The scorching rays of the disk sun hanging in the center of the Alfheim’s sky signaled the first day of the season of birth and renewal. The square in front of the Great Archive of Aeternitasil bustled with life, children playing with their pets or each other, their parents calling out to them to not venture off the pavement. The traffic in the road was exceptionally high on this day, many travelling outside and or heading somewhere in the downtown to visit family members or friends. Even the parking spots were filled to the brim for the most part with maybe one or two empty spots remaining that have been reserved a week or two ago.
Utsorion looks at his watch as his attention jumps from east to west, feeling a bit anxious as he is waiting for Sieghildien. He is currently wearing a dark, tight yukata with alabaster collars with a cloak on both made from a special eastern velvet possessing a soft texture that can stay durable in the harshest conditions, partly because its usually worn by the monks of the Saiser during their pilgrimage to the mountains to commune with their Gods controlling the flow birth and reincarnation. Some moon elven kids even stop and respectfully bow, pray in front of him then ask for a blessing from the Gods. While at first, he thinks maybe he should correct their mistake, he recalls the chants his father taught them when they were small.
“May the Moon bring blessings of change upon thou!” Sieghildien’s soft deep, elegantly smooth voice prompts Utsorion to feel a bit guilty, flustered as he slowly turns around, giving him enough time to calms down.
“And may All-Mother shower thou in the wisdom of love!” He replies without thinking as her face, a sculpture molded to perfection by all the Gods and Goddesses of Love and Beauty enters his sight gradually with a meticulously calm expression as she imitates praying, almost seems like she is sleeping before her jewel eyes open and a mischievous smile faintly curves on to her soft, cherry lips that remind Utsorion that she is her brother’s twin, even if she is usually much more reserved, serious than him.
“May I?” After the strange greetings, and exiting the short stupor that he fallen into when her sweet scent registered in his nostrils, Utsorion offered his left arm to Sieghildien, clad in a pearl white shirt of a high-grade elven silk, its liquid like soft surface reflecting, melding with her natural golden aura, while also matching her long hair that is let out for the first time in a long time in public, a golden jacket with chin high collars keeping her shirts from spreading their wings out, with snow silvery trims and thin edges of liquid metal.
“You know we could have entered from the back.” Utsorion says as the crowd in front of the Great Archive starts noticing the pair gliding slowly towards the long alabaster stairs.
“We could have. But this is also a good opportunity for practice.” Sieghildien adds while her lips slowly start moving, soft echoing whispers leaving them as the crowd looks away, as if they never noticed the two. Faint bluish mist encircling their eyes, entering their temples.
“What a naughty lady.” Utsorion says jokingly as he witnesses her magic.
“Am I?” The two stops for a few moments in front of the stairs, Sieghildien leaning up to his ears as she softly whispers the question. “And if he learns about it, that’s for the best.” She whispers so Utsorion won’t hear it with saddened eyes.
“Come on, let’s hurry.” Utsorion then pulls her gently, feeling a bit flustered as her breath caressed his ears like the gentle winds of the season of passing and transition, paired with her sweet cherry like aroma. He doesn’t notice the playful, almost childish smile of hers, unfitting for her image.
“May I milady, milord?” As they enter into the vast entrance hall, a wood elf dressed in a short robe with a high neck twisting towards his jawline greets the two and offers to take their cloak and jacket. They respectfully thank him then when he offers to be their guide, they inform him that they already planned out their path. He bows once more, then disappears after giving them the ingress keystone wishing them a pleasant day.
They traverse through the immense archive’s galleries, passing by numerous sculpting of elven heroes, statesman and Arch-Veneficuses depicted in their golden days, molded from corusciil marble imbued with enchantments to reflect their respective auras, golden for the high elves, snow silvery for the moon elves, both perfectly blending into the alabaster marble floor.
“The Exile of the Olden Days.” Sieghildien mumbles as the two stops in front of a great mural crafted by the great Earth-Shaper Froaril 15.000 years ago approximately.
“A beautiful piece, isn’t it?” Utsorion asks as he leads her closer to the rail. Carved from xy stone, white as the snow sitting on the highest peaks of the Upper Realm, enduring as the elven race themselves. And easily brushed upon, with myriad colors the mural depicts the returning elves from Midgard, high elves of the north, moon elves of the east, and finally dark and wood elves all clad in much more crude attires compared to the former two. After the Great Betrayal of Humankind, the Maker meted out his sentence, with the Gods informing all the other races settled in Midgard, that if they don’t return to their realms, they will to we lose their gift of magic, and passage into the realms of the Gods. A few remained behind, choosing to stay with their loved ones, and the Maker seeing their resolve ever so slightly changed his sentence, so that their children may one day be offered passage to the Gods realms, and to reconnect with the radiating leylines.
“Have you already seen it?” Sieghildien asks while pouting a little.
“Well, I had to plan out our little study visit.” Utsorion says with a gentle smile. “Let’s continue on.” He then adds after the two get lost in the beautiful work of art and history.
“So, you could have just explained it to me.” Sieghieldien says as she places the ingress keystone in its place, the doors softly humming as they open up to the next gallery. A smile plastered on her face.
“Could have, but I believe learning this way is more beneficial in the long term.” Utsorion says while gently putting his hands on her nimble waists, maintaining his cool as their faces lean closer, their lips touching only for a swift moment of Frihetlos bird’s swinging its bright wings. “There is also a few that’s repetition for you too.”
“I concur.” She said while locking her left hand around his and the two continued their merry way into the next area.
“The Ten Primal Dragons.” Sieghildien says, her eyes gleaming with a childish wonder as she burns their image into her memory satiating Utsorion with satisfaction.
Each Primal Dragon sculpted from stones which color resembles the associated color their Aspect fall into with the two major ones being the exception, sculpted from a stone that turns into a cacophony of myriad hues under both the light of the sun and the moon. All ten are often referred to as the Grandchildren of Maker, birthed by the Ur-Dragon Goddess Tiamat after the Titanomachy eons ago, each being born with divine mastery of their respective Aspects. The Primal Dragon of Earth said to be capable of not just birthing mountains, but also known for creating the foundation of various worlds where the children of the Gods live to this day, including the realms of the elves, the mountains of the dwarves. The Primal Dragon of Fire said to inhabit the center of the dwarven world, responsible for the heat they use for their forges, while his flames so raging, hungering that they could even consume the soul.
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The chief of theirs, The Primal Dragon of Aether is said to be the second strongest in existence, thanks to his mastery over the highest form of magic. His capabilities range from changing a fool into a genius inventor, altering the life cycle of races or even just one person, granting them either thousands of years instead of hundreds or according to one tale granting someone eternity. And while his younger sister is the one creating the planets, worlds he is the one building the space they inhabit.
“There is actually one missing. Or rather ousted.” Utsorion says as he follows after Sieghildien walking between the enormous statues, basking in their colorful shadows. “Really?” Sieghildien asks in a child like manner, but quickly coughs and goes back to one appropriate to her age.
“Yes, in actuality he was the oldest, not birthed by Tiamat, but by a Goddess only remembered now as The Consort of the Death.” Utsorion speaks trying to sound scary, only making Sieghildien laugh a little at his failed theatrics.
“The Primal Dragon of Passing as the old texts refer to him. Said that anything under his shadow withers, marbles and stones corrode by his breath, and his eyes can kill not just the people, but even the metaphysical.” Utsorion continues as his left arm wraps around her waist and they continue to walk amongst colorful shadows. “But like the Primal of Aether, he could also grant eternal life, ridding one from the list of the reapers. Or in one case he granted them perfect lichdom.”
Perfect lichdom is the state every necromancer dreams off. Eternal life through which they can continue amassing arcane knowledge, rely on the Aspect of Death without any of its draining drawbacks while also being capable of enslaving thousands of souls, while also avoiding the corrosion of the mind.
“Allegedly, he also holds the final secret of the First Reaper, whom he is still loyal to this day.” He finishes with recounting what he read about him in his family’s vast library just as they finish their little tour, reaching the door to the next room.
The two passes through four more gallery sections, taking their time at each with Sieghildien memorizing all his explanation, while inspecting each and every piece including the ancient elven armor designs crafted from Adrymite, an alloy of enchanting which made it easier to craft, thanks to its property of changing its size to its wearer, while the defensive enchantments make it stronger than even the works of dwarven craftsmen. On the style side of things, Adrymite also contributes highlighting the physical gifts of the elves. Elven warriors pursuing martial arts often are depicted as angelic on paintings and murals wearing Adrymite armor.
The upcoming journey expected from all students of the Academy also comes up during their conversations. Sieghildien trying to convince him to come with them. Utsorion at first refuses like a gentleman but after two rooms, he gives in to her demands, not finding a way to refute.
“Hmm, what is it Si?” Utsorion asks as they approach the last area he planned out.
“Can we just take a break here. To extend this day a little.” She asks as Utsorion walks up to her.
“A little yes. But the last one, I really want to show it to you.” He says with a tender tone, his alabaster hands locking onto hers before caressing her soft face with his index finger.
“Okay.” She says after mustering her voice. “Before that, close your eyes.” He asks and without hesitation she complies, holding onto his hands as she follows through the open door.
“It’s a recent addition to the Archive. From the east.” Utsorion says as the two step down the stairs leading into an underground arboretum with a roof that reflects the sky above, granting its magically reproduced light onto the plants and the large tree dressed in the myriad warm colors of the season of birth and renewal.
“Can I open them now?” She asks as they stop in front of the tree.
“Yes.” Utsorion says in a gentle tone as he walks behind her and wraps his arms around her body tenderly.
She opens her eyes quickly, at first trying to say something but the beautiful, dream like scenery with the tree in its center stops her from doing so. The two watch the tree in silence for several moments, Sieghildien’s hands unconsciously links up with his around her belly.
“The magnum opus of Tree-Shaper Yakusoue. While this is not the only one, many dot the eastern capital and the forest surrounding it, it is still the first he made thousands of years ago.” Utsorion starts his explanation, softly whispering while enjoying the aroma carried by Sieghildien.
“According to father’s memoirs, it’s also symbolic of true eternal love that spreads beyond death and rebirth. Usually moon elves of the east confess their love under these trees in hopes of finding each other in the next life and beyond.” Then he continues with a thinly veiled confession as Sieghildien turns around meeting his gentle gaze. “Besides a long and happy life together.” He adds with a faint smile.
“Are you trying to correct your first confession?” She asks while laughing, a sweet melody to his ears.
“No, not really. More of a promise.” He says while touching her face before the two embrace each other, their foreheads touching as their eyes close for minutes, taking in their unified scent before their lips bond together in a peaceful moment they do not want to end. Ever.
**
After escorting her back to her family’s limousine parked a few streets away to evade prying eyes, Utsorion remained still as others passed by him, feeling the world freeze as an aching filled the place of warmness he felt through the day. The aching stuck with him on his long way home, pressuring him to evade the servants that would greet him, and his siblings passing in the many corridors of their mansion.
It still remained as he sat on the bed, watching the disk-shaped sun in the middle of the sky change its golden light to silver, while the sky itself turned dark, starless. Although he planned to look through Aschwinar’s notes one more time, he couldn’t as his longing remained. Even as he laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling he could only think of her refined, elven face. The epitome of their kind. Her kindness, and how she always cared for him, at first like they were siblings. Then as friends when their ambitions to change their society developed seemingly together. It then blossomed into a rivalry, both seeking knowledge even though in his case it was also to find a solution. Then as they spent more and more time the love, he felt the first time noticing her in the cathedral returned, and with it came the pain of doubt, that became ever more intense after failing with the gauntlet.
Thanks to Aschwinar, and to this day the flames of hope reignited within him, burning ever brightly even through the pain. If he may not find the solution here, he may find it in the East or in the Lower Realms he thinks while turning in his bed, staring at the Umbriall he brought home, casting its dark light onto his face, amplified a little by the glass container it hovers in thanks to his friend. As he stares at it, he finally decides to join them on the journey expected from every academy student, except him.
As the cold grip of tiredness drags him into the dreamless sleep, he remains hopeful, fearless thinking of Aschwinar, then Sieghildien.
This time instead of floating in the endless nothingness, he finds himself on a cold, jagged throne with its sharp thorns cutting into his ethereal flesh unseen to his eyes. Radiant, golden chains bind him, making movement nigh impossible. An eternity passes, yet his mind remains calm, focusing on the last thing that brings joy to his burdened existence, after losing so much.
He sits patiently waiting for his execution to come, ignoring the pain that seems nothing as he thinks of Her. The beautiful maiden of alabaster skin, dark moist lips, equally dark hair made of shifting sands and shadow melding in with her revealing dress and white silver pearls surrounded by a lake of darkness for eyes.
Then the silence breaks as untold number of voices scream at him, listing his sins, his transgressions. He remains calm, uncaring as the voices fade with the little details, and the pain that is replaced with a gaping emptiness while feeling his mind slip away from him.
A sweet, yet indescribable ode starts playing once more. I vow…