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CHAPTER XI:
The Slipping Soul
Morning,
24 Flamestar 1011,
The Age of Night
27 Days until the Night of the Moon
Under Fioranz
Amidst the shadows of the catacombs, Síbela moved with silent grace, instinctually navigating the labyrinthine pathways beneath the city. The air was damp and heavy, thick with the scent of earth and the hope of daylight. This indicated that she had traversed well beyond the city limits and was now within the ancient networks that sprawled out seemingly endlessly under Northern Fiora. The torchlight she carried cast flickering shadows on the walls, revealing the uneven stones that lined the passages.
Síbela froze as she finally reached a dusty staircase hewn from the pallid rock. Little shafts of light were cutting through the darkness, revealing the particulate dust that was circulating through the air. Síbela pushed open the secret trap door that led her out into the world beyond. As she emerged from the depths of the soil below, she was momentarily engulfed in a bright light that blinded her. However, the scent of the open air, with its distinct aroma of salty seawater from the Dagamar Bay to the west, was a most welcome sensation. The gentle breeze that grazed her skin felt like a familiar embrace from an old friend, leaving her feeling refreshed and at ease. The time had moved swiftly, and now the Flamestar had climbed higher in the sky, its warm rays casting a soft, golden glow over the landscape.
She found herself standing at the edge of the great Fioran wood. It still bore many of its enchanting features. She wondered what these trees might have witnessed throughout the ages. The forest exuded a strange feeling as if the very grass, leaves, and bark were once alive with magic. The leaves whispered to the wind, their rustling a language only the woods understood. Shafts of sunlight filtered through the dense canopy above, creating cascades of light and shadow upon the forest floor.
As she made her way through the woods, Síbela's steps were accompanied by a soft crunch underfoot. The ground was carpeted in an array of colors signaling the end of the Flamestar - vibrant greens, rich reds, and muted oranges - a tapestry woven by the hands of nature. The air was alive with the trill of birdsong, each note a melody that harmonized with the rustling of leaves and the distant murmur of a nearby stream.
The flora bloomed with a timeless grace. The Wood was colloquially known to possess the very essence of summer. Visitors felt a common sensation that had once seemed to refuse to yield to the passage of time through the star-seasons, at least until 981 and the Bizryan Plague – when the days seemed to become dreary, dull, and bleak. While still beautiful, it simply lacked the luster it once possessed. Still, flowers of every hue adorned the forest floor, their delicate petals kissed by sunlight. The scent of wildflowers mingled with the earthy aroma of moss and decaying leaves, creating a symphony of scents that wrapped around Síbela like a comforting embrace.
For Síbela and many others, the Great Fioran Wood could have been a kingdom of its own, a realm where time seemed to stand still, where the boundaries between reality and fantasy blurred. As Síbela walked deeper into the heart of the forest, she couldn't help but feel a connection to the ancient trees, the whispering leaves, and the hidden creatures that called this place home. And now it would be hers... or so her father wished. But she knew it was not safe. Beasts and other dangerous beings certainly dwelled in the woods.
As Síbela walked, her fingers brushed against the polished wood of her Drümmargian Bow, a gesture of familiarity that grounded her in the present moment. It was a gift from her father when she graduated the Fioran Academy in 984. The weapon was immaculate. A pale grey with carved runes. It had colorful feathers ornamenting the bottom, and the bow was a strong wire of more than a mere tool; it was an extension of herself, a reminder of her once central purpose as a trained guardian of Fiora. Though she had resigned to court life as a member of the prominent Grazzli family, she never forgot her duty. The wood was known to be relatively safe, but Síbela knew better than to let her guard down.
The path led her deeper into the wood, winding its way through thickets and clearings, until she reached a grassy knoll that overlooked the breathtaking expanse of Dagamar Bay. The sight was awe-inspiring – the endless stretch of cerulean waters meeting the horizon in a seamless blend, the gentle waves lapping against the shore in a soothing rhythm.
As she approached the shoreline, the picturesque Grazzli boat house came into view, evoking fond memories of the many summers she and her father spent there. In those carefree days, they would sail, lounge, and walk the idyllic surroundings together. Unfortunately, with her father's rise to the Governorship of Fiora following the revolution, their visits to the beloved vacation home had become a rarity. He was just too busy. Nevertheless, the sight of the shanty home still filled her heart with warmth and nostalgia. Its architecture harmonized with the natural beauty of the surroundings, and the large, dusty glass windows allowed the sunlight to spill into the interior, still creating an inviting ambiance. A covered dock extended from the building, its sturdy planks reaching out over the water like an open invitation. It was now her sanctuary, her retreat from her father’s fears, and the complexities of court life and the watchful eyes of those who sought to control her.
She walked up to the large, now moss-covered oaken door with golden fastenings. She dug through her knapsack and extracted a gilded skeleton key that matched the musty lock. She blew on the lock, clicked the key in, and twisted it. A long drawn-out creak filled her ears and gave way. Upon entering, suddenly a wave of surprise and disappointment washed over her. The serene atmosphere that once enveloped the interior had vanished, replaced by a stale odor and shabby decorations. It was evident that the establishment had been abandoned for years, as cobwebs and dust blanketed every nook and cranny. The walls looked slightly termite-eaten. Mice scattered as she entered through the portal of the door. But despite the disheveled state of the cottage, she couldn't help but feel a pang of longing for the uncomplicated yet refined furnishings that laid before her.
Stepping inside, she felt the dusty wood beneath her feet and the gentle sway of the structure as her weight caused the house to shift slightly. The soft sound of waves lapping against the shore was accompanied by the distant cries of seagulls, creating a soothing sensation that wrapped around her like a comforting embrace.
Closing the drafty door behind her, Síbela shut out the world beyond and allowed herself to be enveloped in the peace of her hidden refuge. She resigned to the idea that her journey here was more than the sum of her father's fears; it was also a pilgrimage to a place that held memories, both sweet and bittersweet. She walked through the house and came to the door of her old room. Her heart shuddered as she turned the gilded handle. She swung the door open and saw her old room. The bed, mirror, and bookshelf remained where she had left them, albeit blanketed in dust. To her shock, her bed was still neatly made, adorned with her old stuffed animals and dolls. Síbela's fingers brushed against the soft fabric of her childhood companions, each one a vessel of memories from a time when her worries were simpler, and her heart was untouched by the complexities of courtly life as a Grazzli. She picked up a worn doll, her touch tender as she remembered the countless hours spent carrying it around, even dragging it with her on the beach.
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Turning her attention to the vanity mirror that stood beside the bed, Síbela's reflection stared back at her. The years had brought changes – a maturation of features, a deepening of her gaze – yet the essence of who she was remained unchanged. The mirror seemed to hold a silent conversation with her, a whispered promise that no matter how much time had passed, the core of her identity was unshaken. Being a Chimera, she possessed small speckled iridescent features that rippled across her skin. Since she was a child, she found herself lost in her own beauty.
With a mixture of emotions swirling within her, Síbela laid her bow and effects by the bed and lowered herself onto it, the soft mattress yielding beneath her weight. She looked around the room, allowing the memories to flood her senses. The sunlight filtering through the windows fell sooner and sooner, which sent her into a place of somberness with each passing hour.
And then, another memory flooded her mind. Her gaze drifted towards the vanity mirror, a portal to a time she often revisited. And there, in the reflection, stood her father, Belzon Grazzli, his reptilian, scaled face, and cat-like eyes an undeniable reminder of his otherworldly lineage. Despite her undisturbed demeanor, her thoughts carried her away, as the echo of his words filled her senses.
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"You have your mother's smile," he had said, his voice a gentle murmur that seemed to blend seamlessly with the room's tranquil air, a smile on his own lips. She was no older than eleven. The two stood side by side, before the vanity mirror that he had gifted her on this particular trip. She would go on to witness countless conversations between them in these mirrors, which she was quite fond of, and he knew it. Síbela's gaze remained blank, distant, as if she were staring through the glass at memories long gone.
Belzon's eyes held a mixture of emotions, as he gazed upon his daughter's reflection and spoke of a past she could only imagine. "Your mother, Lycía, had a smile that could light up even the darkest soul.... even... a soul like mine. It was... a smile that held a warmth and kindness that transcended the boundaries of our two worlds."
Síbela's reflection remained unchanged, her expression revealing nothing of the turmoil within her. She had never met her Lyban mother, her image forever enshrouded in the stories her father shared.
"Lycía was a healer, a beacon of hope for those in need," Belzon continued, his voice carrying the weight of memories and unspoken longing. "She possessed a respect for all life, a connection to nature and its intricate tapestry. It was a gift that drew me to her, a bond that defied the norms of our realm.”
His normally emotionless face seemed to fall melancholy at the thought.
“A bond I risked much for,"
As he spoke, his scaled hand brushed the surface of the mirror, as if trying to bridge the gap between their reflections. Síbela's gaze remained distant, fixed on the vast expanse of memories that swirled within her mind.
"She was taken from us too soon," Belzon whispered, his voice tinged with sorrow. "Her life was intertwined with yours, my child. A bond that transcends time, a legacy of hope that lives within you. Her soul."
Despite the solemnity of his words, Síbela's expression remained unchanged, as if she were a silent observer in her own thoughts. Her father's presence, and his words, all seemed to blend into the tapestry of her existence.
"You must listen to me, Síbela..." He said, turning her toward him, away from the mirror. "What you are... what is within you... is so precious... so transcendent..."
He leaned in further.
"Not the fiery soul of a wolen... not the ice-cold soul of a ven..."
His normally mask-like, expressionless face broke.
"It is... priceless."
As the memory waned and reality reasserted itself, Síbela found herself whisked back to 1011. Yet the room around her still held the echo of the past, the silent witness to these moments that had shaped her identity.
With a deep breath, she closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift once again between the currents of memory and reality. The Fioran Ocean that lay behind the Dagamar Bay beckoned beyond the windows, the sound of its waves seemingly drifting her out of her body. And there, in the cocoon of her thoughts, Síbela found solace in the fragments of her mother's smile and the unspoken emotions that connected her to her father.
As the memory faded, Síbela was left with a sense of longing, a love for a wolen she had never met – a connection that grew stronger with time, despite the challenges and distances that had pulled them apart. After all, despite her ethereal beauty, she passed for a regular wolen. She identified with Lyban people more than any ven she had ever crossed paths with, who, more often than the former, treated her like scum. She traced a finger over the vanity mirror, her own reflection offering a faint smile, as if understanding the heritage that lay hidden within her heart.
With a sigh, Síbela walked to the window. The bay stretched before her, its vastness a reflection of the mysteries that lay within her own soul. The beauty of the world outside was a reminder that life was a tapestry woven with moments of joy, sorrow, and everything in between.
As the sun continued its slow descent towards the horizon, casting a golden glow over the water, Síbela closed her eyes again, allowing the tranquility of the moment to envelop her. The boat house, the memories, and the embrace of the nostalgia that lingered in that place gave her an odd feeling of bliss. She didn't want to leave the city... but now the sting from that was dulling.
Suddenly... in the depths of her heart, a whisper of laughter and entered her mind. Moments of forbidden pleasure once shared within these walls. A thread seemed to stretch itself from a moment, transcending time and space.
As she attempted to settle onto the bed, exhaustion began to seep into her bones. The events of the past days had left her drained – her father’s sudden mania and obsession with her “imminent danger”. She knew not to disobey him. He had always, always given her everything, and had done everything for her. Yet despite her physical and mental aches and pains, in the solace of the boat house, a particular memory resurfaced with unexpected clarity. She closed her eyes, and in an instant, for some reason, she was transported back to the days of the revolution that brought about Imperial Fiora – a time of upheaval and uncertainty…
That whisper of laughter was now a voice. A voice that echoed in her mind, his words a painful whisper that sent shivers down her spine. Her eyes began to heat up with her pain. It was as if it was still happening. She could feel the warmth of his touch, the electrifying connection that had once sparked between them. Their faces were inches apart, their breaths mingling in the charged air as they laid together on that very bed. Close, but not too close.
The memory was veiled, obscured by the passage of time and the weight of their distance and widely departing paths. And yet, the essence of that moment lingered – the undeniable chemistry, the unspoken tension, the intoxicating allure of something they weren't supposed to have, but something she was sure was fate. A moment when their souls were forever sealed to one another.
Síbela's cheeks flushed as she allowed herself to relish the memory, her lips curving into a half-smile as she opened her eyes to the present. The boat house seemed to hold the echo of that memory, its walls imbued with the energy of that passionate moment. She knew that the past was unchangeable, that the circumstances that had separated them were beyond their control. And yet, in this place of solitude and memory, she could allow herself to indulge in the thought of what could have been. But only for a moment.
And it was just a moment.
Never mind that. She thought to herself, as she shook it off. She forced herself to think elsewhere. She tried to think of her fianceé, Daryusz, whom she did feel something for… but it was nowhere near as electric as what she had felt for… him. She considered it a burden she would always bear, despite everything that had happened between them. But as the days went on… she felt less and less for Daryusz. Less and less for… anyone.
For just a split second, she seemed to ponder why... but then, she drearily drifted towards sleep. She more tangibly felt this strange sensation year after year since she and he had separated. A hollowness had crept in. The warmth of her fond memories were decaying in real-time, both in that moment and overall. Her emotions started to dull. Numbness began to spread. She felt muted. The remaining hours passed in a hazy blend, with the sunlight gradually shifting its position in the sky. With her now common and empty sigh, Síbela somehow mustered the strength that allowed herself to finally surrender to sleep.