Vulkanon was the birthplace of not only the Ashen but of the earliest traces of magic, and had laid dormant for thousands of years. But that, like many other things in the realm, had changed: every few days, from somewhere deep below the earth, the Ashen felt the city rumble for the first time. Even Plineas, the oldest of old, chief amongst the Elders, was caught by surprise. When asked by Queen Asurai what he thought it meant, he simply said “trouble”.
In the belly of the city, several prominent mages brandishing long black and red robes had gathered anxiously outside the imposing doors of the Queen’s chambers. None wanted the responsibility of breaking the news, and some of them mulled over the various ways they could try to escape it. She had reacted violently to other recent developments, a reality that had the entire city walking on eggshells, and the stakes were much, much higher with the newest one.
“Whoever speaks this into existence is going to be melted down in the lava pits,” a mage whispered. “I actually quite enjoy my face, and if at all possible, I’d like to keep it intact. We have enough to worry about as is. So how do we all feel about keeping this to ourselves? Chances are, she already knows. Why risk another outburst?”
“If she does know, she’ll be even more upset that what’s left of her loyal counsel kept it from her,” another said. “That to me seems like a more compelling reason to melt someone’s face off. But if we’re all being honest here, a touch of fire might actually be an improvement over what the Gods have given you.”
“I resent that!” he said, a little too loud.
“Lower your voice! She’ll think we’re out here conspiring against her!”
“And what if we were? We do not deserve to suffer for the sins of our exiled brothers and sisters. What happened last week is unacceptable.”
“It’s not about what we deserve, it’s about what The Queen desires. Such is the way things have always been. And her family has been beset with one tragedy after another. Do you not feel for her?”
“I sympathise with her situation, I do, but I will not tolerate any more death. This news will only invite more.”
“He was a traitor, Egnatius. You know the punishment for such crimes. What are you going to do, carve new laws onto the back of the Black Throne? They’re unchanging: sacred, even.
“Nothing is sacred in Eterna, not anymore: madness pervades our world. And I fear it now lives inside our once beloved Queen,” Egnatius said, but as the words left his lips, he quickly regretted it: from behind them, Queen Asurai abruptly cleared her throat. She smiled at them as they turned to greet her, her teeth as brilliant as her royal pearl necklace. It was a smile as terrifying as it was beautiful, not unlike the city of Vulkanon itself. She wasn’t inside of her chamber after all.
“Once beloved?” Queen Asurai asked, her gaze fixed on him. “Need I remind you of your lineage? Your great grandfather was King of the Ashen for nearly half-a-century, and yet here you stand, outside the Obsidian gates, disrespecting my throne and sowing doubts about my judgment. I find the irony to be quite amusing, actually.”
“Let us seek out your grandfather’s jar of remains, pay a necromancer to resurrect him, and ask him what kind of cruel and unusual punishments he bestowed upon those who spoke as you do now. At even the slightest hint of mutiny, he would’ve burned the flesh from your bone and used your remains for his broth. Should we try that on traitors instead?” Queen Asurai asked.
Egnatius seemed to shrink in size before her fixed, wrathful gaze, and dared not speak again. He couldn’t bring himself to look back at her, and stared down at his feet in shame. The others watched in anticipation, their bodies stiff and upright, their lips sealed. Some were secretly relieved to find her anger directed at him and no one else.
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Elder Plineas, who had remained characteristically silent up until that point, slowly stepped forward with the help of his black staff and made his presence known. “He is not in his right mind, Your Majesty. Few of us are, these days,” he spoke, his voice frail. “Forgive his misgivings so that we can turn to more pressing matters. As they’ve already mentioned, we bring grave news.”
Queen Asurai, surprised to hear the Elder speak in such terms, turned and studied him. His face was wrought with worry, more so than usual, and his hand trembled on his staff as he used it to keep himself upright. If someone accidentally sneezed in his direction, she swore that it would’ve been enough to knock him over.
She had come to expect bad news, but suddenly she understood the seriousness. “Leave us,” she demanded. “I want to hear it from the Elder’s mouth, and his alone.”
The gathering dispersed, and the gate opened as if it understood that they wished to walk through. She nodded towards the chamber and held out her arm. He accepted her generous offer, lest he fall and break a leg on the walkway; or worse, his staff. They locked arms and headed through, the gates closing behind them.
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Even by Ashen standards, the inside of the chamber was oppressively hot, and the air reeked of soot. The gate had evidently been shut for quite some time. Queen Asurai’s throne looked lonely and neglected, as if it hadn’t seen a butt in over a century. She hadn’t attended to many of her royal duties, at least not in any official capacity, in service to the only political issue that really mattered: the rumbles. But for Elder Plineas, she decided to make an exception.
They walked down a narrow firebrick walkway, flanked on both sides by lava that had flowed since the days of the First King, and pillars of polished obsidian from which the Black Throne itself was chiseled. It felt as if the mouth of the chamber widened the farther in they went. The Elder struggled to maintain her pace, which felt rushed to him.
Queen Asurai approached her throne with unease, her mind pouring over the endless perils that potentially lay before the city as she went. Out of habit, she smoothed out her silky black dress and sat once again atop the Black Throne, where she appeared to blend in. It was tradition for all royal garments to be black, and any jewelry white.
“It concerns your daughter: she’s gone.”
She jumped to her feet, forgetting all else, and her dark eyes flashed with rage. “What do you mean gone? Gone where?” she asked, her eyes frantically searching. “Did those damned cultists take her? It’s retribution, I know it is. I’ve been waiting for a reason to have them exiled. Now I’ll have them hung upside down and dipped in my pools, I swear it. I will not lose another child. I will not. Where is she?”
The Queen paced in front of her throne. Her delicate hands trembled. Beads of sweat trickled down her forehead. She pulled the crown off her head and tossed it aside. It clanked against the floor. “Who am I to rule once the city cremates us, Plineas? And what kind of Queen am I to let my only daughter be kidnapped by a bunch of bald doomsayers?”
“I concur with the need to rid the city of their prophesying, but I’m afraid it wasn’t them, Your Majesty: it was the Ashfallen. They’ve taken her south.”
“South?” she asked, pulling at strands of her long silver hair. Some of it came out curled around her fingers, but she paid no attention. Her mind was blank. Suddenly, she stopped pacing and stood quietly in one spot. Despite her best efforts, tears streamed down her face. Elder Plineas watched, but he chose not to intervene. He simply let her be for a while.
He waited for an appropriate time to speak again, and continued on. “Vulkanon fights enemies on all fronts, as it always has. If it weren’t for bad luck, the Ashen would have no luck at all it seems. But there is a single thread of hope.”
“Which is?” Queen Asurai asked. She wiped her eyes and approached him, curious to hear his next words. Any glimmer of hope would momentarily ease her pain, though she knew it wouldn’t last.
“The orbs are safe. All is not lost, my dearest Queen.”
At that, she walked over to retrieve her crown and placed it back on her head, then sat back in her throne. She attempted, perhaps unsuccessfully, to smile. It looked more like a facial twitch than anything else. “Then let the realm know this: I’ll give every last one for the safe return of my daughter. The rest be damned.”
“You’d trade ten-thousand Ashen lives for one?” he asked. Part of him couldn’t believe her orders, and dreaded dealing with the blowback against yet another controversy; but the fatherly part understood, and would do the same if his own daughter’s life were at risk. “It will send shockwaves through Vulkanon, in more ways than one. The city will not survive without them.”
“I’d trade a million. She’s all I’ve got left,” she said, expressionless, and the chamber fell silent.