Prophesy of Fire - Song of Chaos

verse 2

Yet summer crept in, to praise his twin,

Took his soul within, and gave it sin,

He sold his second son so dear,

for the perfect firstborn child to appear

Chapter 2.1 - The Fire: Timpers Coal

- Kyllian and Terra -

Kyllian had been pacing back and forth for a while when Terra finally came to get him. Her inevitable departure with Malachite and the body of the queen had occupied his mind. Craft's assurances might have eased Terra, but they did little for him. The certainty in Craft's words was overshadowed by the gnawing doubt about the cost of this so-called best deal. The dark, frost-covered roads ahead only added to the weight of her burden.

"I should just come with you?" Kyllian said as their conversation led them through the murky halls, his voice edged with unease. Though his exterior remained calm, there was no hiding the distress within.

"You know you can’t Kyllian, your father needs you here—look at it like your moment to prove everything you’ve trained for. Don’t let it slip away over this." Terra’s voice was soothing, calm, like she was talking to a much younger version of him. Despite his apparent composure, she could see through to the scared boy beneath.

Kyllian fell silent. He knew she had made up her mind, yet he still found himself searching her posture for a sign of change. The thought of continuing without her constant emotional support seemed impossible. He had no response that would fill his void, so their steps grew quiet on the cold stone floor. They were making their way toward Craft's private quarters, and silence settled between them. It wasn’t uncomfortable—just heavy, like a silence of understanding and inevitability.

Terra observed Kyllian's demeanor, sensing the weight of his unspoken worries even if he wasn’t looking directly at her. The quiet intensity of his struggle was palpable, and she felt a deep empathy for what he was carrying alone.

“You seem like you’re carrying a lot,” she said gently, her voice filled with warmth. “I know you don’t always talk about what’s troubling you, but it’s okay to share some of that with someone.”

Kyllian’s focus remained on the ground, his expression guarded. “I’ll manage,” he said, though his tone suggested otherwise.

She leaned in closer, her concern evident. “Even if I’m leaving tomorrow, I want you to know that you don’t have to face everything by yourself.”

He looked up briefly, meeting her gaze for a fleeting moment before looking away again. “I appreciate that,” he replied quietly. “But I need to handle things on my own.”

Terra’s heart ached at his words, but she maintained her gentle tone. “You’re strong, Kyllian, but being strong doesn’t mean you have to be alone in everything.”

He offered a small, grateful nod, his eyes still averted but his expression softening. “Thanks, Mother,” he said, his voice low but sincere.

Terra gave him a supportive smile, hoping that her words could provide some comfort, even if she couldn’t change the circumstances.

As they approached the end of the corridor, the torches began to burn green as a result of the beetle wax mixed into the fire, a cheaper alternative to the oil and lime used throughout the rest of the cathedral. The drawback, however, was the overpowering stench; a mixture of dirty laundry and wet earth mingling with the cold air as it clung to the back of Kyllian’s throat.

He wrinkled his nose and lifted his sleeve to block the smell, but Terra, unfazed, smiled softly as her gaze fell on an old door at the end of the hall. This was where she had intended to lead him.

"I have something to show you," Terra said, breaking the quiet as they stood before the door. "It’s why I brought you here so late."

Kyllian stared at the door, confusion crossing his features. The green, flickering light from the torches mounted on either side of the door cast shifting shadows across his face. "But Father explicitly said not to go in there until he allowed it," Kyllian replied, his tone cautious. He remembered those exact words from almost a decade ago.

Terra’s smile widened, her eyes gleaming with a spark of excitement he hadn’t seen in a long time. "Well, guess what? He allowed it for what I’m about to show you!" Her enthusiasm was infectious, and despite himself, Kyllian felt a small smile tug at his lips. It had been so long since he’d seen her like this—alive in the way she used to be, before the weight of everything had dimmed her light.

Still, all he could see in her eyes was the reflection of the torches.

She unlocked the door and pushed it open. A wave of warm air greeted them, carrying with it the faint scent of something ancient and powerful. Kyllian hesitated for a moment, peering into the circular hall. Its sheer size made him feel small.

His eyes were quickly drawn to the center of the room, where a large white flame burned steadily, its blaze contained within glass. From there, it was drawn out to the rest of the cathedral, changing into its more common blue flame.

"Is that...?" he began, his words faltering at the sight of this beautiful flame. He expected to feel its heat but received nothing from the glass.

"Yes! The First Flame!" Terra’s voice leapt with unrestrained joy. Her eyes brightened as she stepped further into the room, the light dancing in her expression as if it had reignited something in her. "I've been waiting to show the two of you for so long!" she said, her energy almost childlike.

Her smile faltered as her heart grew heavy, the moment tinged with unexpected sadness. Marsh should have been here with them, standing beside them as they shared this experince. She had always imagined the three of them together, enjoying the fire. His absence settled in again, dulling the excitement in her eyes, and with it the familiar worry returned. She found herself wondering, not for the first time, if Marsh had ever truly escaped. The thought gnawed at her. She had seen strength in him, yes, but it was the fierce, defiant kind—the kind that blazed outward, challenging the world head-on. But strength like that could burn out just as quickly. Was he all right? Could he ever be?

Kyllian’s brow furrowed as he observed her frown. He wanted to say something that would bring back her smile, but instead, he turned back to the fire. Its cold glow was mesmerizing, and how it still burned despite the years was fascinating.

"So, this is what you wanted to show me?" he asked, trying to direct Terra's attention.

Terra shook her head, her gaze still fixed on the flame. "No, this is just a memory. A happy one—from when Craft and I were still figuring things out." Her voice softened, wrapped in the warmth of nostalgia. "But what I want to show you is further down this hallway."

She gestured toward a wide, dark tunnel that seemed to swallow the light from the room. The opening yawned ominously from the far wall, and Kyllian felt a chill run down his spine. His heart raced as if sensing the unknown dangers lurking beyond.

If it were anyone but Terra urging him, Kyllian would have turned back. But the trust he had in her, combined with the flicker of curiosity ignited by her excitement, compelled him to follow. He hesitated only briefly before stepping into the pitch-black tunnel.

"The first door to the right," Terra instructed as they ventured into the engulfing darkness. Her voice was a reassuring whisper, though the absence of light rendered even her words a ghostly echo. "But remember—never bring light with you."

Kyllian felt Terra’s hand slip around his arm, the only tangible thing in the enveloping blackness. The absence of light was overwhelming, as if the darkness had substance, pressing against his senses. He stumbled slightly, adjusting to the disorienting sensation.

A door creaked open somewhere in front of them, its sound resonating through the tunnel. Terra’s hand tightened, guiding him with a firm but gentle touch. Kyllian stepped cautiously through the narrow stone passage, the silence pressing in on him. He wasn’t used to these hidden corners of the castle. The air here was damp, heavy with something unspoken, like a presence lurking just out of reach. He wasn’t sure what to expect until a voice emerged from the oppressive darkness.

"Lost, are we?" A smooth, playful voice cut through the silence. Kyllian stiffened, instinctively reaching for the sword he had left in his chambers. The air shifted as the voice approached, too close for comfort.

"Flik, it’s me," her voice carrying a mix of familiarity and urgency.

"Oh, it’s you, Terra. I thought it was someone else," Flik replied, moving around within the suffocating darkness. The cold air seemed to shift with Flik’s movements, sending chills down Kyllian’s spine. He raised his hand instinctively, waving it in front of himself. He couldn’t see a thing. The oppressive darkness was complete, making him feel vulnerable in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

Kyllian closed his eyes momentarily, focusing on steadying his breath and tuning into the faint vibrations around him. The oppressive darkness seemed almost alive, pulsating with an unseen rhythm. For a second, he thought he could almost feel his surroundings, but the illusion was shattered when Flik’s voice came close, too close.

"Who’s this?" Flik asked, his foul breath invading Kyllian's space, forcing its way into his lungs.

Kyllian instinctively took a step back, his heart pounding in his chest, covering his nose from the familiar stench of beetle wax.

"This is my and Craft’s son, Flik," Terra said, her voice calm yet holding an edge. "I was hoping you could help us with something."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"Help you with what?" Flik asked, his voice carrying a note of confusion as it echoed through the pitch-black room. He rarely had visitors down here—aside from Craft's occasional visits—and the idea of someone needing his help almost seemed like a distant one.

Flik circled around Terra and Kyllian, his steps light and erratic. His attention lingered not on their uneasy posture or their fumbled attempts to keep balance but on something far more intriguing to him—their vibrant colors, the ties that bound them, the scars they carried like whispers of old wounds. He ignored the subtle cues of discomfort, enraptured instead by the swirling emotions that only he could comprehend.

"I would love to explain more, Flik, but could you show us to the table first?" Terra asked, her tone warm.

"Oh, of course! Sorry, I forgot!" Flik replied, noting how her golden hue softened back into a calm blue as he spoke. Lightly balancing on his toes, he gently took Terra and Kyllian by the arms, guiding them through the cluttered room. The darkness was thick, swallowing their surroundings entirely, but with Flik's guidance, they soon found their seats, grateful to be anchored after the disorienting walk. Flik settled somewhere on the table in front of them, the creaking wood betraying his movements amidst the dark.

“So, why are you so gray?” Flik asked Kyllian, while rummaging through the clutter of cups, books, and beetle shells on the table, oblivious to how jarring the sounds were in the dark, his curiosity growing as he sought to understand the depth behind Kyllian's gray.

“Gray?” Kyllian snapped, his irritation evident. “What are you talking about?” he retorted, clearly agitated. He couldn’t see Flik, but his growing annoyance was evident. "Why would you bring me here?" he muttered to Terra.

“Yes, gray as in your color,” Flik explained undeterred, as if his strange explanation was the most natural thing in the world, while watching as Kyllian's shades shifted to a gentle red.

“Stop it, Flik,” Terra interjected gentle yet firm. "That’s not why we’re here." She sighed, her earlier excitement dimming. “I have to leave soon, and I was hoping Kyllian could use your connection to stay in contact with me through the other Mitouri.”

Flik’s gaze shifted away from Kyllian as Terra's color faded to a pale, misty gray. He could see the weight of her thoughts, memories pulling her back. "Oh, I see now," Flik replied, his playfulness quieting. "You want me to be a link between the two of you." He nodded. "I can do that."

Kyllian shifted in his seat, still lost. He had heard stories about the Mitouri—Legendary beings who rarely ventured beyond their secluded mountain. Their presence was so rare, many dismissed them as myths. To actually meet one face-to-face was something he’d never expected, and now, Flik was offering a connection he could barely understand.

“Would someone explain what you two are talking about?” Kyllian finally asked, his voice edged with confusion.

Flik fidgeted on the table, the faint clinking of objects following his movement. "I’m a Librarian," he explained proudly. "We Librarians can pass mental messages between each other."

Terra chair creaked as she leaned forward, her voice calm but edged with hope. “Exactly. So, I’ll be able to send you messages, and Flik will deliver them to you immediately,” she said, her words offering Kyllian some comfort in the overwhelming darkness.

“That’s the spirit, Grayling!” Flik chimed in, enjoying Kyllian’s gray softening into a gentle green hue “I can see your relief brightening you already.”

Kyllian flushed, embarrassed by his own vulnerability. turning away, to retreating back into his guarded self, forcing the colors back into the familiar gray. Kyllian, though unsettled, allowed himself a sigh of relief. Even if Flik’s world of colors made no sense to him, the promise of staying connected with Terra brought a much-needed sense of stability. Yet he still had the need for understanding stirring within him.

“How is this possible?” Kyllian asked, skepticism seeping into his tone.

“It’s really quite simple,” Flik began, his voice brightening, clearly thrilled by the opportunity to teach. “Imagine our world shaped by three states of matter—Each one, like water in its cycles– Ice, liquid, and vapor.”

His voice conveyed the weight of each concept, drawing Kyllian in with the sheer enthusiasm in his tone.

“First, there’s Copus, which you can think of as the ice state. It’s the physical energy around us—your body, the ground beneath you, anything you can touch. This is what gives form and structure to everything.”

As Kyllian listened, Flik’s tone shifted, becoming more serious.

“Next is Mens, which is like a liquid—fluid, adaptable, but still present. It’s your thoughts, your logic and reasoning. It flows through your mind, shaping how you understand the world. It's the internal force that powers your mind and enables you to think and understand.”

Flik paused, letting his words sink in, before continuing in a more reflective tone.

“And then there’s Anima, which you can think of as vapor—the invisible force that moves and fills everything. It’s your soul, your emotions, your connections to others. It’s what makes things move and grow, the force that nurtures connections and fuels our deepest feelings.”

His voice softened, filled with warmth.

“If one state shifts, the others respond. Just like when ice melts or evaporates, the whole system changes. that is the foundation of everything!”

“Flik,” Terra interrupted gently, “maybe you should start with something more straightforward. Kyllian doesn’t need the whole lesson.”

“Ah, of course!” Flik cleared his throat, in disappointment “all things are connected in ways that you can’t see. I simply use these connections to give and receive information,”

“I see…” Kyllian muttered, though it was clear he didn’t. He cast an irritated glance in the direction of Terra’s voice, for having halted the explanation.

Terra tilted her head, sensing his reluctance. “Try asking him something, anything!” she suggested “I at least found it easier to understand, that way.” She said, trying to guide his thought

“A question?” Kyllian echoed, hesitant.

“Indeed! Ask anything,” Flik chimed in cheerfully. “I am a librarian, after all!” His voice carried a smile that almost made Kyllian feel awful for doubting him.

Kyllian paused, struggling to find one, but suddenly something particular surfaced in his mind.

“I’ve always wondered How did Father become the first disciple of Null?” Kyllian said, the words coming slowly, as though they carried the weight of his uncertainty.

“Oh, now that’s an excellent question!” Flik said, clapping his hands with enthusiasm. sending cups clattering to the floor. He stood up his weight causing the wooden table to creak, as illuminated lines colorfully began weaving through the air, forming intricate layered pictures like a storybook coming to life.

Flik closed his eyes, but the world around him didn’t fade to black. It never did. Colors swirled, not in his mind, but as something he felt—as tangible and undeniable as breath. They surged from the air, from the ground beneath him, surrounding him in a way sight never could. The blue was sharp, like a crisp wind biting at his skin; the red was heat, simmering beneath their ribs. These colors weren't something his eyes had ever truly grasped—they were a sensation, pulsing through him like an instinct, filling every space around him with their presence. He felt them as powerfully as others might see a sunrise or hear a thunderclap, only more intimate, more consuming.

“To understand how your father became the First Disciple of Null, we need to look back—far back— to the war against the Vaith,” Flik began, his tone far more somber than before.

Kyllian leaned closer. The version of history he’d been taught felt sanitized compared to the ominous tone of Flik’s tale.

“The Vaith were a fearsome enemy,” Flik said, his voice dropping to a whisper as though the very walls were eavesdropping. “Not because of their weapons, No... what made the Vaith so feared was because they refused to die. Limbs severed in battle regrew almost instantly. Fatal wounds closed as though they had never been. But their regeneration wasn’t without a cost.”

The image shifted, showing Vaith soldiers in a frenzied state, “With each regeneration, they lost a piece of their mind. They went berserk, attacking without thought, without fear. They’d rip through alliance forces and the closer they came to death, the less human they became, growing more and more violent and monstrous with every wound, losing themselves to madness.”

Kyllian’s chest tightened. The tales he’d heard growing up had never gone into such disturbing detail. Terra remained quiet, though Kyllian sensed something buried beneath her calm exterior.

The images flew through the air, showing the Vaith ravaging Dailan soldiers, healing as they slaughtered. “It was like fighting a tide of insanity,” Flik continued. “The tide began to turn when Craft—your father—aligned with Litera, ruled at the time by Malachite’s father. Their combined forces gave the Dailans an edge, but even then, they couldn’t match the Vaith’s ability to endlessly regenerate. They needed a solution.”

Kyllian leaned back slightly, doubt flickering.“ I always heard Letera was the key to winning the war.”

“Their role is well-known,” Terra added. “What most people don’t know is what came after.”

“Yes, they played their part, certainly. But the war’s outcome was determined by something else entirely.” Flik’s tone sharpens, as a new image appears—The Remedial Church, towering up from the room, its shadow lingered in the darkness. “The Church had developed a ‘remedy,’ something that mimicked the Vaith’s ability to heal. Soldiers on the brink of death could be brought back, their bodies mended. At first, it seemed like salvation.” The bright threads showed soldiers, covered in blood and on the verge of death, rising again, whole and unbroken. “But the cost was high”

Kyllian watched as soldiers began to change. Their bodies twist and mutate, their faces contorted into something less– than human.

“Those saved by the remedy began to mutate, transforming into beasts driven by an uncontrollable hunger.” Flik continued “The Church, desperate to cover this up, created hunters to kill these creatures before the truth could be exposed.”

“The Sentinels,” Kyllian whispered.

“Yes,” Flik confirmed. “The Sentinels were born to deal with the remedy, but Craft... Craft saw through it.”

Flik gave Terra a glance, before revealing Craft standing before the Church’s priests. “Your father was guided by the Nullflame, Kyllian. It led him to this Church’s darkest secret. Their remedy wasn’t a miracle—” Another image emerged, showing Craft standing before a massive, ethereal being, its blood drawn into vials by the Church’s priests. “ They were using the blood of an ancient one, siphoning its power to create their remedy. But Craft found the proof and exposed the Church for what they had done.”

Kyllian looked down, trying to process it, but Terra’s steady voice pulled him back. “That was the beginning of the end for the Church.”

“That is exactly right Terra, Their power diminished, while Craft’s influence grew. People turned away from the Church, following the path your father lit with the Nullflame,” Flik says, pausing, as if searching for the right words. “He was guided by something beyond mortal understanding. And that’s how he became the First Disciple of Null.”

The final image dissipated, leaving only silence and the familiar darkness in the chamber. Kyllian, his mind racing, finally spoke. “And you believe the flame still guides him?” Kyllian exhaled slowly.

The weight of the revelation pressed down on Kyllian’s chest. Terra, always composed, now speaks with an edge of finality. “You should ask him yourself. He’s the only one who truly knows where the flame leads.”

- Terra and Craft -

The morning light cast a harsh glare on Terra’s departure day. She clung to the faint hope of a miracle, but the reality of leaving for Letera loomed like an unshakable shadow. Her journey would take her deeper into Dailan Territory, further away from her homeland and the people she cherished. Craft approached her and the carriage, his grip on her hands firm but detached. Terra’s heart ached with a bitter resentment, feeling as though she were being traded like property. Yet, her sorrow overwhelmed her anger, and she struggled to hold back her tears.

She met Craft’s gaze, his eyes cold and unyielding. Though most would miss it, she saw the flicker of pain hidden within.

“This is for the best,” Craft said, his voice devoid of warmth. The anger that had once consumed him had dimmed into irritation over how the situation had changed.

“I know,” Terra replied, placing a hand on his chest. She felt the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm, a fleeting solace before the inevitable departure.

Her moment of calm shattered when Malachite’s impatience broke the silence. From his wagon further ahead, the king’s voice cut through the air, “Let’s go, you’ve had your time!” To him, the tears of a stranger was nothing more than plain water. The coachman’s call followed, “All ready!” Terra glanced at Kyllian, who stood with a group of cathedral servants, offering a feeble smile and a hesitant wave.

A guard gently took her arm and guided her to the carriage. As the small door closed behind her, she sent Craft a final, reluctant smile. Her eyes lingered on Kyllian, a silent prayer that she had imparted enough wisdom to help him navigate the challenges ahead. Terra hoped, against hope, that what she had given him would suffice in the trials Craft was sure to impose.