is gone. Her [Divine Core] disappeared in Venistalis. Even Nuwa confirmed it had been shattered.”

“Let me guess, that was why you fought Orwell,” Serenade said.

“Yes, and I fail,” Shyme replied. “I should have died that day for everything I did. Mehest was preparing to kill me. I don’t know why Chronicler bother saving me. He must know what my clan is like. The world would be better off with me dead, but he didn’t hesitate. He even tries to comfort me before going to face Orwell.” Shyme laughed. “You must know I never deserve that.”

“He probably stole your heart there,” Serenade could relate.

“I owe him my life,” Shyme said. “I witnessed part of his battle with Orwell. It was a magnificent duel. I’ve seen nothing like it.” Shyme closed her eyes. “I don’t know how to thank him. For me, the best way to repay him is to be a person worthy of being saved that day.”

“Hey, you know there is this one elf,” Serenade said, opening her heart. “She might not be a fraud like you, but she is a bitch and a spineless coward through and through. The girl who hides her loneliness behind a fake smile.”

Shyme listened to Serenade’s talk.

“She hates everything she represents, but tries to pretend she is fine with it,” Serenade said. “She knows she deserves to be punished.”

“I can relate,” Shyme said.

“But a hero saves her,” Serenade replied. “He promised everything will be okay, and that she should smile for his sake.”

“What a bastard,” Shyme said.

“Yeah,” Serenade said. “Unlike you, my taste in man is pretty bad.”

The two shared a self-derisive laugh between each other.

Misery forged character. Alpine doubtlessly failed at teaching the two about dignity and authority. Instead, her unreasonable violence only created a beautiful bond forged from shared sadness.

It was the image the Queen of Center Force — Symphony — advocated for — the triumph of love, redemption, and friendship. Things that made your heart balloon three-times its size.