authority, or the lack thereof

by 님 (nymmiah)

Summary:

A series of shorts exploring the character of Elidibus and the world unsundered.

Notes:

Elidibus is hands down one of my favourite characters ever since I first bumped into him post-HW and it is a CRIME that I never wrote anything for him until now. I think I've finally settled on his characterisation and I'm now confident enough to publish how I view his character.

Chapter 1: Index

1. Confrontation

Historically, the seat of Elidibus is not one associated with contention. One would say that it is far more attributed to the seats of Igeyorhm and Pashtarot. Elidibus, however, is far more confrontational than even he himself would suspect.

2. Assessment

A quiet moment of reflection and seeking knowledge from his fellows.

3. Ascension

Azem's returns to Amaurot are both sporadic and riveting. This particular visit has both Elidibus and Azem grappling with the concept of death.

4. Family

Creation is something inherent to their society, even children newly able to walk have the ability to Create without instruction. However, the formation of a family is something that Elidibus has never considered.

5. Linger

Wherein Elidibus must confront his own hypocrisy when encountering the prospect of a loved one’s imminent demise.

CW: death / suicide

6. Gallery

Elidibus’ duties include habitual and regular visits to all parts of Amaurot. This particular day, he attends the decennial exhibit held by the graduate students of the Department of Arts.

7. Trap

It is never a dull day in Amaurot.
In which the Speaker is in a predicament. And requires aid.

Chapter 2: Confrontation

Summary:

Historically, the seat of Elidibus is not one associated with contention. One would say that it is far more attributed to the seats of Igeyorhm and Pashtarot. Elidibus, however, is far more confrontational than even he himself would suspect.

Elidibus, though he hadn’t quite realised it until that very moment, was surprisingly confrontational. This was in spite of his role as Emissary, the neutral voice within the Convocation that mediated arguments and discussions alike, the one who kept the dissonant groups of their people balanced and in harmony.

For all of his humble disposition, he would brook no ridicule whatsoever when it came to those he admired.

However, it was rare that he would ever hear anything disrespectful said about them. Among the many names that had already long since returned to the star, he admired the following: the Words of Elidibus who worked tirelessly alongside him, the teachers of the Akadaemia whose expertise rivaled those in the Convocation, and of course, the Convocation of the Fourteen themselves.

His fellow Fourteen were all paragons of their fields, chosen for their unparalleled expertise within their respective fields, for their great love for the star, and for the respect that they’d garnered from their fellows that led to their nomination. He’d grown up admiring the majority of them since his youth, Azem most of all–but the most surprising thing was that he’d become closest to Lahabrea ever since the previous Elidibus had introduced him to the others.

Lahabrea, exacting and strict, had taken on something akin to a mentoring role for Elidibus once he had come into his position; not a teacher , the man had been clear to state, but an occasional advisor . The role of Elidibus was far out of his jurisdiction, after all, Lahabrea had reasoned. Nevertheless, the man’s greater experience and wisdom gave him an insight that Elidibus doubted he would ever be able to garner himself even should he had lived the centuries that Lahabrea had. 

With his comparatively scant twelve decades of life, Elidibus was by far the youngest of the Fourteen though he had long since reached the age of majority by the time he had risen to his position. Nabriales, closest to him in age, had passed his second century of life by four decades just a moon prior. The previous Elidibus had hoped that, following her return to the star, each of the Convocation would be able to aid her successor until he had the courage to know his heart was true.

Elidibus had thus become close with each of the Fourteen, especially growing strong ties with Azem, Altima and Igeyorhm, the three of whom had abundantly kind hearts to aid them in their essential roles. And through Igeyorhm, he had come to truly know Lahabrea, infamously the most acerbic member of the Convocation…

But Elidibus had also come to understand this. Much like the fire with which he sculpted, Lahabrea was as warm and as quick-tempered. He was incomparably passionate, each of his masterworks an exemplar, but he was also, in some unknown way, devoid of the gentler emotions of man.

He’d seen Lahabrea’s quick joy, the raucous bark of laughter when he’d suddenly been struck with mirth—but just as quickly it would disappear, leaving him placid but stern once more.

Lahabrea was not without flaws, but they were few and faint in the face of his innumerable achievements.

And it was this simple fact that he found himself bristling as he overheard two youths speaking of his fellow with less than kind words.

Their young age was evident from the sound of their voices as they chittered on about the man’s inability . It was hardly a constructive criticism; they mocked Lahabrea for his supposed cruelty, for his pretense of knowledge, how his age had left him as dry as a tome.

Elidibus knew the value of the thousand thousand voices of the world, how it was through the differences in beliefs that society could grow and face the challenges these things posed. And yet. There was surely nothing to be learnt from this, no growth nor wisdom to be gained.

Elidibus’ rage was not the brief incandescence of Emet-Selch’s, nor was it the slow and hidden anger that crept up on Emmerololth. His was swift and righteous, unwilling to be abated until an appropriate measure of justice was found.

He moved forth, seething at the irreverence, when he was grabbed by his sleeve and arrested from approaching them.

“At peace, Elidibus,” Lahabrea’s quiet voice was heard by his side. “Your duties do not encompass mediating even the gossiping of students.”

“Slander and evidenceless accusation has no place within Amaurot,” Elidibus refuted, eyes narrowed behind his mask. “Department of Rhetoric this may be, but those students fail to uphold the tenets of their school. They shame Igeyorhm and her Words that they would speak in such a way.”

“The subject of their words isn’t even your esteemed self. Does this truly warrant your anger?”

“Your importance to our society is undeniable. The lack of respect shown to you speaks of their inability to understand how essential you are.” Elidibus draws in a deep breath. “You are far more than just a lecturer at the Akadaemia. You are Lahabrea, Speaker of the Convocation; the Head of the Department of Phantomology. A founder of the school of the science even, establishing our core understanding of material magicks and Creation. Without your groundbreaking work, Amaurot would not have developed nearly as quickly as it had over the past three centuries, nevertheless allow us to guide the star as efficiently as we have. The very streets of our city have been paved due to your work above all others.”

Lahabrea’s silence was palpable. Elidibus continued to watch the other, no longer trembling from his anger but still tense with barely repressed emotion. Finally, Lahabrea sighed.

It was a drawn-out, but quiet sound.

“Your high regard for your fellow members of the Convocation is as much flattering as it is worrisome, Elidibus.” Lahabrea’s impassive mask betrayed no emotion and his voice remained low and neutral. “You should be more impartial. You will be unable to fulfill your duties with such a… rose-tinted view of the world.”

Elidibus frowned. A rose-tinted view? His sight was hardly marred by colour. It then occurred to him that this was likely an idiom.

“It is my impartiality that allows me to appreciate the grand works that you and the rest of the Convocation have achieved. If anything, it is my belief that you have all become accustomed to your unparalleled skill that you see it as ordinary.” He stated firmly. “It is my duty to ensure that all maintain an objective view on both the happenings of the star as well as its inhabitants. This means reminding yourself and the Convocation of how brilliant each of you and yours are that you were able to ascend to your respective roles.”

Lahabrea let out another sigh, a sharp exhale through his nose. He seemed exasperated now, but little else could be parsed from the thin line of his lips beneath his mask.

“Then by all means, continue to be impartial. But leave the students to their ire. ‘Tis merely a way in which they express their failure to accept their own shortcomings.” Lahabrea’s words were final. “I recognise those students. I recently failed one of them for failing to adequately modify a concept matrix.”

“There are better ways to express one’s frustrations,” Elidibus said with a frown. “And failure isn’t something to be ashamed of; it is a mark of progress.”

“Indeed.” Lahabrea turned, walking forth once more. “Come, Elidibus. We’ve tarried too long on this matter.”

And thus did Elidibus subside, simmering in frustration but ultimately allowing Lahabrea his way.

Chapter 3: Assessment

Summary:

A quiet moment of reflection and seeking knowledge from his fellows.

“Igeyorhm, is it normal for members of the Convocation to receive such caustic and baseless criticism?”

“It is a fact of life that people have differing opinions. ‘Tis why we even have an Igeyorhm in the first place; to allow for rhetoric to take place and for discussions to be held. Everyone, even both yourself and myself, have their detractors just as much as they have their supporters… though I have never personally received ‘caustic’ or ‘baseless’ criticism.”

“I found that people discuss these criticisms in private, away from the subject.”

“Ah, yes. That is common. It is normal for people to wish to avoid actual confrontation and merely vent their frustrations out without causing a fight.”

“Is that not why we have mediators? I myself act in this capacity for the Convocation, and your Words help to facilitate meaningful and productive debates within the Hall of Rhetoric.”

“Again, they may merely wish to vent their feelings.”

“That is what Lahabrea himself had said.”

“Did he? Is that why you came to talk to me about this?”

“In a sense. I wanted to understand this phenomenon far more… These ‘private’ criticisms seem particularly vitriolic when it comes to Lahabrea.”

A quiet laugh. “Does it truly not make sense to you? I care for him greatly and as great of a friend and colleague as he is, one must admit that he’s more than a little bit of a prick, even to those who know him well.”

“... Is that so?”

“You sound as if you don’t think that way about him.”

“Indeed. Lahabrea’s strictness is something for which I do not begrudge him. His exacting standards are what allow him to achieve everything that he has so far. He is fair to those he mentors, giving praise when it is judicious and good criticism when it is necessary. Never has he turned his ire towards me when it was inappropriate.”

“That assessment of yours is… far more positive than even the former Elidibus’. I would have you bear in mind that he is far less irascible when he interacts with those he considers competent. Remember that you, even prior to being named Elidibus, possess abilities far above those that he would generally interact with, and it is this competence of yours that pleases him. I suppose that it is this along with your kindness that allows him to be more gentle with you.”

"It is strange, Igeyorhm, that your words would somehow echo that of mine."

"How so?"

"I told Lahabrea that it is my duty to maintain an objective view of my fellows and that those of the Convocation are brilliant in their own fields beyond all others... And that it is this brilliance that may cause you to become accustomed to your accomplishments and selves."

"There you have it. You should take your own advice and recall that even you, being one of the Fourteen, are just as brilliant as the rest of us. Remember, Elidibus... you are, perhaps, one of those presiding over a seat that few others can. Even now, I can think of three candidates that I can propose to take over my role. Fandaniel has multiple contemporaries across the researchers of Elpis. But the seat of Elidibus? Much like the seat of Pashtarot, I can think of few others that can bear the responsibilities of your seat with the aplomb that you do."

"There are many Words within my Bureau that I believe I can trust with my role should I ever decide that my role has been fulfilled. However, that shall not come to pass for many centuries yet, I should hope. There is far too much that I can do for the star."

"That, and you've hardly warmed your seat for more than a decade so far. Now, was that all that you wished to ask of me?"

“Yes. Thank you, Igeyorhm, for clarifying these questions of mine.”

“Of course, it was my pleasure. My office is ever open to you should you ever have further need for my help... But since you're here, how about you relax for a few minutes and share this cake with me? One of Nabriales' Words came over with excess from their department... A joint project of theirs with the Words of Altima, from what I understand.”

"Oh! Yes, I've heard about this. I would love to try it out!"

Notes:

Yup. I'm saying that Nabriales' seat presides over food and agriculture. Sue me.

Chapter 4: Ascension

Summary:

Azem's returns to Amaurot are both sporadic and riveting. This particular visit has both Elidibus and Azem grappling with the concept of death.

Azem was ever a delight when they returned to Amaurot, blatantly different among the crowd and delighting in the scandalous looks they received as a result.

As if it hadn’t been scandal enough that Azem would insist on wearing the black mask of a Word, they also loved to decorate their communal robes to the point of official sanctions. Not that they seemed to care; that particular day, they had dyed their robes a soft pink that mimicked the dawn’s gentle colours whenever the fabric shifted.

Their fellows within the cafe in which they sat were clearly seasoned in Azem’s blatant disregard for collectivism. Even the owner of the quaint store had sighed and ruefully commented on the “delightful shade” of their clothing that day when they had bought their respective drinks and snacks.

Upon seating themselves, Azem had removed their mask entirely and set it upon the table. It took very little goading from Azem to have Elidibus reach up to also remove his own mask, setting it down upon the table between them by his teacup.

Their mischievous eyes were bright as they stared at him with fascination.

“I always forget how young you are,” Azem remarked with a laugh. “Your voice is so deep and your wisdom so great, and yet you’re barely out of your youth! Hair notwithstanding.”

Elidibus reached up to touch his aforementioned hair. “Grey hair isn’t always an indication of age,” he said softly. “Both of my parents have hair of a similar shade.”

“Did you know that Azem—uh, I mean, Venat, used to be blonde?” Azem continued with a grin. They stirred their large mug of coffee idly, destroying the delicate Creation of whipped cream that had been placed atop of the drink. “She’s only got white hair now because she’s a gazillion millennia old.”

Elidibus frowned a little. Millennia he could accept, but a gazillion was surely a hyperbole. “I’m certain that that is an exaggeration… though I don’t doubt that she’s experienced much throughout her life.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that she’s ancient,” Azem retorted with a roll of their eyes. “Don’t believe her when she tries to say that she’s about Lahabrea’s age. She’s much, much older.”

“Her love of all life is well known. There are countless records of how our former Azem had claimed that our society places far too much emphasis on returning to the star once our role is over,” Elidibus said slowly. “That she would choose to continue living even after ceding her seat only bespeaks of the strength of her convictions.”

Azem hummed. “It’s true that there’s always something novel to be found in life. That she hasn’t yet found true fulfilment and wishes to continue searching is something that only she can decide. Her thoughts on the matter are a little more nuanced, however. She hasn’t fully explained them to me, but I know that she rejects the idea of accepting death before it happens to you. But in our current time… rare is it that an unexpected death is gentle.”

“What is your opinion upon the matter?” Elidibus asked curiously. He took hold of his teacup, raising it to his lips to take a careful sip of the hot liquid. “The central matter of this discussion being the societal norm of returning to the star once passing on one’s role to their successor.”

Azem frowned. Without their mask upon their face, it was far easier for Elidibus to parse what they were feeling.

“I value life, just as the Azem before myself did. It is a gift, just as much as it is a burden. Ultimately, returning to the star is the choice of the individual,” they said finally. “It would be reaching far beyond my own authority to decide whether people are allowed to decide such a thing.”

Elidibus nodded, more for encouragement though he was in full agreement with Azem’s statements so far.

And thus they continued: “I wouldn’t say that I would vehemently refuse to ever return like Venat has. It is folly to deny that death happens. Everything has its time, and everything that starts must eventually finish. Nevertheless… there are times in which I wonder what could have been possible had some souls continued living? So many lives, snuffed out before the wick had even reached its end… It is the loss of potential that I mourn. I feel that many people chose to return to the star believing that there is nothing left to for them to do, having not even tried looking for another purpose.”

“Wick?” Elidibus asked.

Azem’s lips curled into a brief smile, clearly amused. “An analogy. That our lives span only a limited length of time as a lit candle does.”

Elidibus nodded, brows furrowing in thought. It was a clever analogy; an apt metaphor. He doubted Azem had come up with it, but it was curious that he hadn’t heard of it prior to Azem’s remark. “… I see.”

“And yourself?” Azem then asked. “You heard my stance on this matter.”

“I have never properly considered this matter,” Elidibus was certain to state. “I have grown up learning that there is joy to find in the fact that one has returned to the star… that they have found ultimate fulfilment in their lives that they can move on to return to the Lifestream to begin a life anew. Souls are cyclical; though they may no longer be alive, it does not mean that they are truly lost. Rarely is a new soul made.”

“As Emet-Selch loves to remind us all, over and over,” Azem quipped.

“Yes. I suppose it would be correct to state that my current opinion is that it is a joyful matter. That there is something wonderful to be celebrated in one’s return to the star. It is when death comes unexpectedly that I feel a strong sense of grief, whether it is caused by sickness or injury.” Elidibus looked down at the teacup within his hands. “I am lucky that everyone that I have known thus far have been able to choose when they return to the Underworld.”

When Elidibus looked back up, Azem’s eyes had gone distant. They were clearly thinking, perhaps recalling past memories and people that they had met over the course of their travels.

“Yes. It is a great fortune that most of our people are able to choose their own ends,” Azem echoed softly.

“It is a blessing created from the long length of our lives,” Elidibus added. “I don’t believe I have ever heard of anyone returning to the star due to their age.”

“Could you imagine that? If everyone was like Venat, we’d have no souls within the Underworld at all, and the world would be so grossly overpopulated!” Azem said with a laugh.

“Perhaps that had been the crux of the matter. The reason why our society had eventually started encouraging those of us who felt fulfillment to return to the star, that we can allow the cycle of souls to continue and for the star to remain in balance,” Elidibus proposed.

“Perhaps. But it was so long ago that I doubt any records remain as to the beginning of the practice,” Azem let out a gusty sigh. They reached out to grab their plate of cake, poking at one of the halved grapes with the tip of their fork.  “... I don’t know how I would feel if there ever comes a day when one must be forced to return to the star. When one loses their ability to decide for themselves.”

Elidibus smiled, reaching out to place his hand over theirs. Azem looked up, their bright eyes questioning.

“It is a possibility that we, the Convocation, will do the utmost to prevent. We guide the star and protect all upon it from harm,” he reminded. “Now, won’t you tell me more about your travels? You said that you went to the archipelago to the west of Amaurot, did you not?"

Chapter 5: Family

Summary:

Creation is something inherent to their society, even children newly able to walk have the ability to Create without instruction. However, the formation of a family is something that Elidibus has never considered.

It came rather as a shock that Emmerololth announced her brief withdrawal from the Convocation; she and her partner had decided to conceive a child, and she wished for the blessing of her fellow Fourteen to give her time away from her duties to focus upon her family.

None had opposed, though questions had been raised on how her duties would remain fulfilled in her absence.

“I have in mind someone who can temporarily take upon my mantle,” Emmerololth then announced. “Paraselsus, one of my Words, has proven himself a powerful yet delicate healer, full of empathy and creativity in the art of white magic. I believe that in the two years that I shall take on a less active role, it may act as a trial for his suitability for the role.”

“Does this mean you intend on stepping down?” Loghrif asked in surprise.

“Not for many decades yet! But I would rest assured knowing that I will have a worthy successor.” Emmerololth smiled, her mask lifting slightly from the force of it. “It is not an uncommon practice to assay the suitability of potential successors in this manner. I trust that there will be no issues?”

“I do not believe that any of us take issue with your desire to raise a family.” Pashtarot said when none spoke up. “However, one point of contention that I have is that none of us know this Paracelsus enough to judge whether he will be an adequate substitute for your role.”

“Indeed. The practice of allowing successors to act in your full capacity as a Convocation member is preceded by an official mentorship,” Igeyorhm pointed out. “You have never brought this up prior to this moment.”

“Emmerololth is not intending on stepping down for decades yet, as she just stated. If she believes her Word to be a good enough substitute to act temporarily in her role, I hardly see an issue. Any problems that arise can be solved by Emmerololth herself, or by the rest of the Convocation,” Altima rationalised with a nod.

Lahabrea’s voice was then heard, quiet amongst the raised voices. “Conception hardly disables or incapacitates the parent. Raising a family does not mean a total absence from one’s duties. Why withdraw entirely for years and allow an untested potential successor to take on your duties?”

Elidibus frowned, watching as his fellows began to discuss this matter.

Emmerololth was insistent that her chosen successor would be able to take on her full duties without issue; Pashtarot and Igeyorhm were firmly against it. It seemed that most of the Convocation were neutral upon the matter, though Emet-Selch’s sour frown clearly showed his frustration with the debate that was steadily degenerating into an argument.

Just as Nabriales was about to rise to his feet and add his own thoughts to the mix, Elidibus cleared his throat. He stepped forth, walking towards the central podium within the chamber to take his traditional place as Elidibus.

All fell silent.

“It seems that the main point of contention is that Paraselsus has not been mentored by Emmerololth, meaning that should she take her leave of absence, there is the possibility that her duties will not be fulfilled in the manner to which we are accustomed,” Elidibus stated.

“He does not need to be mentored!” Emmerololth exclaimed sharply. “And I am not going to be entirely absent!”

Elidibus nodded, waving a hand to placate her. “From her own mouth, she has stated that she does not intend on stepping down from her seat for quite some time yet. Nevertheless, her right to conceive a child is not one that we can nor would deny.”

The process of conception was a complicated one, from what Elidibus understood. For all that Emmerololth claimed that her absence would span only two years, he believed that it might last longer than that.

“… I believe that it is also in the right of the Convocation to require that Emmerololth abide by the standard protocols that we have set in place. Thus, I would propose that Emmerololth delay their personal endeavours by a year, such that her chosen successor can be properly mentored in the traditional manner. Would this satisfy your conditions, Pashtarot and Igeyorhm?”

“A year is far too short a time,” Pashtarot was quick to claim, though Igeyorhm nodded decisively where she sat.

“A year is long enough to decide Paraselsus’ adequacy for the temporary role,” Igeyorhm said gently.

“Emmerololth, are you in agreement with my proposal?” Elidibus then asked.

The woman hesitated, but eventually nodded. “Yes, I am. A year’s wait is one that I am willing to bear.”

“And as for the rest of the Convocation. Those in favour may cast blue light, those against it, red, and those abstaining, white.”

And thus the vote was cast; of the eleven (as Azem was absent) who could weigh in upon the situation, seven were blue, three were red, and one was white. Emmerololth would have a year to officially mentor her chosen successor prior to her absence from her seat.

That particular day at the Capitol ended with the Convocation breaking off into groups to discuss the ramifications of Emmerololth’s future brief departure from her role.

Elidibus found himself walking alongside Lahabrea and Emet-Selch, both of whom had decided to return to their respective destinations within the Polyleritae District.

“Raising a child? I suppose Emmerololth would have the time for it, out of all of us.” Emet-Selch remarked with a haughty lilt to his words. “Disease is rare, and her department mostly presides over the care of creatures these days.”

“I rarely hear you so disdainful,” Elidibus replied, looking over at the man curiously. “Do you dislike children?”

“No. Of course not!” Emet-Selch spluttered. “I merely—I was just commenting on how she was…! It’s not simple deciding to have a child when you’re a member of the Convocation! Our duty is to the star and… she’s splitting her focus! She won’t be able to fulfill her duties, for all that she claims otherwise!”

“I choose to trust in her, that she will be able to handle both her responsibilities to the star and her personal life.” Elidibus stated. “Just as any of the others within the Convocation, should they choose to do the same. I believe that you would be more than capable of it yourself, Emet-Selch.”

Elidibus watched in bemusement as Emet-Selch stopped in his tracks. The parts of his face that remained visible were twisted into a grimace and he then stormed off in the opposite direction to their destination, leaving him alone with Lahabrea.

“Did I say something wrong?” Elidibus asked, stricken and confused.

The Speaker seemed amused. “I believe he was jealous.”

“Jealous?” Elidibus echoed.

“Have you never thought of raising a family yourself, Elidibus?”

Elidibus paused at the question, looking at Lahabrea in curiosity. He had never expected the Speaker to ever ask so candidly about his personal life, given that Lahabrea was so dutiful that he would spend every waking moment working.

It was not an exaggeration to say that the man was Lahabrea. It was as much a part of his identity as it was his role.

“… I have not,” Elidibus finally admitted. “However, given my youth and the nature of my duties as Elidibus, I do not believe it to be strange that I haven’t put much thought into it. Though having said that… I’ve never met anyone that I have considered approaching with the thought of building a life together.”

“Some would say that in their youth, passion comes quickly and easily.” Lahabrea murmured, the quality of his voice sounding almost wistful in this moment. “Most of your contemporaries are likely finding partners to spend their life with.”

“As I have said, I have not met anyone for whom I have had such a desire.” Elidibus frowned, thoughtful and quiet. “… Is it a norm among the Convocation to have families alongside their duties? Other than Mitron and Loghrif’s courtship, I only know now of Emmerololth’s long-term partner.”

Lahabrea seemed to pause. “It is a norm. Though most are not as public about it as either of your two examples.”

“Your words imply that you yourself have a family beyond your duties.” Elidibus pointed out.

“I do have one, just as you have a family. Just as all others have their own families.” The corners of Lahabrea’s lips quirked briefly. “Your wording is far too vague, Elidibus. If you are inquiring as to my relationship status, you should know that I have no one. And that I do not currently intend on changing that. My focus is upon my duties and my duties alone. Not many people are understanding of this.”

“I understand.” Elidibus paused. “I… believe that that will be an issue that I myself will encounter, should I ever decide to find a partner. I am Elidibus, and my duty is to the star. I will fulfill what I must to guide our people to a brighter future.”

Lahabrea finally smiled, a faint and transient expression. “Yes. You should focus on your duties. However, as time passes, things will inevitably change. Perhaps in future, you will find yourself wishing for more beyond your current role… so remember this: you are Elidibus before you are aught else. Do not forget this.”

“I promise. I will not.”

Chapter 6: Linger

Summary:

Wherein Elidibus must confront his own hypocrisy when encountering the prospect of a loved one’s imminent demise.

CW: death / suicide

Notes:

The goddess Themis was the second wife of Zeus, born from the union of Gaia and Ouranos. As the name Gaia was already taken, I’ve opted for a variant of her name for Elidibus’ parent.

The previous Elidibus’ name is Eirene after the goddess of peace, one third of the Horae alongside Dike and Eunomia. I thought it fitting that Themis would name such poignant skills of his after his mentor.

“Your father and I have something we wished to tell you, Themis.”

 

---

 

Ever since his establishment as Elidibus, his mother had never referred to him by his birth name. That she had done so that particular day had been telling of the seriousness of the topic about which she wished to discuss.

Sat now at the dining room table of his childhood home, he watched as his mother ran her fingers through her hair. It was an uncharacteristic display; she was stalling for time. Beside her, his father looked distinctly uncomfortable, fingers drumming upon the table in a silent display of discomfort.

Oranos cleared their throat. “How about I get us some drinks for this talk? I believe we’ll need it.” They stood up and departed from the table far too hastily to be anything but a retreat.

There was a bittersweet smile on his mother’s face as she watched Oranos leave the room. “It is good that you took after me in this particular aspect, Themis. Oranos has never been good with confrontation or debate. I suppose it is why they took to a role that requires very little speech.”

“It is our collective differences that allow our star to flourish,” Elidibus said neutrally.

“Indeed. I see that Eirene’s teachings still live prominently through you… that heartens me,” Gaea murmured.

It took Elidibus a moment to place the name. Eirene was the name of the previous Elidibus.

His mother was watching him carefully, her eyes sharp and focused in a manner he rarely encountered from her. It was strangely intimidating; his mother had always been pleasant though direct. To now be subject to such a scrutinising stare put Elidibus on edge.

“Themis…” His mother began again quietly.

“Yes, Gaea?” Elidibus asked, confusion evident within his voice.

“To put it plainly, I have decided that it is my time to return to the star.”

“Oh.” Elidibus’ response was almost reflexive, thoughtless. He was stunned silent, eyes wide. “I hadn’t expected to hear this from you so soon.”

His mother smiled at him gently, reaching out to place her hand over his. “I have lived a fulfilling life, Themis. And now that you have found your place in our star, I have no regrets or wishes left unrealised; I am so very proud of you.”

But it was far too soon.

Elidibus was certain his mother had only lived three centuries; as he was that very moment, he could hardly bear the thought of things left unfinished, things that would take possibly millennia of toil and care to fulfill. Didn’t his mother feel the same?

Did she truly have no regrets?

… Was this what Azem had meant that he mourned the potential of those who passed seemingly too soon?

“I’m glad that you feel that way… and that you are proud of me,” Elidibus said finally, his words slow and measured. He drew his hands to his lap beneath the table, clenching his fists in his nervous tension. There were so many questions he wanted to ask. But the most important of them was this: “You’ve already told Oranos about your intentions. Have they decided to follow you in your decision?”

“They decided against it. They have things left unfinished,” Gaea said with a smile. “But they have asked me to stay until they have finished their work.”

“Will you?” The question sprang from his lips immediately.

“I have not decided yet. What will my time be spent on?” Gaea asked. “My work at the Bureau can now be taken up by my successors. Eirene has long since departed having entrusted her legacy to you. And you are full grown, a shining light to guide our star. Oranos and I have decided against having any other child. I could not bear to drift through our star without purpose.”

“Venat has become an advisor of great purport,” Elidibus reminded her quietly. “You could do the same.”

Gaea’s smile remained in place, a gentle but discouraging one. “What could I advise that you could not, Themis? That any of your fellows, far greater than I?” She shook her head. “I would contribute nothing, and that is something I could not bear.”

“Every person has their own unique perspective. There is great value in any advice, regardless of how ‘great’ of a person it comes from.”

“And if you covet every voice? Every soul? You deny the cycle of life, Themis.” Gaea shook her head. “It is my time.”

Elidibus fell silent, looking down at the table. He could hear his father return. They placed down three cups and a small plate down onto the table.

From the smell and looks of it all, his father had made each of them their favoured drink alongside a dish of cake.

“I had once spoken with Azem,” Elidibus began quietly. “About those who return to the star… and whether their lives are truly fulfilled when they choose to depart.”

“Are you questioning my judgement, Themis?” His mother’s words had a particularly sharp edge to them.

Just as his mother had a dangerous glint in her eyes, Oranos had a lost look on their face when Elidibus finally turned his eyes back up to his parents.

Gaea sat upright but relaxed while in contrast, Oranos stood behind her, wringing their hands nervously before they moved to sit down.

Elidibus had inherited most of Gaea’s features, bearing her hair, her eyes and her demeanour. Even in his height and physique had he echoed in her footsteps. Physically, there was very little that he had inherited from his father.

Oranos had once jokingly remarked that if they hadn’t been there at his conception, they might have suspected Elidibus to be an exact clone of his mother.

Elidibus hesitated, but ultimately shook his head. “No. Merely cautioning that you take more time to consider the circumstances from which you return to the star.”

“One decade,” Oranos murmured, a quiet plea in their voice. Gaea looked up from where she sat towards Oronos. “I would have one more decade with you before you go.”

“It was far too sudden,” Elidibus agreed. “Please, give us grace.”

Gaea’s lips pursed. “I had expected Oranos to plead for this, but you too, Themis?” She sighed, shaking her head. “Very well. But regardless of when I shall return to the star, I shall head to the Hall of Souls to declare my intent. It is only right.”

The Hall of Souls; Emet-Selch’s station.

“We will go together when the day comes,” Oranos stated.

“Yes. Together,” Elidibus echoed quietly.

 

---

It was thus that Elidibus found himself before the Hall of Souls seventeen years thereafter. Standing to his side was his mother who, ever graceful, pushed past his still form to throw open the doors. 

Oranos was pale beneath their mask, silent in an uncharacteristic way as they followed Gaea.

As befitting his station, the Hall was as dour and solemn as the role of Emet-Selch. Its walls were dark and embossed with gold, its ceiling vaulting high above their heads. It was moderately lit with blue light, a gentle but cold hue. To the side, there was an empty counter that served as the reception for the hall.

As three, they moved towards it. A quiet tinkling sound could be heard as they crossed an invisible threshold; this was followed by the prompt opening of doors behind the counter.

“Welcome,” a tall Word of Emet-Selch exclaimed, coming forth to greet them at the counter. “What brings you to the Hall of Souls today? Along with our esteemed Elidibus, too!”

“To remove my name from the Atropos,” Gaea stated firmly. “And to depart for the Underworld.”

“I am here to observe,” Elidibus murmured faintly.

The Word didn’t seem surprised, likely used to the steady stream of those returning to the star. “I see. Might I offer you my heartfelt gratitude for your service and toil for our star?”

Gaea’s lips were set into a gentle smile. “Thank you.”

“Before we proceed to the Atropos, I require each of your names and occupations to register the purpose of your visit within our records…” The Word continued, pulling out a tome from the side and opening it. It was clearly a record of visitors.

“Gaea, a Word of Elidibus,” his mother began promptly. “And as stated, I am here to write my name from the Atropos.”

Oranos let out a quiet sigh beside her. “I am Oranos. A chef at the Goulia Deuteros. I am here to accompany Gaea.”

“My purpose is the same as Oranos’. I am…” Elidibus paused. “Do you require my true name?”

The Word let out a laugh. “Well, that is entirely up to you, master Elidibus.”

He nodded. “I am Elidibus, Emissary of the Convocation.”

“Excellent!” The Word snapped the tome shut, having recorded their details. “Now, please, come this way, honoured Gaea and company. The Atropos is held on the fourth level of this facility…”

Elidibus had never before ventured to this level of the Hall of Souls. Emet-Selch’s office was at the very top, at the fourteenth floor of the building, and it was only to this level had he ever visited. He looked around curiously as the elevator doors opened, revealing a solemn hallway, portaled windows shrouded by heavy curtains. What light that streamed through was weak, almost akin to moonlight.

“Down this way,” the Word led their path down. At the far end, there was a tall door. Once they came close enough, the doors swung open of their own volition, revealing the Atropos beyond.

Wreathed in golden aether, it was a tapestry yet attached to its loom, unraveling into disintegrating threads at its loose end. Runes written with light encircled the tapestry, glowing intermittently. Thrice as tall as Elidibus, the scale of the loom only exemplified the sheer volume of names scrawled across in delicate thread: a thousand thousand countless souls all recorded.

All those who yet lived were said to have their names written upon the Atropos. And all those who returned were unraveled, released back into ambient aether as all things did.

There was little else within the room other than its two occupants. A Word could be seen stood to the side of the loom while another, sat at the foot of this monolithic structure, was a quiet woman whose fingers guided the silk spools, keeping the loom ever working.

“Who approaches the Atropos?” The woman asked, ancient aether coiling around even her very voice. It lent her an air of age, of decay—something rare in their society. It sent a shiver through Elidibus, hardly inured to the feeling of extant death. (Had Azem ever met this figure? If anyone could truly be called old, it would be the one before them right at that moment.)

“Clotho, I bring before you Gaea, who wishes to write their name from the tapestry of life,” their guide stated in response.

“Gaea, is it?” The figure murmured. “Come closer, child.”

Clotho of silver mask smiled at them where she sat. Dressed in white, she was, perhaps, the oldest soul Elidibus had ever met barring Venat.

He watched as his mother walked towards the aged Clotho, kneeling before her in respect. He could see how Gaea failed to repress a shudder when a hand was placed upon her shoulder,

“Yes… I have seen your name upon the Atropos.” Clotho intoned. “I have weaved it into its fabric nigh three hundred and eighty-two summers past when I saw your soul depart from the Underworld. And now, you shall return to where all life begins… Are you certain that this is your time?”

Gaea drew in a deep breath.

“I am. I am ready,” she stated. “All of my affairs have been handled, my purpose fulfilled. It is time.”

Beside Elidibus, he could hear his father’s breath hitch. He reached out, silently holding their hand. Their grip was tight, nails biting into his knuckles.

Clotho smiled beneath her mask and rose to her feet. Above her head, the tapestry glowed; a singular name flickered and burned bright with dark flame. “Then it is done. Your name, unwoven, and we are here to guide you. Come forth, Charon… gently show her the way home.”

The Word who had stood off to the side moved to join them at the loom. They raised their arms, palms facing Gaea. “Don’t be afraid,” they said quietly. “It is not the end.”

Gaea nodded, turning finally to face both Oranos and Elidibus. “Goodbye, my dear ones,” she murmured. “I will ever watch over you until the day you both join me in the Lifestream.” She then bowed her head.

And they watched as her aether was unraveled by her own volition, disappearing into motes of red and orange—the last remnants of the very essence of who Gaea was.

Notes:

I wanted to explore the concept of death rites in their society.

Chapter 7: Gallery

Summary:

Elidibus’ duties include habitual and regular visits to all parts of Amaurot. This particular day, he attends the decennial exhibit held by the graduate students of the Department of Arts.

Elidibus had never been gifted in the arts though he had ever been filled with an appreciation for them. Some of his teachers in his youth had later wondered if his mind was too rigid, his hands unable to fathom how to create beyond what had already been invented. Though his control over his aether was exemplary and his temper diligent, it was this lack of creativity that truly barred him from understanding Altima’s domain.

Perhaps that had been why he had become so close to the other.

“What you see before you are the graduate pieces of this decade’s crop of students,” Altima announced proudly, spreading her arms as if to encompass everything within the hall. “Spanning from the visual arts to even elemental invocation, I do believe that this decade boasts the most variety yet. Fourteen students in total—an auspicious number, wouldn’t you say?”

Elidibus wasn’t sure what exactly was auspicious about that number beyond it being the same number of Convocation members, but he nodded nonetheless.

“Would you show me around, Altima?” He asked her. “I don’t know where to start.”

The woman grinned at him, the cheery expression at odds with the solemn mask set above her lips. “Of course. But wouldn’t you say that we should start… right at the start!” She let out a laugh, gesturing for him to follow her.

She led their way to an exhibit in the north-eastern corner of the hall. This particular corner seemed to display more traditional art pieces, for Elidibus could see two paintings displayed alongside a colossal marble figure.

It was a curious and marvellous statue. A near-exact replica of a man half-masked, robes in the process of falling from his body. One eye was left exposed as the mask threatened to fall from his face; his hood was down to reveal long locks that flew due to unseen wind; his chest and belly were revealed, though his robes had pooled where they had been gathered at his hips.

The visitors that had visited the gallery in the early hours since the exhibition started had marvelled at this piece just as much as they had murmured in disapproval. It was an intentionally sensual piece, Elidibus was fairly certain, scandalous in the figure’s exposure. But he paid no mind to the anatomy on display, his eyes instead following the curved lines of the marble so incongruous to its usual sharp and angular nature. Somehow, the sculptor had managed to chisel the stone so smooth and fine that light shone through the marble as if it were made truly of fabric.

“This is Pygmalion’s graduate work,” she introduced once Elidibus had had a moment to peer over the exhibit. “Pygmalion is slated to enter the stonemasons guild, if I’m not mistaken. Ever since he had first entered the Department of the Arts, he showed great affinity for earth manipulation. I do believe that he created this by hand once he had conceptualised the marble from which the statue was hewn… But I may have misremembered. Each of the students left descriptions along with their piece, things that they believed would enhance one’s understanding of their art.”

Elidibus nodded. And he looked to the small plaque that had been placed unobtrusively at the base of the statue. All that had been written was My Love .

Was it a tribute to something that the student loved? To someone? It was ambiguous enough to leave Elidibus pondering over the description.

Altima seemed pleased when he finally looked over at her. “Done? Next up, we have twin paintings from twin students,” she continued to explain, showing their way through the room.

One after the other, Elidibus was introduced to works of art that he examined with a growing sense of wonder at the sheer variety of works that could be created.

His favourite was difficult to pick when each and every work was imbued with the hard work and dedication of each student. Nevertheless, the most technically impressive had to be the elemental invocation that Altima had mentioned previously. It was a wondrously small orb, a swirling vortex of aether that bled from element to element; it was a display of perfect mastery over aether that it didn’t collapse even when opposing elements would bleed into one another in spite of its size.

“Imagine my surprise when Hekate decided against accepting the invitation to join the Words of Lahabrea!” Altima had exclaimed. “Apparently, his passion was far more aligned with destroying concepts than making them. Perhaps Fandaniel will be able to make something with his talents…”

“Would Pashtarot’s order not be more suited in this case?” Elidibus had wondered. “Among their Words are those dedicated to keeping the star safe from rampant beasts and concepts.”

“Oh, you’re right. I’ll have to remember to mention this to Hekate…”

The last of the art pieces that had fascinated Elidibus was a concept matrix for something described as a “printing press”—a method to create a high volume of parchment texts without the need for a quill.

“This particular student I can see having a great future within the Bureau of the Architect,” Altima had said with a content sigh. “Could you imagine? Creating books would be greatly optimised with this concept.”

Elidibus wasn’t certain if this would be able to truly displace the necessity of memory crystals and tomestones within Amaurot, but it was most certainly both a useful and wonderful creation. Books were greatly preferred beyond the walls of their great city after all.

“The future of Amaurot remains ever bright,” Elidibus murmured as they passed by the last of the fourteen exhibits on display. “Their talents are all so very promising. Thank you, Altima, for your work in guiding the star.”

Altima’s resplendent smile widened. “And thank you Elidibus for yours. It is your patronage and advice that keeps our people connected.” She reached out, placing her hand atop of Elidibus’ head. “You are to head over to the Bureau of the Administrator next, are you not? Send the Chief Overseer my regards.”

“I will. May the star ever guide your way.”

Chapter 8: Trap

Summary:

It is never a dull day in Amaurot.
In which the Speaker is in a predicament. And requires aid.

The doors didn’t swing open as he approached, something that would be a curiosity when all doorways had been programmed to open unless locked or specified by the occupants of the room that they guarded. However, as this particular room belonged to the paragon Lahabrea, Elidibus wasn’t all too surprised.

It was still strange. Lahabrea had summoned him urgently and would surely be expecting him.

He moved forth, raising his hand to knock against the door’s surface. The moment his knuckles made contact, the solid wood surface seemed to vanish.

“Enter!”

… So he was expected after all?

Elidibus paused at the raised voice, a sense of confusion and wariness growing within him. Then did he move forth into the room, coming to a stop once he’d passed the threshold.

“Lahabrea,” he called in greeting. Elidibus’ brows furrowed as he took in the sight before him, going still as he processed everything he was seeing. “… And what exactly was the reason for your summons?”

The man in question stood behind a crackling wall of red aether, chains and angry plumes of flame alike keeping him separate from all else within the room. There was a rare look of pure anger on Lahabrea’s face, eyes wide as he paced back and forth behind his cage.

Even at a cursory glance, Elidibus could see how the wall prevented any aether within its confines from escaping. It was a cage to contain the most violent and explosive of concepts… so how had Lahabrea ended up trapped within it?

It seemed that the answer was this: in front of the cage wriggled a content fledgling bird with three heads, clacking its beaks in a bright and somehow mirthful manner as it regarded the Speaker with all six of its eyes.

“Release me from these blasted confines!” The Speaker snapped. “The switch is on the console over there. And trap the wretched thing while you’re at it!”

Elidibus looked down at the small concept who looked back at him with mischief gleaming in its eyes. It fluttered its wings and let out a triumphant squawk, taking flight to perch upon a shelf far above Elidibus’ head.

He couldn’t help his smile. It was rare to see Lahabrea so outwitted.

“Of course, Lahabrea. I merely need a moment.”

Elidibus moved towards the console that Lahabrea had indicated towards earlier, perusing the many buttons upon its interface. Once he’d located the release button, he pressed it—and Lahabrea burst forth from his restraints with aether yet crackling, fire licking at his fingertips. He looked near apocalyptical with his fury, rage barely restrained within his eyes.

“It is a testament to your prowess that the concept is so intelligent,” Elidibus remarked, even as he watched Lahabrea throw whips of flame at the bird.

Each lash missed by mere ilms, the bird managing to weave out of reach at the very last second. Elidibus found himself rather in awe of the concept’s agility.

“Intelligence? It has anything but. Once I get my hands on the thing…” Lahabrea’s voice was a growl. “Spare the flattery, Elidibus. Aid me in catching the thing!”

With Elidibus’ aid, it took them the better part of a bell before they managed to inter it. Lahabrea seemed particularly vindictive in the number of layers of chains he wrapped around the concept, though his rage had clearly settled enough that it was more akin to smouldering coals than a raging fire.

It was then seemingly crushed between Lahabrea’s hands, its aether dissipating and condensing into a concept matrix. Lahabrea tossed it into his desk with a disgusted scoff.

“How did it manage to capture you?” Elidibus asked once Lahabrea had been able to smooth his robes and fix his hair, once more the composed Speaker of the Convocation.

“ Do not ask any questions about the previous matter, Emissary.”

Elidibus smiled faintly. “As you will, master Lahabrea.”

Lahabrea moved to sit at his desk, brusquely gesturing for Elidibus to sit opposite to him. He did so, perching lightly upon the plush chair in front of Lahabrea’s desk.

The man was silent for a long moment. He finally let out a sigh. “My thanks, Elidibus. I called you here to aid me, with the understanding that you would keep this matter discreet.”

Elidibus blinked behind his mask. “Of course. Though I’m confused as to why you didn’t call over any of the other professors within the Akadaemia, who would have been able to respond to this matter far more promptly than I.”

“I’ve already answered your implied question. Discretion, Elidibus. You are able to keep this matter entirely silent.” Lahabrea paused. “Had I called upon anyone else—or stars forbid, Azem had been nearby—this incident would be known throughout the city within a day.”

Elidibus conceded to that. Azem would have found much amusement in telling anyone who would listen about Lahabrea’s predicament. “I shall keep this matter entirely to myself, you needn’t worry about that. Was that the only matter you wished to… ah, discuss?”

“No. Though it was convenient that you could come here for more than one purpose.” Lahabrea leaned forward at his desk, steepling his fingers. “You are of a similar age to the students of the Akadaemia, are you not?”

Elidibus tilted his head to the side, confused by the sudden question. “Yes, when compared to the eldest of your undergraduate students,” he confirmed after a moment’s thought. “I believe I am a few decades older than the average student however.”

“... I see.” Lahabrea’s brows had furrowed. “Perhaps you are not the right person to ask in that case.”

Such a curious statement could only have one consequence. With his interest now piqued, Elidibus found himself unwilling to allow Lahabrea to drop this topic.

“It would be better to know what your question is, such that I can answer it to the best of my abilities. Then you can decide upon my qualifications,” Elidibus proposed.

Lahabrea was silent for a while. His expression darkened, and he seemed to have some form of internal conflict that prevented him from voicing his thoughts.

It was a day of rarities that Elidibus could bear witness to Lahabrea in so many forms: lacking composure, at a loss for words, perhaps even flustered .

“I will not elaborate upon the details of my circumstances. However. I require… advice upon resolving conflict within a relationship of mine.” Lahabrea finally asked. “How would you go about– making amends with someone of an age similar to yours?”

There was an implied context that the relationship involved someone younger than Elidibus, most likely a student within the Akadaemia. Igeyorhm had once laughed about Lahabrea’s acerbic personality and how students tended to dislike him for it; Elidibus could therefore assume that Lahabrea intended on bridging this gap of dislike with his students.

Elidibus was thoughtful as he considered this.

“May I ask as to the reason for this conflict?” He asked quietly.

Lahabrea’s response was prompt. “No.”

Elidibus hummed. “Conflict arises due to a variety of factors. A difference in beliefs… a misunderstanding that has yet to be clarified… judgement that an unfair act has occurred… Perhaps, even that someone has caused feelings of hurt in the other. You should consider the cause of the conflict you wish to resolve and therefore what actions you can take to mitigate the feelings of dislike or hurt that have been caused.”

“You needn’t spell it out as if I am a child, Elidibus.” Lahabrea stated impatiently.

“I do not know the reason for your unpleasant relationship. I can only give the most general advice possible,” Elidibus reasoned.

The Speaker let out a sigh, exasperated but resigned.

“... Very well. And if they cannot recall the cause of this conflict?” Lahabrea asked almost tentatively.

Elidibus tilted his head to the side. “It may be unpleasant, but reminding them of the cause could be the first step you take in making amends. You are implying that it was caused by an act that was carried out by either yourself or the other person involved. In that particular case, taking accountability is important. I personally would appreciate the knowledge that the person who offended me understands the cause for the offense and will take measures to prevent it from happening again.”

Lahabrea didn’t seem particularly upset at Elidibus’ assumption. His furrowed brows had only deepened, clearly thoughtful and considering what Elidibus had said.

Elidibus had only one final thing to add.

“Azem once told me that people are rarely rational,” he began, “and that emotions can often cause people to ignore truths that they do not wish to accept, especially from the person or event that caused that emotion in the first place. Changing the context in which these truths are given could help. Perhaps another person could help you speak with the person to whom you are referring.”

“I will take that into consideration… even if part of it is from Azem .” Lahabrea said finally. “Thank you for your thoughts, Elidibus. That is all that I needed.”

Elidibus smiled. “It was my pleasure to aid you–in both matters today. I wish you the best in your endeavours.”

Notes:

Yup. Pre-Panda.

Notes:

I'm also found on Twitter @ nymmiah, where I occasionally upload sketches and ideas.