Necropolis lay in a hush, a realm where silence was not merely an absence of sound but a presence all its own, thick and tangible. The Eternal Palace stood as a sentinel against the twilight, its spires reaching into the dusky skies like fingers grasping at the last whispers of fading light. Little orbs of ethereal glow dotted the halls, casting a soft luminescence that guided the wandering souls who traversed its sacred paths. Each orb was a quiet star in a dark sea, illuminating the way for those who came and went through the hallowed corridors.
Erebus stood at the precipice of the Veil, his gaze fixed upon its shimmering mirage—a vast portal that seemed to tower over him like a living thing, its surface rippling with blurred, half-formed images that teased at hidden truths. The Veil thrummed with a low hum, a constant resonance that mingled with the faint whispers of souls within the Palace, a melody of longing and passage. He watched as the last of the souls drifted through the Veil, slipping beyond to whatever lay on the other side—at least, the last for this twilight hour. He pondered the Veil’s purpose here, in this land where life and death intertwined like the roots of an ancient tree. Was there truly a need for such a gateway?
His thoughts were interrupted by a soft shift in the air, and Erebus turned his gaze back to find Lumus standing a few paces behind him. The light of Lumus’s staff glowed softly in the dimness, a beacon that did not merely chase away shadows but seemed to absorb them, casting a gentle radiance throughout the chamber. It was as if his very presence could light the world, though he chose to let it remain subdued. Their eyes met for a brief moment—Erebus’s dark and contemplative, Lumus’s bright and knowing—before Erebus turned his gaze back to the Veil, unwilling or perhaps unable to hold that light for long.
“Do you think he has found his path below?” Lumus asked, stepping closer to stand beside Erebus. The two figures stood in stark contrast to one another, their appearances like the embodiment of night and day, shadow and light.
Erebus glanced at Lumus, a flicker of something passing through his eyes, but he did not speak. His silence was heavy, almost a palpable thing, and he flinched ever so slightly at the ease with which Lumus spoke of their God, a casual familiarity that felt almost blasphemous. Lumus, ever observant, caught the subtle movement and allowed a small chuckle to escape his lips, a soft, melodic sound that resonated in the quiet. He seemed to savor the silence that enveloped them, a silence filled not with emptiness, but with the weight of all that remained unspoken between them.
But unlike Erebus, Lumus found a certain comfort in noise—whether it was idle chatter or the gentle hum of life happening in the background. The silence of Necropolis had taken him years to grow accustomed to, a quiet so deep it seemed to seep into the bones. It had been Erebus, ever present at his side, who made that transition bearable, even if Erebus himself seemed woven from the very fabric of that silence.
Lumus’s lips curled into a sly smile, sensing the shift in the air, and Erebus sighed, knowing all too well that Lumus was about to shatter the stillness.
“What is it?” Erebus asked, his voice resonating through the vast emptiness, bouncing off the walls like a soft echo.
“Why are you so perturbed, old friend?” Lumus inquired, leaning upon his staff with a playful air. “Could it be that you feel… lonely, perhaps?” His grin widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Erebus shot him a sidelong glance. “Hardly,” he replied, his tone sharp as a blade. “I’m merely pondering how much he has learned of these… creatures.”
“Creatures?” Lumus’s smile wavered, a flicker of reproach in his bright gaze. “We are His servants, Erebus, and these souls are not mere pests.”
“Yes, yes,” Erebus muttered, a mockery in his feigned contrition.
“As for where he might be,” Lumus continued, undeterred, “He has reached the Madame’s palace.”
“Who?” Erebus asked, a hint of impatience lacing his words.
“Madame de Montclair-Valenbourg,” Lumus breathed, the name rolling off his tongue like a familiar song. “Our Lord found her children’s remains… and laid them to rest.”
A faint flicker of surprise crossed Erebus’s face. “Oh,” he murmured, “I did not expect that.”
Lumus’s chest swelled with a quiet pride as he gazed into the shimmering depths of the Veil once more. “They crossed over not long ago,” he murmured, taking a step closer, his eyes following the faint wisps of souls fading into the unknown. “They shall be reborn into different families, but fate’s threads are a mystery even to me… Who knows where their paths might cross again?”
“You know more of fate’s whims than most, don’t you?” Erebus replied, his tone laced with a playful tease. Lumus shot him a sidelong glance, his expression unreadable, yet something in his gaze made Erebus’s heart stir, as if a current of unspoken feelings flowed between them, thickening the air. Lumus quickly masked it with a soft chuckle, his laughter light but tinged with something deeper.
“I suppose I do,” Lumus whispered, reaching out to brush his fingers against the surface of the Veil. The touch was fleeting, a momentary caress, before he drew his hand back, cautious not to be drawn into the mortal realm below. “And you, Erebus? What have you been occupying yourself with of late?”
“What do you mean?” Erebus replied, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice.
“Well, I’ve not seen you haunting Necropolis as often…” Lumus tilted his head, watching Erebus with a keen gaze.
“Necropolis is vast—one of the greatest realms, after all. Naturally, you wouldn’t see me all the time,” Erebus muttered, his voice clipped, unwilling to concede any ground.
“Come now, Erebus,” Lumus chuckled, stepping closer, his posture challenging, as if daring the other to speak truth. “Have you been sneaking off to the Council again?”
Erebus’s silence spoke volumes, his gaze flickering away for just a heartbeat. Lumus noticed the hesitation and couldn’t resist; he raised his staff and gave Erebus a light, playful tap on the head. Despite their agelessness, their bond stretched across millennia, a connection forged long before the birth of mortal worlds.
“Always the enigma,” Lumus murmured with a smile, his tone filled with both affection and mild exasperation, the familiar dance between them continuing, unchanged by the passage of eons.
Erebus chuckled softly, watching as Lumus leaned lightly on his staff, the faint glow of its light casting a gentle halo around him. For a moment, the space between them filled with a silence so profound it felt almost sacred, their gazes meeting and holding, however briefly, in a way that seemed to stretch across the eons they had shared. In that fleeting instant, time felt like an illusion, a mere ripple in an endless sea.
“Next time you visit the Council,” Lumus ventured with a tone that danced between earnest and teasing, “take me with you, won’t you?” His voice held a playful lilt, though beneath it lay a hint of genuine yearning, not just to glimpse the Divine Council but perhaps to show the world that even in the hushed realm of Necropolis, there was light to be found.
Erebus’s lips curved into a wider smile. “No,” he replied, his refusal laced with mirth. “Please, stop—” But before he could finish, laughter spilled from him, a sound that was at odds with his austere demeanor. It was a warm, rich laugh, one that seemed to melt the frost in his cold eyes, softening his features into something almost boyish, almost mortal.
Around them, the shadows that danced along the edges of the Veil seemed to pause, as if drawn by the rare sight of such mirth between the two ancient beings. Souls drifted nearer, curious whispers rising like a faint breeze, as if even the specters were enchanted by the moment of levity between those who dwelled between worlds.
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“Would you care to join me in patrolling the perimeter?” Lumus asked, a spark of mischief dancing within his luminous eyes. He watched Erebus for a moment, noting the fleeting shadow of concern that crossed his face before it was swiftly banished. “Is there something that troubles you?”
“No,” Erebus answered with a gentle smile, “and yes, I would gladly accompany you.” His chuckle softened, fading into the thick air between them. A stillness settled over the two figures as shadows on the walls seemed to sway and whisper. The Veil behind them ebbed with an ethereal glow, its surface shifting to reveal valleys, towns, and landscapes from the mortal realm, like a distant memory brought to life.
As they moved deeper into the palace, stepping further into the twilight shadows, the Veil was left unattended, shimmering alone in the vast chamber. A silence fell—one so profound it felt as if the entire realm held its breath. It was a quiet that pressed in from all sides, so deep that it could swallow the faintest sound, a stillness so thick it felt as though time itself had paused. From its shimmering depths, a shadow seemed to detach itself, moving with silent purpose toward the Veil, pausing for just a heartbeat before slipping back into the darker folds of the chamber, vanishing as mysteriously as it had appeared.
Erebus and Lumus continued their patrol, exchanging quiet words with the passing shadows, ensuring the mechanisms that governed Necropolis remained in perfect harmony. The realm was a delicate machine, and every cog needed to turn as intended. As they reached the far edge of the Necropolis, where it met the endless expanse of the Void, an unwelcome presence emerged—a figure whose very being seemed to consume the light around him.
Chernobog. His skin, as dark as polished obsidian, blended seamlessly with the surrounding shadows, while his hair flowed like smoke, drifting and twisting into the gloom. His eyes, pale silver, glowed faintly, drawing those who met them into a void without end. His lips curved into a slight, knowing smile, halting both Erebus and Lumus in their tracks.
“A fine day, wouldn’t you agree?” Chernobog’s voice was soft, low, carrying with it the resonance of a whisper borne on a distant wind. He moved closer to the threshold where the Void met Necropolis, his presence an intrusion that made both Erebus and Lumus tense, ready to strike if need be.
“What is it you seek here?” Lumus demanded, striking his staff against the ground. The orb atop it flared to life, its light pushing against the shadows, but unable to pierce the darkness from which Chernobog emerged. Erebus remained calm, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes fixed on the intruder, watching for the slightest hint of danger.
“Can a wanderer not visit his old acquaintances?” Chernobog replied with a chuckle, a knowing gleam in his eyes, fully aware of the unease he was causing. “And how are my dear friends’ helpers today?” he added, his tone dripping with mock sincerity.
“You know well enough,” Erebus replied, his gaze unwavering, “that everything here is as it should be. Everything is… operational.”
“Is it truly?” Chernobog’s smile widened, his voice a playful whisper that danced on the edge of taunting, hinting at secrets yet to be revealed, as though he held knowledge that neither Erebus nor Lumus could yet fathom.
Erebus cast a worried glance at Lumus, a silent exchange passing between them. There was something in Chernobog’s words that unsettled him, a suggestion of knowledge hidden beyond their reach. The being of the Void stood before them, his dark form seeming to meld with the shadows that writhed around him, his pale silver eyes beckoning them to probe deeper, to see just how much he knew and what secrets he might unveil.
“What do you mean by that?” Erebus asked, his tone sharp with curiosity and caution. “If there is a threat to Necropolis, you would do well to speak of it—”
His words were abruptly cut short by Chernobog’s laughter, a sound that rippled through the shadows like a dark wind. The shadows around him mimicked his form, their movements mocking Erebus and Lumus, twisting in shapes that seemed to jeer and taunt.
“I harbor no ill will toward Necropolis; it is my home,” Chernobog replied, his voice tinged with something akin to regret before he corrected himself, “was my home.” His gaze drifted past the two beings, lingering on the distant spires of the Eternal Palace, its proud towers reaching into the void like a monument defying the encroaching darkness. “But there is a message I would have you deliver to Azrael.”
“Oh?” Lumus’s voice was edged with disbelief, his grip tightening on his staff, his luminous eyes narrowing. “After all this time, you return to apologize? Grown weary of the Void’s embrace, have you?” His words were laced with anger, barely restrained.
Chernobog’s gaze held a glimmer of sorrow, but beneath it simmered a bitterness, not the soft light of remorse. “No,” he answered quietly, “I am not here to beg forgiveness. My sentence is yet unfinished.” He paused, his expression darkening. “But there is… something with the Veil.”
“The Veil?” Lumus and Erebus echoed in unison, their voices tense with apprehension. The air around them seemed to thicken with the weight of unspoken truths, and for a moment, even the shadows seemed to hold their breath.
“There is something amiss… I do not know its nature, but I can feel it,” Chernobog murmured, his voice sending a tremor through the very shadows that clung to him. “The darkness whispers, speaks of an unrest… a breach in the Veil, an instability brewing where none should be.”
“The Veil has never been more stable,” Erebus replied sharply, his voice slicing through the silence like a blade through mist. “To speak of instability is to dwell in the realms of madness and folly.”
“You must listen—” Chernobog began, his tone almost desperate, but Lumus’s voice broke in, cold and edged with a pain that had been buried for centuries.
“Trust you? As Azrael did once? As I did?” Lumus’s words carried the weight of old wounds, his voice trembling with both fury and sorrow. “The Veil stands active, strong… it bears no signs of the chaos you speak of!”
The air around them grew taut, heavy with the tension of unspoken histories and fractured trust. Erebus cast a wary glance at Lumus, taken aback by the depth of emotion radiating from his companion—a fire he had not seen in countless ages. For a heartbeat, Lumus’s eyes flared like distant stars burning bright with unresolved pain, before he turned sharply and moved away from the edge of the Necropolis, leaving Erebus to stare after him, caught between old loyalties and newfound doubt.
“Please,” Chernobog implored, his voice now softer, filled with a raw urgency that seemed almost out of place for a being of his nature. “Tell Azrael… something is not right with the Veil…”
Erebus met Chernobog’s gaze, the pale silver eyes filled with an unfamiliar dread. He knew the gravity of Chernobog’s fear; if the Veil truly faltered, the very fabric of Necropolis could unravel, casting its realm into unthinkable chaos.
“I will…” Erebus finally whispered, the weight of the words hanging heavy in the still air. “I will investigate.”
Chernobog nodded, the tension in his posture easing, his gaze lingering on Erebus as the latter turned to catch up with Lumus. For a brief moment, hope flickered in Chernobog’s heart—a fragile flame in the endless abyss—as he watched them vanish into the shadows, praying that all would not be lost. And then, with a final glance at the realm he had once called home, he melted back into the darkness, swallowed by the void from which he had come.
The valleys of Necropolis lay veiled in a shroud of mist, a deep and impenetrable silence settling over the realm like a somber blanket. Erebus moved swiftly, catching up to Lumus at the entrance of the Eternal Palace, its towering spires of dark stone looming overhead like silent sentinels in a distant feud. As Erebus approached, Lumus glanced back, his expression shadowed, before he pushed open the great doors, allowing his companion to step through.
“Are you well?” Erebus inquired, his voice soft against the vastness of the palace’s hallowed halls. The air was thick with an ancient stillness, punctuated only by the faint flicker of tiny orbs of light that hovered above, guiding their path to the Veil. For a moment, Lumus did not answer, his footsteps measured and slow as if each one carried the weight of a thousand thoughts.
“I am well enough,” Lumus finally replied, his tone subdued, almost hollow. “I only wish to see the Veil with my own eyes. I will not let his words—his fears—take root without cause.”
Erebus remained silent, his gaze steady on Lumus, attempting to read the unspoken tension that clung to him like a shadow. The quiet between them grew thick, almost palpable, as they walked on—a familiar path now stretching before them as if it were endless, their pace slowing with each step, as though time itself had decided to linger.
At last, they reached the chamber of the Veil. Lumus’s eyes bore into the shimmering expanse, his expression tightening with worry as he studied every inch of the delicate fabric that bridged worlds. The blurred images of the mortal realm flickered within its depths, shifting like leaves caught in a spectral breeze. He searched, trying to understand why Chernobog would speak of this place with such concern.
“All seems well,” Lumus murmured, though his gaze remained fixed on the Veil, his brow furrowing with doubt. “But we should inspect it closer, just to be certain.”
“Lumus, it is as it always has been,” Erebus soothed, sensing the unease that coiled within his friend. He watched Lumus exhale, his breath a cloud in the cool air. “Why not take a walk in the garden? Perhaps it will help to clear your mind—”
“Yes… let’s,” Lumus agreed, though his voice was tinged with hesitation. He turned, leading the way toward the palace gardens. Erebus followed, but at the threshold of the room, Lumus cast a final, lingering glance back at the Veil. It glimmered in its usual undisturbed serenity, a beacon of calm amidst the shadows. Satisfied, he turned away, stepping into the garden beyond.
For a fleeting moment, the Veil stood alone, its ethereal light casting gentle ripples across the chamber. Then, in the stillness, a faint crack appeared at its edge—a whisper of something hidden, a quiet fracture in its perfect surface.