Interlude - Lorcan

There weren’t many things that scared Lorcan. Though he knew he lagged behind the other guardians in both age and experience, what he lacked in knowledge he made up for with a deeply ingrained understanding of survival. He wasn’t born a noble nor had he had a path laid out for him, but had clawed his way up to the top. He knew when to be cutthroat, when to be forgiving. When to follow common wisdom and when to trust his instincts. Since his induction, he’d made a name for himself as the new third guardian, but what he was most proud of was his ability to face things without flinching.

Perhaps that was why the sight of the tear bothered him so much. It wasn’t just the white light pouring from its gaping maw, utterly alien and wrong, but the bone deep fear that sunk its claws deeper in the longer he looked at it. Every tear exuded the same permeating hollowness, the same distinct chill, but none had the weight and pressure that this one did. It was ancient and skin crawling. It beckoned him forward yet also made him want to flee.

“Are you alright?”

Angus’s low, rumbling voice filtered through his thrumming thoughts, and Lorcan turned to face the other seraph.

The eighth guardian studied him closely, massive wings outstretched and moving in a steady rhythm to keep him afloat. His heavy armor gleamed oddly in the tear’s light, seemingly warping under the false radiance. Beneath his thick beard, the man was frowning, and Lorcan cleared his throat.

“I just got a little lost in my thoughts.” His voice slowed. “I didn’t think this,” he gestured below them, “was actually possible.”

“Indeed.” Angus turned to the tear below them, eyebrows furrowing.

Nestled within a smooth expanse of flat plains caught between two towering mountains, the tear looked like a cut slashing through the earth. A light mist swirled around them, pushed and pulled by a violent wind—a signature of the third plane. Emerald lightning flashed in the distance, and far away, Lorcan could just barely make out the distant silhouettes of titans and dragons weaving around mist and cloud.

The group of seraphs hadn’t yet been approached by the denizens of the realm, but Lorcan wasn’t foolish enough to think that would last. Four guardians appearing at once would raise eyebrows anywhere, and especially so on the third plane, which had never looked particularly favorably at Elysium.

He focused on the tear again. It was radiant, as radiant as the Light’s throne, which only made its distinct Void presence all the more disconcerting.

“...So it’s true?” His words were slow, still processing them as he spoke. “The Oblivion’s really escaped?”

Sharp, rich brown eyes turned his direction. Angus didn’t speak for a moment, thinking. When he finally did, it was careful and deliberate.

“Not necessarily. This only confirms that the Void is unstable.”

“And the Oblivion leaving would certainly cause that.”

A third voice cut in, calm and steady. Juno, the sixth guardian, flew soundlessly above the tear, approaching the two of them. She raised an eyebrow.

“No need to mince words, Angus. The Light wouldn’t have sent four guardians here if the situation wasn’t dire.”

Angus heaved a long, weary sigh. “No, you’re right.” He shook his head. “I simply believe a bit of doubt would be prudent, given how unusual the circumstances are.”

That felt like an understatement. The longer Lorcan stared at the tear, the more and more the creeping unease grew. He hadn’t believed the Light when she’d first given them this mission. A white tear was peculiar enough, an unstable Void a legitimate concern. But the idea that the Oblivion could leave the Void? It would’ve been unthinkable before he’d become a guardian, and it was only marginally less so now.

To him, the Cycle and Oblivion had always been, first and foremost, forces of nature. While the Cycle had some amount of sentience, it was faint and largely negligible, which was why the Light acted as the Cycle’s voice. Lorcan had grown up assuming the same of the Oblivion, and this had indeed been true for most of history. But then, according to the current Light, the Oblivion had developed a stronger sentience over time, strong enough to make decisions and do things like leaving the Void.

“We need to report this immediately.” Angus’s deep voice, strong and commanding, rang out over the wind. Lorcan nodded, slightly ashamed at how relieved he felt to finally leave the place, but he paused. His eyes darted between the shining tear and the faraway silhouettes of the third plane’s denizens.

“Are we going to tell them about…this?” He gestured to the tear. Juno and Angus exchanged looks, and Juno shook her head.

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“No, not yet. We’ll need to conceal the tear before we leave.”

Lorcan wanted to ask how they planned on hiding a massive glowing tear from a realm inhabited by flying dragons and titans, especially when said creatures didn’t have the unflinching awe and loyalty to Elysium that humans did. If anything, they looked at seraphs with disdain, which Lorcan had always found rather amusing. He would take their claims of superiority more seriously if they weren’t constantly warring amongst themselves. They couldn’t even determine who had dominion over their own plane, and yet believed they might stand at the top of all the realms.

Before he could voice his thoughts, however, the fourth and final member of their group flew forward. The newest guardian of the Light raised a hand, and his palm glowed a rich forest green as he uttered a long, precise chant.

Beneath them, the ground rumbled. A crack ran across rocky stone, splitting waving grasses and sprawling forest. Dirt and earth rose sharply from the ground, shooting upwards in tall spires that climbed high above the tear before finally meeting together in a pointed tip. Clouds of dust rose around them, quickly dispersed by the wind, as the earth finally settled again. The formerly flat plains were now covered by a massive mountain, one even taller than its neighbors—the tear hidden far within its depths.

Without pausing, the seventh guardian muttered another string of chants. He flicked his wrist, and strands of green light coiled around the newly formed mountain, linking and chaining together to form an extra layer of wards.

When the glow finally died down, Julius lowered his hand, expression as impassive as ever. He didn’t seem remotely tired or out of breath from the amount of magic he’d used.

Lorcan frowned. He’d tried to speak to the other guardian a few times, but each attempt was brushed aside with curt words or silence. He’d expected Julius to be unsure at first, as most guardians were, but he’d instead thrown himself into his duties with a single minded conviction. He didn’t speak more words than necessary, was constantly in the training grounds, and never interacted with the other guardians outside of official capacities.

Lorcan could never escape the feeling that the other seraph was judging him. Despite being both younger and newer to guardianhood, Julius Andire had always had a strangely intense aura to him, one that Lorcan wasn’t quite sure how to deal with. One that unnerved him more than he liked to admit.

Even now, the ease at which he’d used magic and the lack of accompanying emotion was disconcerting. In the times he’d seen him before his ceremony, Lorcan hadn’t remembered him having that kind of power. His relentless training, it seemed, was paying off.

“That should be sufficient.” Julius’s voice was flat when he spoke. He turned, beating his wings once and kicking up a gust of wind. “Let’s go.”

He didn’t wait for a response, already shooting across the sky and back to the realm gate without a glance back. Lorcan bristled at the blatant disrespect, but neither Angus or Juno seemed especially bothered by it. Juno was as hard to read as ever, and Angus, if anything, looked concerned.

The sixth guardian flew forward as well, her loose dark braid flaring in the wind. “Come, we should return quickly.”

With a nod, the group of three soared away from the tear, gliding through rolling clouds and jagged lightning towards the distant pillar of light.

Lorcan lingered just a bit behind Juno and Angus, and Julius was a distant dot ahead of them. Over the roaring wind and the rumble of thunder, he could make out the two older guardians muttering between themselves. A few times he glanced back at the titans and dragons, but none approached them, too preoccupied with their own conflicts. The sight made him scoff. This was the worst time the inhabitants of the third plane could have chosen to start a war. They would all soon have much bigger problems to deal with.

“—talk to him—”

Low words drifted along the wind, and Lorcan flew a little closer, close enough to catch Angus’s deep frown and furrowed brows.

“Leave him be,” came Juno’s muttered response. “Give it time.”

“What if it’s not enough? Sentencing an old friend would be difficult for even the strongest of minds.” The guardian’s eyes shifted to the distant figure of the seraph ahead of them, and Lorcan found himself doing the same as understanding set in.

The sentencing. It was one of the reasons Lorcan had held off on more extreme judgments of Julius’s character so far (though his brother, Valen, had no such reservations).

The events of that evening had happened in a flash. He still remembered circling the palace chamber, the light beaming down on them from above. The constant, tense thrum of energy passing through them. The strange chill of the air.

There had been a certain unreality to it, though Lorcan wasn’t sure why. He certainly had no prior relationship to the sentenced—Lazarus, he believed it was. If anything, the Light’s declaration had been something of a validation. He’d only seen Julius’s retainer a few times prior to the ceremony, and each time he couldn’t shake a distinct impression of wrongness from the seraph.

On the outside, he was a perfect retainer. His silver hair and pale skin blended into the marble architecture as effectively as he himself kept his presence small and unnoticeable. The one time Lorcan had approached him directly, he’d been perfectly polite, keeping himself at a distance. That wasn’t too unusual for a servant, but that was out of caution and fear. When he’d spoken to Lazarus, it had felt like the seraph had genuinely had no personal opinions or thoughts to speak of.

Even when he’d seen him sparring with Julius, precise and methodical, Lorcan had still been put off. His movements were undeniably impressive—anyone strong enough to have needed both Aris and Angus to hold them down was a powerhouse in their own right—but they were also mechanical. Hollow. Lazarus had laughed and smiled when speaking to Julius afterwards, but even that had felt overly restrained and practiced.

Lorcan shook his head and beat his wings, flying a little faster. Angus and Juno’s voices quieted as he approached, and he pretended like he hadn’t overheard them. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed ahead on the distant seraph. Julius didn’t look back once, continuing forward at an even speed.

Frankly, Lorcan wasn’t sure Angus’s assessment was correct. The seventh guardian likely did feel at least somewhat conflicted about the situation, or he was even more cold than the worst of Valen’s complaints. But when Lorcan met those steady green eyes, when he took in his impassive, distant demeanor, it seemed to him that there was more to it than simple sorrow.

In the end, he supposed it didn’t matter. Lazarus’s soul would’ve long been torn apart in the Void, and the Oblivion had still escaped despite their best efforts.

Up ahead, the light of the ream gate beamed brightly, and Lorcan slowed as they approached. He took a second to glance behind him at the third plane in its entirety, taking in the roiling sky and lush landscapes, the silhouettes moving between lightning and mist. From here, he could just barely make out the distant shadow of the mountain concealing the tear.

The third guardian burned these images into his memory. The next time he came here, this plane and the others would be irrevocably changed.