Temple of Melokide

Callan thumbed to the next page of the Book of Jomens and sighed deeply in frustration yet again. More deceptions, more platitudes, more total heresies against the Black Drake himself. James devoted whole passages to the blatant disregard for their shared god and encouraged a horrendous lie that Melokon was actually the force holding them down rather than pushing them up.

“Listen to this,” he scoffed, reciting a passage that made his blood boil and his irises flare. “ ‘We as a people must forsake the Dragon as we know him. His greatest servant—' ” Callan jerked a thumb at himself. “— ‘is the greatest betrayer of Man. His flawed Empire of Obsidian cracks and crumbles while His Blessed Flames bicker and fail. Look to me, good people, look to me as your guide. I will take us to higher reaches than the Dark Serpent ever could.’ People truly bought into this?” He clamped the book shut and tossed it onto his desk; the thick tome made a deep thump when it made impact.

“You’ve read the whole thing four times this week, Callan,” Halari said with a consoling pat on his shoulder. She let her hand linger afterwards, much to his comfort. “And every time you’ve asked me that question after a different verse.”

“He left you with such deep lies,” Callan said glumly. “I wondered why Melokon was such a faded religious figure here.”

The skull, ever-cold and ever-present, which had been laughing at him and his legacy for the duration of his reading, now whispered darkly in his mind.

‘Look at the destruction he wrought,’ it hissed. ‘Not only did he ruin our home, but he ruined your very purpose. You’ll find no comfort in this girl, Cal. No matter how much you want to. Not while I’m still down ther—”

“Why don’t you just destroy all of them?” Halari asked, sitting down beside him on his office couch. Close, but farther than a guilty part of him wanted her to. The skull snarled at her; his mind was its to torment, not hers to soothe.

“Then I’m no better than James,” Callan said, internally repressing his deathly companion deep into that cracking mental vault so he could enjoy Halari’s presence. She smelled, like always, faintly of gunpowder and that plain soap so many of the Quarrymen seemed to use to bathe. “I’d be rewriting history to better fit my reign. I didn’t even attempt that when I was first Coronated. I believe in true persuasion through action and word. Or force, in the case of my enemies.”

“Did you have many of those?” she asked, relaxing on to the thin, firm cushions of the couch.

“At first,” Callan said. “But with the guidance of the real Melokon and my own instinct I was able to rid the Northern Dominion of them. Or convince them that my way was the only way forward.”

“Tell me about him,” Halari prompted. He saw that sharp curiosity in her bearing that meant she was ready to consume whatever tidbits of the past he had to offer. “Was he really, you know… a dragon? Big lizard thing?”

Callan barked a sudden, amused laugh, then quickly petitioned Melokon for forgiveness. “Yes, he really is a… big lizard thing.” The image of his first meeting the Great Dragon jumped to the forefront of his mind. Staring into that vast amethyst, crimson-spotted eye, he had been awed, reverent. He remembered kneeling, not running, not screaming, but kneeling in worship at the dawn of a new age.

“He’s the god of domination, conquest, control,” he continued. “To worship the Dragon is to take command. To conquer fears and doubts. To be bold in the face of uncertainty.”

He watched Halari stew that over, head quirked while the gears turned.

“Is there a like… a prayer involved or something?” she asked.

“Is Halari the town apostate really so interested in my religion?” Callan asked, arching a humored brow at her.

“You don’t talk about it like Tel does,” Halari said, shoving him lightly. “You talk about it with a nostalgia that make it sound a lot more genuine. I love my brother, but he really comes off as an old man yelling at the clouds.”

“An act of piety in itself almost,” Callan said with a wry smirk. “How is your brother? Still sitting in his self-imposed incarceration?”

“Yeah he’s locked himself in his room,” Halari said. “He gets a couple visitors, but otherwise I just hear him muttering to himself and writing stuff down. I just wish he’d come ou—”

A light knock sounded at the office door.

Callan rose and opened it to see Halari’s sister, Viria, standing outside with an annoyed expression.

“Great Flame is my sister with you?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ve been looking for her.” Callan stepped aside so that the blonde could see Halari sitting on the couch.

“Something wrong, Viri?” Halari asked.

“Did something happen?” Callan added, tensing. He’d been waiting all day for some kind of news; yesterday was supposed to be the day of the next drop off to the gildgrown. According to Halari’s city scouts, the enemies didn’t even show, so he had to assume that they were aware of the Quarry’s part in the skirmish of Fortune’s Crossing. But that was weeks passed, so if that was the case, why hadn’t they attacked yet?

Perhaps today’s the day, he worried, but Viria looked more intrigued than the bearer of bad news.

“Whatcha doing?” Viria asked innocently.

“Just talking with Callan,” Halari said with a shrug. “And polishing my rifle.” She nodded to where her weapon stood leaning on the wall across from the sofa.

“Sure you are.” Viria nodded slowly, a small grin twisting at the corners of her mouth. “Anyways, there is something happening. Kelot asked me to fetch you, Great Flame, since he’s monitoring the situation downstairs.”

“Situation?” Callan pressed. “Viria perhaps its best to start with something like that.”

“Mm-hm,” Viria chirped, nodding energetically. He saw his chastisement slide into one ear then go right out the other. Viria was sweet, but she was often lost in her own head and clearly more interested in whatever she thought was going on in the office. “It didn’t look too urgent, just a bunch of flashing screens.”

“Come on, Callan,” Halari said, slipping past into the hallway, “let’s go see what that little wasterat wants.”

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He led them down from his office in the administrative section to the circular main floor of the observatory. Here, so close to its prison, the skull in the dark was at its most powerful; its presence pulsed out from the floor like a torrent of guilt and grief, slamming his mind so that he could barely see straight. Callan steered away from the central console in the middle, creating space between himself and the elevator door.

Not yet, he thought, fear lancing through him. I can’t yet.

“Great Flame!” Kelot rounded the console, looking completely out of sorts. His robe was in shambles and his usually styled hair was in disarray, most like from messing with it out stress. “My lord, you need to see this!”

“What’s happening, priest?” Callan asked. Above him on a wall, the biggest screen in the building displayed the number five in purple coloring on a solid black screen.

“It’s some kind of message, my lord,” Kelot explained, handing him a small remote. “It overtook our entire system. Before it began counting down, it demanded we show you.”

“A message from whom?” Callan asked, clicking the remote at the screen. It began to count down steadily with deeps clicks like a metronome to mark each second.

“We’re not sure, my lord,” Kelot said. “We’d never pry on matters of such divine affairs.”

The message hit ‘1,’ then flicked to a black screen with the Dragon’s sigil emblazoned on the surface, identical to the one on any bill of Silver.

Then, a smiling, impossibly beautiful woman appeared on screen. She sat empirically on a lavish chair, almost a throne, and stared into the camera as if she was seeing him directly.

And she had eyes just like his.

James and Byeol’s daughter? He saw the resemblance immediately. Like her mother, this woman was otherworldly stunning, sporting glossy black hair that fell down her shoulders and back in an effortless flow like liquid onyx. She bore some of the same sharp, aquiline features of her father, but they were softened by Byeol’s feline, graceful traits. Her grin was warm and welcoming, but Callan saw a sharpened intelligence in that regal posture that he knew all too well. She had the mind of her father, but how was she going to use it?

“Wow, she’s gorgeous,” Halari said, narrowing her eyes at the woman. “Are all you Flames like that?”

“On the outside, at least,” Callan said.

“King Callan, rightful ruler of the Northern Dominion, Champion of the Dragon,” the woman began with a silken voice that carried power and presence across the air, “if you are seeing this message, it means that you are free like I hoped. It also means that you have been given thirty days to acclimate to your new world. I pray that this pre-recorded message finds you in a sound state of mind.”

“Arguable,” Halari whispered with a smirk, bumping him with her elbow.

Callan shot her a flat glare as the woman on screen continued speaking.

“I am Queen Kalia,” she declared, lifting her chin in pride, “daughter of monarchs James the Fleetfire and Byeol the Star Empress. At the time of this recording, it has been nine-hundred, forty-three years since your imprisonment at my father’s hands. As of now, the world approaches war, one that signals the end of mankind’s dominance on this Earth. It is inevitable.”

She knew the Mission, Callan realized. And she knew that they failed. There was a great sadness in Kalia’s eyes that he felt resonate in his soul. Here was a woman that saw the failures of herself, her parents, and the others whose only purpose was the uplifting of humanity to utopia.

“I have foreseen the end of days, King Callan.” Kalia folded her hands into her lap in the video, bringing a sparkling array of adornments into view. “My father cares for naught other than the great insult he’s been dealt. My mother ignores all except my pleas for assistance, which she then declines. With no other options in the present to save those who will be left behind, I must turn to you, Favored Flame, in the future.

“I expect that you are already organizing whatever remains of our once-great Dominion and turning them to the Mission. However, I doubt that you have many resources, if any, to achieve this apex goal. These are what I wish to provide.”

Halari quirked her head to the side and Callan watched quizzically as the screen changed. Kalia became a profile-sized window on the left side of the screen. On the right, a blue-print image of the Spire of Melokon appeared, bisected so the middle structure was discernible. Callan made out his old office at the top, just below where the Conference of Fire was held each week. The area below the building, however, was entirely new to him. He remembered the skyscraper having subbasements but not so many that they delved deep into the ground as the image displayed.

“War marches closer and closer every day, King Callan,” Kalia said. “It will be a war that drives us off the face of the Earth, but I know there will be no room for everybody in the Departure. So, I will leave a boon at the bottom of the Spire the likes of which the world has never seen or will most likely never see again. In the vast storage spaces below, you will find everything you need to join us in the stars.”

Callan perked up and a hush ran over the entire audience. Everybody inside was locked to this woman’s words absolutely.

“You will find parts,” Kalia continued, a small grin curling her immaculate lips as if she knew exactly how they reacted, “computer chips, instructions, and more in them to build a vessel which will carry you off the dying world and towards us. I will even leave an AI to slumber inside which, provided it is installed correctly, will be invaluable to navigation and logistics. All you need to do is get inside. In this millenia since your imprisonment, the Spire has been made the perfect fortress. It is impenetrable, so access would be no easy task if it were to be locked down.”

“Cause that would be too easy, huh?” Halari muttered, rolling her eyes.

“However, First Flame,” Kalia said, “I will leave a code that will allow you to walk right in the front door. It is a word that only you know and that my father has tried to erase.” She stared pointedly into the camera and Callan immediately racked his head for the answer to this riddle.

I… don’t know what she’s talking about, he realized, dread bolting down his spine. He’d tell Halari, but to sow doubt into the others might prove unwise.

“Now, King Callan…” In the video, Kalia leaned back into her throne. “What I am about to say next is for your ears only, so I must petition you to pause this message and dismiss any company you find yourself in.”

Callan clicked the remote and the video stopped with the beautiful Blessed Flame smiling pleasantly out from the screen. He turned to all those around him, and they knew his orders without any words. They drifted out, some grumbling, some without even a hint of protest. He caught Halari by the elbow when she tried to leave as well.

“Not you,” he said softly, restraining himself from pulling her close to him. He hadn’t earned that yet. “I want you here with me.” Halari flushed, somehow going pale at the same time, but she grinned warmly and stood next to him. Callan clicked the remote again.

“Now that I hope you are alone, or at least with people you trust,” Kalia began, “I must tell you of the true prize in the storage rooms of the Spire. I have been alive a long time now, King Callan, and as such I have stored enormous quantities of Melokon’s Rain. This reserve of power I will leave for you.”

Callan gasped sharply and he almost dropped the remote in his shock. “My god…”

Kalia kept speaking and he barely recollected himself to listen. “I imagine you have been diminished from your incarceration due to the interference of your connection with Melokon, but my reserves of His Rain will be more than enough to restore you. The world will need the Champion at full strength if it is rejoin us in the cosmos. I bid you farewell now, great King of the Northern Dominion, and I hope to see you… relatively soon.” Kalia flashed a dazzling smile one more time, then the screen flicked back to the black background emblazoned with the Dragon’s Sigil.

“Callan, what was that last part?” Halari asked, turning to him with wide, wondering eyes. “What was that about rain?”

“The Rains of Melokon are what forged the Blessed Flames,” Callan said, voice hushed in awe. “Me and my kin. They are waters of His power that when drunk, restore us to full strength when we exert ourselves. We can make our own, provided we already have an excess of power within our souls, but only those from Him directly can make a new Blessed one.”

“So, if you find this reserve she was talking about,” Halari said, visibly piecing the parts together in her mind, “you’ll be back to what you were entirely. Whole again.”

“Yes,” Callan murmured, rewinding the video until it reached bisected x-ray of the Spire. “Halari, we have to reach that tower.”