Kastori Restorations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 4) (21 page)

“We all do what we can to build more ships for a week,” she said.

Then she took a deep breath.

“Then we have our final fight.”

36

Cyrus felt no further pain in the leg, but he still found himself consciously trying not to favor it as he looked in Celeste’s determined eyes. He tried to match her resolute attitude and displayed it well across his face, but doubt had begun to creep into his mind.

He’d finally gotten a chance to fight Typhos, and it had not only nearly cost him his life, he had essentially thrown it away. For better or for worse—mostly for worse—Typhos could beat Cyrus in combat easily. He’d done it at the palace twice, he’d done it on Nubia, and he’d nearly succeeded on Tapuya.
I don’t need to beat him, though. I just need to team up with Celeste and have him outnumbered. Celeste can get the killing blow.

Still, he could not ignore the reality of it. As much as he tried to brush off the thoughts, they wouldn’t go away.

Celeste gave a short nod and went past him toward Crystil, discussing something that his ears did not tune into. He began to feel more embarrassed than anything else that he had to rely on Celeste’s good timing to live.
Orthrans don’t die young. They die naturally.
But he had never thought to include the clause “as long as their siblings are there to save them in the nick of time.”

Where would he be without his sister? He knew his broken bones would still be broken. His thigh, fully healed save for a visible scar—a scar only visible to those who got close or intimate enough to see it, thus, at this point, limited to one person—would still be gushing blood. And more likely than not, the sword of Typhos would’ve pierced his chest, and he would be dead.

The thoughts dashed from his mind when Crystil approached, concern in her eyes. Cyrus gave a warm smile and raised his eyebrows, his stomach fluttering once more, even with everything they had done together.

“So Celeste has taken your place as the take no nonsense commander, huh? Do you feel all right being usurped?”

Crystil laughed and ignored the comment, choosing to embrace Cyrus tenderly. Cyrus accepted the hug, gently rubbing his arms up and down her back. It became apparent from the duration of the hug and their location that Crystil had either given up the notion of privacy or had forgotten about it entirely.

“Hey, you’re hugging me like you haven’t seen me in twelve years, and I don’t even think it’s been twelve hours.”

“That may be true,” Crystil said, a knowing smile on her face. “But seeing your facial expression tells me you just survived something you probably shouldn’t have. I saw that same expression after Vostoka.”

What, is she Kastori now, reading my mind like that?

Cyrus rolled his eyes in a jestful manner as Crystil motioned for him to follow her into the warehouse. Most notably, as the two progressed, Crystil put about a foot of distance between the two of them. She was back into her role as commander of the entire operation.

Inside, Cyrus saw yet another ship completed. They had four fighters now, a growing if underwhelming number. Cyrus tried to imagine how four such fighters would stand up to another monster like Calypsius. It would depend on the firepower, not their maneuverability. The monster had problems catching
Omega One
, albeit in large part because of the weaponry and magic of Erda. These ships were faster, more agile, and smaller. But if they didn’t have the firepower to destroy such a beast…

“Cyrus.”

Cyrus shook his head out of the memories he had dived into and turned to Crystil with a guilty smile on his face.

“Sorry, thinking ahead.”

“You? Never,” Crystil said with a wink. “I asked what happened on Tapuya.”

“Wait, Celeste didn’t tell you?”

“No. She just told me that she had the power of the planet but that Typhos had destroyed the entire planet, taking some of the power for himself. She said we need to hurry up production, but honestly, there’s not a whole lot we can do. You two can help, but I don’t know how much help you want to give.”

More here than I can with Typhos. I don’t think I can give any help to Celeste.

“I see,” Cyrus said with a sigh.

He didn’t want to admit his near-death experience to Crystil. Even though she’d experienced her own brushes with death and seen Celeste’s, he couldn’t imagine being the one who needed saving would look good to his romantic interest.

But that was also because he still had trouble admitting it to himself. Cyrus had long seen himself as the hero of the mission, the journey which started for him when he rescued the two girls just outside the woods of Anatolus that night Calypsius had left a scale of itself. He figured the only natural way to continue being the hero was to annihilate the great villain, his brother, and restore peace to all.

As he thought about it, though, saving the women in the group looked more like an anomaly than a trend. It was Crystil who had gotten them off Monda in the first place. It was Celeste who had ultimately delivered the killing blow to Calypsius. It was Erda who had rescued his sister from the clutches of death.

And now, it was Celeste, again, who had rescued him—twice—on foreign worlds from the greatest evil.

Cyrus could handle other people sharing the glory of victory as long as he got a decent slice of it. But what if he wasn’t fit to take such a slice?

“You’re not saying anything, Cyrus,” Crystil said, who looked to a corner and pulled him aside. “Tell me. It’s OK.”

“I almost died,” Cyrus blurted out, frustrated. “I wouldn’t be here if not for Celeste. Again. My entire life has depended on her presence right now. Without her, I’m either a crater on Vostoka or a victim of Typhos’ sword on Tapuya. I fought Typhos, and the best I did was draw blood with an uppercut to his chin. But did I do anything beyond that? No. I keep wanting to believe that I’m a hero, Crystil. I want to believe I can be the savior for humanity. Instead, I’m just a supplementary part of the battle, an addition that drags Celeste down.”

Crystil, arms folded and leaning against the wall, took a second to process what Cyrus had said. He looked down at the ground, more frustrated than sad, and let out a loud sigh.
I’m not totally useless in battle, right? I did fight that one monster. I did clip the wings of the aviant before. I think I have to have some use.

“First of all, don’t call yourself the savior of humanity,” Crystil said with surprising coldness. “Typhos once called himself the savior of the Kastori, and look where that got him.”

Cyrus didn’t even think to have a witty response. He just wanted Crystil to have as much space as she could for speaking.

“Second of all, you also don’t want to call yourself a hero.”

That surprised Cyrus, for he considered Crystil one of the greatest heroes on the planet, if not the universe.
The one who evacuated us. Who trained us. Who pushed us. Who brought Calypsius to his knees. Who helped rescue Celeste.
Even if he had no desire for her, he still believed he would’ve admired her as the greatest of all humans.

“Heroes often die an early death because they’re sent out to battle first,” she said, a hint of emotion in her voice. “Heroes are more of a myth than an actual person. They don’t take into account all of the flaws a person has. You say you want to be a hero. Who would you consider a hero?”

“You.”

Crystil tried to maintain a stoic composure, but Cyrus saw a smile slip in for just a half a second. He knew he would’ve only seen it if he was paying attention, but it counted all the same.

“You seem awfully forgiving of the time I punched you in the gut.”

“Well, that’s because you made my gut flutter last night.”

Crystil began to blush as Cyrus laughed and applauded his own joke. The moment of levity caused Crystil to put her hands on his arms, trying to get him to shut up to avoid bringing attention to them.

“Thank you, Cyrus. But just remember what I said. A hero isn’t something someone obtains after they accomplish some great task. A hero is a title ascribed to someone by others who need a good story to tell. The title ignores a lot of factors and is more about presentation than it is the actual person.”

Cyrus nodded in appreciation as Crystil motioned that she had to get back to work. Though Crystil would not display any physical affection, when he looked into her eyes, and she locked on his, he saw the same eyes as from the night before—compassionate, deeply loving and emotional eyes that stirred many feelings inside him.

You don’t want to be the hero. You don’t want to be the savior. If anyone would know… it’s her. The one who is basically my hero and my savior.

Cyrus sighed. He saw his sister walking into the stairs, leading to the private bedrooms, and decided that his place, for now, was not in resting. She had to rest. She had to fight Typhos.

But he was not sure anymore of his role.

37

Three days passed. Celeste remained in her room frequently, trying to concentrate on reaching Typhos. But unlike before, when she’d had the good fortune to catch him leaving the dense magic on the peak of Mount Ardor, she did not get the chance to talk to him. Even with the most powerful red magic in her arsenal, she could not break through the barrier and reach her brother. He had, for better or worse, entrenched himself, making a conflict all but inevitable.

Even if I see him face to face, eventually, he’s going to put everything he can between me and him. He doesn’t want to face me, I know that. I just hope it’s because he’s scared I’ll get him to change without ever removing my sword.

What she could notice, however, was the intensity of the magic gathering at the peak of Mount Ardor. The levels of magic far surpassed the natural levels of the spot, so much so that the rest of the planet seemed to be suffering. The green vegetation became brown, and what trees remained were shedding their leaves rapidly. The waves churned violently, and storms came with more frequency as the planet devolved into chaos, its magic being dragged up by Typhos. Celeste shuddered to think of how much wildlife was perishing on that world because of her brother’s actions.

“Typhos
,” she messaged him, refusing to give up that third night.
“Typhos, please. Talk to me. Just talk.”

But not only did she get no answer, she could tell it wasn’t even reaching him. It wasn’t like he heard her and ignored her—it was like he never heard her.

She sighed and slowly rose out of her bedroom, climbing the stairs to the overlook point of the entire warehouse. She admired the six ships which were built, magnificent fighters that could handle just about any attack on the planet. She appreciated how well the Kastori and the humans had begun working together. Though she sensed some animosity from a couple of humans, it had decreased significantly over the days. In fact, a few of the Kastori and humans laughed and traded stories together. She could see Hanna telling a funny story to a young woman—of Crystil’s age, but not the commander herself—while Garrus encouraged a white-robed Kastori.

What would Typhos say if he saw this? Would Typhos even want to see this?

She heard footsteps coming from the stairs and glanced back. No one was at the door yet, so she turned her attention back to the warehouse. The footsteps reached up, and she glanced back at her brother, an unsettled look on his face.

“Do you still think you can save Typhos?” Cyrus asked, with such a tone that he genuinely sounded open to the possibility.

Even with the attack on Cyrus, the destruction of Tapuya, and the anger he had displayed on the vegetative planet, Celeste still believed. As long as Typhos would communicate with her when he saw her, she believed. She nodded but had concern for her brother’s body language.

“I want to believe you, Celeste. But in order for me to believe that, I need you to be accepting of something.”

He folded his arms and crossed his legs.

“If I go to Anatolus, I will only slow you down. To say I am not as proficient at magic as you would be like saying my ten-year-old self wasn’t as good at flying as Crystil is now. Furthermore, you have a way of calming and slowing down Typhos that not only do I not have, I seem to enrage him further. I don’t know.”

A wry grin came to his face.

“Boys just can’t get along. There can only be one of us.”

Celeste only managed a short snort of a laugh. She walked closer to him and took a seat at a table opposite him.

“I need to know if you are OK with this. If you want me to come with you, I will do so, and I will give my life for you. But Crystil reminded me of something. A soldier has to know their limitations and their usefulness. I have Kastori blood in me, but from the day I was born, I was raised to be the eventual Emperor of humanity. Magic, for me, is a token, a gift from Erda, but not a talent. My people are the humans, not the Kastori. If I go to Anatolus, we will go at my pace not because I want to, but because you won’t leave me behind—something that I both appreciate and am driven crazy by. But it is your call. You lead us. You are in charge.”

Celeste nodded and thought about it.

“What do you want to do?” she asked Cyrus.