Zåkÿntħos & the Choirs
26th Day of Ojo Didi in the Fourth 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
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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On the Subject of the Ǻngëlįc Choirs
In the years following the Great Rebellion and Lumå’įl’s fall, the Ǻngëlįc authority found itself in a position where it had to be reconstituted. Especially in the wake of the birth of the new God and the creation of the Drågon race. Hence was formed the Choirs of the Ǻngëlįcs.
During the golden years of the Drågons, amongst the multitudes of the majestic creatures that existed between the living world and the here-after, there were twenty and one specific Drågons who were chosen by Sånįgron to walk the Dįvįnë Planes almost exclusively. Ones who were considered to be of the highest and most influential of the Dįvonësë; chosen from among the first of their kind. Of these, nine were paired with the highest ranking Ǻngël of each of the nine Ǻngëlįc Orders, and the others were paired with the Ǻngëls who were given governorship of the twelve principal domains.
But as it is with any hierarchy, between these prominent Ǻngëls and Drågons of the Ǻngëlįc Orders and the Principals, there still had to be guidance. The ones who lead. And so, from among them were chosen four beings who would lead the Choirs in all things. Two pairs. A pair who spoke with the overall voice of the Orders, and a pair that spoke with the voice of the Principals...
Unfortunately, the Choirs of the Ǻngëlįcs hadn’t been the same since the Ten and Five Year Wars; for the battle’s destruction had spread to all things. And as a result, there were a great many seats that now stood empty…
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Zåkÿntħos
Walking alongside his ma’jong companion, Zåkÿntħos moved from the unspeakably lavish antechamber in which he’d sat dreaming, through the set of impossibly large wooden doors that Tå’Sånnun led him to. Doors which were opened smoothly and soundlessly by Benevolent Spirits at their approach; allowing them to feast their eyes on the open air chambers of the Choirs.
The “room”, which sat on the eastern portion of Ërëwħon Basilica’s precipice, stood high above the gently rolling plains of Omëÿocån. Beautifully carved pillars surrounding the area reached up to support nothing but the sky and marked the non-existent wall between the chambers and the rest of creation.
All about them, all beneath them, from this extension of the Ërëwħon, also known as Åmbrosįå’s Valley, the majesty of the Dįvįnë Realm could be seen.
The paths of the powerful Sånįgron River under the cloud-like mist below.
The snow covered mountains that circled from the north far around to the southeast.
The upper tips of the awe inspiring towers of the Halls of the Ǻngëls nestled in the White Forest beyond said mountains.
The quiet towns, holdfasts and small citadels which were carved into and sitting atop majestic rock outcrops and rolling mounds all about the Goddess’ hill-side basilica proper.
It was all very fair and moving.
Entering the chamber, near the doors was an Ångëlįc who would have themselves appear as one of the sprite-kind. Įl’Cëįnså was her name. And bald of head, hazel of eye and caramel of skin did she stand; her delicate gown magickally flowing about her in ways that opposed the air…almost as if the cloth had its own mind. Lithe was she in the extreme to any who would gaze upon her ilk, but it was simply their nature to be such.
Even the weightiest of sprites was wispy at best.
The scribe nodded at the duo as they crossed the threshold, receiving a loving embrace from Tå’Sånnun in reciprocation.
To the duo’s right as they continued forward were ten and six mighty thrones for those who wielded authority over the Ǻngëlįc Orders; the Dįvįnë hierarchy. Split into two raised rows of eight with Drågons occupying the rear rows; the Thrones of Channeling, while their partnered Zåståru-Måpånols occupied the fore; the Thrones of Mastery. Each seat prominently engraved in silver with the symbol of the Order that their occupants represented upon it.
To their left were twenty and two similar thrones split into two rows of ten and two, which proudly displayed the symbols of the Principals of nature in the same fashion. Here, for those who held dominion over the Principals, the seating arrangement was flipped. With the Ångëls occupying the rear row, to reflect the inversed responsibilities of channeling and mastery between them and their partners.
Such was the balance of power as She created it.
At the head of the “room”, near the ruined husk of a once mighty tower at the cliff’s edge which was half overtaken by a glorious offshoot of the Great Tree, were the High Thrones of Authority, sitting in a single row. It was here, under the shade of the tree’s branches, that the two High Drågons and their paired General Dįvįnës sat in rulership of the Choirs. Indeed, of all of creation, at the behest of the Goddess and God.
Tå’Sånnun looked up to observe a few small birds flying playfully over their heads through the chambers, on their way to Goddess-knows-where. And a cool breeze was blowing through from the north that felt good against her jet coloured fur. It all brought a smile to her face.
And as she and her Drågon companion made their way deeper into the Choir chamber, Tå’Sånnun split off from her friend’s side with a wave and proceeded towards her throne.
For here, Tå’Sånnun was known as the Lady of the Physical. A Zåståru-Måpånol true.
Her authority made manifest as she crossed over mid stride. Her thick kinky hair melting away into living flame as her tail, still politely wrapped around her, created a fiery strap about her waist. Her Dįvįnë halo exploding into blazing realism behind her fiery mane as her feathery white wings, disturbing the air around her, impressed themselves upon reality.
Reaching the High Thrones, Zåkÿntħos, the High Drågon of the Darkness, found himself in his massive seat to the far left of the row of four; having followed Tå’Sånnun’s example and made his majesty known. His hair stark white. His eyes hardened into glowing stones of purple centered in irises of perfect black. His teeth and nails elongated as his leathery wings wafted the purple vapour which poured off of his body all about.
Such was the custom of the Realm. Authority was showcased at Choir meetings by letting all see who you truly are. And trust was shown by one keeping their wings ever-exposed in doing so.
Murmers from all manner of sidebar conversation filled the air as the duo continued through the space; showcasing to Zåkÿntħos that Tå’Sånnun had done well seeing after his request for a meeting. For it had been very graciously answered. All of the known Dįvįnë representatives were present in fact; barely visible fire burning from the multi-layered halos that floated about the back of the heads of the Ångëlįcs among them. Dįvįnë crowns of their kingly and queenly authority. It was a good sign.
A sign that he hoped would pay off.
Rarely did the whole of the Choirs meet these days without just cause. Zåkÿntħos often spoke only to Mįssħåël, who would disseminate his words as was needed with the others. And long had it been since the old Drågon had seen his brothers and sisters. That they answered the call showed that they, at least, acknowledged the severity of the proposition he was bringing to the front.
From where he sat, looking past the empty seat of the late Ǻngël of Darkness which once belonged to his sprite-ish friend, Įl’įånå, Zåkÿntħos spied General Dįvįnë Mįssħåël sitting in his throne patiently waiting for the room to come to order. A striking figure of a dwalli man to be sure; his dark skin reflecting the clear glow of the sun’s light. His locs pushed to one side as he allowed them to mostly fall over his broad right shoulder. And further down beyond him was the last of the four great seats. Empty. Belonging at one time to Mįssħåël’s once-paired Drågon, the human looking Toffrë, who sadly died long ago. Leaving the General Dįvįnë to lead the Zåståru-Måpånols alone.
Zåkÿntħos continued to gaze solemnly about the area. Using the final moments before order to take stock of those who were left, as he always did whenever he had the opportunity to sit before his brothers and sisters. Not that any had passed on since the end of the war…but habit was habit.
From the seats closest to The Four, and of most prominent hierarchical authority among the Orders sat Ÿånnįs; the blonde haired, fair skinned human-looking Ǻngël who was the voice of the Zåståru. A station that she’d held alone ever since the Drågon Såffron had met her end. The glowing silver orbs Ÿånnįs had for pupils gleaming in contrast to her blue irises conveyed her gift of control over the realm of death, though she wasn’t the realm’s true master.
Next sat Įëuån, who was also alone. He who stood for the Ëskdskurån. A dark skinned dwarven Drågon; brown of hair and eyes, who was of some repute for his exploits during the Ten and Five Year Wars. Honorable, as all Drågons were meant to be. His former counterpart had been a sunrise elven Ångël that once went by the name of Cå’Ëlįdįo before his death.
Then there was the duo who stood for the Åkårmåuru; Xånorå, a female Drågon in the form of an almost nepeta-skinned nymph with pitch coloured eyes, and Su’Gårråd, a snowfall elf of an Ǻngël with startling amber eyes. They’d been fortunate enough to survive the dark years of the war together.
The Kolumbki representatives, the Ångëlic Cįë and Drågon Guÿįį were not as fortunate however as both of their seats stood empty.
Next on the Order’s side of the room, came the Pårålu Ǻngëlįc; a slatani female by the name of Jåcįndå. A gentle woman whose young physical appearance, bright almond shaped eyes and gently sharp face belied her extreme age. She was, in actuality, one of the oldest members of the Choirs. Outstripped in age only by her neighbor Ëlzįëį, Zåkÿntħos himself, Tå’Sånnun, and Mįssħåël.
The seat of Jåcįndå’s Drågon companion sat unoccupied. For Ëscobår had been a long time gone. Badly missed since his untimely killing along the eastern front of the war.
The afore mentioned Ëlzįëį was a male Ǻngël in human form with deep brown coloured skin who represented the Fåsåru. An accomplished warrior, he’d actually fought side by side with Mįssħåël in several conflicts during the Ten and Five Year Wars. More to that fact, the General Dįvįnë would often attest for his valor firsthand. The hot white marble-like pupils nested within his brown irises vouched comfortably for such praise as they’d beheld much indeed over his long life.
Behind Ëlzįëį sat his fellow Drågon Įmånuël. Mahogany skinned. Solid green orbs for pupils which clashed with the black irises that surrounded them. Very strong. A being who enjoyed projecting himself with an exceptionally intimidating human physique.
Next down was Lå’Fålåcįë, the Drågon representative of the Båståru-Ëkåru in the form of a rather fetching raven haired she-sprite with glowing green orbs that sat comfortably within her brown irises, pairing beautifully with the warm undertones of her silky sapphire coloured skin. She’d sadly held the position alone ever since the loss of Låurëntįus during the fall of Athel. His death had hit her exceptionally hard. Much harder than most others. Understandable seeing as how she was his lover and she was never quite the same after his loss.
The final set of the Order’s thrones were occupied by the Drågon Jå’Dåwįgë and his Ǻngëlįc counterpart Ëkon. Jå’Dåwįgë, who, although he took the form of a stately sunset elf, physically complemented the dark skinned, black eyed gnome-ish Ëkon well. Not only were they alike in svelteness, but in mental capacity as well.
Working his eyes back up the opposite side of the room from the double doors, Zåkÿntħos beheld Sopħëÿå, the Ǻngëlįc embodiment of the Principal of Swiftness. She was dark of hair. Had yellow marble-esque pupils which lit her brown eyes alight. And a smooth brown complexion. Many often joked that she much favored Ëlzįëį in her looks, which she denied constantly. Yet Zåkÿntħos also felt this to be true. Though he never voiced such.
So many facial features did she share with Ëlzįëį in fact that they could very nearly have passed for twins on Mundus, had such a thing actually existed among Ǻngëls. Indeed, they often seemed to think alike as well. Oft supporting each other in Choir matters.
It was fair to say that they worked well together.
The throne in front of her, in which normally would have sat the Drågon of Swiftness, was empty. It was once occupied by the much-liked Båst. Who, like so many others, was lost to the blade of a dæmön in the great conflict long ago.
And as if to echo this sad sentiment, the thrones of Earth next to Sopħëÿå were also both vacant of the once Drågon-in-human-form Åltįvįånås and his dwarven Ångëlįc companion Jådë.
V’ëħënå, the Lady of Refined Earth and Logic, was a strangely beautiful creature. An oddity amongst her peers. For she chose to appear as a foal-elf; a race of beings so rarely seen in the world that they were more myth to the mortal races than real. A legend.
Especially so at times like this, when she was beheld in all of her Ǻngëlįc glory.
The cervidae coat that covered her oddly lithe deer-like body was as black as the sea at nightfall. The half of her that was sunset elven, while blessing her with skin that was equally as dark as the once beloved Tįlåtħ, granted to her thick kinky hair and a plush tail that, when not completely engulphed in Ǻngëlįc fire, were beautiful shades of steel gray.
Her long eluvian ears jutted outwards from her mane just beneath thin antlers, which were beautifully and meticulously engraved with sunset tribal designs from base to tip. Protrusions which sloped elegantly towards the back of her head to nearly frame her golden, burning halos. (It was widely believed that she’d had them carved very much both in emulation and reverence of Åmbrosįå’s own majestic outgrowths. A conjecture she hardly denied.)
Accentuating all of this, were her Ǻngëlįc irises; black seas upon which floated vibrant gray orbs of wonder.
During the Fifteen Year War’s epoch, Drågoons were born, mortal and otherwise, at an unprecedented rate out of need…or desperation. A sign of how close Lumå’įl came to winning I suppose. Among the more desperate of those births were several of the current Principal Choir members; Ǻngëls who’d willingly merged their souls with those of either their paired Drågons, or another of the beings who was facing certain death. One of these interesting number was Fårå.
Fårå was once the Ǻngëlįc counterpart of V’ëħënå, she was now a Drågoon of that same station who was well loved by her peers and the humans alike whom she favoured in her physical appearance. As if she were born in lands of Assami to its malani race before their dissolution, she was black of hair with a sandy complexion. Before her rebirth, Fårå’s eyes were amber pearls held within amber irises. But now, her new Drågoon eyes reflected her Principal standing and power; the glowing gray hue of the flakes now held within their ocher home presenting her power over refined earth.
Next to her were two other Drågoons of similar circumstance. Ëstån, the Drågoon of Air and Ëxåzåvįör, the Drågoon of Water. Both had taken on the spirits of their befriended Drågons and shifted in their Choir positions to take their thrones; the former Drågons Åst and Somorrë respectively. As a result, the Ǻngëlįc seats of these Principals now sat empty.
Ëstån had short hair which was dark and billowy; complementing his heavily browned skin beautifully. The fuchsia colour of the luminescent flakes in his eyes forming an interesting contrast with the black of his pupils.
Ëxåzåvįör was sunset elfin. His long, dark ears framed by full, dark gray coloured hair. And the flakes which floated about in his onyx eyes were a shade of aqua I can scarcely describe.
Next were the dark skinned Ǻngël Ësrånå and the grove elven Ǻngël-turned-Drågoon Vįctor; the Lady and Lord of Fire; a claim which the bright red of the orbs centered in Ësrånå’s midnight toned irises and Vįctor’s red flaked brown ones could attest to.
Tå’Sånnun followed in her Ǻngëlįc throne; ruling alone. Her much adored lover and partner, the sprite-ish Drågon, Zurįël, having unfortunately died in the war. To her left were two thrones which would’ve housed the Ladies of the Mind; the Drågon Ëstërëå and her Ångëlįc counterpart Jënfår, had they not suffered the same fate.
Råvįn, who was a lovely and lively Ǻngëlįc whose brown skin glowed warmly under the light of the sun and who wore her billowy dark brown hair in a large spherical style sat in the next throne. The orange globes which were her pupils conveyed that she was the Lady of the Spirit; blasting their light from within the brilliant hazel of her irises. A position that she had held in solitude since the passing of the sunset elven-esque Drågon Låurëncë.
Last among the living Choir members sat Ådånnå, the Drågoon of Death. As beautiful as she was mysterious. She was dark skinned with raven coloured hair which was the texture of lamb’s wool; tied into several wide locs, and smoky black eyes with flakes the colour of silver. Her fellow Drågon, Odįs was the first causality that the Choirs had to endure. Lost in the opening days of The War of the Drågons.
Beyond her sat the final two empty seats in the room of thrones. Once belonging to the last of the Choir members lost during the closing years of the Fifteen Year War. The Ǻngël and Drågon of Light; Lëstrådë and Ëszërį respectively.
The act of visually soaking in the room only took Zåkÿntħos but a few brief moments. And by the time he was done, the overlapping conversations and talking had all but ceased and all eyes were focused on him.
“Alright.” Mįssħåël stated. “You’ve our undivided attention Zåkÿntħos. What is it that you think’s happening?”
The ancient Drågon gave a reverent nod. “My brothers and sisters in eternity,” he said with respectful formality, “I appreciate you all answering my summons at Tå’Sånnun’s call. For I come to you all with very troubling news. I fear that Lumå’įl has His people moving with some unknown, earnest intent.”
“When does He not?” V’ëħënå asked; sitting in a loafing position on her uniquely carved throne.
This incited some small amount of laughter from the crowd.
“That’s true. Lumå’įl’s never been one to sit idle. Convening a session is hardly called for whenever He makes a move.” Ëlzįëį added.
Zåkÿntħos felt as though his intelligence was being insulted. “Normally that would be the case.” he said defensively. “However this is not the normal trouble of which I tell.”
“Then speak on it.” Jå’Dåwįgë stated.
“His people are scouting. I believe they are looking to catalyst another war. I also believe that He and His council may have already convened to this effect just as we are now.”
“And your evidence of whatever this is, is what?” Ëlzįëį probed.
“Tįlåtħ’s presence on Mundus for starters.” the Drågon stated. “She rarely bothers to walk the mortal plane unless Lumå’įl sends her. Not only that, but she nearly crossed over when I confronted her. In front of mortal eyes nonetheless.”
Shock fell over the crowd. The silence was deafening.
Tå’Sånnun defended Zåkÿntħos’ position vehemently. “Listen to him. He’s not talking about random violence, turmoil or general trouble making. Dæmöns have always spread those things as an act of practice in the world. This is true. But this isn’t about the normal struggles of mortal life Tħos is talking about. It’s something altogether different.”
“If it’s as Zåkÿntħos says, if Tįlåtħ herself is walking the worldly plane, then it would seem so.” Ësrånå stated.
“As you all know, as I am sure Mįssħåël told you, for some years now, during my time on Mundus, I have taken to shadowing a mortal whose captured my attention. A human.”
“Yes, we are aware Zåkÿntħos. The slaver Magi.” Įmånuël stated in an unamused tone. “You seem to be so enamored with him in fact that, from what we hear, you actually ordered another Ångëlįc to expose themselves on the living plane to save his life. And much like you claimed of Tįlåtħ, you had her do it before the eyes of other mortals. Is this true?
Zåkÿntħos cocked his head at the accusatory remark. As if letting Samahdemn die…as if letting any mortal die if something could be done to prevent it was an acceptable course of action. “I would not say ordered as much as allowed. Mē’Cållįå assured me that it was the only way to save him. Besides, since when did we sell our honour so cheaply? Yes. I permitted her to do what needed to be done. She trusted me in this. As should you. If I had allowed the shadow of death to overtake him, what a sorry excuse for a Dįvonësë I would have been. And we would have been the worse off for it. Judge me for it later if you must, but heed what I say to you all now.
“This is a human we need to take charge of. Despite the artificial life that grows inside of him, he is particularly attuned to the gift of magick. Åmbrosįå’s gifts move in his blood in ways that the rest of his kin are utterly dead to. In ways that it should not be possible.”
“It’s true. He’s quite…formidable. Even in his current handicapped state.” Tå’Sånnun said in support.
“I deem beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s the soul reason for what I believe are Lumå’įl’s emboldened acts.” Zåkÿntħos added.
The green pearls which were Įmånuël’s pupils flicked back and forth between the Drågon and his supporting Ǻngëlįc. “We’re well aware of his gifts and the strength thereof. And we’re also aware of how he wields them.”
“Yes. To the detriment of his own people it would seem, when he’s not enslaving or killing others. And it’s no secret that Lumå’įl’s people have never really shied away from enlisting the aid of…killers in their cause.”
Ëkon’s support of Įmånuël’s statement was very matter-of-fact.
“Real Magi should always show respect for life. Not set out to destroy it.” Įmånuël stated as he chimed back in. “The entire situation in my mind begs that Ëlzįëį’s question be supported. How does this warrant a meeting of the Choirs? Magi of great power are nothing new to the world. Lumå’įl already has many in His employ.”
“Those are slightly unfair statements.” Zåkÿntħos defended. “It is not my belief that he purposefully sets out to do anything evil. He has not counted himself among other slavers in many moons. And since then, he has spent numerous long years devoting his life to his Knighthood, protecting that which matters the most; other people. The incident in Bastion, which was admittedly a sad miscalculation on his part, was nonetheless made in an attempt to right a wrong.”
“How’s that?” Råvįn asked as she tapped her mocha coloured fingers on the arm of her throne. “The road to Brŭmal is paved with good intentions Zåkÿntħos. Given that he murdered hundreds of his own people by partially collapsing the most prominent and ancient structure in all of Hesijua, all the while in the service of a supposed ‘greater good’, or while trying to ‘right a wrong’, seems tantamount to being second only to something Lumå’įl himself would do in my eyes.”
“And his past is still his past regardless of how far he runs from it. Slaver, ex-slaver…his nature is his nature. Why else would he have to suppress his own emotions?” Ådrånnå asked.
Zåkÿntħos lowered his gaze slightly. Things were already going badly. And he hadn’t even gotten to his actual proposal yet. War was coming, and they needed to start getting their assets into place.
But, at least he knew where he stood. It wasn’t difficult to see which way the wind was blowing. Tå’Sånnun had been right. The Choirs were not going to be easy to sway. Especially once his proposal was on the floor.
“I agree with Zåkÿntħos. I’m not so sure it’s that black and white either. And to say that it is, may be unfair.” Ÿånnįs said as she spoke steadfastly in defense of Zåkÿntħos’ human.
The sound of a concurring voice was unexpected. And it was the sweetest thing Zåkÿntħos had heard in a very long time.
Ÿånnįs ran her fair skinned fingers through her blonde hair to adjust it as she spoke. “Do we hold fire to blame when a forest is destroyed? Do we curse the waves and the wind when they batter a coast into nothing? Do we chastise a volcano when it vomits fire and ash into the air? No, we don’t. These things mean no intentional harm. They’re simply doing what it is in their nature to do.”
A couple of heads about the room nodded their approval of the analogy. Fårå, Ëstån, and Su’Gårråd. Tå’Sånnun was a blank but Zåkÿntħos already knew that he had her support despite the fact that she had little love for his charge. A few people in the area began to mummer back and forth over the wisdom, or lack of wisdom, in the statement.
“But those phenomenon have no ability to reason. This human does. And that is the difference.” Vįctor stated.
Mįssħåël raised his hand, bringing the room to order again. “Zåkÿntħos, we didn’t come here to debate Samahdemn’s nature. I assume that’s not your purpose. So, what is?”
“Actually, that very well goes part and parcel with my proposal. It is my belief that Lumå’įl and Så’Ħdënåħ are preparing to stake claim on the Goddess’ Tree. Soon. And Samahdemn’s nature and societal positioning lends him to being a very timely and convenient catalyst.”
“So you think your human is a key. But a key to what? And according to what?” Mįssħåël asked.
“According to nothing. It is simply a feeling in my gut. The time for war has always been approaching. This much Åmbrosįå Herself has always known. And I feel that we are nearing the brink of that moment. Something is about to happen.”
The General Dįvįnë nearly scoffed at his old friend. “Feelings and unknowns are little excuse for a march to war brother.”
“We’re not seeking a call to battle for the Ǻngëls, Drågons or Drågoons.” Tå’Sånnun stated.
“I should hope not.” Jåcįndå challenged. Her black eyes burning into the ma’jong with warning.
“Not entirely, anyway.” Zåkÿntħos’ addition to Tå’Sånnun’s statement caused Jåcįndå’s eyes to shift quickly to him. Along with the rest of the eyes in the chamber.
“Speak plainly.” Jåcįndå said sternly.
Zåkÿntħos looked to Tå’Sånnun and they both sighed in unison. “We need for the Choirs to actively protect Samahdemn. Not only that…but to accept him into our fold. If we can do this, maybe war can be averted.”
Mummers of discontent erupted about the room.
“To what end?” Jåcįndå inquired.
“I will request of Åmbrosįå to make of him a standing member of the Choirs.”
Jåcįndå took immediately to her feet. “Blasphemy! I won’t stand for such a thing!”
The floodgates were now open. The room erupted into a boisterous clamor of differing arguments.
“Surely you jest.” Sopħëÿå spoke over the crowd. The Ǻngël’s deep, yet still feminine voice drew Zåkÿntħos to the radiant yellow globes in the center of her eyes. “What reason would we possibly have for bestowing such an honour upon such an inherently evil man?”
“I concur.” Ëlzįëį supported. “It sounds as if you’d have us saddle ourselves with our very own Christopher.”
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
“Was there ever a doubt that you’d agree with Sopħëÿå?” Ëxåzåvįör asked slyly. Ëlzįëį stared at the sunset elf intently in response.
“Believe me everyone, I do not believe myself to be asking this of you all blindly.” Zåkÿntħos pleaded. “But my presence alone will not be enough to deter the enemy from taking him.”
“Speaking to that, directly defending this man was probably an ill-advised move at best regardless of the situation, seeing as how Lumå’įl still wishes to get his hands on you as well.” Mįssħåël expressed.
“A calculated risk brother.”
“While ‘calculated’ it may have been, it was a risk nonetheless. Exposing yourself to Tįlåtħ, and possibly even Dåÿvįåd, was far too dangerous. The last thing we need is Lumå’įl ripping your soul from you in an effort to make another Dark Drågoon who’s faithful to His cause.”
“Which is all the more reason that we need to grant this man our protection. I think that they may want to do just that…to make of Samahdemn a Dark Drågoon.” Zåkÿntħos pleaded passionately.
Everyone seemed to ponder that statement for a moment. “Granted. As you said, he is a strangely powerful human. A swalii like no other.” Ëlzįëį stated. “But is raw power really enough to lead you to believe that the enemy wants Samahdemn to become a Dark Drågoon? Is that the only reason for you petitioning for him to join our number?”
“Is that not enough?”
“No, I don’t believe it is.” Ëlzįëį turned his caramel brown hands upward in an all-encompassing manner. There’s never been a member of the Choirs who wasn’t Dįvįnëly created. Never one from outside who was given a station among those who exorcise the Goddess’ will. Never.”
Råvįn interrupted the two. “There are many others who are far more deserving of such a station. What makes you believe that Åmbrosįå, Queen of Queens, would even consider such a preposterous proposal?”
“Because She knows the true gravity of our situation. Look about you!”
And at Zåkÿntħos’ impassioned command, they did look about, taking note of all of the empty thrones.
“Our council is but a shadow of its former glory. Many of our voices were silenced in the fires of the Ten and Five Year Wars.” he continued. “And if we are not very careful in the coming days; if we fail to make wise decisions, we may find all of our lives taken as well. Our grand chamber will be left forever silenced and our Lady’s lands will fall into the hands of a tyrant.”
“And you believe that this single person is that important?” Xånorå asked. Her dark complexion was a mirror of calm thoughtfulness.
Zåkÿntħos cocked his head to one side in thought. His purple highlighted eyes searching for the right answer. “None of our number fell during the Great Rebellion. Not a single one. Our front was strong. But once Drågons and Drågoons threw themselves against our bulwark in the last conflict…well…” Again, he motioned to all of the vacant seats about them. “Another war is coming regardless. This we all know. While having or not having this man could make little difference in that regard, I believe that allowing him to fall under Lumå’įl’s control would be ill-advised and it would put us at a serious disadvantage should things come to conflict.
“Can you picture it? You know well the power he wields in his hampered state; all while having a living machine inside of him...stunting the growth of our lady’s gifts. Could you imagine what he would be capable of with the power of a Drågon’s spirit within him? Is that the type of weapon you want in the hands of our misguided once-family?”
“Then why not just allow the mortal’s life to end and be done with it?” Įmånuël offered up coldly. “We all know that he is dangerous. Offhandedly offering him a Choir seat is…precarious at best. And Zåkÿntħos is right in that he cannot be allowed to be left to his own devices as he may very well lead himself right into Lumå’įl’s arms.”
Shock at the Drågon’s harsh words flooded the chamber. “And since when has such a decision been ours?” V’ëħënå challenged. “Are the Goddess and God’s Ǻngëls, Drågons and Drågoons to become murderers now, taking life as we see fit? Is that domain not souly the providence of Åmbrosįå and Sanguine? And only then, aren’t such sad obligations not solely the burden of Ådånnå or one of her Ångëls of Death? Be mindful of the path you’d have us walk. Our thrones may sit in the shadow of a white tree,” V’ëħënå said passionately as she motioned one of her lissom arms towards the tree-encompassed tower ruins behind the four High Thrones, “but that doesn’t mean that we sit in the shadow of the White Tree. Those cathedrae, and those decisions, are for Them alone.”
Įmånuël bowed humbly from his seat. “Of course.”
“V’ëħënå is right. However, even if that were a viable option, I do not believe that our Mother would make such a choice. It would not be possible.” Zåkÿntħos said.
“And why exactly is that?” Įëuån asked. His brown eyes wide with curiosity.
“Because,” Tå’Sånnun answered somewhat reluctantly, “he’s the man our Goddess has spoken of in Her revelations. She foresaw his time coming after the Fifteen Year War. She saw him in the ether.”
“Really now?” Mįssħåël asked Zåkÿntħos, intrigued. “You didn’t mention that before. It would certainly explain your extreme interest and your desire to protect him, let alone your aspirations to make of him a human Choir member. But it still sounds like idle speculation. How do we know who the Goddess saw? Could be anyone. Or even someone not yet born.”
“Think about it for a moment brother. We, within our stations, have always had the gift of foresight to some vague degree. Not to the extent of our Lady Åmbrosįå and Lord Sanguine of course, but the fog of time has always cleared ever so slightly for us. But in this case, we are just as blind to Samahdemn’s movements and paths as we were with Lumå’įl and Så’Ħdënåħ before their fall.”
“Where exactly are you going with this Zåkÿntħos?” Mįssħåël questioned. “Because willful use of blood Magick on Samahdemn’s part would hardly help your case.”
“No, Mįssħåël. That is not what I am saying. Faithless though he may be, he is not a blood Magi. And we are not the only ones who have been blind to him. The Fallen cannot see his spirit clearly either.”
“And how do you know that?” Sopħëÿå asked.
“Because this is what I spoke of with Tįlåtħ. Openly and honestly, before he was gun shot. In fact, he was the soul topic of our…discussion.”
“And she willingly told you this?” she questioned.
“Not directly. She inferred that we were the ones masking him. He is seemingly as much of a mystery to them as he is to us.”
“That may not necessarily be a good thing.” Råvįn stated. “Something that foreign-”
“-Must be risked.” Zåkÿntħos defended. “What I am trying to say is that Samahdemn, for whatever purpose, is not bound by the laws of predetermination. He follows a path apart from what was set forth by our Lady. There is no Dįvįnë Influence that presides over him.”
The Choir members all began to mutter amongst themselves in discussion of what this actually meant if what Zåkÿntħos said was to be true.
----------
On the Subject of Fate
In the beginning, when Lumå’įl was first born of the Goddess’ very body; Her flesh and Her rib, the predetermined flow of the universe was forever altered.
Unlike the later races which were brought forth by Them both from the fruit of the Great Tree, Lumå’įl was something completely different. Too much like the Goddess to ever be fully known. Likewise, Så’Ħdënåħ, born directly of Their passion and Their loins, was of that same state of being. Separate from the universe, yet still a part of it.
It was within these very moments of Their daughter’s Dįvįnë conception that it’s believed that Fate was brought into being. The threads of the weave that bound this universe together became “loose”. Whether this was by some greater design or not is a matter of much debate, even among the Ǻngëls. Maybe Fate was a part of this universe before the Goddess even arrived here. Maybe not. Who’s to know? It’s no secret, after all, that Åmbrosįå has never made all of Her machinations known to anyone.
And maybe that’s the way it should be.
Fate is a very powerful and unpredictable instrument of change which affects everything it touches. Once someone comes into contact with one who’s driven by the hand of Fate, they’re then swept up in it as well. And so it spreads.
When sight of a person is lost due to Fate, so is everything else that person comes in contact with until Fate has run its course. Could there be anything else that’s so dangerous? Anything else that’s so beautiful? It’s free-will, given form.
It was Fate that allowed Lumå’įl to contrive the foul art of blood Magick and lash out against the Queen of Queens with it. And it was Fate that led a great many mortals to fight alongside the Fallen during the Ten and Five Year Wars; even when they still had firsthand knowledge of the Goddess’ existence. And now, here it was, rearing its head again, and nobody was sure if this were to be for good or ill.
----------
“Make no mistake brothers and sisters-” Zåkÿntħos insisted. “Åmbrosįå and Sånįgron both spoke of this. Our Goddess spoke of him and no other. She saw what was to come in the sea of time despite the quirks of existence’s proclivities. Beyond the idiosyncrasies of men and mer and the whims of chance. She gifted us this vision from Her very lips. Ëkon himself scribed them ages past when that was still his station before Įl’Cëįnså relieved him of that burden after his ascension to his Choir seat.”
“You’d have us believe” Jåcįndå cried from her throne, “that this man, this Goddessless murderer, is the Child of Fate? You’d have us believe that Samahdemn is the prophesied Doom-Driven? You’d have us motion to seat this mortal on a Throne of Ëmpÿrë…all because of a feeling?”
“Åmbrosįå said in Her moment of prophecy, that one day, ‘the Dįvįnë would bear witness to Fate.’” Tå’Sånnun’s statement was a solid one. “Is that not exactly what’s happening? I like it even less than many of you do, but I’m not blind either.” Her lupine eyes shifted to her friend. “And I trust Zåkÿntħos.”
“Then tell me Zåkÿntħos,” Mįssħåël asked as his onyx eyes dug intently into the Drågon’s very being, “seeing as how you and Tå’Sånnun are both so intent on bringing this before our Lady and Lord, which of our empty seats would you have him take? With what responsibilities would you trust to task this human with?”
The ancient Drågon lowered his head. “I never said that I would offer to him a seat that was empty.”
Shock and panic flooded the chamber…to include, I’m certain, Tå’Sånnun. Zåkÿntħos never discussed with her. The colour seemed to drain from her dark skinned face and her ears laid down limply. She looked as though she wanted to speak…to ask him if he was serious; to beg him to reconsider. But her voice seemed to be caught in her throat. The “cat had her tongue” so to speak.
“My seat is his, if he accepts it.” Zåkÿntħos’ proclamation was greeted with stunned silence. “He must accept it.”
“You’ve lost your senses!” Sopħëÿå forced herself to exclaim. “You’d give yourself to this man? THIS man!? You’d die, for him?”
“It is preferable to the alternative.” Zåkÿntħos stated somberly.
“I’m not sure that I’d agree with that.” Ëlzįëį said. “I’m not convinced that we should ‘burn the house down’ for the sake of trying to save it. And that’s what I feel we’d be doing by allowing this…person to take your soul. Nor am I fully convinced that one more Drågoon would make a difference in another confrontation with Lumå’įl.”
“And that is where we differ brother.” Zåkÿntħos stated. “For I do. I have felt the strength of his spirit. I have been awed by it. The very existence of it is nearly unfathomable. And I believe that Samahdemn has it within himself to save that which we all hold so dear. I know that nothing else that I can say will move anyone here anymore than what you all already are. So, this is what I put on the floor before you all; to take this matter before the Dįvįnë Queen Åmbrosįå and our Glorious King Sånįgron, and request that Samahdemn be allowed to take what I believe should be his place as the Lord of the Darkness.”
Mįssħåël continued to look to his friend. His brother. His face filled with the hope that his silent pleas would be heeded. But the Drågon wouldn’t allow himself to be dissuaded. Tå’Sånnun likewise looked to him. Practically begging through her eyes with what felt to the Drågon to be every fiber of her being for him to look her way; to see her face and be moved to reconsider. But he steadfastly refused the draw of his friends aspect; looking ever forward.
He’d not allow his resolve to falter for the sake of their sadness. He couldn’t.
This has to be done. He thought to himself.
“Well, honorable Choir members,” Mįssħåël stated with utmost authority, confidence and sadness. “you’ve heard Zåkÿntħos’ rather grave request. It’s not one he’s made lightly, I’m sure. So here, now, we cast our first vote on the fate of Samahdemn. Know, however Zåkÿntħos,” he stated as their eyes met, “if we choose not to bring him before the Goddess’ throne, he must be set free of his mortal coil.”
Zåkÿntħos was stunned. Never before had any Ǻngël or Drågon ever been so bold as to directly call for the death of a mortal. Never. Yet here, within such a short span, two had; one being the General Dįvįnë himself. Zåkÿntħos could hardly believe that he of all of them would propose such a thing to the Goddess.
“But-”
“No discussion Zåkÿntħos. Don’t presume to sidestep my authority in this matter. We all see now that this human is a great danger to everyone around him. If he is of such importance to both you and the Dark Lord, if he is truly the Child of Fate, if his gifts truly run so deep, then in this, despite the truth of V’ëħënå’s observation, I must concur with Įmånuël.
“We can’t allow him to be seduced by the Fallen and made a Dark Drågoon. The Choirs are the first and last defense of our Lady, our Lord and all things under Ëmpÿrë’s sway. This is a line that we must draw. And while it may seem callous, it’s because of your very argument that we find ourselves in a position where we must vote on this man’s life. He’s too awash with uncertainty to let go unguided. Either we allow him to aid us in defending Ëmpÿrë, or we claim his soul before he can be recruited by the minions of Brŭmal.”
“Mįssħåël, the Ǻngëls are not murderers.” Zåkÿntħos pleaded. “We Drågons are not executioners. Drågoons are not vigilantes. If we choose to kill him-”
“-If we choose to kill him, then it’s a burden that we will all share together. This isn’t a decision to step into brazenly. Besides, if the vote is held in his favor, are we not just sending you to your death instead? You’d have me hold his life above your own?”
“You know as well as I do Mįssħåël, that it is not like that. It is not the same thing. I shall still live.”
“Through him.” Mįssħåël said coldly. “Not apart from him as you would, should his soul be separated from his body instead. There’s a difference.”
“It is the natural order. You know this. The effect of what must be caused.”
There was naught but silence. The energy in the chamber suggested that the Choirs apparently agreed with Mįssħåël…for the most part. Dark times were indeed upon them all.
Mįssħåël turned to call for the vote. “All those in favor of allowing the human Samahdemn to ascend to the sublime state of Drågoonhood?”
Zåkÿntħos stood in support of his own proposition and watched with bated breath as the Choirs briefly discussed the pros and cons amongst each other and, slowly, stood one at a time.
Ÿånnįs…
Then Su’Gårråd…
Then Fårå…
Ësrånå, Ëxåzåvįör and Ëstån stood almost as a single unit.
Lastly, V’ëħënå raised her hand and nodded towards Mįssħåël, as she seldom wished to transition through the awkward practice of coaxing her deer-like body to stand and loaf over and over again during these rare meetings.
After a moment, the High Drågon cast his gaze upon his ma’jong friend. His most stout supporter. She’d refused to stand. It was painfully obvious that she couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. Especially to one such as Samahdemn. Regardless of whether he was willing or not.
He pleaded to her with his eyes. This is necessary Tå’Sånnun. The world will not survive if we do not. She foresaw it in ages long past.
Her resolve weakened as he begged without words. She didn’t want him to sacrifice himself for this. This wasn’t part of the plan. But, she also didn’t have the heart to fully deny him either.
She never could say no to him.
And so, sadly, she finally stood to her feet.
“And so we have nine.” Zåkÿntħos said sadly. This didn’t look as though it would pass. He was five votes shy of the necessary two thirds majority.
“Hmm.” Mįssħåël grunted. “All nays have the same right.”
As those who supported Zåkÿntħos sat, those who were fervently opposed stood. This was, sadly, a much quicker action.
Jåcįndå, Įmånuël, Jå’Dåwįgë, Ëkon, Ådånnå and Råvįn stood very nearly simultaneously.
“And so stands six.” Zåkÿntħos reported with renewed hope. The rest were obviously on the fence, even though Mįssħåël would have them stand just to make it official. So, while the motion wouldn’t pass the floor, at least it wouldn’t be thrown out altogether. It would be debated some more and put forth again. He’d have a chance to strengthen his argument.
It also didn’t escape his notice that the General Dįvįnë himself hadn’t stood yet. If he could sway him, then the rest would almost be sure to follow his lead.
“Undecided members, please make yourselves known.”
As the naysayers sat, the unresolved masses stood, headed by Mįssħåël himself.
Ëlzįëį was followed closely by Sopħëÿå.
Vįctor …
Lå’Fålåcįë…
Įëvån, then finally Xånorå.
“Seven.” the High Drågon stated calmly.
Mįssħåël and Tå’Sånnun sighed together, although for completely different reasons.
It was obvious that this would be a very long meeting. Or, at least, that was the briefly held notion.
The Choirs had resumed their conflicted discussion just as the massive doors to the inner basilica were opened wide by a pair of very majestic Zåståru-Måpånols draped in the regal royal purple of the Goddess’ personal guard; their intricate Dįvįnë claymores laying across their backs sheathed in elaborate open-air scabbards, accented in matching purple velvet.
Smells of azaleas, gardenia, lilacs and peony started to fill the air; shifting in tone and vibrancy apropos of nothing. Dianthus. Phlox. Roses. Hyacinth. None needed to be told what this heralded. They all knew it was Her. And in anticipation of Her entrance, silence quickly befell all.
“Stand and show reverence!” Mįssħåël ordered.
Quickly doing as they were told, the men bowed deeply with their hands across their chests as the women curtsied; save for V’ëħënå who, because of her body’s nature, simply bowed as the men-folk did.
“Please,” Åmbrosįå spoke as she and Sånįgron drifted into the chamber together; still very much in their human-esque forms. “sit, my children.”
She and Her consort rarely crossed over. Even when entering the Choir’s chambers. Not that they scoffed at the practice, but their higher forms came with power that was profound and overwhelming to the world around them. To the point of being crushing. It wasn’t something that could be helped. It was simply a part of Their nature. And such a display of dominance was rarely called for.
As always, Åmbrosįå was a vision of beauty in Her human-esque form. A study in elegance. Its very definition in point-of-fact.
This day, Her impossibly heavy hair, the colour of midnight, which was oft thickly locked into dreads that fell below Her knees and substantially beaded, was wrapped up underneath a massive embroidered gele of royal purple, which beautifully accentuated the sangria hued starburst patterns in Her otherwise black eyes.
Her delicately engraved antlers, majestic in a way I can scarcely describe, were bedazzled with bangles, cuffs and thin dangling ropes of all manner of precious metals. And drawn to the outgrowths by some unseen force were the odd butterfly or small songbird who would flutter to and fro about them, or simply perch and sing.
Laying over top of Her antlers, and wrapped about the crown of Her head was a simple wreath which resembled a thick rope of heavy multicoluored wooden beads. It held fast an embossed symbol of Dįvįvįty which fell between Her eyebrows, alongside the symbols of the principal planes which hung sporadically from the headdress about the rest of Her head.
Vibrantly alight in purple fire the wreath was; a fire that lightly caressed the entirety of Her gele and the base of her outgrowths. Flames which failed to harm either Her, the fowl that flew about Her, Her clothes, or Her near midnight skin; skin that was so dark that it made Her appear melanistic. Yet it burned so blindingly bright that it seemed to be akin to a fragment of the sun to anyone not worthy to look upon Her Dįvįnë visage.
Thick beads of rich woods, brass, glass and deep coloured natural stones were wrapped tightly about Her elongated neck, reaching from just under Her delicate chin down to where they fell about Her chest. Likewise, a multitude of snug ornate wood and stone beaded bracelets of differing thicknesses nearly covered Her otherwise bare arms to touch delicate hands accented by a single ring each. Finger ornaments whose existence shouldn’t have been possible given the complexity of their make and the beauty of their else-worldly metals and gems. All of it singing in concert with Her thick purple wrap dress which was adorned in heavy gold and silver embroidery. A dress which scrubbed the ground as She walked toward the High Thrones of Authority.
Sånįgron, the Drågon God, wore a mixture of differently styled garments, as He enjoyed being a little different from the norm. His thick black dreadlocks were interwoven behind His head into a beehive style, and were gloriously adorned with wooden beads. A thick crown of a similar beaded design to Åmbrosįå’s sat upon His head, although it wasn’t alight with heatless flame. His thick, dark beard was sharply groomed and decorated with beautiful gold and silver rings after a dwarven fashion. A weighty asymmetrical kurta of purple, silver and gold adorned His chocolate skinned body. And a necklace, made of large embossed triangles, circles and squares of gold and silver hung heavily from His shoulders.
Even without the Goddess’ halos brought to bear or either of the Dįvįnë couple’s wings exposed, the two of them commanded such authority with Their combined presence that either of Them could’ve decreed in that moment that the entirety of the Choirs fall onto their own swords in Their honor, and they’d have all done it without hesitation, believing in the absolute wisdom of the request.
“Times are indeed dark and troubling my children, when these chambers are so sullen. I know that which haunts you all. I know the shadows that gather. Let’s speak of these things as family.” The Goddess’ voice slid like honey from between her thick lips and was seemingly carried on the very wind to each of their ears as she spoke; drenched in Her rich, ample Dįvonësë accent. Thick with the very essence of heka.
It was no surprise that She knew the purpose for their gathering. She was, after all, mother to all of creation. However, it was highly irregular for Åmbrosįå to address the Choirs directly. It wasn’t part of the normal ebb and flow of power in Ëmpÿrë. She usually held this type of council for The Four alone.
Or, since the Ten and Five Year Wars, The Two.
Even rarer was the appearance of the Great Drågon beside Her.
Maybe now they will see. Zåkÿntħos thought. Maybe now they will understand the gravity of these things.
“Please. Unburden your hearts to me.” She pleaded sweetly.
She already understood their hearts. Zåkÿntħos knew that She just wanted to hear them speak it. She wanted to lighten their burden and ease their stress.
“It is this human of Zåkÿntħos’ my Lady.” the dwarven Xånorå offered up. Sånįgron’s eyes turned to Zåkÿntħos for confirmation in concert with the Goddess’ as she continued to speak. “He believes him to be the man of whom you prophesied…the Child of Fate.”
Zåkÿntħos nodded to the Queen and King of the Dįvįnë.
The Goddess seemed to take this into Herself. Almost as if hearing the Drågon say it aloud allowed Her to stew on it anew in all of her omnipotence. But, then again, if it were in fact true, Fate wouldn’t have allowed Her to clearly see him just as the Choirs couldn’t quite see him.
The look behind Her calm gaze definitely seemed to mirror this hypothesis. She allowed her purple starburst eyes to meet Sånįgron’s glowing purple orb-centered black ones and He in turn asked the question that was seemingly on Her mind; his strong and thunderous voice traveling with power and authority to every ear.
“And what do you and your Choirs think Mįssħåël? Do you agree with your fellow Drågon?”
“That would seem to be a matter of some debate my Lord.” Mįssħåël answered. “Nine for, six against. Seven in the middle. I count myself among the undecided.”
“He’s a confused and dangerous man who has done much wrong. This much isn’t in question.”
“Very true.” Sånįgron added. “This man, if he could be counted as one, is a vile creature. He is a blight upon all of mortal kind. A pathological predator who finds enjoyment in everything from taking life to partaking in nearly every form of mortal vice and…sin.” Having struggled with giving voice to the word “sin”, He mimicked a spitting gesture afterwards. Nearly reflexively. As if it, or what it stood for, left a horrible taste in His mouth.
Åmbrosįå’s eyes lost contact with Her consort’s gaze and it found the ground as a forlorn look crossed Her delicate features. Slowly, She nodded Her head in conformation of what He was saying.
Zåkÿntħos could feel his heart sinking in his chest.
“Then that settles it. Does it not?” Įmånuël asked. “We should allow Ådånnå to act in accordance with her station and spirit this fiend away to the frozen wastes of Brŭmal with haste before he can be utilized at his full potential by the enemy.”
“Don’t leap to acting too swiftly Imånuël.” Åmbrosįå warned. “I do in fact, despite it all, believe him to be a man of great importance to us. Of great importance to me. This can’t be denied.”
To say that the Choirs were completely floored by this declaration, directly from the Goddess’ lips nonetheless, would be a practice in the art of understatement.
For the Goddess to personally vouch for man who was so inherently broken…it was an insanity of cosmic proportions. Literally.
“Visions of time flow to me as readily as a river flowing to the ocean.” She continued. “As clear as crystal they are. And in them all, I see Samahdemn’s face. But his path is hidden from me. The part he has yet to play, for good or ill, is obscured.”
“It is just as I said! Just as I told you!” Zåkÿntħos said triumphantly.
“I don’t mean to question you All-Mother, yet I feel that I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least ask…” Råvįn stated nervously. “Are you absolutely certain that we’re talking about Fate and not some sort of Magick of the blood? Can we trust this man not to stoop to such things?”
“No. We should not put it past him or believe that he’d not stoop to a great many things.”
That was blunt.
“But, we can trust him to try to do the right thing despite his dark nature. For constantly is he trying to be more than the sum of his parts.”
Her words instilled very little confidence in the group who were already against the idea. But none were foolish enough to argue with Her.
“Then we’re left with what we’re left with. And a choice must be made.” Ëlzįëį stated.
Sopħëÿå shot a glance across the room to her brother-in-the-Goddess, who simply shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.
“It’s true sister.” he mouthed to her.
“I wish that I could tell you all more. I truly do. But the farther I try to see past this fog of Fate, the darker my vision becomes.”
Reaching out with all that She was; pulling energy from the Tree of Life beneath Her feet in the basilica’s most sacred space, and its offshoot in front of Her which ripped through the ruined tower behind the thrones of The Four; tugging at the either all about Her, the Goddess tried once again to peer into the void of time. Zåkÿntħos’ hair stood on end as She attempted to foresee the future. The taste of copper filled his mouth as the purple starburst patterns within the dark void of Her onyx eyes lit up like embers.
She was wading through The Flow.
“I can see that the world spins on, but not the state in which it spins. I see the winds of Ëmpÿrë gently blowing leaves of its ancient trees about the feet of the world’s inhabitants, but I can’t see around whom they blow.”
The Goddess seemed to strain a bit as She used Her infinite will to push Her sight through the ether; the purple hues in Her eyes glowing ever more brightly the deeper she delved.
“I see Samahdemn standing in the midst of great destruction. I see death all about him. But I also see…I see-” She tried to extend Her sight further, but it was of no use. Breathing out a sigh, She shook Her head and massaged the residual tension out of Her elegantly long neck. “I’m not certain what I see.” She stated as the light in Her dark eyes died back down. “Regardless, the lives that he touches will be forever changed. I believe that he has a part yet to play in the course of things.”
“Zåkÿntħos,” Sånįgron said as He moved from the Goddess’ side and approached the four thrones, “you have shadowed this human for a great many years under your belief in him. You have personally intervened twice to save his retched life even though I could not truly tell you if he rightfully deserved to live past the lives he took in Hesijua. And Åmbrosįå has allowed this curiosity as She sees something of an enigma here. Given all that we know as a family, it is painfully obvious that inaction on the part of the Choirs as a whole can no longer be considered an option. What is it that you would ask of us? I would have your opinion. And speak plainly, for this is the time.”
“No!” Tå’Sånnun couldn’t keep the word from leaving her mouth. None faulted her for it. “You can’t do this. It isn’t right. It’s not right that he should live while you-”
“Tå’.” The way Zåkÿntħos used her familial name silenced her quickly. There was a surprising amount of tenderness in his voice. It was almost intimate in its gentleness. He even managed to surprise himself.
Despite his best efforts, the ages of persistence and kindness on Tå’Sånnun’s behalf had apparently managed to sneak her into his heart.
“It is ok. Ëmpÿrë is better served now by my death, than my life.”
“My Zåkÿntħos.” she whispered to herself under her breath. “Strong. Brave. Sometimes foolishly so. He doesn’t deserve you.”
After holding her gaze gently for a few moments, he turned his attention back to the Father of Drågons. “I would propose to give my throne and all authorities apportioned thereto, including my gifts, to him to hold in trust until such time as darkness no longer looms over this queendom, the dominion of the mortals or beyond.”
All waited in stillness as Åmbrosįå stepped forward and took Sånįgron’s hand; reaching consensus as they looked upon each other. Seemingly speaking to each other mentally, weighing the options in silence. It hurt Her so badly to consider allowing one of Her children to sacrifice themselves, regardless of how selfless, valiant or well meaning.
“Life is a gift not to be…misspent.” the Goddess stated tactfully. “Are you certain that you’d trust to give him so much?”
“As You said my Lady, I would trust him to try to do what is right. Besides, if I stand by and do nothing for the sake of preserving my own life, then would I truly be worthy to sit in Your light? Would I be worthy of Dįvįnë prominence? Would any of us?”
The Goddess smiled a smile that could’ve gladdened even the saddest of hearts in the darkest of hours. A smile that I can only assume was equal parts pride in Her child, and hope in the outcome of the coming hostilities. Indeed, even Tå’Sånnun seemed to be lifted by it.
“So mote it be then. Go back to Samahdemn, and offer what you will, as you will. But I warn you, this mortal may not support what‘s right willingly. And if it should come to pass that he can’t be led to do what’s true, I shall allow Ådånnå to act in the station which she holds.”
“Yes my lady.” Zåkÿntħos said obediently with a low bow.
“Such is my decree. Are there any present who would oppose it?”
Silence.
“Tå’Sånnun, I’d have you accompany Zåkÿntħos. Though he may not yet admit it to himself, you’re dear to him above all others. And it may come to pass that he’ll need you in a way that he has yet to realize.”
It looked as if Tå’Sånnun felt her heart skip a beat at the revelation.
“My Lady-” Zåkÿntħos started to state out of surprise and protest until he was silenced by the Goddess raising Her elegant ebony hand.
“Time grows short for us all my child. You most of all. This isn’t the time to deny yourself. Ëszërį wouldn’t want that. I don’t want that.” The Goddess looked towards the now embarrassed ma’jong, then back to the ancient being. “And, I know that Tå’Sånnun doesn’t want that.”
The High Drågon nodded his compliance.
“Don’t allow yourself to be so blinded by the grief of loss that you miss the love freely offered right in front of you.
“But my lady-”
“No buts Tå’Sånnun. Zåkÿntħos will need your moral support and I don’t want him going to confront this situation alone.”
Still embarrassed, she nodded. “Yes my Lady.”
“Anything else my Queen?” Zåkÿntħos asked.
“Yes. I’m sending Ëlzįëį with you as well. Samahdemn is, without a doubt, a faithless man. As Ëlzįëį is tasked as the embodiment of faith, maybe his presence will aid you in…inspiring this man.”
As the Dįvįnë pair turned to leave the area with their personal guard in tow, all stood and bowed or curtsied low. Afterward, everyone left their thrones and met on the floor to discuss the impending consequences of what just happened and the air was soon cluttered with the sound of intense conversation.
For the most part, Zåkÿntħos was quite happy with the way things turned out. And in retrospect, so am I. Without the Goddess’ surprise intervention, he may have had to abandon me to death. Although, on a more personal note, Zåkÿntħos was more than a little conflicted about the fact that Åmbrosįå reached into his heart, and that of his friend, and pulled out such personal thoughts.
But, maybe She was right in that as well. She always was.
Before long, Zåkÿntħos found himself in the middle of the open-air space walking towards Tå’Sånnun. He’d never truly allowed himself to see all of her beauty, for fear of where it may take his thoughts. For fear of betraying the memories he’d held for his beloved Ëszërį.
But now he did. He drank all of her in.
The air about her smelled sweetly of her sent. The sun played delightfully in her billowy hair. Her hands were clasped shyly around her tail as she kneaded the fiery appendage to no end. And her ears slicked themselves back as he approached.
He never realized until this very moment, how attractive she was to him; how badly he truly wanted her.
“So, now you know.” she said refusing to meet his gaze as he found himself standing an arm’s length before her; a head and shoulder taller than she.
“I always did. I just could not…you know.” He lost his words to insecurity.
“I know. So, what do we do now?”
It was hardly the place or time, and he wasn’t really sure if it was right he should cave so much into his once-friend so quickly…but the “cat was out of the bag”, so to speak, and there was really little point in denying anything anymore. Besides, passion and love are integral emotions to the Dįvįnë races and giving into them could feel as natural as breathing.
So, for better or worse, Zåkÿntħos took his old friend into his arms and embraced her for the first time as something more. In response to the sudden show of emotion, Tå’Sånnun did what came natural to her and began sink into his arms without thinking; allowing her hands to latch onto his back. Her tail nearly falling from about her waist as she did so. But she caught herself before she fell headlong into the societal fo paux.
“We take things one day at a time.” he said, answering her question before gently lifting her gaze to his. “But right now, we need to go talk to Samahdemn. We need to be there when he awakes from his comatose slumber. We can worry about…us, later.”
Tå’Sånnun’s happiness died almost instantly; tension overtaking her body.
“Be gladdened Tå’.” Zåkÿntħos said attempting to assuage her as Ëlzįëį approached him from behind and placed a hand on his shoulder. “This is a victory.”
Tå’Sånnun looked upon him. A man whom she’d sat beside for an age and watched helplessly as he mourned the loss of his long murdered love. The man fortune had finally smiled upon her to have. And the only thing that I believe could cross her mind in this moment was how sad it would be when he’d no longer be with her.
“If this is a victory,” she posed, “then why does it feel so much like a loss?”