> Lamiasaat
>
> Noun
>
> Translation: Seed of the Nightmare
>
> Definition: "Lamiasaat" is a term used to denote necromancers or alchemists who specialize in the creation of Lamia forms through dark magic using life force.
Mediah, lodged amidst the noise of the banquet, felt a growing sense of unease with boredom. For some reason, he suddenly felt he was in danger.
The constant chatter, the peals of laughter that once seemed so lively, now grated on his patience. He felt like an outsider, a spectator to a joy he couldn't partake in. Even Zvoya, who initially piqued his interest, now seemed to irk him. Her presence was now suffocating him, especially her disgusting scent that intensified with the passing moments, weaving through the air like a disliked guest.
But his weariness was about to be shattered. The banquet hall was disturbed by the clanging of bells. The herald, accompanied by another server, rang them with a fervour that demanded the assembly's attention. The room gradually fell silent.
At that moment, King Xendrix rose from his ornate chair, clutching a golden cup in his hand, and his voice resonated across the hall.
"My loyal people!" he began, his eyes sweeping across the faces of his subjects, a warm smile gracing his lips. "How glad I am to see each one of you, and even faces that have been absent for over a Fall. This gathering, this celebration, is almost the happiest day of my life."
He paused, creating a slight cliffhanger for the room, which was hanging on his every word.
"Of course, my wedding, my marriage to my sweet Ulencia, holds the first place in my heart," he continued, jesting.
The banquet hall erupted into a chorus of laughter and applause, momentarily interrupting his words. He waited for the sounds to subside, a patient smile playing on his lips.
"First," he resumed, "I must apologize on behalf of my wife, your queen, and mine too. She has retired to rest. As many of you know, she carries my heir. My happiness knows no bounds, all thanks to that woman and the Holy Mother. How could I be more blessed? Perhaps King Orlan has some ideas?"
Laughter rippled through the crowd at his jest while King Orlan, managing to conceal his strained smile, nodded politely and waved to the attendees, a necessary facade in the royal spectacle.
“Nothing, Orlan? Well, best luck next time!” Xendrix lowered his golden cup, his gaze drifting downward in a moment of reflection. "After the tragedy that befell my father, a story not for today, I believed happiness was beyond my grasp. I thought the warmth of love, whether from a spouse, a friend," he nodded towards Mediah, acknowledging the presence of the Magi, "or my loyal subjects, was a feeling I'd never truly comprehend."
His voice grew stronger, "But now, I stand before you, feeling truly blessed. The love and support I've received has been a guiding light in my darkest hours."
Raising his head, he continued, "I hope, in time, I can prove my valour to you all. To be the king you deserve, a king worthy of your loyalty and affection."
His words resonated through the hall, and the crowd, moved by his sincerity, responded with a renewed round of applause and cheers.
King Xendrix, with a fluid motion, pushed his chair back and took two steps backwards, climbing up the stage, ensuring he was fully visible to everyone in the grand hall.
"I have spent over six moons with the Menschen," he began. "At first, I admit, my views were narrow. I saw them as savages, barefoot wanderers living in tents, almost feral in my ignorant eyes. Who could have known?"
He paused, allowing his words to sink in. "But what I have learned from them... it has been an education of the soul, or the seed as they call it. I have learned to be grateful for the blessings I possess, to embrace humility in my actions and thoughts."
His eyes sparkled as he continued. "And most significantly, I learned the art of magic. But let me tell you, it came with its own set of challenges!"
The crowd, captivated by his story, leaned in, eager to hear more.
"My first challenge was to defeat a treant, a creature, a human tree, taller than the roof of this very castle!" He gestured grandly towards the high ceilings. "The task was to retrieve a magical sword, which I now proudly possess."
He revealed the weapon that was hanging on its holster, its blade etched with what appeared to be nonsensical gibberish and adorned with beads from Noctavia's skirts, but only a few knew the truth.
"Then came a more formidable adversary – a dragon, the wicked Leviathon! A cruel creature that emerged from the depths of the sea."
He lifted the sword high into the air and proceeded with the story, "With this very sword, I pierced its impenetrable scale and plunged the blade into its heart!”
While the assembly watched, spellbound by Xendrix recounting, Mediah's brow furrowed in disbelief. His expression was etched with doubt as he tried to reconcile Xendrix's words with the reality he knew. The king's tales, while captivating, seemed to drift further from the truth with each grandiose claim.
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"Finally," Xendrix continued, his voice swelling with dramatic flair, "I faced the challenge of conquering the wind. I ascended the tallest peak of Keblurg, only to find myself locked in combat with the Wind Eagle!" His hands gestured wildly, mimicking the ferocity of the gale he described.
"Storms and tornadoes raged around me, but with the unyielding will of a true son of Keblurg, I emerged victorious over the mighty creature." Xendrix's chest puffed out with pride as he recounted his supposed conquest.
"Now, you must be wondering about the last element. What became of it?" he teased, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of his storytelling.
The room leaned in, caught up in the narrative, eager for the climax of this fantastical adventure. Meanwhile, Mediah's scepticism only deepened, his mind churning with questions and doubts about the absurdity and lies of the king's extraordinary exploits.
"I was finally resting, seated by the fireplace with my mentor after this long journey, an old wise man, a Magi who has transcended our world, who had guided me through these incredible trials." He paused, a look of reverence crossing his face as he recalled the imaginative, wise figure.
"He attempted to teach me the final key, summoning the element of fire. And the lesson he taught me, I shall never forget." Xendrix took a contemplative sip from his goblet, his audience still hanging on his narrative.
"Fire," he continued, "is the most powerful element you could find. But it only works if you harmonize it with all the other elements. Then, he presented me with a drawing inscribed in the Menschen language." A hint of pride crept into his voice as he confessed, "At first, it was indecipherable to me, but then, as if the fog lifted, I understood it."
His eyes shone with the fervour of his revelation. "He bestowed upon me the power of fire, the power to fight! A gift that embodies not just strength, but the harmony of all elements combined."
As Xendrix spoke, his voice became louder and more fanatical. "He turned me into an Alchemist! But for that, he sacrificed his life. I was the last person he saw who comforted him in his last moments. "
The sound of his last sentence echoed slightly in the hushed room. A shadow of vulnerability flickered across his face as he continued, "After that loss, I was plagued with doubt. Despite enduring all these trials, I felt as though I had failed. I feared I had let my people down, that I would never be worthy to walk in the footsteps of King Ieagan Kaspian. I truly thought I was lost, adrift in a sea of uncertainty and unworthiness. But then..." He began to pace around the stage, his movement drawing the eyes of the assembly.
"Then I arrived at the camp with a dead body in my arms... and discovered someone had slain spiders. Now, you might think, what is one bug more or less? But these were no ordinary spiders; they were soldiers of the Spiderqueen, and she was enraged. In a desperate attempt to save the settlement from the queen's wrath, I summoned all that I had learned." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "And I brought forty-four spiders back to life!"
A sombre air enveloped the hall, the mood shifting morbidly as if the tale had morphed from a fairytale into something much darker, much grimmer. An anonymous voice even dared to whisper, “Necromancy…”
"Please, children, show yourselves," Xendrix commanded.
One by one, figures began to stand up among the crowd. They looked like ordinary people—humans, elves, a dwarf. And to Mediah's not-so-immense surprise, Zvoya stood up as well. The revelation sent a ripple of astonishment through the hall.
"Magic is a phenomenal tool," Xendrix continued, addressing the stunned audience. "We can defend ourselves, strike our enemies where it hurts most, and create new hope. But mostly, we can summon aid, power, and forces beyond our imagination. If I can summon the dead, why not the living?" Xendrix posed this rhetorical question.
The assembly was rapt, hanging on his every word. As he spoke, something extraordinary occurred behind him. A circular shape began to form on the wall as if emerging from the very stones themselves.
Divided into four segments, each bearing a distinct symbol - a cup, a coin, a wand, and a sword - the symbols materialized in the stone with an eerie luminescence as though etched by some dark, arcane force. The sight of it sent a shiver through the crowd; they didn't know if to awe or feel the dread rippling through the hall.
"I summon you, Magi, mightiest of all. Come forth, heed my call. Bend your power to my will; your purpose is now mine to instil. Together, we shall prevail. I claim mastery over your fate. Answer my summons, from this day until the end of times, be bound to my side, and be mine!"
Every eye was fixed on the king and the arcane symbols behind him. However, only a few noticed that one of the symbols—the coin—became a skull.
"Answer my summons, from this day until the end of times, be bound to my side, and be mine!" He repeated with the final word of his incantation. The symbols on the wall glowed brighter.
“Zonnestra Duvencrune!”
There was an unease in the crowd as if something in the air wasn't right, and from the surface of the ground, a woman dressed in colourful fabric appeared.
She was fighting for her freedom or an invisible enemy she couldn't fathom, her eyes and mouth stitched. There was the strongest Magi of them all, and none of the assembly knew her name besides Xendrix and Mediah. And that mage, that woman, was the Noctavia, the Master of the Howling Night, Hexe of Yeso Sternach, the Sun—Zonnestra Duvencrune.
Mediah couldn't believe his eyes. He looked beside him, Zvoya, transpiring pride and veneration for her king, and the other forty-three Lamias spread through the hall. There wasn't much escape, and in the air was the smell of blood about to be spilt and splashed.
Suddenly, a hand touched his shoulder. Mediah turned and saw a man with red hair, an amber eye and a patch on the other. "Come with me if you want to live!"
"Who are you?" Mediah asked with the notion that the answer was the least important in this situation.
"Oh boy, I have so many names… for now, call me Edgar. Edgar Duvencrune, but come on, we don't have much time! This is about to become a slaughter!"
> In my books, there's a chapter that I find particularly difficult to address. It's challenging to speak about, let alone write because it often provokes questions from those who only know part of the story and not the whole story—the full cycle. They ask, "Why didn't you save your parents? You had the means, the knowledge, the power. Why did you choose to sacrifice them?" From their viewpoint, the doubt is understandable. However, the choice I faced was: it was either my parents or my daughter. This is a decision that perhaps only a parent can truly comprehend. The ease with which I made that choice might seem unfathomable to some. But the more complicated question for me is how I could harbour such deep, unconditional love for a creature I never once held in my arms. Yet, despite the pain of that decision, I know in my heart that I would make the same choice again and again and again just for the chance to hold her, even if just for a silver moment. They would have taken the same decision, for me or for her. The same. ——The Hexe - Book One by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, Special Edition, 555th Summer