Fingers pointed and voices murmured as Cyril leapt from rooftop to rooftop. He ignored them as best he could, heading straight for the city gates. One may have considered it indecorous for a prince to navigate his way through the city in such a manner, but he figured that his recent deeds outweighed a bit of gauche behavior.
Within a minute, he arrived at his destination, his final leap terminating directly in front of the newest arrivals. Cobblestones cracked beneath his heels, then were repaired by a surge of Earth qi transferred down through his feet.
Cyril’s uncle, Galen Asher, stood out even among the other members of his distinguished party--a bull of a man bristling with muscle, with an oiled mane of black hair and a beard braided with rubies. Upon his back was the legendary axe, Heartrender, its double crescent blades spreading out like metallic wings; a vague aura of crimson light leaked from the fortune’s worth of gemstones embedded within the handle.
He rubbed his beard as he observed Cyril, a cryptic little smile on his face. “Hail, Cyril.”
The drow, Soren, spoke up from behind Asher. “Hail, Earth God.”
Only the third member of their party remained silent. She was a new addition to their party, picked up during their travels, though Cyril was more familiar with her than he liked. His eldest sister, Lanya, with her clever vulpine face and slender elegance. She had spent the last decade as their official emissary to the western nations--or, to keep up with the times, the Empire of Tears that Leviathan had claimed under his rule.
From what Cyril had heard--and what he could have easily guessed--Lanya had not been pleased when her junior, Elys, had been chosen as the Vessel of the Phoenix and the Matriarch of the Wandering Phoenix Tribe. After being raised as a potential heir her whole life, such an upheaval of the natural order would have been a knife in the gut for her.
Lanya looked regal in her orange dress, every bit the image of a proper scion. Her almond-shaped eyes regarded him with a sort of muted disdain. She had never looked at him with anything else, throughout his entire life.
“Welcome back, Lanya,” said Cyril. After a moment of thought, he held himself back from bowing or showing any other form of deference that etiquette demanded of a junior sibling.
Lanya tapped the pearlescent claws at the tips of her fingernails together. No response. After a few seconds of awkward silence, she sauntered through the gates. As if to make a point, she smiled only at a female guard in passing, ignoring everyone else. Her spirit’s ethereal outline projected behind her, now visible to Cyril’s enhanced senses--a cluster of nine tails, white and tinged with sunset hues.
Cyril crossed his arms across his chest and glanced back at Asher. “If we were going to pick her up, then we should have included one of the women elders with your group.”
Soren laughed and pounded a fist against his chest. “Oh, she really didn’t like my sense of humor. Not very tolerant for a diplomat, is she?”
“It was miserable,” Asher rumbled. “Thank the heavens she didn’t become Matriarch. We’d be on permanent latrine duty, lads.”
Cyril shook his head.
Lanya had bonded with the Nine-Tailed Fox ifrit when he was still a baby. Apparently not much of a social butterfly beforehand, the influence of the spirit had turned her into an unapologetic misandrist. Their relationship had always been cold, though she had never sought to actively undermine him. To her, having a little brother was like some new, irrelevant artifact being added into the tribe's treasury.
Her irrational bias was, perhaps, one of the only reasons that he didn’t suspect she may have been compromised and joined Leviathan’s forces, to be used as a spy against them. The idea of a male deity reigning over their world was antithetical to her very being. At the very least, she adored Elys despite any lingering envy, and could be trusted to rescue their sibling. Beyond that, he expected nothing, though the women of the tribe absolutely adored her. Lanya’s presence would restore their spirits in a way he couldn’t hope to achieve.
“Must have been a lovely return trip,” said Cyril. “But Lanya is a problem for another time. What have you discovered?”
Asher’s great head swiveled, pointedly looking at the guards and civilians that had gathered in the area. Together, they started walking back toward the palace; Soren trailed behind them like a shadow, winking and pointing at any humans with enough spiritual acumen to notice his tenebrous presence.
Cyril scratched his nose. “Did you two become good friends during the scouting mission?”
“Yes,” said Soren.
“No,” said Asher. “This one is too false-hearted. He means nothing he says.” He sniffed. “Excellent fighter, though.”
Soren grinned.
The rest of their rapid journey to the palace passed in silence, save for Asher occasionally greeting a woman hanging laundry or an elderly mundane merchant selling sweetmeats on the side of the road.
Upon reaching the palace grounds, Cyril ordered the gates closed behind them. Guards lined up on either side of the courtyard bowed as the three of them passed. Cyril was glad when they entered the palace and locked the doors behind them. Cyril commanded the attendants not to admit anyone for now, while they conducted their council within.
Cyril’s impatience was reaching a crescendo when they finally reached the throne room. Though he had taken steps to restore the darksteel throne after mostly consuming it to power a breakthrough, it was still incomplete, giving it the appearance of being formed from melted wax.
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Cyril took his seat and surveyed the room. The gardener spirit had completed its evolution during his absence, and he still hadn’t grown used to its new appearance.
Its main form was no longer remotely humanoid. It had instead spread across the entire palace as a network of ivy, vines, and prismatic flowers. Delicate spores colored the air in a fine spiritual mist, imparting little pinpricks of qi whenever they collided with a spirit being. It was almost like a refreshing mist. The foliage of the gardener spirit had merged with the walls and ceiling, filling in the cracks with organic mortar. Evidence of Cyril’s fight with Hunger-Made-Alive had mostly been sealed over, but some of the scars remained.
Cyril had created a blessed stone table that took up much of the room before the upraised throne. A dozen elegant chairs forged from the same material had been set at regular intervals.
Lanya, despite her haughty expression, had already been present when they first arrived. Asher and Soren took two others, side by side, though Asher loudly muttered for the drow to stop following him about.
Next came Loras, mostly whole. Apparently even the body cultivator had his limits, because it had taken him several days to reform the basic framework of his armor. By now, he had almost fully reformed himself. Like the palace, he bore some scars still: he was in his ivory form, but smears of ebony marred the surface.
Princess Aleytha followed close behind, settling next to Soren and whispering into his ear. Though Cyril had his Translate Cantrip active and strained his seismic sense to the limit, he couldn’t make out what she told him. Some sort of private language, a cipher outside of the purview of the Dominion of Knowledge?
Overall, Cyril thought it was a bit of a disappointing council. The quality was there, more or less, but less than half of the seats were filled. He didn’t trust anyone else enough to make them privy to the topic at hand. Truthfully, he barely trusted anyone here besides Asher.
Everyone knew that Elys had disappeared--there was no covering that up. Their plan, however, needed to be kept close to the chest.
Fortunately, the gardener spirit integrating itself into the foundations of the palace had an additional benefit. It could serve as a sort of organic defensive formation, twisting itself into an adaptable series of functions to help empower the castle. Cyril tapped his finger against a root running through the arm of his throne and infused it with a bit of his qi, both to nourish and command the spirit.
Silence Array, he transmitted.
Foliage rustled and shifted, and a barrier spread across the room. No sound spoken within the throne room would extend beyond the enclosed space.
“You return with news from the West?” said Cyril, nodding at Asher that it was safe to speak.
Lord Asher cleared his throat, then declared, “We were able to gather some information along the border before arousing any suspicion. As rather conspicuous-looking people, I hope you appreciate the difficulty this posed. However, Elys’ dramatic appearance in the sky above Oceanhold is the tale of the year. Everyone claims their sibling knows someone who saw it, so on and so on.”
Cyril raised a finger. “More concise, please, Uncle.”
“Understood.” Asher steepled his fingers and leaned forward in his seat. “Elys appeared in the main wing of the Waterfall Palace situated high above the city of Oceanhold. Whatever measures they had in place to contain her proved inadequate, and the entire place exploded into a massive sun.” He flourished his hand dramatically. “There were no casualties in the city below, since the barriers around the Palace contained the rubble. Several key members of the cult were thought to be present, however, and were eliminated.”
Loras hummed in pleasure.
“And Elys?” prompted Cyril.
“No word, which I consider excellent news,” said Asher. “If they had managed to capture her, then they would absolutely have made it known to the public. Without Leviathan to oppose her, she is still far beyond anyone our enemies can field. The cult has been actively attempt to uproot any rebel elements within the empire. Perhaps she has found some allies, but they pale in comparison to the forces arrayed against them.”
Cyril sighed. As gregarious and overwrought as his uncle may behave sometimes, he was a discerning tactical mind and a master at assimilating information. As a Heart cultivator, Asher had to remain true to himself and what he valued. He would offer his honest opinion when asked, and it was often worthwhile.
Still, Elys had indicated in her final message that her power would be greatly diminished as a result of using her ultimate technique. In such a weakened state, he wasn’t sure how confident he was in her supremacy.
“That’s excellent news,” said Cyril. “Though a bit...sparse? Do you have anything to add, Eldest Sister?”
Lanya frowned. Slowly she turned her head, evaluating the men--and masculine suit of armor--surrounding her. Only Aleytha received a hint of a smile. “After word spread about what happened, I was forced to flee. I managed to shake my pursuers and reach some of my informants. The last I heard, enemy forces were pursuing Elys to the south of Oceanhold. Presumably she is attempting to reach the desert borders eventually, however.”
“The whole empire is closed up tight for now,” said Soren.
Lanya frowned, as if she had intended to continue speaking before the drow interrupted her.
“We need to strike out and meet with Elys,” said Cyril. “With her mastery over the Dominion of Knowledge, it shouldn’t be too hard to establish a connection. Then, we bring her back home.”
Loras coughed and spoke up for the first time. “A plan that is stunning in its simplicity. However, I have a counter-proposal.”
“Yes?”
“Learn to appreciate the art of delegation,” said Loras. “Trust in us to locate Elys and do what needs to be done. Trust your people to rebuild this city themselves, and find meaning in their work. We do not need you being a man of the people, a noble philosopher-king. A mundane can rebuild the city walls. Only you can become a god.”
Cyril stared at Loras, a blazing intensity shimmering in his eyes. His Magmatic Heart thumped, volcanic strength coursing through hs body. Yes, part of him did want to shed these mortal concerns, to accept the torch of immortality and blaze ahead. False humility, or perhaps a form of cowardice, had stopped him from acting on this ideal.
“What do you propose?” he said. “I have not slept at all, save for meditative trances. Day and night, I work on my control, solidify my Foundations in preparation for my breakthrough, read magical theory in the Library. Have I not followed your recommendations?”
“To the letter,” said Loras. “But the training regimens you have been on so far suffer from a failure of imagination. That is the conventional path, the means for a cultivator to perhaps grasp for the heavens after a few millennia. You do not have the time for that. Once we locate Elys, we need you to once more act as the hand of judgment. You becoming stronger is of the utmost importance.”
Cyril smiled and rested his chin upon his hand. “I assume you’ve figured something out?”
To his surprise, Aleytha spoke up, her voice hard and sharp. “Have you heard of the Material Heart?”