Arakiel il Kalanaar kept stroking his seraphim slave’s hair even after she had passed out. Her vanilla scent strongly lingered in his nose, having long since crept up all the way into his mind and he found it increasingly hard to resist her, even though she was an immortal, the very epitome of what he had grown to hate.
He lightly shook his head and tried to banish some of the thoughts to the back of his mind while subconsciously ensuring that he wouldn’t rock Aurora’s body too hard. He didn’t want her to feel unwell, even when he doubted that anything could rouse her from slumber at the moment.
Arakiel had promised it, and now he had to abide by that promise.
He had promised it to Marianka as well, something inside him reminded. His mood soured immediately.
Arakiel reached for the brass goblet and indicated Chryse’s argent to fill it with citrus water. He wanted to remain a little hazy, but not too much.
Meanwhile, Lyktos and Chryse had barely been able to restrain their laughter and he had to hand it to the little seraphim that this had been a rather unconventional feast.
Not that he minded it too much… she was so very delectable, after all. It was almost frightening how she had grown into a stunningly gorgeous maiden in such a short amount of time, but seraphim weren’t mortal and their physique couldn’t be measured by mortal means.
Yet the time was not yet ripe.
And he wasn’t ready.
He gulped half of the glass down in one go and winced, the sourness acting like a shock that ran all throughout him. It made the limbs shake a bit, but that helped a little in getting him back on track.
“Have you considered my offer?” Lyktos then queried, getting right down to business. The man was straightforward, Arakiel had to give him that.
“I have,” Arakiel responded, taking his sweet time to form a proper response. Chryse probably guessed it already given the way she looked at him, but he wanted to do it properly nonetheless.
“So?”
“I have to decline,” he replied upfront and then laid out his reasoning. “I’m flattered that you would consider me given the reputation of Lykochrye, but my path is my own and I’m not someone that can follow orders.”
Lyktos response came immediately, but much calmer than Arakiel had expected. “Chryse told me as much and I’m willing to let slip quite a bit, Arakiel. You’re a Traveler and given the stunts that you pulled, I daresay you’re a damned fine addition on merit of your portals alone. Who cares that you’d most likely lose to a level three fighter in a duel? Fights aren’t duels, they’re battles – and your mobility is a nightmare for any tactician to plan around.”
Arakiel’s pride took quite a hit at that statement. He had held his own against a level 9 strength-based combat class for half a minute – that wasn’t too bad, was it? Granted, he would’ve died because of the poisoned blades, but who could predict that Selenyeans poisoned their blades? His memo had made no mention of that.
“Thank you for the compliment,” he replied instead, clearing his throat a little. “But I stand by my decision. I work alone.”
“You’re a fool.” Chryse accused right away. “You’re not the Transcended – and even he had a party… remember the Archons, that position that you claim to pursue? They are his party members, Arakiel. No planeswalker can fight alone – no one. Not even mother would walk the plane by herself and she’s a damned, thirteen-sparked demigoddess!”
“Say what you will,” Arakiel deflected and when Aurora suddenly muttered something in his arms, he briefly paused and worriedly looked her over.
But then she just snuggled even closer to him and he continued.
“But my decision is made. I do not mix well with other planeswalkers.”
“Arakiel you,” Chryse began, but Lyktos raised his hand, indicating her to stop. “Leave it, Chryse. He has made up his mind and I have to respect it.”
He got up and walked over towards Arakiel, once again offering his hand. “I said bad things about you in the past and while I think most were warranted, some were not. I apologize, Arakiel. I underestimated your resolve.”
Arakiel agreed that everyone did, but didn’t voice it. Instead, he grabbed the hand and shook it and although Lyktos nearly crushed his hand, he held firm as best as he could.
Soon… soon it’d be the other way around.
Nearly all the pieces were in place for the solution.
“Thank you for the nectar. It’s delicious… and thank you for coming over.” Arakiel said, thanking the level 19 ascendant who could probably kill him in a split-second without Arakiel even realizing it. An Earth Alterator paired with a strength-based combat class, even if he couldn’t say what kind. It was a frightening combination.
He then turned towards his sister, saying. “Aurora was quite happy that you could attend despite your nausea.”
“You’re a fool, Arakiel,” she repeated sullenly, briefly reminding him of simpler times.
“We are all fools one way or another – let’s see who has the last laugh.” He mused and her eyes fell over onto Aurora.
“I don’t know what you plan to do with her, Arakiel… but you better not hurt her. She’s a sweet girl, she deserves better.”
“I will not abuse her,” Arakiel returned indignantly. “I made a promise.”
“Look how that turned out for Mari…” Chryse shot back and then covered her mouth in shock. “Sorry, that was mean,” she added a little dejectedly.
“Mari died because of my own weakness. Mother said as much. I won’t be weak much longer.” Arakiel returned grimly, having trouble not grinding his teeth in frustration. Saying it was even worse than thinking it, but it was the truth. The damned, unvarnished truth.
Curse it, why did she do it? He had wanted to grow old with her, give her a daughter or two to raise so she wouldn’t be so lonely when he was away. Maybe even catch her one or two more girls to take care of things so that she could enjoy life.
Curse it!
He ground his teeth in the end.
“It might be improper for me to say this Arakiel,” Lyktos began as the man’s dark eyes fixated him. Arakiel held the gaze. “But power isn’t necessarily personal strength, it is so much more. Fame, reputation, influence – all of that can be achieved without personal strength.”
“As long as one can rely upon those that possess it, right?” Arakiel finished Lyktos’s thoughts and the ascendant nodded.
“I’d rather not have to trust someone to not stab me in the back.” He went on but the burly man just chuckled, noting. “That’s what marriages are for. I’d never harm you because you’re Chryse’s little brother.”
“You say that, but your service is to House Alexandrite.” Arakiel pointed out.
“I find it highly unlikely that your House will turn its back on you, Arakiel. The same applies in reverse.” Lyktos went on.
“You honor me.”
The ascendant quoted something out of the blue. “Blood runs thicker than water, Arakiel. It is the only foundation we can build upon in this world of ours.”
“Who said that?”
“Every Councilor, funnily enough.” Chryse chimed in, adding. “I don’t know what is it you’re planning, but be careful, brother.”
He gave her a defensive yet dishonest smile. “I will, sister.”
That ended this part of their talks and after having feasted for a little more, Lyktos, Chryse and the two argents bid him farewell, noting that they’d send some aes later in the evening to clean up the mess, most of which had happened because of Aurora’s little adventure.
His tailcoat was certainly ripe for cleaning, but he didn’t really mind it right now.
Instead, he brought the little seraphim to her bed and fetched sufficient layers of blankets alongside an alchemical antidote that he mixed with a light sleeping drug. He didn’t want the alcohol to poison her, but he also needed to be someplace else soon. Lastly, he covered her with the blankets to ensure that she was warm and then he locked the door, not wanting her to trip on anything if she woke up earlier by some happenstance.
A seraphim’s physique seemed fairly comparable to a mortal one, if one disregarded the hollow bones and the inability to sweat. Drugs might be a bit weaker or stronger which is why he kept the dosage to a minimum.
Arakiel then headed over towards his own room and changed into a comfortable set of clothes that allowed him free mobility. His green doublet was part of his outfit, of course, but he didn’t need all the fancy little elements in his clothes to make him appear prim and proper – he always hated that about ceremonial garbs. Impractical.
To finish his outfit, Arakiel pulled over his trusty cloak that marked him as a member of House Alexandrite’s main branch. It caused people to stay away from him, which was helpful when he moved about Kalanaar and beyond. It wouldn’t help him where he went now, but he felt naked without it.
He then put on his sword belt and inhaled and exhaled slowly in order to empty his mind.
Before his inner eye, he pictured Kalanaar as a seven-pointed star, with each ray reaching one of the seven hills. In the middle, the Gateway of Divinity and the Bejeweled Council; on the edges, the wall that separated Kalanaar proper from the slums outside.
In the northernmost ray, the House of Alexandrite, the Alexandrite Keep, the Colorchanging Tower and the Gardens of Alexandria. Below, the Colorchanging District with its artisans, commoners and slaves.
Almost opposite in the south, the House of Emerald with its similar buildings. There, just shy of the Emerald Keep, he had set a beacon, one of the three he could make at the moment.
One was here in his home, the second over in Selenya as he hadn’t needed to establish a new one yet and a quick way into the Selenyean holdings might be a good way to make some quick naara or greions on the side.
And third, the one near the Emerald Keep – that one had actually been the longest standing one.
He focused on it and as soon as he felt the reverberation, he called out to it while reaching for the fabric of the plane. And just as he tore it open on his side, the beacon tore it down over there and Limbus went in to fill the elliptic wound he had left behind, manifesting as a grey wafting mist that seemed to swirl in a spiral motion ever so lightly.
He stepped through the rift without hesitation and a split-second later, he entered an abandoned underground cellar from a time long since gone. The pale grey portal behind him closed as quickly as it had appeared for the planes always mended such wounds rapidly, Limbus acting as the coagulant and the new fabric in one.
He reached for his doublet’s pocket and protruded a small, faceted light crystal in the shape of a teardrop. Refined work from an Astral Enchanter and a jeweler, the enchantment’s array having been worked into the gem’s surface. It could be dimmed when one rubbed the crystal that looked like a faceted topaz gemstone long enough. It sprung to life, giving off a strong yellow light with a slight orange-golden tinge. He dimmed it down enough so that he could at least see where he was walking to.
It was more or less a habit, as he didn’t expect anyone to be here. Granted, the astral enchantment on the crystal needed to absorb and store light in order to radiate it at a later point in time. The less light he used, the longer it’d last. Semi-permanent enchantments, they were called. Highly difficult, exceedingly expensive but oh so practical.
He let his gaze wander across the faint circle of light and noticed nothing out of the ordinary.
So far, the abandoned storage room looked the same, though. Half-rotten crates, broken barrels and more dust then his nose was willing to tolerate.
The old broken cupboard near the exit was still there, but one of the cups had gone missing. He found it on the ground, wrecked – and dusty.
Must’ve happened a while ago.
He carefully put his hand onto the door’s handle and pushed it down, the rusty metal protesting after having been asleep for nearly a year at this point.
Arakiel’s ears joined in the protest, not taking too kindly to the sudden screeching noise when everything had been pleasantly silent just now.
It had to be done, though, and so he pulled it all the way down and then towards him – and the old metal door really, really didn’t like that.
If anyone was nearby, they were well and truly alerted now, but he didn’t have the patience to oil this thing and besides, there shouldn’t be anyone around here. He also had no oil with him and although he could teleport back, it was kind of a tiring exercise, especially when one did it in quick succession. The planes didn’t like that one bit.
The door became stuck and he pulled a little harder, and then just a smidgen harder when it wouldn’t budge.
And then he heard another loud noise and he suddenly held the handle in his hand while the door mocked him stoically, silently proclaiming that it was just as eternal as the city underneath which it had been built.
Irritating.
He threw the rusty handle to the side with a bit of gusto and then examined the obstacle in the dim light of his crystal. It looked like normal, timeworn metal, just very rusty from decades of oxidation if he recalled the term correctly. This whole science and research thing was the domain of commoners and Arakiel was no commoner.
The sheet of metal that the door had been made out of was fairly thick and he recalled having trouble opening it whenever he was here, but he just had to close it every time because it was just a habit of his.
When one regularly broke into other people’s homes, one kind of tried to avoid leaving traces.
Of course, this mindset stood in stark contrast to the handle he had just discarded rather animatedly… but he kind of wanted to leave this whole burglar thing behind anyway. Soon, he wouldn’t need to stick to the shadows any longer.
For now, though, he had an obstacle to pass and although he briefly considered just blinking past it, he was still kind of traumatized from the one time he had missed his exit point, resulting in him crashing headlong into a wall. He had been insanely lucky to not not manifest inside the wall – that would’ve been rather disastrous.
Or lethal, to be more precise.
He didn’t know how the Lord Priest or the other Councilors did it, but perhaps attaining divinity had some perks he couldn’t imagine. For now, though, he tried to stay clear of blinking to a place he couldn’t see.
In the end, he had to rely on good old brute strength and he had at least been smart enough to bring his set of adamantium tools which might be the single most expensive thing he possessed. With it, he’d be able to lever the door out of its angles.
His transformation from Wanderer to Traveler had certainly boosted his statline, but it was still disgustingly hard work and he lamented the fact that he hadn’t yet been able to find a reliable – meaning affordable – Runelord who could fashion him some runic formations.
He had the slots, he knew it – they were just too damn expensive, especially those independent ones. And Arakiel certainly wouldn’t lower himself to ask any of his siblings for help.
He’d show them that he was doing just fine on his own.
When he finished the deed, the sound that followed nearly turned him deaf as the excessively loud boom kept reverberating through the empty tunnels and when silence should’ve returned, his ears were still ringing.
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At least the obstacle problem had been solved, permanently.
He stepped over the door in a far too triumphant manner and then hurried through the abandoned tunnels that the mortal tribes had once used to organize their resistance while the immortals’ tyranny reigned above.
Now, only broken, empty pieces of furniture and moth-ridden blankets alongside smashed ceramic served as a reminder of the mortals’ darkest history.
It was kind of fitting that it had been buried, but maybe some people should be reminded, given that immortals were unaffected by time.
They were vying for dominance again, and in Arakiel’s mind, three of the five Eternal Cities had already been undermined if not downright fallen. Only Kalanaar and Impyrea remained vigilant against their devious influences.
The air here was chilly and humid, but his rapid movement swirled up quite a bit of dust and he eventually had to cover his nose and mouth at which point he just rushed through the metallic tunnels on memory alone.
To think that people had built all of this in the twilight years of the Old Order when the Class System had barely been established, it kind of defied all reason.
But then again, mortals had always been far more innovative and crafty than immortals.
After a good few minutes of running, he reached his goal, a large double-leafed door that’d eventually lead into the Covenant’s hideout.
Just thinking it made him cringe internally, but the leader had been rather adamant about the name of their little band: the Seraphim Covenant, named after the presumed pact that the Transcended had made with the Four-winged Seraphim before the Old Order’s final days had even begun.
Ridiculous, the mere thought was, but…
He shoved the thoughts aside and pushed the door open. It led into a small air duct and although the inlaid ladder was rusty, it still held nearly a century later.
Arakiel climbed upstairs for quite a while and he could smell the air change in real time, from humidity to dry air ripe with smoke.
Of course it had to be smoke. That woman loved her smokes or ‘herbal sticks’.
He eventually reached the end which was a small grate that led directly into the Covenant’s base’s storage room which turned out to be just as messy as when he had last visited.
In fact, he doubted anyone had been inside this room given the thin layer of dust that lay on the crates, barrels and the sets of fine clothing that hung there in the half-opened wardrobes. Tuxedos, suits, dresses and gowns, all left here and forgotten.
He heard low classical music, the piano and violin kind, from behind the door that led further into the base.
At least she was home, which was good. It meant he hadn’t come here in vain.
Arakiel prepared himself mentally and dusted his doublet off as best as possible before pushing the heavy wooden door open. He was greeted by a swathe of thick, biting smoke that hung in the air. The former underground variety’s main hall still looked partially abandoned, with tables, chairs and half of the bar being covered in thick blankets while the stage and the closest tables showed signs of usage, including a makeshift bed, a naara-fueled construction to make coffee and a large iron cage covered in slips of vellum with inscribed, golden runes of warding. Not that he could read these runes… he had just asked the last time around.
The machine was new and he only knew about its purpose because it had been all over the parchments. Apparently, another major plane had found a replacement called electricity which worked in the same way as ground naara and although it’d take time to investigate this whole issue, some brave planeswalkers had stolen some of the designs that had now been adapted for naara-usage which had been deemed far superior given its longevity… but godgold was expensive to procure, whereas electricity was said to come from the environment.
A ludicrous but also fascinating statement and if it held true, it certainly validated the arguments of those who wanted to elevate the standing of scientists compared to other artisans.
But such thoughts had little place right now.
The person in charge of this mess of a room sat in the spotlight of two faceted crystals whose cones of light illuminated a certain part of the stage, There was a soundeater next to it, a device that devoured music played to it and with the help of naara, one could force it to repeat the eaten music as though it was being played again. It had become all the rage in Kalanaar and beyond some odd decade ago. Even Arakiel possessed one, but it was very expensive to put new sounds into one.
This one over there, however, kept repeating soft piano music underlined with tender violin play by someone who most likely understood her or his craft. Arakiel presumed it came from a time when this variety had still been open to the public.
The woman with the dark-auburn hair that sat in the wide, reddish armchair next to the soundeater had seen him enter right away, but she hadn’t shown any sign of getting up and greeting him, which was just in line with her antics.
She was in her late thirties, but given her lack of divine ancestry, the first signs of age had already begun to make its presence known. Despite this, she was still a pretty, perhaps even beautiful woman with her full lips, wide eyes and slim face, never minding her long, curly hair. Her ample feminine curvature could complete with prominent actors that were much younger and even something as simple as smoking a stick of some kind of herb made her appear graceful. As far as he knew, she had been an excellent dancer and actress in her prime, but she never spoke of that particular past since she had fallen from grace and to say that she hadn’t taken it well was quite the understatement. Her mind, however lunatic, was as sharp as ever, though.
As Arakiel stepped closer, he briefly looked over towards the nude young man in the cage who watched him with an intense gaze. His hair and eyes were yellow with a heavy tinge of orange, almost like the sun. His once athletic frame had taken quite a hit, even if the muscles still held on… barely. He looked malnourished and drained, yet Arakiel found little pity for him.
A vicious immortal who would jump at him if only he was given the chance.
“Arakiel!” Shemyaza called out to him, her voice still sounding smooth, but a slight coarseness had crept into it. “You return at last!”
“Shem,” Arakiel greeted and then cleared his throat when she shot him a piercing glare. “Shemyaza li Azazel, it is good to meet you again,” he hastily corrected himself and a smile hushed across her lips.
He always felt so silly for saying it as to Shem, the Transcended’s name was ‘Azazel’ when none knew his name in fact. Even his Archons were rumored to just call him by his godly title or more accurately, the god-in-grey. As for the implication the name held… Arakiel had long since filed that under a ‘Shemyaza-special’.
She got out of the chair with the grace of an Impyrean lioness, the kind that could pounce you and rip out your throat in a few seconds but appear elegant in doing it. He had once thought her to have been ‘merely’ a dancer and entertainer. That had been ended almost in a disaster and from that point on, he was convinced that she was capable of anything as long as she deluded herself into thinking it possible.
Taking a last draw from the glimmering stick of some drug no doubt, she strode forward and then snipped the stub towards a rather far away bin. Unsurprisingly, she hit right in the middle.
Shem sauntered over towards him, swaying her hips in a mesmerizing way although he was certain that she didn’t do it on purpose. She wore a tight, black dress whose skirt had been slit on both sides, reaching all the way up and since it revealed nothing but bare flesh, he didn’t have to imagine a lot. The woman was temptation incarnate, she just thought herself too good for anyone but the bloody damned Transcended himself. She wasn’t above using her looks to trick someone into wanting to please her though – and while she might actually give you a favor or two, you’d never be able to actually get her. No man but the very god-in-grey was worthy of Shemyaza… in her mind at least.
The fact that she hadn’t ended up as an aurea spoke to her skills or background – beautiful people, especially entertainers, rarely walked around without something adorning their neck. People were greedy, and planeswalkers even more so, for they took whatever they coveted.
When she arrived in front of him, she playfully ran one of her fingers down his cheeks, giving him a captivating smile, asking in a sweet and interested voice. “How have you been, Archon Arakiel?”
“Stop that,” he replied and made a few steps backward. “Just Arakiel is fine.” He added, feeling ashamed of himself. Why had he indulged in this fantasy to begin with?
“Something happened, didn’t it?” Shemyaza presumed correctly and he cursed himself internally again. She was very good at reading people, not that he was particularly good at hiding it.
“You could say that…” he began and then took a deep breath, saying it right away. There was no point hiding it, she’d tickle it out of him either way. “Marianka died.”
Her expression changed to one of hurt and sorrow, but he knew it was faked. That woman was incapable of feeling true emotions, having feigned them for too long.
“I’m so sorry, Arakiel! What happened? Are you okay, do you need…?” She began to shower him in fake compassion, her gestures, her voice’s tone and even her body language perfectly relaying the intended message. It sounded so very convincing that he had to remind himself that he was talking to Shemyaza, had to remind himself twice.
She was far too good at what she did.
“It’s been a while… I’ll be fine.” He deflected, trying to switch topics right away. “How’s the search going?”
She left a trace of compassion in her face, but the rest returned to the alluring, scheming woman that might be the closest to how Shem had once been.
“Ezekiel is in the process of taming his chosen. Progress is slow but he assures me she’ll be ready when the time comes,” Shemyaza began and then gestured over towards the young man in the cage. “This one is ready – I’m keeping him on blockers to prolong the…”
“You didn’t answer my question.” Arakiel interrupted. “How’s the search for the fourth going? We’re running out of time.”
A shadow hushed across her face and she ever so lightly clicked her tongue. Shem didn’t like it when someone interrupted her, but she’d have to put with a slightly antagonistic Arakiel today. He was running out of time – they were all running out of time.
“Tsk. Tsk. Where are your manners, boy? Patience, patience, little archon.” Shem noted with disapproval as she pulled out a little casket from which she protruded a new rolled-up stick of herbs that she ignited with a little sparkshard, a small piece of stone with a firearray attached to it.
“What patience, Shemyaza!? It took us four years of planning and resources to pull off the raid last year and we got insanely lucky that it had already been planned to begin with! The same thing with the Elysian raid – I would’ve never been able to pull this off if we hadn’t gotten lucky with the radicals.”
“Arakiel,” Shemyaza said in a tone that relayed disappointment, irritation and patronization. “I have located three of the mythical seraphims’ descendents thus far, have I not…?”
“Yes, you did,” Arakiel admitted and he still had no idea how she did it. He had procured and stolen lots of tomes and records in utterly alien scripture for her, but he had no idea how she managed to find them in the first place. As said, the woman was crazy, but also brilliant.
“And have I not been able to ensure that both you and dear Ezekiel gain access to your chosen in due time?” She continued and sighed. “Things were easier when you just did what I told you, little archon. I don’t like justifying my actions.”
“While that is true, Shemyaza – you have no clue where the fourth one is, do you? And even when we eventually locate him or her, we’ll need a champion as well – we don’t even have that one!” Arakiel pointed out.
“It’s no use roping in a champion when it is not yet clear if there is a fourth one to begin with, dear Arakiel.” Shem pointed out quite truthfully. If anyone actually realized what they were doing here, they’d be in mortal danger. But then Shem went on and with each word, Arakiel felt more doubt enter his mind. “The Inheritor of the Dusk is exceedingly elusive and I haven’t been able to confirm whether he had descendants at all.”
“Wait… we don’t even know that!?” Arakiel exclaimed, shocked. “We’re at the very beginning!?”
“Well… yes,” Shem just admitted without a trace of shame or worry but then she seemingly found a point of attack. “How is your progress going along, Arakiel? Is she ready?”
“Yes, and I don’t think it’ll be long before she… you know.” Arakiel affirmed and admitted. “Her growth has been shocking to say the least.”
“Be that as it may… but is she tamed?” Shemyaza asked instead.
He snorted, saying. “I’m certain that my union will be far more harmonious than whatever you and Ezekiel are planning. Unlike that ruffian, I have honor.”
Shem’s eyes narrowed as she snapped at him. “Did you just call me a ruffian!?”
“Ezekiel, I mean Ezekiel,” Arakiel hurried to correct. That man was a bit younger than him, but he had grown up in a harsh environment and it showed in his character. His mindset would make any planeswalker blush, but his body had been battered and broken in his youth, nipping his progress in the bud. An early teenage rival’s act of humiliation, if Arakiel recalled correctly.
Shemyaza smiled once more, not a trace of her earlier hostility remaining. “Selene ast Rhea is certainly a character given that she grew up a proper Selenyean princess, but I trust in Ezekiel’s skills. I chose him precisely because of his mind- and skill set.”
Arakiel felt the need to spit somewhere to show his disdain, but he’d rather not have Shem smack him over the head for indecency. She always demanded proper behavior from ‘her boys’ which made encounters with Ezekiel quite entertaining, but it also meant that Arakiel had to watch his behavior around her… and as much as he hated to admit, he might actually lose against her in a direct fight.
“Is it possible to perform ‘the solution’ with three instead of four?” Arakiel queried, kind of dreading the answer right now.
If it returned in the negative, then he might’ve just wasted eight years of his life for nothing… in which case his mother would’ve been correct.
Arakiel found that unacceptable.
Shemyaza briefly put one of her painted nails to her small chin while her eyes exasperatedly turned towards the ceiling that had been veiled with several long dark blankets, making it appear much higher than it actually was. “The texts are very vague on this point, but considering the overall setup, I think it is plausible. It might also be implausible.”
Arakiel sighed dejectedly, noting. “That’s not an answer, Shem.”
Her dark, almost black eyes flashed with anger.
“Shemyaza,” he hurried to correct, feeling irritated himself.
“I don’t think it’s possible. There were four when my husband did the covenant and if we are to recreate it, we’ll need…” The woman began, still more or less putting on her contemplating face.
“Do you mean to say the Transcended entered a union with four men?” Arakiel queried, having often wondered what exactly this whole ‘solution’ entailed. Shem had been very vague on this point.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Shemyaza deflected, waving his query off. “He’s only interested in me. I’ll tolerate one or maybe two more consorts and up to seven concubines – but that’s it.”
Arakiel had trouble not mocking her for her statements did sound ridiculous from where he was standing. Instead, he tried to get an actual answer. “But they were men, weren’t they – the Seraphim, I mean?”
“The Inheritors of Dawn and the Night were most likely female, but the scripture is never really stating it outright. I assume that Inheritors of the Day and Dusk were male for there is supposed to be balance in all things.”
So she didn’t know. Great. The more he began to rationally think about this whole endeavor, the more stupid he felt. Why hadn’t he ever questioned her before? Had he really been chasing fairy tales?
No, it was plausible and it had happened before. The mad were often geniuses in disguise with none able to understand their grand designs. It had been madness to rebel against the seemingly omnipotent immortals and it had worked. Fortune favored the bold and the daring. From a commoners point of view, all planeswalkers were mad for constantly risking their lives in pursuit of wealth, never realizing that it directly led to more power, which in turn made it easier to acquire more wealth and so forth.
They’d be writing history in the same manner as the brave men and women had done back then and he couldn’t wait to show his family that he had been in the right and they had been wrong.
Especially his mother.
The mere thought made him full of smug glee.
“Anyway, Arakiel.” Shemyaza said as she took a deep draw from her smoke before she motioned him to follow. She led him towards the soundeater which had been put on a little pedestal covered with a white blanket. From underneath, she procured a small, folded pouch of vellum if the intricate and visible texture on the white parchment wasn’t fake.
She held it more or less in his face. “Take this. Mix a pinch of it in your seraphim’s food every six days, so once per week.”
He eyed the nondescript pouch of vellum and took it. There was probably a frostarray on the inside, an enchantment to keep whatever medicine it held fresh and potent.
Such things were quite pricey, once again reinforcing Shemyaza’s mysterious background. How many connections did she have – and what resources could she pull from exactly? She had made the impossible possible several times already… in fact, that mysteriousness had been the main factor in him accepting her proposal back then… it should be nearly nine years at this point.
He thought he had conveyed his question rather clearly through his gaze, but when she didn’t say anything, he decided to speak up, asking. “What is it?”
“Blockers,” Shem noted. “It’ll make her stop at the appropriate stage.”
“Is it safe?” He asked, always having regarded alchemy as a very mixed bag. It had resulted in many highly-sought after tinctures, but it had also caused many deaths given how easy it was to make things wrong… and experimental drugs were always more on the lethal side.
And this type of drug, he hadn’t heard before… but he was no expert on the subject.
“I’ve been feeding it to Helios for eight years and look at him,” Shemyaza returned nonchalantly, hinting over at the imprisoned, malnourished seraphim in the cage.
Arakiel looked him over once more, noting with some doubt. “He’s a little malnourished, but even now you can see the muscles he’s developing and that’s with him sitting in a cage… I supposed he doesn’t have any body hair.”
“Oh, that.” Shemyaza noted and chuckled, waving him off. “He’s been working out every single day, promising me how he’ll make me his little bitch – I’m surprised where he even takes all this knowledge from in how he wants to mount me. Some of it is quite adventurous, I must say.”
Arakiel turned and stared at her in disbelief. “You don’t say.”
“Why yes… I’ve been keeping him on a lighter diet lately. He was starting to become handsome and I can’t have that.” Shem returned with a shrug.
“And these things really work?” He rustled with the vellum.
“You should see his manhood. It’s tiny, just like his balls.” She commented after blowing a stream of smoke into the hall.
A shiver ran down Arakiel’s spine and he unwillingly found himself looking over towards the seraphim, who was awake. He had probably heard that and even though Arakiel hated him for being what he was, he kind of felt sympathy for the man as a fellow man.
This was perhaps the worst thing a woman could state. Size mattered and it was no secret that many inquisitive minds had pioneered research on this topic, often with disastrous results. In his youth, Arakiel had shown some interest in the subject but now that…
He trailed off and let out a lamentable sigh. The plight of men was real, especially for planeswalkers.
“Just follow my instructions,” Shemyaza meanwhile reminded him, adding. “It has worked out so far and it’ll work out now. I have a promising lead and I’ll contact you again, soon.”
He turned her way, doubtful. Didn’t she claim to have nothing at all?
Alas, her mask was impeccable and he had no way of telling whether she lied or not – and he most certainly wouldn’t accuse her of lying. He might as well slam his head against a wall, for that’d be the same kind of pain he’d feel. Perhaps less, even.
“In that case, I’ll look forward to hearing from you again… but remember, Shemyaza. Our time is running out – you said it yourself. We need to perform the solution before they become aware of their powers and they become aware when…”
“Hush, little archon,” Shemyaza interrupted, having put her left hand’s finger onto his lips. It smelled of chocolate. “I have everything under control. You just follow my orders like you have done so far. Tame your seraphim, feed her the medicine and then bring her here when the time is up – that’s all I want from you. Oh, and be sure to visit our usual place – there’s new tasks for you.”
The way she spoke let him know the this conversation was over. She always liked to do that and she’d be very stubborn about the whole thing, so it was no use arguing. Ezekiel had learned that in an even more painful way than Arakiel had.
With a sigh, he affirmed and then bid the woman farewell.
She watched him all the way and when he had reentered the tunnels, he locked onto the beacon of his home.
Shem had forbidden him from disturbing the plane’s fabric in the covenant hall and so he always had to keep a proper distance.
Just another mystery to add on top of the many that surrounded her.
With a shrug, he tore open a portal and stepped through.