EPISODE 175: INHERITANCES 1
— GREAT EDRYAN, YEAR 7291. SEASON: COLOR FADING.
In the year of our Lady, 7291, during the season in which color fades, the country of Edryan, now self-proclaimed as Great Edryan, stood on the precipice of change. The whispers of a new government spread like a plague into the ears of every magi, promising a future that was understood by few, yet anticipated by many. Change was coming, inevitable as the seasons, but its full consequences remained unseen.
A.E.
Only two letters covered the large, brown tome that experienced a long, heavy usage. Lawruthian sat in his study, quietly tapping his fingers against its dark oak wood. He studied the tome, unsure if now was the proper time to set off a chain of events that would spark a new path in the history of the realm. His quest, [Born To Be King], stood open at one end of his vision. Its requirements were unfulfilled, as he’d yet to learn in-depth of the two prior [Chosen of Madris]. Its catalyzation was brought by the Demigoddess of Illusion — Kubrat—a Demigoddess whose whereabouts remained unknown.
In the Hall of Heroes, three figures stood centermost. On the right was Archbishop Femi Zubair—a tall, hearty man dressed in priest robes of white and gold. The Archbishop was young and grew up in a time of strife when Edryan experienced one of its most intensive turmoils. A war that sparked the rising of the [Iron-Blooded Queen] and newly minted Demigoddess of Love. A spark that ignited a flame of desire in her and a change that flickered throughout the decades—unsure of how to truly set her people on a new path.
Lawruthian sighed, his mind wandered to his journey thus far. His first stop was Earth, back to that very apartment on that faithless day. He remembered it vividly, the nightmare that seemed to be a vision of some sort: A world at war. A mother praying to a Goddess. A [Kingslayer] rising to a throne. An orphan starving on the streets. An empire rising to a new dawn—slaughtering, conquering, before they rinse and repeat.
He chuckled, realizing that many of these visions were coming to term. He would ignite the world war, and it was his mother who prayed to the Goddess. As for the [Kingslayer]…? He envisioned the Aubrey color-haired princess—whose gaze constantly burned. He wasn’t sure about the orphan, but the church took care of most orphans—giving them a place to sleep and skills to get decent jobs.
Femi Zubair was born in 7231 to two members of the church who were prominent and proud of their devotion to the Goddess. His childhood wasn’t rough, but he didn’t experience the lavish life most privileged kids enjoyed. Instead, he was put to work in the church, learning the value of service from a young age. As a boy, he would often sweep the grand halls, the scent of incense lingering in the air, his small hands dusting off the ancient tomes that held the history of their faith.
While other well-off children his age played in the fields, or spent their time learning to cater to the many Gamal scions, Femi spent his time pouring over ancient and sacred text—learning of the Goddess’s history and building a deeper connection to Her. His work, though mundane, fostered a sense of purpose within him.
Lawruthian’s death as Lawrence Brown, and the subsequent events, all came next like a rushing river of emotional conquest. He’d come to terms with his death, but now and then, a stray thought of what once was… and what could have been entered his thoughts. His death was still vivid; it still lingered, and the last look of Celina stabbed itself into his psyche like a ruining scar. He could never forget that look, that face of dread as his vision faded into darkness.
He awoke in the Ascension Hall, with twelve thrones of magnificent splendor before him. The twelve Gods who played this game were present—Elrunian and Madris at their helm. He remembered the thrones vividly—some jade, others bone . The actions of Helcantruim, which he still bore a deep hatred for, and the saving Power of Madris. Oh, how far he’d come. How far he’d come in his choice for a perk, and now its subsequent loss to Rasheed — End of Adventure. He would regain her, no matter the state—no matter the price to be paid. She was a vital part of him and a key component in his plans to accelerate his magi’s technology. But, that wasn’t the most important thing. Minerva was a part of him, and he felt a growing sense of loss increase day by day with her absence.
He was young when the events leading to the war began—young and scared of what the future offered. It was in this stage of his life he slowly began to get acquainted with the deeper workings of the church. As Femi grew older, he peeled away the facade surrounding the church and the stranglehold the Gamal House held over it. The last name Gamal echoed through every level of the Church of Madris, revealing that it was not merely a sanctuary but a battleground of strife and political intrigue. The Gamal House believed that their understanding of the Nine Principles’ should be the dominant path of worship the church and by extension, Edryan took. While the weaker factions clung to different ideals—different interpretations of the Goddess’s words.
His thoughts drew closer to the present, closer to the now. His rebirth into Edryan and his youth was a time of learning and planning. A seed was buried deep into the soil called Edryan—ambition for a better future, a greater tomorrow. Its roots sprouted now, budding through the thick layer of restrictions called nobility. From this point forward, it was a time of action , a time of setting up his piece of the board before the grand game began. The odds weren’t in his favor, you’d have to be mad to believe you could fight the entire world . But… strangely… Lawruthian was coming to terms—coming to accept this fate the Goddess bestowed upon him. He understood Her better now—it’d only taken sixteen years, but his earliest stubbornness against her truly began to fade. Perhaps it was Her connection with him, an intimate part of his reality that no words could truly describe.
Femi watched as Edryan was split in trine. The greed of the Ducal Houses, each behind a prince or their own path—their attempts at legitimately capturing the throne. The church was alit with strife and indecision, factions torn between the legitimacy of Edryan’s next ruler and the plague in many members of the upper nobility. He watched in disgust as the Gamal House further chased their ambitions, occupying more of the church and its bountiful resources. It drove him—the desire to cleanse Her church of their taint upon it. That was what drove him, and allowed his faith to steadily increase in tiers until none could deny his right as an archbishop.
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Lawruthian sighed, brushing these thoughts away. They were for another time, another day—a day when he could rest knowing his quest had been accomplished. He picked up the large leather tome, its weight surprisingly heavy even with his attribute-enhanced body. Was he ready to set off a chain of events and open a future in which he held no confidence? No —but… he would do it anyway . His fingers traced the A.E. —initials he believed represented Alidra Edryani. The woman he met in the Hall of Attributes was an enigma. Lawruthian held no way outside of asking Madris whether she was truly a previous Chosen. However, his intuition told him so—told him that she was his predecessor in a way he couldn’t describe. He opened the book, its appearance like that of a diary, and began to read.
Through years of dedication and proper interpretation of Her words, Femi managed to rise through the church until he held a small portion he could call his own. That’s when he was brought to the attention of other factions—the only two major ones that held some competition to the Gamal’s hold of the church. [Inquisitor] Amara was the first to approach him, attempting to swallow him into her faction, yet [Templar] Tunde quickly showed, applying pressure that allowed Femi to stay outside the bounds of any faction. And, through time and effort, Femi won their approval and backing. It was not enough.
If you are reading this… then know that I failed. And, if you one day get to meet and face the Light of the Sun. Tell him… tell him I am sorry.
Through this journal, you will come to understand my actions and reasons for breaking Union, breaking the bond that the different branches of Saphens held. I was created by Mother Madris shortly after our creator… Her —creator— father — fell in his fight against Oblivion. After the last of the protectors of the realm sacrificed themselves to keep its flames from consuming what little memory was left of Him…
She is MY creator… and in the early days of Union, when Saphens, humans, magi, and elves lived together as two roots from the same source, there was harmony and happiness—even as They explored what remained of Genesis and fought against the remnants Oblivion left. We were strong then, united by purpose and bonded by loyalty to a shared dream—a goal of ridding this broken realm of filth. It was a [Golden Age], one that should have endured. But shadows grow longest in the light, and even then, I had not noticed the desire She held.
To us, the magi, she was… our… Everything. She is our light, the one who kept the monsters at bay, our creator—who we sought guidance from for both hard and easy times. She was still mortal then, still human .
Lawruthian’s grip on the journal tightened, his thoughts and feelings strangely resonated with what he read. To be their— Everything —was a feeling he felt deeply. One that he had not figured out how to accept. It was a burden he had never asked for, but one that clung to him—a mantle set upon his shoulders by the Goddess above. The weight of being a symbol, a guide for others, gnawed at him in quiet moments—just as it must have for Goddess Madris. They watched him constantly, far more than what a prince should have experienced. They expected guidance from him in all matters, and he couldn’t be the one to not have the answers—to not have a solution. Lawruthian was beginning to understand what this inheritance was for—what it represented.
They were weak, both Tunde and Amara lacked the power to push against the Gamal suppression alone. And, even together, that fact remained. Then She came to them—to them all as she granted them a vision. A representation of Her would be given to the Queen in the form of a child. Her [Chosen] she called him—a being that would be there to guide them through the tough times ahead, born to the woman who freed Edryan from the oppression its higher nobility cast. Archbishop Femi and his two supporters were ecstatic. This was it. This is what they’d been praying for. A leader outside the Gamals who would properly set the church in order.
A [Chosen of Madris] who would cleanse the church and set them on the right path. He would be both the leader of their faith and the leader of their nation at once. A divine entity that no magi could deny.
Femi's heart surged with a dangerous mix of hope and caution. This was it—the chance he had been waiting for, the moment to purge the church of the Gamal stranglehold and reshape its future. They attempted to reach the [Chosen] as soon as he came of age. Only for their hopes to once again be dashed by the Mother of Magi’s 1st Daughter — Marna Gamal. She made sure no one could influence the Chosen—none could even meet him. Every attempt Femi and his allies made was quietly smothered, their letters unanswered, their messengers turned away.
Lawruthian closed his eyes, mentally adjusting himself before he continued to read. He recalled Alidra’s words: “You must finish the Trial of Six in its entirety to receive this inheritance. It will not make you stronger, nor will it provide a significant benefit in any way but one.” Lawruthian still wasn’t certain if he understood the purpose of Alidra’s inheritance, but he continued to read—his feelings more inclined with the story being told.
Still mortal—still human.