They Were All Bad Days
15th Day of Ebibi in the Second Month of Sun’s Height
2995 A.G.G. (1638 Years Ago, The Last Years of the Ten and Five Year Wars)
The Province of Pįålrål, The Lands of Åspħodël
The Fifth Region of the Dįvįnë Realm of Ëmpÿrë
It should be understood that some of the following passages may not be entirely accurate as they weren’t transcribed as they were spoken. They’ve been translated here for ease of reading. Because of this, unfortunately, some things may be lost in the translation from the original Ångëlįc to common.
Translated passages will be indicated by the use of bold print.
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Zåkÿntħos
Runįtÿ’s harbor on Pįålrål, a far-flung province of Åspħodël, reached out harmoniously into the transcendently beautiful Violet Sea. An ocean which cascaded off the edge of the floating landmass some vast number of miles in the distance, and down into the clouds below. So clear was the body of water that one could see nearly one hundred meters below its blue-violet surface, unimpeded. It had once been filled with all manner of elegant bireme and argosy ships. They’d sail the ocean’s wind kissed surface and their occupants would bask to their heart’s content in the warmth of the sun during the days, or dance till their feet tired under the stars at night.
That was no longer the case however.
The harbor stood now as a graveyard of those same vessels. Full of half sunken hulls and burning frames. Sails blew upward in drafts of heat and smoke as the boltropes that once held them fast in place snapped loudly in the flames from the strain. Benevolent Spirits, Dæmönics, Ǻngëlįc warriors and Fallen, all suffering from differing states of mutilation, littered the destroyed decks and floated in the once idyllic water which was now spoiled with their blood.
Zåkÿntħos had failed.
He hadn’t foreseen the outermost provinces falling under siege. At least, not so quickly. At the time of the attacks, he was engaged in heavier fighting quite a ways away in The Gardens and he simply couldn’t have arrived any sooner than he had. With his sister Sopħëÿå being neck deep in the fray that was engulfing The Dream of Dreams as he defended the Western Woodlands, and his brother Båst being tied up Goddess-knows-where, Zåkÿntħos’ ability to spirit between regions of the Dįvįnë Realm was significantly hindered.
Sopħëÿå and Båst were the only two Ångëlįc’s of his station who he had almost constant contact with who could shift between two separate places with near instantaneous swiftness regardless of the distance. There were, of course, many other Ångëlįcs for whom swiftness was a principal leaning, but they weren’t as readily reachable as his fellow Choir members. Beyond that, for all others, it took time, and depending on the remoteness, multiple shifts.
By the time he’d arrived with his fellow Dįvonësë, Ëszërį, in tow, Runįtÿ was already lost. It was all that he could do to help its souls escape the fires. He found himself uncomfortably on the defensive as he headed up the evacuation efforts of the fallen city’s inhabitants as they made their way to the relative safety of the Southern Crop.
None were really sure how much hope there was in moving there; if it would truly help things. But what else could be done? Zåkÿntħos simply hoped that the outlying woodlands would give them a place to stay hidden from the eyes of the enemy until such time that they could move all of the innocents along the banks of the Far River to the much more defensible Cÿrënë Castle township in the far north.
Fortunately, it seemed that Fate had favored the first part of their efforts. Although the province burned around them and the enemy seemed legion, Zåkÿntħos’ allies were able to hold the line in the city (for the most part) against the flood. The evacuation now stood on the brink of completion and the last of the defenseless souls were out.
To the Drågon’s dismay however, the final surviving group was on its way east out of the docks when a trio of Fallen descended on them with the full intent of rending the fleeing souls asunder.
As the malice-filled dwarf and her two fellow elves attacked the innocents, they succeeded in felling the first few poor souls that they reached with ease. But it was then that, to these Fallens’ detriment, they encountered the ones charged with the souls’ protection. And they were about to experience the full width and breadth of Zåkÿntħos’ fury driven gifts…
* * * *
After several frenzied moments and furious martial exchanges back and forth, the fight between the three horned beings and the two Dįvįnë protectors who opposed them reached a fevered pitch. Zåkÿntħos had long been reputed as one of Ëmpÿrë’s strongest and most gifted warriors, second probably only to Mįssħåël himself. So it was little wonder that he found himself shifting quickly to a dominant position in the battle. Whereas he was initially bouncing back and forth with his companion between all three of the attackers at the onset, he soon found himself focusing on the two elves at once while Ëszërį succeeded in pushing the dwarf away into isolation.
That’s not to say that these particular Fallen Ǻngëls weren’t skillful fighters. They were. And, while the thought of shifting into his true form had occurred to Zåkÿntħos, it didn’t seem that there would be much room for maneuverability if he did so, given how large his true form was. Whether or not the loss of infrastructure from his body expanding to such a massive size in such a confined space warranted a crossing over wasn’t as much in question as was how many unaccounted for people there were in the buildings about them. And he didn’t want to hurt possible dozens for the sake of dealing with three. Nor did he have any idea as to the number of Fallen Ǻngëls or run-of-the-mill Dæmönics nearby; creatures who would no doubt sense the power shift of his spirit and come to join the fracas.
Not to mention that any number of the ever-fearsome Unbroken could be nearby as well.
Zåkÿntħos’ kind were, after all, high on Lumå’įl’s “internment” list. He and Ëszërį especially. To attract the attention of so many would be to welcome disaster. They’d not be able to repel such an overwhelming force without raining down Drågon’s fire, which would be devastating in a way that he was loath to imagine.
Zåkÿntħos hazarded a glance or two about himself periodically when he felt that he could allow a strike or blow from their Dæmönic short swords to hit him, feeling secure in the knowledge that his armour would absorb or deflect said blows, in an effort to keep his fellow Drågon’s ever changing position in sight. It was difficult however. Buildings would periodically break his sightline and he’d lose track of her. But he’d managed to continually guide his struggle back towards her way either through force or through tactical retreat.
And it wasn’t lost on him that she appeared to be doing the same. Zåkÿntħos and Ëszërį had been bound to each other for so long that to look after one another was all but instinctual. If he were to lose her, he didn’t know what he’d do. And he knew she felt the same.
As he caught a glimpse of the blazing white marbles which were his paramour’s pupils, Zåkÿntħos realized that Ëszërį had apparently come to the same conclusion as he concerning whether or not to change, and she’d steadfastly refused to cross over as well.
An impressive feat of self control.
Ëszërį wasn’t exactly the fighter that Zåkÿntħos was. But she was no slouch. And her natural gifts balanced that scale as she consistently produced near blinding flashes of light with remarkable swiftness that kept causing her opponent to miss a strike that would have otherwise hit true. Or she’d use illumination to blind her opponent to a strike or kick that she wanted to land.
But the dwarf was a fast one. And she flung blows at such a frequency, that Ëszërį was forced to be on the defensive far more often than Zåkÿntħos knew she was comfortable with.
As Zåkÿntħos moved about at speeds that would make him but a blur to non-Dįvonësë eyes; darting this way and that between and around his assailants, he noticed that the light of the setting sun was casting the shadows of the harbor town’s walls long about them. An event that caused the warrior to smile to himself.
Finally, a real advantage that he could take hold of using his gifts.
Falling back in an almost dance like display of martial efficacy, Zåkÿntħos’s gifts enveloped him in a way that he would have seemed to have vanished in front of the elves’ eyes; melting almost instantly into the shadows once he touched them. Becoming one with them. Indistinguishable from them. Just as a drop of water that falls into the ocean becomes the ocean.
These shadows now seemed to suddenly move with a life of their own. Solidifying and becoming incorporeal again at will. And the two attacking Fallen became surrounded by them as they attempted to attack the darkness wrathfully to no avail.
Ëszërį in the meantime struck out furiously with her tomahawk against her dwarven adversary nearby; its pristine metal faintly glowing green with magickal heat. It sparked in protest every time it struck against the hilt of the female dwarf’s war hammer as she attempted to find a break in the fem-dwarf’s defenses. And every offensive swing of the war hammer was likewise blunted by invisible walls of protective force produced magickally by Ëszërį’s free hand.
At some point, the dwarf had apparently noticed that her fellow Fallen were about to be overtaken by living shadows and she allowed herself to do what Ëszërį and Zåkÿntħos had refused to do.
She suddenly crossed over.
Shifting forms to end the fight while simultaneously reaching out to the fires on the water with her spirit, she leaped backwards. Then rebounding forwards, she spun and swung downwards to bring her hammer to bear on Ëszërį with absolute force.
Everything happened so suddenly...
An explosion of atmosphere as the dwarf’s body started to rotate; pulling plush feathered wings of the darkest black into existence.
The dwarf’s weapon coming to life under the influence of the heka she channeled through it.
The fires which she called to flowing from the wreckage of the sinking ships in the harbor and destroyed nearby buildings encasing themselves around her warhammer.
There’s little doubt that Ëszërį recognized what was happening. But by the time it had registered to her, she was already in the wrong position; ready to use heka to block what she must have wrongly believed to be only a basic heavy strike. And now it was far too late to move out of the way or reinforce her spell weave with her own Dįvįnë essence.
In this moment, fear filled Ëszërį’s eyes as she likely realized that without crossing over herself, the protective aura she’d already constructed likely wouldn’t be enough.
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On the Subject of Ǻngëlįc Gifts
It’s important to realize that Ǻngëls, Fallen Ångëls, Benevolent Spirits, Dæmöns and Drågons are just as diverse as any of the races of Mundus itself.
It’s a common misconception among the tree-born races of the world that to be an Ǻngël or a Drågon is to be someone with supernatural gifts by default. Or that to be one of the Fallen is to wield terrifying power just by the nature of existing.
The truth is that no manner of Dįvįnë birthright lends itself to the control of the principals of the universe. Heka is an inborn gift. Either water speaks to you, or it doesn’t. The air bends to your will, or it doesn’t. The earth trembles at your approach, or it doesn’t.
Only four of the nine Orders, and the Drågons who represent those Orders, were actually gifted with such abilities at the dawn of their existence. The Båståru-Ëkårus, who are the Goddess’ warriors, the Fåsårus, who are the protectors of all beliefs and faiths as well as the protectors of mortal beings, the Zåstårus, who symbolize the Goddess’ highest and chiefest potencies of sovereignty and goodness and who are also the guardians of the Dįvįnë muses, and then there’s the Zåståru-Måpånols, who are mighty even among the highest of the high, of whom only ever numbered thirty and six.
One of whom was the first Ångëlįc; the first God. Lumå’įl Himself; charged, as all the Måpånols were, with governance of each of the Goddess’ domains. The Ǻngëls of fire, water, death, logic, air, swiftness, earth, the spirit, the mind, the physical, the absolute light and the total darkness.
These gifts which were granted by their individual principal realms being reflected in the colour of the wielder’s eyes. And even among them, only the Zåståru-Måpånol and their Drågon companions could actually create these things from nothingness. The others could only manipulate what was already present.
And even in the midst of such power and authority, these commanding beings are very much like the tree-born races of Mundus in that they must still have a focus for their abilities – their wings. The single source of their power, as well as their single weakness.
After all, exposing one’s wings in battle in order to channel the energies of the universe is to leave one’s self open to the fearful process of transubstantiation if those wings should be sundered. Such is the nature of Åmbrosįå’s balance…
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The dwarf’s flaming hammer impacted Ëszërį’s invisible wall with bone crunching force and shattered it to pieces. Ëszërį herself was completely disoriented by the blow. And a second impact cast her limply to one side and into the wall of a nearby building; her tomahawk sent flying from her hand. Ëszërį’s wail alerted the living shadow to her plight and notice was taken that the horned dwarf who’d struck her down had assumed her once proud Ǻngëlįc form to do so.
“Ëszërį!” Zåkÿntħos screamed from the shadows. But he was not answered. “No!”
That was a mistake, both in crossing over and hurting the woman Zåkÿntħos loved.
Ëszërį wasn’t moving. And the feel of her spirit was all but nonexistent. Zakynthos flew into a rage as his gifts were pushed past the need to protect the refugee souls, and into the need for personal vengeance as he continued to manipulate the shadows; not to incapacitate, but to murder.
The dwarf who’d harmed his beloved would pay. Dearly.
The threat to her now seemingly absolved, the dwarf turned to face the shadows that were Zakynthos; seemingly filled with fury as she watched her fellows strike in vein at an enemy they were too slow to touch.
Responding to the shadowy attacks against her people, the fem dwarf, her black wings outstretched in glorious fashion and exuding wisps of dark vapor, pulled flames continuously from the surrounding ruin with sheer force of will and elegantly flung them this way and that as she attempted to halt the icky shadows’ movements.
Her fair skinned body moved beautifully in concert with the flames darting left and right as she attempted to demolish the shadows with decisive strikes. All the while, never bothering to revert to a safer form. Choosing to stay tapped into The Flow for maximum agility within her heka; leaving her wings exposed. Yet her hammer-borne fires, much like the bladed swings of the ensnared elves, hit nothing.
Adjusting itself in immediate response, the shadow wrapped itself in its entirety about the sunrise elven Fallen, who swung wildly hoping to make contact with something tangible. But it was in vain as the darkness in which they found themselves was so black that the light couldn’t penetrate it. To their eyes it likely wasn’t unlike being trapped in an endless void. While from the outside, the shadows seemed to form an inky inescapable barrier; a barrier which the dwarf attacked directly with increased fervor. But they were all of them, deceived. For the barrier of darkness wasn’t as solid or deep as it would have appeared from any of the enemies’ points of view.
As the dwarf’s heka propelled flames passed freely through the shadows, blood curdling screams could be heard from within. And the dwarf ceased her attacks as the horrid realization that she’d struck her own kinsmen apparently passed through her mind.
Falling to the ground as a curtain that was dropped from a stage’s rafters, the shadows returned to their natural position stretching from the town’s walls and exposing the frightening truth. The dwarf had indeed accidently attacked her own people in her efforts to save them. The wildly burning elves fell to the ground in a tumbling effort to put themselves out; while Zåkÿntħos’ winged ebony body stepped out of the darkness behind them as smoothly as if he had simply crossed a threshold between two rooms.
Infuriated, the dwarven Fallen attempted to channel herself into another magickal attack when she was interrupted by a pain so fervent, that it caused her to involuntarily collapse to one knee. At first she looked as if she’d no idea what had occurred, but it was no doubt that it was the newly undisclosed weight on one side of her body that caused her such sudden pause. And she looked worriedly toward one of her outstretched wings to find it.
Ëszërį’s aim from where she’d retrieved her tomahawk after being flung afar and disarmed had been impeccable. Had she tossed the luminescent weapon any harder, it would’ve taken the appendage clean off.
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Zåkÿntħos smiled inwardly with relief as the power of Ëszërį’s soul washed over him once again; seeing her moving with great purpose as she stomped towards the dwarf with venomous intent was a joy. It was a turn that greatly pleased him…to see that his darling had in fact not been grievously injured by the dwarf’s blows. But it still did little to cool his heated temper. He demanded satisfaction for his newly sanguine disposition as he reached out with his essence to embrace everything about him through The Flow.
It’s easy to imagine that the dwarf’s first thoughts would’ve been of attempting to finish off the now disarmed fem-Drågon. And as the horned being pulled the blood-splotched tomahawk from her body, dropping it painfully to the ground as it rewarded her palm with grave burns at her touch, it appeared that she was going to attempt to do just that. However, before she could act, she was attacked by a second stab through her other wing, pinning it to the ground.
This strike wasn’t from Ëszërį however. It was from an Ǻngëlįc scimitar, alight with heka, that had appeared from nowhere; called from the ether by Zåkÿntħos on his lover’s behalf and left to plummet from the skies above. Piercing its target with its curved blade with surgical precision.
Her face contorted with pain. It hurt too much to leave in, yet every time she attempted to take hold of it, her hand would endure purifying heat and she’d find herself thwarted.
Apparently choosing to fight back as best she could, the Fallen reached out her arm in an attempt to call more fire to her aid. But she was left disappointed with the realization that the principal of nature was no longer responding to her command…
“It would seem that in all of your pain and confusion, you have failed to notice the change in the fires about you.” Zåkÿntħos stated cockily. Crossly. “You did not notice that the bright orange of the flames have given way to cooler purples that reflect…me.”
He was right. And she knew it. These fires were no longer hers. She had not the power to control them any longer. And she watched on helplessly as the once orange blaze that embraced her comrades shifted into a purple inferno that was unceasingly burning them to death. There was no dousing them. No smothering them. Dįvįne fire need not conform to the natural laws of the universe. It has its own will. And within it, the lunar elves’ wings, which had exposed themselves defensively in reaction to the eluvians’ overwhelming situation, were melting before the fem-dwarf’s eyes; flesh falling off of their bones like that of a well-tendered meal.
“You are woefully out of your league.” the Drågon spoke as he stood between the dwarf’s screaming compatriots. “And now, your shortsightedness has incurred upon you a debt. To me.”
Rarely was he so vengeful. But for this woman, he was making an exception. For he couldn’t hold himself back from the anger of seeing Ëszërį crippled in battle; of thinking her lost to him. The dwarf had no idea who she’d stumbled upon by attacking those spirits.
And she shouldn’t have attempted to take these two with such a small force.
Standing before her now was a man who was intent on making her pay for her hubris. Pay for hurting those close to him. This wasn’t the same man they’d attacked. He’d become something altogether different. Something unrecognizable as Ångëlįc.
His dark arms were outstretched to his side as if he were beckoning to the very fabric of the cosmos to come to his aid. His Drågonesque wings were exposed in fantastic fashion; outstretched. Soaking in the heka of the very air; sucking in the fires about them to bend them to his will. Pushing that destructive amethyst force down into his limbs as his arms began to exude heat, and produce a mauve coloured fire of their own.
Behind these events, the dwarf suddenly spoke from the depths of her awe, what were to be some of the last words of her existence. “Ƕld?”
“-Do not address me in that foul tongue Dæmön.” Zåkÿntħos warned. “It only serves to demean you further and the sound of it insults me. I will not have it.”
Whether from fear, shocked obiedence, or the realization that the end was nigh regardless so “why not” is anyone’s guess, but the she-dwarf acquiesced to Zåkÿntħos’ demand and transitioned to her once-tongue.
“I’ve heard…tale of you.”
“Then you should have thought better of your actions Dæmön.”
“Infamous one. Curse you…Zåkÿntħos! Damn you…and all Drågons!” she spat painfully. “I’m no mere Dæmön! A once…once-Ǻngël! I have a…name. Mÿrįån! And you’ll…you’ll give me the respect I-”
“I will give you only what you deserve…Dæmön! Nameless one! I shall give no respect to one who attacks innocents with such callous disregard. None. What motivation could you have possibly had? The souls here were no threat to you or any of Tįlåtħ’s armies. And I doubt that either she or Dåÿviåd ordered the razing of the city to-the-man.”
“Then you…don’t know our general. The blade has changed…her. And her anger at…at our Once-Mother grows by the day.” Mÿrįån hissed through ragged breaths.
Zåkÿntħos’ eyes grew wide despite himself. “Tįlåtħ commands the half-saber?” he asked; nearly at a loss for words. “Willingly? You lie. I do not believe that. The Tįlåtħ of old who I have been told of by Mįssħåël himself would do no such thing. And the Tįlåtħ I have met on the field of battle, while vicious, was as honourable as any of her kind.”
“Believe it or not…it…matters little.”
“If that is true,” Ëszërį interjected as she approached the dwarf’s side; cradling her wound with her Drågon-esque wings outstretched, the white glow of her pupils almost blinding, “then tell us of Lumå’įl’s blade and how she came to wield it. Tell us why she would order such a thing to befall the benevolent souls of this province.”
A snicker of satisfaction wormed its way through Mÿrįån’s obvious pain. Very troubling. Very un- Ångëlįc.
“If you think…I will say any more or…or prostrate myself before…before you, then you’re sadly mistaken. I don’t…fear you, or your man. I don’t…don’t fear his name and I…don’t fear a final death. There’s nothing more your kind can…take from us.”
“There was once a time, young one,” Zåkÿntħos said with sad disquiet in his voice, “when neither Åmbrosįå nor Lumå’įl would have suffered one such as you to stand among the ranks of the Ångëlįcs. Fallen or otherwise. But it seems that, to my chagrin, much has changed.”
The dwarf spoke no further to defend herself as Ëszërį began to reach for her weapon. And there, in this moment, Mÿrįån remained still. No fight left. Unable to stand from her knees, awaiting the death blow from the fem-Drågon she foolishly thought she’d dispatched with a single blow. But the void didn’t quite come to embrace her, as she was temporarily reprieved by a wave of Zåkÿntħos’ hand.
Ëszërį’s displeasure with being held back was painted all over her grunge covered face, but she did as she was bidden, as her lover needed to speak his peace before the end.
“I do not begrudge you, who should have been my family, for following the Old God to His demise.” said he. “Your grievance was an understandable one. I do not begrudge your attacking me on His behalf, for you are so young, and you know not what you truly do; so blanketed in ignorance you’ve been. I do not even begrudge you your lack of courtesy and respect, for war has a way of affecting the minds of those who engage in its bloody nature. But, what I do begrudge you, is that you hurt my mate.”
The Drågon could feel his body trembling uncontrollably with anger as he looked upon his bloodied woman. It spawned in him a loathing that was almost visceral in nature, which he was unable to mask as he yelled- “MY MATE! And for that, no punishment will suffice save for the sacrifice of your flesh. Flesh you have offered since you fear no final death. And flesh which I shall have.”
“Our Lord…should’ve struck you both…both down…long ago.”
“And yet, here we stand.”
“Just wait. Your…your time is coming.”
Zåkÿntħos’ eyes lay for a final time upon the two burning creatures that he’d encased in darkness during the fray; still crying out in pain and agony as they were continually licked by lilac fires, which they could never hope to snuff. And in this moment, Zåkÿntħos felt the pity for them that he couldn’t bring himself to feel for Mÿrįån.
He then beheld Ëszërį; her wounds slowly and painfully healing over her vanilla-splotched mahogany skin before his very eyes, who looked as if she were positively itching to retrieve the tomahawk from the ground which she’d flung into the doomed Fallen’s wing.
Fortunately, due to whatever miracle, Mÿrįån’s Dæmönic weapon hadn’t broken Ëszërį completely. She’d heal in time.
“Are you-”
“-Later.”
He nodded; knowing her mind just as well as she knew his. She is right. he thought. Now is not the time to dote. “So be it.” he said aloud as he made his way towards her. “Please, if you would, end their suffering Love. I will take care of the dwarf. I owe her on your behalf.”
With a nod of reluctant acceptance, Ëszërį retrieved her bloodied weapon, stepped around Mÿrįån with no further acknowledgement and started trotting towards the burning bodies of her beloved’s enemies with ever increasing speed. Their cries of agony were reaching a horrific crescendo as Ëszërį glided between them. With ballet-like grace, her wings lifted her off the ground and spun her about as she clipped their disintegrating feathered appendages without prejudice; the purple flames moving harmlessly over her.
Blessed flames, after all, harm not the righteous.
And with that, Zåkÿntħos, reaching Mÿrįån, gripped the base of the dwarf’s wings with his enflamed hands and unflinchingly ripped downward towards her sides. He did so with such force and speed that the feathery limbs were torn from his adversary’s body before the pain of it could even register on her face.
And as the Ångëlįc colour melted from her eyes, and her Dæmönic horns rotted away with mortality’s approach, the last thing she likely perceived was Zåkÿntħos’ vast leathery appendages completely surrounding her as he discarded her mangled limbs.
“Find peace in the embrace of the Goddess.”
As Zåkÿntħos spoke the phrase, he grasped for the dwarf’s face; the flames from his hands igniting her skin almost before they reached her cheeks. His wings, trapping the heat like a furnace, caused the eggplant coloured fire expelled from his arms to encapsulate her so completely and so intensely that after but a moment or two, her horrific screams of pain and fear were replaced with absolute silence. A quiet which gave way to the smell of burning flesh. By the time he was done, there wasn’t anything left of her but a mass of charred, bloody goo covered bone in the rough shape of a body.
As Ëszërį approached him, her work beheading the two eluvian done, Zåkÿntħos’ wings snapped back into a spread position, disturbing the ground around his body with a powerful gust of air, and they dissolved majestically into the ether. And with a flick of his wrist did he magickally dismiss his blade from where it had nailed Mÿrįån’s wing to the soil. The flames on his arms extinguished themselves and the purple tint faded from the surrounding fires in the sudden absence of his heka.
The Drågon’s influence was no longer present on the land.
Ëszërį looked to the bodies of those lost in the initial ambush with sadness. She’d wanted to save them all. Instead, she’d reacted too slowly, and these poor souls had paid the price for it.
It didn’t take long for Zåkÿntħos to notice her melancholy and take her into his arms in comfort; being careful not to aggravate her still healing wounds. He held her as much for her own sake as for himself.
And together, after a moment of embrace and quiet reflection, the two looked cautiously in the general direction of the burning city beyond the ruined buildings of the harbor town, bracing for a flood of attackers from the streets around them which didn’t come. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice Zåkÿntħos’ influx of spiritual energy. Probably too busy with the siege.
The two then turned their attention in an easterly direction. None of the innocents they’d been protecting were in sight along any of the egresses they could see. Nor could their Dįvįnë hearing give them any clue as to where they may be. All indications were that they likely made it to the dock outskirts and that they were well on their way to the woodlands. Fortunately those who were not gravely injured seemed to have been sharp enough to run when the fighting started, even helping those too injured to move on their own to reach the safety of the woodlands as well.
“They are well on their way now it seems. We will need to catch up.” Ëszërį stated.
“Agreed.” he stated as he inadvertently arrested her gaze with his eyes.
Zåkÿntħos could see that her breathing, which had been heavy after the fray, had already dropped to a more comfortable rhythm. And standing there now in his arms, even in the midst of ruin and in her battle worn armour, she still seemed to him every bit the woman he’d fallen in love with so long ago.
“Yes?” she asked after a few moments.
“It is ‘later’.”
She nodded with a strained but earnest smile. “Yes. Yes it is.”
“Are you going to be okay?”
“I will be. In time.”
His response was a kiss to her forehead. “Should I retrieve someone who delves into the Physical to see after you anyway? Just in case?”
She shook her head.
Ëszërį’s eyes washed intently over him. Examining him as the last of the heat of the moment drained away, with the same intensity as he’d done for her.
“That was playing it too strong, me thinks; crossing over. I am not sure that was prudent.” Ëszërį pressed.
Zåkÿntħos observed their surroundings for a handful more seconds before answering her.
“What would you have had me do Love? They hurt you. Besides, it was not a crossing in full. It was a…calculated risk.”
“What I’d have you do is not lose your composure. Not to expose yourself for me. Even in partial. This war is bigger than our feelings. It has to be.”
Nothing is bigger than my love for you Ëszërį. he thought to himself. Nothing. But what he responded with was- “You are right. But, I think it will be fine. None seem to have been alerted to our presence or drawn to the trail of the people we were helping to flee. Besides, since neither of us took to the full change I think that none inside the gates, with all of the confusion going on, stopped to try and differentiate our spiritual resonances from that of all of the other madness happening out here. Or, from anything else that may be happening inside the city for that matter.”
“Still, be that as it may, neither of us should have approached the thresholds of power at all.” Ëszërį insisted.
“You could not have helped it. You were injured. Your body just did what it needed to.”
“And what of you? Because of my mistake, you… It was my fault. Had I held my own, you would not have needed to-”
He placed his hand on her white spotted cheek softly. Quietly silencing her. “What happened, happened. And it could not have happened any other way. Do not allow yourself to feel otherwise. We are both…limited in these forms. If we could have been our true selves in full-and-total, it would have been a very different situation. But the situation was what it was and, at the end of it all, we seem to have come out on top regardless of the circumstances. And that is what matters. Yes?”
He looked at her kindly; lovingly. And it made her smile.
“Yes. You are right. That is what matters. Thank you.”
Ëszërį removed a gauntlet from one of her hands; the splotchy whiteness that afflicted them which worked its way about her wrists and fingers a stark contrast to what was mostly naturally dark skin. And after she wiped some blood from her brow which wasn’t hers and checked the scalp of her graying, raven coloured hair for any bloody dampness, she turned her attention back to her lover as she started to paw about at the seams of his plate around its arming points.
It looked to Zåkÿntħos as if she were fighting back the urge to undress him to check him as well.
“Do you need me to lay hands on you anywhere? Are you injured?” she asked.
As much as Zåkÿntħos wanted her to…and more, she had the right idea before. Now wasn’t the time for so much sentiment between them. They needed to focus.
“No. I was not seriously harmed.”
She smiled again, seeming to harden her resolve. “Then I suppose we need not waist any more time. We should get out of here before someone takes notice. We do not need any of the enemy shifting focus from the fighting in the city.”
“True.” he agreed. “Come, we’ll continue to protect the poor escaping souls until they reach safety.”
Together, the duo reaffixed each other’s loose armour for one another and moved with much haste to find and catch up to the others.
----------
26th Day of Ojo Didi in the Fifth Month of Snow’s Fall
4380 A.G.G. (253 Years Ago; Mundus Reckoning)
The Lands of Omëÿocån, Ërëwħon Basilica
The Fourth Region of the Dįvįnë Realm of Ëmpÿrë
“You okay?”
The soft voice of the friendly ma’jong startled Zåkÿntħos back into reality. Apparently, he’d been drifting, tiredly, through memories of the past. Memories of the Ten and Five Year Wars.
Long ago it was and yet, for Ǻngëls and the like, it felt as though it could have just transpired. And for Zåkÿntħos the pains of those days were still fresh for him. Far too fresh.
“Yes. I am fine.”
The lie passed smoothly from in between his lips.
“Where were you just now?” the kindly fox-girl asked, seeming much more comfortable in her heavy and official looking robes than he was in his. They were of the finest craftsmanship, of course, but that didn’t make them feel any less stuffy to him.
Zåkÿntħos was certain that she didn’t really mean to pry. She was simply curious, as was the nature of all the ma’jong. Not to mention that given the breadth and depth of their personal relationship, and the fact that they were both of a sort of family as Ǻngëlįcs, a certain amount of assumed familiarity and closeness was unavoidable.
But even with all of that aside, Tå’Sånnun had always seemed to lavish undue affection and attention on him than was necessary anyway. She worried over him. Doted even. It was no secret among the Choirs that she’d been seeking a more personal relationship with him. Although it didn’t seem that she realized that she outwardly exuded that so strongly. It was just how she felt. This likely was much of the reason why she’d accompanied him to Mundus to confront Tįlåtħ even though he and Mē’Cållįå could’ve handled it alone.
Such a relationship wouldn’t have necessarily been a bad thing. In fact, if Zåkÿntħos were to be truthful with himself, in a different life, he would have even welcomed it. She was far from unattractive with her petite build. Especially now with her dark hair twisted into numerous decorated micro braids which fell heavily about her; her large canine ears jutting out from underneath it all proudly.
He found himself looking down absentmindedly to where Tå’Sånnun’s paws would be; most likely exposed under the robes, as was the custom of the ma’jong. Fantasizing about them against his own will. Sinking a bit into the fondness he felt for her. As a whole, naturally born fox-people didn’t believe in footwear, so neither did she. In the living world, ma’jong favored running and stalking just as the canines they resembled, and humanesque footwear was a hindrance to that.
Despite her cuteness and her willingness, with circumstances being what they were, and him feeling in his heart the way he did, he just couldn’t bring himself to welcome her into his bed. Despite a part of him wanting to.
“I was thinking about Runįtÿ. During its fall.” he said at length.
The animal-like slits of Tå’Sånnun’s colossal pupils widened into dark spheres of embarrassment and her ears laid down in a sorrowful gesture. “Oh. I’m sorry. That can’t be an easy burden for you. I mean…they’re not easy memories for any of us. There were too many dark days during those years.”
“They were all dark days.”
Zåkÿntħos watched as she instinctively grasped at her tail behind his curt response, which was wrapped about her waist in a belt-like manner, and began to kneed it. A familiar quark of hers born of nervousness and anxiety. Not unlike nail biting. And true to form, eager to remove her foot from her mouth over what she likely thought was an impertinent statement, she thumbed towards an impressive set of heavy gold and silver accented wood doors near where they were standing in the outer halls of the Goddess’ basilica. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe we should just-”
“Tå’,” he interrupted, wanting to relieve the accidental tension of the moment. “I never thanked you for supporting me…for helping me when I lost her. I don’t think I would have made it through without you.”
She beamed a hearty smile. Her tail fondling ceased and was replaced with a light, playful bouncing on the tips of her toes.
“We supported each other.” she responded. “We both lost people who were important to us. When I lost Zurįël, I lost my reason to live. And you-”
Tå’Sånnun stopped herself before any further words were able to escape her mouth. But she didn’t really need to speak on such things. Zåkÿntħos knew what she’d wanted to say. And he knew that she wouldn’t have felt right about saying it to him…no matter how much he knew that she wanted to. No more than he could bring himself to say the same to her.
“The rest of the Choirs are ready.” she deflected awkwardly after clearing her throat. “They can’t convene without us you know. After all, this is your meeting.”
Allowing her to salvage and retain what respect she had for herself with the abrupt change in topic, Zåkÿntħos nodded his understanding to his friend and took his place walking beside her.