Seventh II: The Mists of Spring

The Fifteenth Day of the Third Moon, 873 AD.

Anaria, Western Teleytaios, Klironomea.

There was so much work to do. Not for them of course; they were but a seer, a mystic, and as such their work was far different to those around them. The Grandmaster was constantly training those knights less experienced than their seniors, and they knew for a fact that if they were to walk to the barracks they would see Marshal Crowe and the remaining Lieutenants of Teleytaios drilling the armsmen until they dropped.

Yes, life was extremely busy at the moment. However no-one was perhaps as busy as the crown prince himself. One look at Lykourgos told the seer everything they needed to know about exactly how much work he had to do, how much preparation went into a war. The young man looked tired, more so than they had so far seen him since they'd met. 'Stressed' didn't cover the look of complete and total exhaustion mixed with vague annoyance on his face; he looked as though he were one more ink blot away from shoving the paperwork into Rhema's hands and dooming them all.

There was a loud crashing noise from an antechamber connected to the council chamber, and a faint "I'm alright!" could be heard in a voice that sounded distinctly like the prince's younger brother. Seventh thought that if Lykourgos had sighed any harder he would have managed to eject his soul from his body.

"Angels preserve me, I forgot how much I hated this."

Seventh smiled apologetically at the prince.

"Surely there's an upside, your Grace?"

"Oh, there's an upside alright." The crown prince gestured towards a few opened messages on the table. "I get to go back to war soon."

Seventh stilled a moment, slightly concerned by how they were unable to tell whether or not Lykourgos was joking.

"That... doesn't sound like an upside."

His Grace huffed out a short and snarky laugh.

"You've never needed to run a kingdom in peacetime. There's only so many petty issues a man can take before he considers abdicating and founding a sellsword band in the east."

Lykourgos turned to look at them, a shrewd gaze being levelled at them which made the prince look a lot older than it should have.

"Why are you here, Seer? Well, I know that title isn't entirely true, but it fits our conversations all the same. I digress; normally it's hard to drag you away from my brother, and yet here you are whilst he's in there doing... Angels, I don't know if I want to know what he's doing in there. Not with the amount of crashing noises I can hear anyway."

They kept themselves silent for a little while, taking in the first part of what the crown prince had said. He knew that they weren't just a seer, weren't just some mystic or charlatan, and the only way he could know that was if he'd spoken to their kinsman already. They blinked behind their blindfold a few times as their mind caught up with them, realising that the eldest prince was still waiting for an answer.

"I was originally here in the council meeting to take down minutes, as I did under your brother. I haven't left because... well, you're still here and your brother is in the adjoined antechamber, your Grace."

Lykourgos nodded appraisingly at them, and Seventh could tell at once there was an idea flashing behind the eyes of the prince.

"I see. Well, in any case I'm not in immediate need of your services, however I would like to ask if you'll be joining myself and my brother when we do eventually march out to meet the foe? Rhema certainly seems rather fond of you, and from what I know and he has told me of you there is certainly a ruthless streak underneath your innocent exterior."

Seventh looked at the prince, their head tilting a little.

"May I ask what exactly you're referring to?"

Despite the blindfold over their eyes Seventh could see perfectly well, and the more mystical half of their senses certainly didn't miss the raised eyebrow that the crown prince gave him. He spoke in a deadpan tone, equal parts accusatory, impressed, and amused.

"I find it hard to believe that the majority of my sister's councillors just so happened to drop dead in your chambers, Seer. Certainly not without your input. Whilst you may not be able to perform an action like that again, since I recognise that such a deed was only possible thanks to a series of carefully curated circumstances, that incident tells me you have a goodly portion of talent when it comes to disposing of those you need to. My brother speaks highly of you, and I personally witnessed the ritual which woke up our... new acquaintance. Though if I have my guess he's only my new acquaintance, and for you quite an old one."

They nodded seriously at their king-to-be.

"That's true enough. He's lived a very, very long time. Longer than you understand. Longer than I understand. He's seen things that are simply no longer possible, on this world or any other. He's ancient, and he knows me well. Perhaps even better than I know myself. He's dangerous, your Grace, but not to either of us. He sees something in you, else he wouldn't still be speaking to you. He sees something in you, your Grace."

"Even beings such as him can be wrong."

Seventh nodded with a small laugh.

"Oh, more than we could ever know, your Grace. Ask him about such things yourself if you wish."

There was then a lull in conversation, but as Seventh made to continue speaking they sensed a spike in energy at the other end of their senses. The eyes of the prince turned to the door, and they knew at once who it would be. The prospect of another exhaustive conversation with their kinsman filled them with both anticipation and... not quite dread, but certainly unease.

They knew their kinsman was a fascinating and unique man, even amongst their own kind, but they hadn't anticipated just how unique he was until he'd arrived in Anaria after waking up. Some of the things he'd shown them, the things they now knew...

He may not have ever asked for the title of a God, he may have even bid Seventh to "Please stop calling me a god, it feels strange when it's not a human doing it", but only a true deity could possibly do the things he had done. The creation of entire species, of ecosystems and beings with magic at their heart and roiling in their souls...

That had been something that not even the rest of his kin back when he'd been Seventh's age were possible of. That was why they'd grown jealous of what he'd made. Why they feared what he made. It was why-

They were getting off track again. That would not do at the moment.

"Young Seventh," a familiar voice beckoned, "a word, if you please."

They turned and stared a little at their kinsman, nodding slowly. They needed to speak with their elder anyway, and there was no time like the present.

"Your Grace, may I-"

"Of course, far be it from me to keep either of you from talking with each other. I'm not stupid enough to stop wielders of eldritch magics from interacting."

"Wise as always, young Prince of Violets. Come now, Seventh. You have questions for me, and I'll answer the ones I feel like."

Well, that wasn't exactly a promising start, but it was better than nothing they supposed. Well, maybe this would be a good time to confront their kinsman about their standoffishness.

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"There is something you feel you need to tell me. More than one thing, actually. Let us start with your as of yet unasked question about your 'prophetic' abilities."

Seventh nodded, doing their best to keep from being bewildered. There was no point wondering how their kinsman knew the questions they kept in their own mind. He was far more experienced than they were, after all.

"Alright. I think one of the princes is a child of prophecy; I saw visions of them facing... facing that monster. If it was not them then it shared their blood, but there was a figure who sacrificed themselves to keep the darkness at bay. I'm certain that one of them is a child of prophecy."

Their kinsman sneered a little at that word.

"'Prophecy'? You have the gift of foresight, wingling, but to call a vision of what is to come 'prophecy' sets a rather dangerous tone. There is no such thing as prophecy, you must understand. Predictions, yes, but not true prophecy."

Seventh set their chin a little, defiant.

"You're being pedantic. You know exactly what I mean, and if I've seen visions of that... that thing that lies above, then I know you have as well. You know it better than most."

There was a slight shift in their kinsman's countenance at that statement, as though he weren't exactly sure which part of their rebuttal to focus on.

"I am aware of what you mean, but no, I do not have 'visions' of it. I see through its eyes, and though it has never been able to it so dearly wishes it could see through mine. To stop such a thing from happening the majority of what remains of me is focused inwards, preventing the great enemy from gaining control of my form. As a result I cannot call upon many of my abilities, one of which being foresight. As the enemy stirs and begins to wake there will be less and less need for me to focus inwards, but for now I must force myself to remain impotent."

"You're still several orders of magnitude more powerful than myself."

The man nodded sincerely.

"I am. And yet compared to what I once was I am nothing. If my past self from when I was at my peak could see me now there would be only pity in my eyes, pity and rage at the ones who caused me to fall this low."

"You told me when we first met that the ones who caused your fall had been dead for millennia, scores of millennia."

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"They have been, yes. That didn't stop me cursing them whilst they still lived. It didn't change what they did to my Penumbra. I feel as though we've gotten a little off track, however. The abilities you possess are powerful, your foresight greatly so, however there is no such thing as prophecy. Prophecy is a farce that mankind uses to justify their actions, to claim that something 'had to be done' or to excuse their defeats by saying 'it was prophesied'. True prophecy is a myth, even to our kind. What you can do is look into the future, but that is not prophecy."

"But there have been several instances of prophecy through history!"

The man rolled his eyes.

"Like what? Name three."

Seventh wracked their brains to remember the most pertinent examples they could.

"The first Coming of the Silence."

"That was a warning from one of my six kinsmen who happened to be in the far north of the world and saw what was happening in the blasted polar wastes. They saw the first of the horse-lords rallying under the command of a great and terrible figure and knew at once that they were the vanguard for an invasion unlike any other the world had seen. It was good sense and luck, not prophecy."

Seventh swallowed and put forth their second example.

"Alright then, the Burning of Jotunheim. That was foretold centuries before it happened!"

Basileous shook his head again.

"It was, yes, but that was only because the dragons hadn't exactly tried to hide their desire to scorch the city of the giant-kin. By this point they'd grown lethargic and idle, and as such it took the dragons decades to muster and a century to stop fighting each other to determine their places on the totem pole, so to speak. By the time they finally reached Jotunheim it had been two centuries since they first openly bellowed their challenge to the Jotun and four centuries since people had worked out what was going to happen from more mundane clues. It wasn't prophecy, it was just a forgone conclusion."

Seventh grumbled a little, trying to think of a more ironclad example that even his kinsman couldn't deny. Prophecy had to be real, even if the powers they had weren't quite prophetic. They clicked their fingers as the final example came to mind. So happy were they to have thought of a third example, and such a strong one at that, that they didn't recognise how bad an idea bringing this up would be until they were halfway through their sentence and the man opposite was wearing such an expression of burning, rage-fuelled grief on his face that for a brief moment Seventh was genuinely afraid of being reduced to a scorch mark on the floor.

"The Penumbra were prophesied to fall, and soon after they did. How can you... deny... prophecy..."

They trailed away and swallowed hard when they realised exactly what they were saying, more than aware that they had crossed a line by bringing up their kinsman's long-dead children. Basileous Hydran, for fuck's sake I need to remember to use that name spoke in a voice far deeper than he had previously; his tone was that of collapsing mountains and sundered skies, a tone that promised the end and contained bottomless rage.

"If you are to discuss my children," he warned, "I would greatly caution you against disparaging them. You might be the last of my kind who live alongside me, and I would not wish to be alone again. You wish to speak of prophecy? You think it's prophecies that turn the wheels of history? You think it's prophecy that drags mankind forwards? It's blood, blood and darkness! Without conflict they'd never move forwards, and without darkness they'd never fear what lurks beyond their sight. Better to keep them on the road of war; maybe they'll make something of themselves in the crucible."

They shook their head at their mentor.

"I apologise for bringing up your fallen creations in such a rash way, but I don't agree with such a calloused and broken view of the world. I'm sorry, but that isn't right. I refuse to let that be right. That can't be all the world is."

"Oh?" Hydran replied, raising an eyebrow. "And what does make up the world then?"

They looked their mentor and Lord in the eyes, resolutely defiant.

"Good people. Hopes and dreams, yes, and certainly blood and darkness, but most of all good people. Good people push the world forwards, and good people give others a reason to keep moving forwards. In all the ages you've lived you've forgotten that, for there were few who gave you that reason to keep going."

The elder looked at him with what might best be described as a tired fondness, his anger visibly draining away. Yes, he seemed genuinely touched by their reply, but he just seemed so... so exhausted.

"You're just like him, your maker I mean. He'd be very proud of you. Very, very proud."

"And who amongst your friends was my creator?"

Their mentor shook their head.

"Not yet. You'll learn soon enough, but not yet. Besides, isn't there something you wished to ask me about the waking of the prince?"

Their initial annoyance at the answer being held from them was replaced by fresh annoyance at just how their kinsman had enacted their first wish.

"Yes, yes there is!"

Hydran raised an eyebrow at him.

"Would you care to ask it, or are we going to be here all day?"

Seventh sputtered a little, trying to find the right words. When sufficient time had passed and they couldn't think of how best to word the question, they instead settled on wording it as a statement. Their kinsman could read between the lines and work out the rest.

"You could have showed him happy memories! Made him wish to remain in the world, not guilt tripped him into living!"

The larger Angel smirked.

"Indeed, little wingling, I could have."

Seventh sputtered indignantly at him.

"You- why didn't you? This isn't what I remember you being like at all!"

The man spat bitterly to the side.

"You knew me a scant few months. You know how long the rest of our kinsmen knew me? Millennia. They were with me when my own children were scoured from the lands, and they remained at my side when the forgotten detritus of creation reared it's head and blotted out the sun. There were six of them, all told, and they were all that remained of those who loved me."

He stared down at Seventh impassively, energy crackling through his eyes.

"And then they were all gone. Dead. Missing. Faded. The last links to who I was have turned into memories. And then you sprang up. From out of nowhere you appeared, claiming to be one's successor."

"Do you think I lie?"

The Angel shook his head bitterly.

"No. I know you are telling the truth. That's what makes it worse."

He pointed a finger at the the younger Seer.

"I walked this world alone, believing there to be little worth living for, then I met Harald, with his bright ideas and natural charms. Then he rode to war, to fulfil his vision. He didn't come back alive. I lost everything, then found something worth living for."

"And then he died."

He nodded, bitterness still lacing his tone.

"And then he died, yes. I met him, and in the blink of an eye he was gone. So then you come here, following a pair of new, bright young princes with grand plans and bold ideas, telling me that not only have you, the only remaining member of my kind, survived, but you also try to build my hopes up again with the promise of a 'great future' and a 'prophesied ruler'."

The bitterness in his stare was replaced with anger, and for a brief moment Seventh could see burning forests and mountains of corpses, fields of fallen soldiers in the pouring rain, a beam of light shattering a camp of tall, strange men with purple skin and eyes which crackled with energy like their own.

"I created and built and laboured for centuries to build a world where I could hope and love, but every time I got close the universe tore it from my reach."

He clasped a hand around the other as it twitched, his breathing coming heavier than before.

"You think I showed him his duty out of cruelty? It was mercy."

"I don-"

"Now he's back he won't have false hope. He won't be blinded by empty promises and courteous platitudes. He'll know what he has to do, and he'll do it."

There was a series off snapping sounds as the man's bones shattered and reformed themselves, creaking and groaning as he grew. What stood before Seventh now was not the man all others had seen, but a great and terrible Angel.

He stood well over eight feet tall, fourteen if you counted the antlers that tore through his head and branched out like a gnarled oak, and six wings were arrayed on his back. Each wing was easily large as Seventh, black feathers spun of ebon night framing his figure as he spoke.

"I am not cruel, wingling. If I showed him his happiest memories he may have simply been content to move on. You wanted him to remain. To linger a while longer. Well, you've got your wish. He is back. In the future, when I do something for you, it'd be wiser if you didn't assume you knew better than myself in these matters and royally piss me off. It wouldn't go well for either of us. Keep your comments of my creations, my children, to yourself."

The scene around them changed, and the backdrop of the palace became a battlefield of madness. The only constant was Hydran before him, though even he was different. He was bloodied and held a gore-drenched spear in one hand, whilst behind him lay a dozen dead men with golden eyes and wings as white as snow.

"Being 'good' does not mean acting 'good' all the time. Sometimes you need to do bad things to continue being good. Sometimes others do bad things to you, and you need to let yourself be bad in return. Sometimes you need to be bad because you cannot be good anymore; when others have drank and drank from the well of your kindness, one day they will find it dry, and their only recourse will be to blame you."

He gestured behind him, but did not turn to look at the slain Angels.

"They will not thank you for offering them so much. They will not help you recover what has been lost."

Seventh found their breath coming quicker and quicker as the scenes shifted a hundred times in a minute behind Basileous, forming an image of madness.

"They will only blame you. That is what their kind does. That is what our kind did. It is what every kind does."

Seventh shook their head, desperate to retain their mind when faced with such an ancient and troubled creature.

"No. There is a goodness in all people. It exists in me, and in you as well. You just need to... you just need to show it to those who do care. And when you do, maybe the world won't seem so dark anymore. You just need to try."

A baleful glare came forth from glowing eyes.

"I have tried! I tried when Harald took the throne, I tried when the world fell around me for the second time in what men now call the 'Age of Silence', and I tried so desperately when everything collapsed the first time with the deaths of my ch-"

There was the clacking of footsteps behind them, and in an instant the man was stood in front of them in the palace again, not a sound emanating from either of them. It was as though they'd both been stood in silence for the last... however long they'd been talking.

The man, who Seventh vaguely recognised as the squire that sometimes guarded the crown prince's chambers nodded respectfully at the two of them.

"You, entombed one! His Grace wishes to speak with you. Seer, I believe his Highness has inquired as to your whereabouts."

The man walked away at Basileous' acknowledging nod, then stood there smirking a little while at them. When he did move to walk away he threw a backwards glance at the younger Angel, a bitter smirk on his face all the while.

"Maybe you will turn out to be right, young wingling. Maybe. I won't hedge my bets though. Now run along; you've got your own prince to go and see."

----------------------------------------

"So, how'd that go?"

"I'm pretty sure I managed to make him very, very angry at me."

Rhema gave them an exaggerated wince in response.

"How bad?"

"Almost every topic of conversation we talked about ended up with me saying the wrong thing and touching some very sore spots for him."

"Ah. So he was really pissed off at you then?"

"Yes and no. Yes in that he was, but no in that he's got good restraint and pretty much never acts in anger. Not physically or mystically anyway. Oh, he'll throw a few barbed words around as well as the odd terror-filled vision-come-hallucination, but he'd never genuinely lash out at someone in anger. He's lived long enough to grow very mature, even if he more resembles a man-child in his current state."

"Current state?"

"Yeah, you know, he's not exactly-"

Seventh trailed off as they realised what they were about to absentmindedly reveal. They trusted Rhema so, so much, but this wasn't about trust. It simply wasn't their story to tell.

"Sorry, I, uh... It isn't my place to say, truth be told."

Their friend nodded at them with a warm smile.

"Don't sweat it, I get what you mean. This is more my brother's sort of thing anyway. I'll settle for whatever you feel like telling me. Anyhow, what exactly were you talking about with him, if it isn't all... you know-"

Rhema made a few wavy motions with his arms whilst doing what Seventh thought might have been a child's impression of a ghost.

"-magical and stuff."

Seventh chuckled a little at their friend's antics. How was it that Rhema was always able to cheer them up no matter what?

"Nothing much. Just a little discussion on the nature of prophecy, the driving force behind mankind and progress, and the manner of your brother's waking."

Rhema stared at them for a little while as though they'd grown a second head.

"You call that a 'little discussion'?"

Seventh nodded at them mock-sincerely, now understanding where he was coming from. Worded like that it did sound ridiculous.

"The secrets of this world are mine to know and discuss, little prince!" They began, doing their best impression of their kinsman. "Such knowledge is but my burden to bear!"

They broke out in giggles at the end of their little impression, Rhema laughing alongside them all the while. Sure, they might have been another war coming, but things really didn't seem so bad right now.

With any luck it would stay that way.