Theriya

Maybe I should not have encouraged Amari to get too comfortable. Even if she can enjoy safety and privacy within my spire, her naked form is a constant distraction from my last minute preparations.

As lovely as the last evening and night spent with this vulpine advisor has been, Amari is no replacement for my lost Seed Seer sisters. It took her no time at all to pluck out books that would be relevant to my needs despite a lack of familiarity with my library. I can only surmise that she is more than just well traveled but has a keen eye and good head on her shoulders.

What I value most of all is that she has expressed a sensitivity to the loss I feel. That alone is enough to appreciate her company immensely.

Cerya is sweet, but there is no replacing someone whose loss matches my own.

Knowing that Amari’s are under the grip of one of Ayre’s siblings has motivated me to double down on the amount of time spent arming myself with knowledge I can only hope will be relevant.

But books and a fox bending my ear can only take me so far.

With Cerya’s fate still unknown to me, the morning task of counting corpses and clearing Cinder Blight will demand my presence. While grateful for what little sleep Amari pressed me into taking for myself, I am uncertain if I can ever feel adequately prepared to address everything this day will demand of me.

A Moon Wrought Crescent tipped staff curled around a Rose Quartz filled to the brim with my heaviest laments weighs as heavy on my heart as it does in the hand. Regrettably, Theriya’s Mourning Retribution is the only design in my armory to contain a large enough gemstone to give a greater Vylian Noble pause.

I can’t exactly commit enough stones to arrange ritual binding circles wherever I please. My first night meeting Ayre was but a brief lapse of judgment I dare not risk repeating again. I can only buy so much time when dealing with a number of the Castellan’s brood.

Thankfully, preparation for times of war at least means I’ll have a staff I can count on always having on hand.

Onyx inlays spiral down the grip, with sister keystones embedded in a favored set of gloves. This is not the kind of Moon Wrought implement I can accept being pried from my hands.

Holding it now with intent to protect Ayre and Cerya from the likes of Astraea and other Vylian siblings just feels…

Right.

I will never get to have my siblings back. Not like Ayre did.

It does not mean I do not carry a piece of them with me, always.

Not that I wish to expend it.

If I can ward off the worst case scenario, Amari’s kindness is something I intend to pay forward. Burying Ayre’s siblings in ceremony and cultural obligations to prepare for the Binding Ceremony will mean securing Ayre and Cerya time to rest and recover from last night’s ordeal.

All of this assumes they are alive and well. Not that I can afford to be overtly fretful now that I have traded pleasant company for grim assurances immediately after leaving the safety of my tree spire.

Casting a far longer shadow, Mel’Viora joins me for a pleasant walk towards the edge of the grove. Where I descend from the youngest of the tree spires dedicated for Seed Seer purposes, Mel’Viora parts deep and ancient roots as she rises from the grove’s most fiercely guarded depths.

We speak of familiar topics. Her role in deepening our alliance with the Castellan’s eldest broodlings will soon demand her departure. But she will linger a while yet.

Today is the day of my ceremonial binding to Ayre and Cerya.

It is understandable that she would want to check in with her last remaining Seed Seer to show enough promise to rise to the height and status of Sapling. Cerya is much too young to be considered for such an honor, being nearly twenty eclipses younger than I. Although if Astraea were the one to ask, I would have to amend that to ten years.

I tell my Grove Tender everything of the past few days, intentionally hiding no detail from Mel’Viora.

She critiques my maintaining a distance from working alongside Ayre, which is in and of itself a blessing. Losing as many sister seeds as I have makes this a forgivable miscalculation on my part, even if Mel’Viora would never put it into words.

Leaving Cerya to be the one to get close to Ayre means that I have precious little to reveal that would endanger them. Better that Cerya be the one to keep Ayre’s secrets.

Besides, the thrust of this conversation is intended to reveal everything I know and suspect of Astraea Wyrmsbane, faithful to the Goddess of Redemption.

Lady Midnight.

My reward for maintaining such openness with my Grove Tender comes in the form of recommended texts to follow up on from last night’s research. If I suspect Lady Midnight will become a threat to my own personal stake in Ayre, Mel’Viora expresses a willingness to share relevant material on Lady Midnight’s own ascension from something wretched.

To think, Lady Midnight might have risen from abyssal depths deeper than Ayre’s own circumstances. Not that there is much value in comparing beyond understanding why she might look upon Ayre with favor.

The idea that I might soon be armed with enough information to drag a Goddess of Redemption into confronting her own wretched past delights me in the same manner of studying a new kind of blight. Cinder Blight’s effects on the living and dead inspired Theriya’s Mourning Retribution, afterall.

I also come away with reassurance that if Astraea stands in my way in a more immediate fashion, I will have the direct support of someone as invested in Ayre as I am.

I will just have to remember to warn Ayre that Mel’Viora taking a personal interest in their development has a tendency to be unhealthy to say the least. But that is something to worry about in the future.

Better now I take precautions to ensure Ayre and Cerya remain mine and risk upsetting them than risk allowing a divine enemy of ours to twist either of them into a purpose and role antithetical to my own.

I can’t risk a misalignment of purpose, not if we are to be bound together.

The first corpse from last night’s Full Moon comes into view long before we reach the gate. It being the corpse of a sizable drake gives the many Lunarian Seedlings steadily showing up for the morning tasks an understandable pause.

Having claimed responsibility for arranging who guarded the walls, I seize the initiative in being the first to approach the drake’s corpse. “Well, we’re off to an impressive start.”

Mel’Viora cracks a smile as we draw close enough to make out the details. The drake’s corpse carves a long path of having clearly been dragged within the walls of the grove. It also appears to be desiccated to some extent.

“This is indeed an admirable specimen.” She claims in agreement, expressing a mirth she would not reserve for a lesser Seer.

But to have her favor is a very public thing.

My four arms mark me as someone willing to take on ever more than expected of me. Even if those changes were accepted in the hopes that I could ease the burdens on all my sister Seers who came before Cerya.

With their passing, I found myself left with the expectation that I continue to carry more than my own personal burdens. They were, afterall, burdens Mel’Viora knew I could handle.

Standing now in front of the corpse of a drake that seems to have been drained of blood and liquids paints a startlingly clear picture of what Ayre is already capable of on their own. The position Ayre and I are in, quickly proving that we can handle terrifying burdens with minimal support, is not an enviable one.

What will they demand of Ayre and I once we are bound together?

My gaze turns to assess the stone gates to the grove. Open, but only wide enough to accommodate a person or two.

At my direction, four Bitterbloom Watchers approach the gate. A series of gestures unique to this young and inventive planting is communicated to the Watcher at my side.

Eighth Bitterbloom reports that the gates show no sign of being damaged by the drake, which is a good sign.

Next comes sighting of someone standing alone outside the gates, armed only with a spear.

“Their skin. Is it pale or lilac?” I ask, hoping to narrow it down. If it were one of ours, they would have said so. There are only so many Watchers young enough to be considered undistinguished Seedlings in our grove.

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Gestures are exchanged.

Eighth Bitterbloom interprets the reply. “Lilac. Horns. Spotted us. Vylian salute.”

“That would be Astraea Wyrmsbane.” I say, my voice matching physical traits to their natural conclusion. No need to bring emotions into this.

“Wyrmsbane.” Eighth Bitterbloom intones, turning her gaze to the corpse of the drake.

Mel’Viora makes a purring noise as she lifts the drake’s head enough to allow for a closer inspection. “And yet I suspect our little Ayre is responsible for this one.”

I turn away from the Watchers, giving them the okay to proceed outside without us.

If Astraea is the only one the Watchers have spotted outside the walls, maybe I can hope.

My heart aches at the idea of filling the Spire that once held a number of dear sisters with all whom Ayre has brought with them.

None of them can replace what was taken from me.

And yet Cerya has planted a seed that is beginning to sprout the more I come to understand the circumstances of where Ayre and Amari come from. I am left to accept my little Cerya’s impulse to nurture what seeds are available to us.

Maybe she is right. Maybe our Verdant Spire has been silent for too long.

Cerya claims that Ayre wilts in their role of Prince in similar ways that Snapdragon will never blossom as a Watcher. Maybe I can be the one to turn my practiced eye as a stone cutter and scholar towards securing us a lasting position in the eyes of our betters.

Would it not make sense for me to continue to distinguish myself as someone who can cultivate the most favorable means for those who have already decided my ends? For every reservation I have with satisfying everything Mel’Viora could possibly expect of me, there are advantages to cultivating my place in her good graces.

I have already learned the hard way that sometimes it is best to accept any easing of my burdens that are offered. If that means indebting myself to Mel’Viora to make my enemies hers, then so be it.

The least I can do is leverage everything I have already suffered through into meaning something to the only sister I have left.

Looking back, if I had neglected to show Cerya the love I shared for my lost sisters, would Cerya have ever even been considered for being bound along with Ayre and I? If I am to assume that care and thought went into this binding, and it is hard to ignore how well we fit together in my mind, Cerya’s inclusion strikes me as a concession of some kind. She has bonded well with Ayre. Enough so that I can’t tell if the concession has been made for me or the both of us.

I shudder to think of what would happen if being alone in my binding to Ayre would have left her to be alone to guide a fresh planting of Seed Seers in my absence. How long would it take for her to experience the same losses that I have?

My worries clarify my purpose in the moments to come.

Eighth Bitterbloom finishes circling around the drake’s corpse. “It has already been picked clean of Cinder Blight.”

Having tracked the wounds as Eighth points them out, I offer my own thoughts. “None of these would maim, nevermind kill.”

“And yet.” Mel’Viora draws attention to a spot at the base of the drake's throat.

Unlike the others, this wound displays intense signs of ripped flesh beyond what a spear or bolt thrower would be designed to inflict. More dried blood stains this wound than any other.

The good news is that Ayre likely won’t be needing to feed anytime soon. As well read as I am on what we know of the Blood Hunger, I fear for the kind of drastic and sudden changes Ayre is likely to go through as a result of drinking so much of this drake.

Maybe I should have been here. But to do so would mean falling behind in the quota of Moon Wrought Implements I am expected to craft every night.

“Ahhhh.” Mel’Viora makes another sound to signal her interest. She stares now into the opened jaw of the drake. ”That would certainly do it. She nearly sticks her head inside the drake’s mouth to get a better look. “Too small for a spear or blade. Perhaps a pointed implement? And yet I feel nothing. Most curious.”

“Grove Tender?” Eighth Bitterbloom moves to help support the weight of the drake’s neck.

Immediately, Mel’Viora withdraws away from the corpse. She lets it fall with a cracking of bone and utter lack of regard to how much the Watcher struggles to support the weight. She turns to me instead with a morose fascination. “If anything the skull is an emotional dead zone, devoid of even the lingering traces left by the dead and dying. Nevermind the suffering of a Blighted creature.”

Curious.

Something would linger if an implement were discharged.

“An implement used to stab and absorb the dying resonance then.” I say, thoughts racing towards what need Ayre would have to not only kill but drain a drake of both its life essence and emotional resonance.

Could I be missing something?

Has maintaining an emotional distance from Ayre denied me an insight into who they are at their core?

Why preserve so much of this drake in stone and blood?

The tone of Mel’Viora’s conclusion is hard to read. “If this is Ayre’s work, they wasted precious little.” She turns to the larger gathering of less perceptive Lunarians than the Watchers, mostly a bunch of Shapers and Cullers. “Get to harvesting this one. Take your time with it. Waste no more than what is already ruined.”

The logistics of delegation follows, with a number of Firsts among their plantings drawing upon the Eighth Bitterbloom’s perceptiveness to assess the state of the corpse.

Mel’Viora and I begin to make our way to the gate, leaving this under the supervision of another Seer. Sapling Eluned, I think? I am not as close to her as Cerya is.

That she was bound to the previous Fourteenth Prince is the only trait of hers that marks her as someone of importance in my mind.

As we near the gate, Mel’Viora’s voice grows rich with approval. “Assuming your bound still lives, I will see to it that Ayre reaps the spoils of their kill.”

I turn to meet her gaze, curious as to why she seems to be in such good spirits. Informing me, instead of Ayre themselves, suggests that she is already satisfied with the state of last night’s Full Moon.

I had thought I might need her to confront Astraea, but if she is just patiently waiting outside with no Ayre or Cerya in sight, maybe all I need to do is play out my expected role. “I’ll see to it that the final count and a recounting of the night’s events makes its way to you. That and ensuring Ayre understands the weight of the favor you are expressing.”

“Good.” Mel’Viora intones. “While you are at it, assure Snapdragon that I intend to hold to the word of my offer. Better it comes from you than me, I should think.”

I freeze in spite of myself, prompting another crack of a smile to split Mel’Viora’s lips at the use of Snapdragon’s chosen name.

Mel’Viora’s tone lightens as her words become a surprise lighthearted lecture. “You’ve missed much I think, locked away in your spire hoping to find what few answers hide in ink. If this binding gets you to leave your nest more often, I will know that I have secured a good match for you.”

I tighten my lips as Mel’Viora makes light of the reason for my studies.

How many of my sisters have died when faced with unknown threats?

“Thank you, Grove Tender Mel’Viora.” I say, not trusting myself to deliver anything more than a stiffened reply.

By comparison, it is Mel’Viora whose wooden flesh moves with an unnatural grace. No need for bracing is required as she throws open wide the great stone gates of the grove. She does not turn to face me, merely delivering her final words aloud for all to hear.

“Survive Ayre’s elder broodlings and I won’t even wait for your Sixtieth Eclipse. You’ve the makings of a most Erudite Sapling Seer. What others can do with your guidance is beyond question. If only you’d apply yourself more in the flesh.” Her words linger as her form approaches the treeline.

I am left to respond to having all eyes of the Bitterbloom Watchers fall upon me.

My gaze turns from Mel’Viora to the eight piles of corpses sitting outside the grove’s gates.

Someone has already found the time and energy to do our work for us, it seems.

I spread two of my hands in a gesture to the nearest pile of corpses. “Just because someone has already started our work does not change what is expected of us. Let us see it done.” My other hands withdraw onyx gem slotted gloves from my robe. I slide my fingers into something that will protect me from unnecessary risks that arise from handling corpses. The onyx keystones will call my staff to me in case my confrontation with Astraea goes awry.

Having to divide my attention in a number of directions is of no trouble.

Stones must be gathered and sorted.

Watchers must be directed.

All while a wary eye watches for any sudden movement from Astraea or the corpses we are picking through. I have grown quite used to dividing my attention in entirely too many directions.

Astraea remains perched by the furthest pile of corpses, seemingly uninterested in anything that has unfolded. Her attention remains fixed upon a corpse at the base of her pile.

A scythed limb begins to twitch.

Almost immediately she buries a spear into the offending appendage. With a twist and a flick, the spear dislodges a glimmering Cinder Blighted stone from between two connective ligaments.

The corpse stills.

I resume my counting.

Astraea and I keep our distance.

Has this woman harmed my sister?

Has her Lady Midnight so much as laid a hand on Ayre?

Now that it is morning, Astraea is as out of her element and exhausted as I am likely to encounter her. If there are better circumstances to threaten her or make demands, I cannot think of them.

And yet I doubt I would be comfortable with the resource expenditure that would be required to kill half as many of the corpses that lay at my feet. Using implements as Cerya and I do costs no shortage of time and emotional drain to replace.

It is only as my count nears one hundred and fifty corpses that I have cause enough to approach the eighth pile Astraea remains vigilant over.

“Wyrmsbane.” I say, deciding to address her formally.

“Seed Seer.” She replies, not meeting my eyes.

We both stand in silence.

“One hundred and seventy six.” I say, marking the back of my glove with a charred stone for later reference. “Dare I ask if there are more corpses than the ones gathered here?”

Astraea shakes her head. “No. Ayre and I… we started early.”

“While the moon was still out?” I ask, my tone dubious under the weight of how casually she writes off the single most world changing event that my people are named for.

The woman who has shed much of her onyx armor, sitting atop it in a heap instead of porting it away via keystone, sighs before finally turning to regard me with tired eyes. “Do you really care about such details? I would prefer if you skip to demanding what you actually want from me.”

To rend her and every trace of the emotional resonance from existence if she harmed my sister.

I settle for flattening my antennae, eyebrows, and voice in annoyance. “To know the number of dead and living. To form a reliable recounting of the night. And as is my role, bleed any remaining resonance…”

She interrupts me with a glare. “Not what I asked.”

Six different stones alight at my hip and around my armlets, swallowing a mixture of intensely felt emotions in response.

I will myself to calm, seeking grounding in sound principles as has been drilled into me by an elder Seer.

Knowledge is precious.

The living can be held up as an ever changing resource.

While the dead can scarcely give a single historical recounting.

Patience and persistence will reveal much.

“What I want, Lady Wyrmsbane, is to return to my tower and smother the grief I carry knowing that Ayre and Cerya have not been added to those I have lost. It is not enough that I spend each night pouring myself into stones and our library to try to gain a better understanding of the threats arrayed against me and mine. What I need from you, is to not give me reason to waste resources on someone whose role should mark them as an ally. Not a-”

Again I am interrupted.

This time with a flaring of nostrils, disciplined display of smothering of her own emotional reactions, and a stiff gauntleted gesture to the corner tower. “Of course they are alive and intact. I’ll spare you my recounting until you’re more willing to hear it. Interrogate me last if you must.”

“Oh I intend to.” I say, planting my staff firmly into the ground before orienting it in her direction. “But I need some assurance that you’re not a threat.”

Astraea’s lips tighten. “I’ve a promise to keep to Amari. Once that’s done, I imagine Ayre will never want to see me again. If that’s the way Ayre and you Seers want it, I’ll not be a problem for long.”

My held breath is released at the mention of Amari’s name.

A single Quartz stone resonates with a sense of loss. Whether it is Astraea’s or my own, I’m unwilling to speculate.

“In that case, carry on whatever it is you’re doing out here.” I say, taking great care not to show my back to the spear wielding adherent to Lady Midnight.

“Giving Ayre space.” Are all the parting words Astraea leaves me to dwell on.