Talia leonheart
My heart began to burn with a terrible displeasure. Gripping my chest tight through my labored breaths I seemed to wake Rias, she knew exactly what she had to do. With a swift flick of her metallic arm, she cut several layers into her skin making herself bleed. Golden blood with a black sheen dripped from her palm down her wrist. I gulped seeing Rias lift her arm toward my lips, for a reason unexplainable I felt like a vampyr. I began to salivate feeling the golden blood drip onto my dry cracked lips.
I wasn’t a vampyr, but this must be how they feel every time they see blood if they can't control themselves. When her hand was close enough, I placed my own on it and brought her dripping hand to be placed just above my lips. With different movements of my tongue, I tried to take as much blood as possible. The warm golden blood flowed down my throat instead of going through my organs and into my bloodstream, Rias’s blood flowed into my mana core. The wraith energy inside me began to cool and calmed to a halt.
Though I don’t know all the specifics, it's clear that the only way to stop me from losing control over my wraith energy and dying was Rias’s golden blood or, as Duke Remingar and Lyron called it forbidden blood, but I liked its other name. Divine blood of the saintess. Wanting to know more about this type of blood only found in pendragons I asked Riva about it. she explained that the name ‘forbidden blood’ is meant to be an insult. The blood itself is called forbidden for many reasons, one of the most known reasons is its ability to dampen or stave off a killing virus or curse.
After I consumed what I could, Rias made sure I was okay before she allowed me to fall asleep. Instead of falling into slumber, like I had hoped I found myself inside a realm of ash, purple flames or aetheric intent.
Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me but for a second. I saw two figures one that wore a crown of towering spikes and the other with protruding black horns. Slowly through an illusion they melded into one, a single figure stood a few hundred meters or so away from my current place. I could tell from my heightened senses and enhanced vision through the mana of lightning my innate power. It was close to Alex's, Lyra’s, or Sammy’s mana. This figure had a closer signature of mana to my innate wraith magic but a lot stronger, if I could even use it. Taking a steady breath, I took a step that was more audibly loud than I had hoped.
Step after step I took towards the figure who responded by turning away and walking towards a large silhouette in the distance. A castle turned to ruin through red crimson flames of a fallen phoenix, which was felled before the gates. With each step, voices wailed in my ears, and those same piercing wails got to me. I wanted to cover my ears but stopped feeling for their slightly pointed nature. I resisted. I walked onward towards whatever destination I would find myself upon.
This single event reminded me of when I had once heard stories from my grandmother about how wraiths remember their past lives. I now began to speculate if this was mine as it did fit the description of wraiths saying they go into a mindscape and meet their past selves designs just for them yet in the same vein it felt different.
I suddenly returned from my thoughts and came across a crossroads. Four diverging paths. Two were not accessible to me as of now or, meant for someone else. Three paths were closed off by thorned iron brambles and raw primordial material. With these thorns here I knew no entry would be given to me nevertheless I tried my hand to open one.
To my chagrin however, the thorned brambles cut several layers deep into my skin. Seeing no other choice, I had to take the only path available to me towards the ruined castle and the fallen phoenix. Stepping onto the only available path made the world around me shift into groans and screams of a battlefield long past fought.
Swords, lances, spears all manner of weapons littered the earth, plunged into the ground with either respect or disrespect towards something residing in the castle. Motionless I watched weapons appear all of them had some sort of significance. Thinking I was alone I placed my hand against the pommel of a greatsword slowly drifting my hand down the pommel towards the guard and then the blade.
I could feel life in the blade, reaching myself inside I pulled on my wraith magic, forcing the greatsword to wake up. The sword reacted but nothing came out. No shadow. No light. No voice. None-existence filled the air. Somewhat giving up I moved on from the greatsword towards the castle. Taking a few steps, I looked down to see my clothing only to realize what my outfit was. I was wearing a black nightgown with thin near skintight sleeves, though it wasn’t so clear I could just see my undergarments through the thin material.
Taking a more detailed look at myself I noticed my feet were blackened due to the dirt and mud on the floor. Whereas my hands were clean to some degree apart from my fingers which were black on the left and right hand. The black fingers on my right hand turned into a large tattoo of a divine tree with the roots all spreading out to just above the elbow.
In the tattoo were three words in ancient anxorian, a language spoken by the wraiths long ago. I could interpret the words to some degree, ‘steel of umbral hide’. Though my mind was incredibly hazy on this, the weight of the words rippled like a tidal wave in my waking mind. Not wanting to pay the tattoo any further attention I continued onwards towards the castle. The form of it is now more prevalent, twisted spires of hardened rusted gold shone faint silver glitter. The grey stone covered the area in thick husk of plain ash and black salt.
Once pearly golden gates now were dark from being covered in black salt and a thick oil-like substance similar to blood. Examining the liquid between my course thumb and index, it was indeed thick though the black colour was more a midnight blue upon closer inspection. The oily substance reminded me of a certain coven—no reminded me of their leader though who was nice and slightly stubborn more than she’d admit.
Even now I can only remember the feeling of her ritual hands, a few thousand years would do that to someone though no matter how far they delve into blood and dark magic. Followers of the hanged queen. A strange bunch. This place reminded me of their coven leader Daniella. Dark, strange but somehow comforting, she has a warmth to her which is not much. Makes it feel special when you are with her maybe it’s just magic.
Pulling myself away from my thoughts I moved on towards the inside of the castle well what remained of it. The courtyard was overrun with evergreen brambles, sharp curved thorns, and black roses. Black roses are a symbol of death along with rebirth and love depending on the context of course. In this case, it could mean two things death or love. My money was on love.
Cupping a black rose between my fingers I could feel it slowly dying, the exceptional mana inside was keeping them alive but they were still dying. Poor things, not wanting to feel the sadness I somehow drenched up I moved towards the doors of the keep. The wood upon the black mahogany creaked with every fibre of the atoms inside remaining. Pushing the door to, I could hear the eerie noise of splintering wood and cracking bone as the doors pushed upon bones that were hauled up. The battle was evident from the skeletons that littered the entrance, up the torn burgundy rugged staircase there wasn’t much to look at as the once pristine, dark walls were now covered in splintering bark. White symbols maybe tramonic runes were painted into the human flesh of the splintering bark.
The emptiness of the castle was a fleeting feeling. Lifting my hand off the right door whilst kicking at some skeletal remains I moved towards the staircase at least thirty paces in height. ‘This room really isn't something to look at.’ The staircase croaked, choked and whined with every rustle of the earth causing the stone to move in and out from its position. I didn't think much of it, walking through the desolate bramble-covered hallway of the castle not that I wanted to pay attention to it or the white-painted runes on said brambles.
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Taking one step on the stairs made my mind itch in anticipation along with regret for no profound reason. Voices of children, teenagers along with voices of adults even the elderly erupted in my head screaming insults. Words of praise. Even some saying it was my fault. I couldn’t understand why. Getting about ten steps up a skeleton grabbed my ankle and screamed in anger that it was my fault. In reaction I kicked the skeleton away, using my lightning mana I charred the bones passed the point of ash. Turning away from the sight reeling my eyes towards the dark dingy hallway. Above the staircase.
Not wanting to linger any further, I wasted no time to enter the hallway.
Filled to the brim with brambles, roots, thorns and littered with paintings hanging on the walls. Faces I recognized and of those I should not be able to. Breathing in and then out I began to walk. I placed my hand against the left wall feeling black chalk covering the entire space. Upon this wall were paintings of some childhood memories I wanted to forget some I'd have to remember. My anger flared seeing a childhood memory of Duke Remingar nearly sending me to my death beside Imra and Imkli. The memory surfaced but I couldn’t remember the words that the duke spoke.
Another moment appeared in a painting beside it, why Imra and Imkli had an attachment to me and Samantha. They wanted us to become pregnant so I could not use my wraith powers and be a threat to their kingdom whereas Samantha was prophesied to birth a child that would kill the king of the unholy gods Talos. Unluckily for the princes, they will never get the chance to give me birth to one of their children and my powers have been heightened unintentionally through consuming Rias’s blood.
Samanatha though she was infertile, she could have children if the source was divine or black magic. Thinking on this very subject reminded me of what Corvus spoke about when the trial was happening, Samantha had been hiding something from everyone, it involved something gold along with rituals performed by shamans. This was before she ran from home and I knew where she was, in the very city I was in trying to find Elinore. Corvus was no doubt worrying but I could not tell him that she was potentially a shaman who could use mana and sorcery, or she was not exactly into him among other things.
Walking away though I carried on through the hallway I happened upon a painting around six feet by ten feet of three figures, myself at the bottom then to the top left above was the former queen of the wraiths. To my top right in the painting was another figure with a black veil over their face, purple-tipped horns protruding through the veil. I couldn’t see their face only the slight glint of violet-purple eyes. Her name wasn’t familiar to me either, no matter where you could look you wouldn’t find it that I knew for sure.
“Hekate- goddess of the dark moon.” Her appearance was unfamiliar to me as well, but something did stick out to me on the opposite wall, there was a singular painting of her. Same size canvas and frame just her alone. The divine tree tattoo and black figures were portrayed in this painting, but they were also in Hera’s singular painting beside it. Just like the midnight blue hair faded highlights to violet, they both had.
Stepping away from the paintings I stumbled upon another one more recent than the rest. A battle was taking place in the painting. One of the crimson flames and dark wraith magic. Two beings stood alone before a castle covered in thorns, brambles, and ash roots. A blood-red burgundy phoenix covered in crimson flames and a queen of purple flames and ash. Looking at the gothic frame that my mother was fond of, I saw a plaque with two names scribed into it. Title to go along with it.
“The fall of the dark moon and crimson Falmor.” A legend I now realize was a bedtime story my grandmother told me. An epic tale of the past she called it. She would speak on the final stand of the most honourable, the greatest queen of the wraiths to ever live. She never said the name as it was taboo according to the royals of today. A story that the wraiths will never speak of though. From my understanding of the story those people mainly the queen’s people came to fear her own power.
When I grew older into my teens, I researched the story just enough to not be noticed by the current queen whom my grandmother despised. To this day I cannot understand why they would. Getting sidetracked I tried to remember the story and what I knew from finding things out secretly, hera was the first wraith. Their queen and someone who sat beside artura. Hera by some accounts was even considered a lover of artura but kept a secret from everyone until they were ousted by Guinevere and mordid the fuckwit.
Not finding more to think of or look at I moved on from the paintings down the hallway or corridor to a room with the doors slightly ajar, a voice spoke out from the room towards me. Directed at me.
“You came. You didn’t run. Do you remember the past forgotten?” The voice asked in a deep female tone. I did not answer and continued to walk closer to the doors. With every word, I took a step. When placed my hand on the heavy oak doors the voice spoke again, clearer now.
“You are interesting. Just repressed like her. I am not surprised really… both of us shared in experiences of depression, darkness and all-round sadness but there were moments of joy in that to some degree… anyway. Go on push the door too so you can remember that life which ended so long ago.” Pushing the door made the light brighten my vision making me momentarily stunned blind. Memories forced themselves into my waking and unwaking mind.
The scenes that filled both were memories of a former life, some memories were a lot darker in aspects than others especially the ones nearer the end of life. Bile uprooted itself in my throat forcing me to gag throwing up a rather large amount of sickly matter or liquid. The person who was sitting on the throne spoke once again as I wiped away the sick from my face whilst falling to my knees.
“So, you saw it all. None of it filtered?” she asked.
“I saw it all. None of it filtered… what does that mean anyway hera or past me?” I retorted in return, making her scoff clicking her tongue in frustration.
“Well, it means. If memories are filtered, you aren’t quite ready to see them. Simple.” I stared up at my past self sitting on the throne. There was an arrogance about her that pissed me off more than I liked to admit. Hera after that and just watched me stare into her hollow eyes, I could understand why she looked that way after everything she went through in our near hundred or thousand years of life.
An experiment for the eldritch to test certain things, a captured prison of war who was tortured and brought to the brink of completely breaking. Being starved in a cell for days, going weeks without drinking. After all that, still treated like a nobody and a deceitful liar. The misery. I felt it as my body remembered the starving feeling, the dry lips and sore eyes. The barbed whipping of the pricked leather whips and the countless hours my skin was carved by eldritch priests under the supervision of rogue eldritch gods. Days of darkness and the fear of being broken every day for fifteen to twenty years.
The only good I got out of this was becoming the first wraith and my ability to use the aether as a tool. After several seconds of being sick and reliving the worst moments of my past life, I tried to stand on my own two feet the best I could. Remembering it all I looked into Hera’s eyes which made me remember two faces that did all of this to me in the first place once I had gotten to know another I should have never forgotten. The eldritch god Lust Syvera and the eldritch god Trickery Tiamat.
“Careful. You can’t kill Syvera just yet. Might take a while now that I think about it. Ah Well, Tiamat is dead… remember what happened?” Hera asked me which prompted a memory to surface when I broke out of my shackles in the court of eldritch killing Tiamat with nothing but the chains that bound my wrists. Hera was also right it would be no easy feat to kill Syvera who was a lot stronger than me and had an army of demons under her.
Standing up in my semi-pissed-off state I didn’t waste a moment and walked towards my past self, her hollow eyes sank deep into my soul with every step that I took. ‘Me and the devil walking side by side.’ I thought. My past self Hera smiled with those hollow eyes that didn’t show the violet hue we once had when we were alive. I didn’t return the smile making her realize how different we were in terms of personality at least.
“well, I guess I should tell you. While Rias is looking for Elinore… you should look for an important ally for both of you. Her name is Artoria.” Artoria Keenwry was a member of artura’s Roundtable who fought in the civil war of the Camelot’s empire. From the history I knew about her, she left the order of knights after the war along with Seris Pendragon towards the elven lands never to be seen again. I wanted to question Hera but I knew it was futile as all the answers my past self knew I already knew as well.
Resolving to my own decisions I turned away from my past self and walked towards the door of obscuring light, though this had been short, it was interesting. I knew I’d come back here eventually to remember something more, reaching the door the realization of me living two lives really sank in. I was over five thousand years old, killed eldritch gods and primordial beings and had more left to discover and even destroy. Taking in a deep breath I stepped into the light to come back to reality.
…
Jolted awake and simultaneously jumping out of bed I quickly paced over to the mirror trying not to disturb Rias who was bathing herself by the sound of splashing water. Facing the mirror, I kept my eyes closed and took in longer breaths they I thought I should. Slowly opening my eyes to peer upon my new appearance. Ivory white skin contrasted the long midnight blue to violet hair that just grew past my shoulder blades. My once purple eyes became more of a bright violet-blue, the most striking change was my height at nearly six foot two and the black markings and tattoos.
The black fingers and the right hand-to-forearm tattoo were a new touch. Now I had more wraith language covering my upper right forearm and brambled thorned roots were tattooed into my leg with runic markings in each root. My back was the most different with a large word inscribed down my spine with a runic dragon tattooed underneath. After I took my nightgown off to look at it more clearly, I noticed a fair few more things. My chest had grown a few sizes. My muscles were toned even bigger in some areas along with a six-pack now seen better than before.
After taking so long to look at my new appearance I noticed Rias come out the bathroom. Her eyes widened alongside her jaw dropping in shock or surprise.