Chapter Text
In the stillness of dawn, a lone woman wanders throughout a well tended garden, running idle hands over the various flora and fauna.
“Lobelia…carnations…irises…poppies…”
She murmurs aloud to herself, leisurely admiring the vibrant colors and pleasant scents. Her robes sway as she walks, brilliantly white and ornamented with clusters of golden roses and vines. A slight breeze teases at the onyx strands of her hair, pulled away from her face by a simple sun shaped clip, forming a dark waterfall down her back.
She taps idly at the watch hanging around her waist from a golden chain. In the shape of a brilliant sun, thick rays just out from its circular base. Each ray is curiously engraved with a cycle of the moon, and the center of the watch holds a brilliant cerulean gem. Crafted with meticulous hands by her father, it is warm against her hip, and makes a lovely low sound with each click of her fingernails against it.
In front of a cluster of royal lilies she pauses, lightly pressing an elegant fingertip to the edge of a fragile white petal, smiling softly.
“You’re late.”
A curt voice disturbs the peace, wrought with age and undisguised weariness.
Cereza bites back a groan.
“Good morning to you as well, Brother Peter.”
“Prayers started half an hour ago and yet you were nowhere to be seen. Why you insist on acting like an empty headed wain I cannot understand.”
Looking to the horizon, Cereza notices the edges of the sky melting from pitch black to warm cerise, color creeping across the celestial landscape. She admits to herself, begrudgingly, that she had lost track of the time. She pushes circular golden frames up the bridge of her nose with a sigh.
A defensible lapse, in her mind. The Sanctuary was much larger than any she’d ever visited, and her unsanctioned exploration of it had led her to this magnificent garden. Tucked away beyond a pitifully weak barrier, its floor damp earth and its ceiling open to the elements, it is a relief from the never ending halls of gold and marble – all lifeless attempts to replicate a sense of true beauty.
She’s homesick for the rolling fields and fresh air of her travels. It’s no wonder she’d forgotten about her morning duties.
Abroad, such an oversight was no real cause for concern. It would earn her a halfhearted scolding at worst. But here, in Vigrid, any mistake seems tantamount to sin.
“I had hoped to start my prayers in this most lovely of gardens. It is hard to focus on the time when so invested in the beauty of our beloved Creator, wouldn't you agree?”
“And yet there is no prayer book in your hands. Were you planning to recite them by memory?”
“Perhaps,” Cereza smiles charmingly, though it does nothing to soften the man’s features.
"You're trespassing here, and will leave at once. I suggest you follow me to prayer if you wish to avoid scrubbing the kitchen tiles as punishment."
Without another word he turns to leave, striding with purpose from the small garden and toward the direction of the Atrium. Cereza follows close behind, sparing one last look toward the lilies, heels sinking into the dewy earth.
——————————————
The Atrium is ostentatious, though Cereza had expected as much considering the rest of the Sanctuary she'd seen thus far. The glass ceiling is alight in a blaze, the sun now swallowing the horizon whole to usher in the dawn of a new day.
Rows of Lumen kneel in prayer, eyes cast toward the Father delivering the sermon, well loved prayer books clutched between reverent fingers. Though a few heads swivel to take in her fashionably late arrival, most of the congregation remains enraptured by the soothing voice of the Sage who is currently extolling the virtues of their precious Creator at the front of the assembly. Brother Peter spares her one final glance before quietly taking his place toward the front of the room, kneeling alongside his peers.
Which leaves Cereza alone and without a place to settle in. As a Sage, it was traditional to sit towards the front, but her late arrival meant that there was no room to be had, and to try and make space would cause an even worse disruption. Quickly scanning the room makes it clear the only available space is in the back, among the acolytes in training. Brother Peter and his chums were no doubt laughing at her humiliation – he’d been nothing but hostile since her arrival, scoffing at her unusual mannerisms and clearly displeased with being her ‘guide’ of sorts. With a resigned sigh, she settles in next to a young boy who seems on the verge of a mighty yawn.
“Would you mind sharing your prayer book with me?”
Blinking owlishly up at her, he seems startled by the presence of an unfamiliar Sage – and a Sister, no less. He pushes back the mousy brown locks falling into his eyes, wary and intrigued.
“Where’s yours?” He mumbles, casting his eyes back to the front of the room, anxious at the thought of being scolded for speaking aloud during prayer. She keeps her voice low, sympathetic to his fear and unwilling to subject him to whatever punishment a particularly cruel Sage might dream up for the boy.
“I was hunting demons last night, you see…and one gobbled my holy text up, leather cover and all.” The boy whips his head toward her, shock and awe on his face.
“Really?”
“Really.”
"What kind of demon? Was it huge? Did you smite it by yourself?”
“How about this,” Cereza whispers, smirk tugging at her lips, “If you share your book with me, I’ll answer all your questions after this sermon.”
“Deal." He shuffles closer, opening the book so they both can read it together. Cereza waits a few moments for him to notice the issue, trying not to laugh.
“You know, you must be a very bright acolyte."
“Wha– why?”
“Well, only the smartest people can read Enochian upside down.”
The boy balks, quickly rotating the book right side up, ears tipped red with embarrassment. Cereza bites down on another smile, flipping them to the correct page and settling in to hear the great Father speak.
——————————————
After the sermon concludes and Cereza fabricates answers to all the acolyte's many, many questions – No, Seamus, the Malphas did not breathe fire, really where are you hearing such stories…but rumor has it there is a spider demon that does – she attempts to make a hasty exit through the crowd of her fellow Lumen. Morning congregation in the Atrium is solely designated for Sages and their acolytes, so the crowd is thinner and easier than it would be at noon, when the human members of the Lumen are allowed into the Atrium to join in holy prayer. Yesterday’s crowd had been larger than any she’d ever seen; apparently, the vast majority of the men in Vigrid were devout worshippers of the Creator.
Her plan to slip out unseen is thwarted, however, as a large, smooth hand wraps around her bicep in a gentle grip, tugging her to a stop. She doesn't bother turning around.
“Father Balder.”
“Sister Cereza. Are you feeling well? I noticed you joined us later than usual this morning.”
“Ah, well. This place is like a maze. I just happened to stumble off the path on my way here,” Cereza lies smoothly, turning to see Peter at Balder’s shoulder, glaring at her with unabashed irritation. “Luckily for me, our dear Brother Peter kindly guided me back to the light," Cereza quips, winking at the Lumen. His face turns an impressive shade of blotchy eggplant, though Balder cuts in before a true argument can break out.
“Yes, many thanks to you Brother Peter. Though if you’ll excuse us, Sister Cereza and I have many things to discuss – and this glorious new day will wait for no one.”
Cereza has to give him credit – though clearly displeased at her teasing and his subsequent dismissal, the older Lumen relaxes slightly at Balder’s kind tone.
“As you wish, Father. May the sun protect you from shadow.”
“And may the Creator’s hand guide your path.”
With a curt bow, Peter takes his leave. Balder wastes no time in guiding Cereza away from the crowd of eager devotees, out of the Atrium and through the winding halls of the Sanctuary.
Our home now, Cereza thinks idly.
It is only once they have reached Balder’s quarters, the door shutting behind them, that the Sage speaks once more.
“You just happened to stumble off the path?”
Flinging herself into a plush chair, heels kicked carelessly off and onto the floor, Cereza pouts.
“You know, I have half a mind to be offended. Neither you nor Peter seem to believe me.”
“That’s Brother Peter to you,” Balder corrects with an air of tired resignation that comes with repeating that which he knows will not be heeded for the millionth time, “and you’d be easier to believe, if not for the mirth which clings to your every lie.”
Cereza dramatically pulls a hand to her chest in mock offense.
“I’ll have you know–”
“Cereza. Please.”
She watches the Sage sit at his desk, fingers pressed to his temples wearily. His attire, golden robes stitched with cerulean thread, are pressed and pristine. The design that adorns them, a fan of peacock feathers, is accented with a single rose at his shoulder. His silver hair is held neatly back from his face with an identical clip to Cereza's own, shiny and well kept. He certainly looks the part of a great and goodly Sage – but only in private like this does she see him let down his walls, the weight of the world heavy on his shoulders. She swallows down a wave of guilt for adding onto his burden.
“I’m sorry, Father,” she apologizes, uncharacteristically quiet. She is reassured by his light chuckle, turning loving eyes onto her once more.
“You’ll be forgiven, my child, if you tell me the real reason for your tardiness to my sermon – which was quite excellent today, if I do say so myself." She’d loved his sermons as a girl, so she has no doubt today’s was just as stellar – but Jubileus protect her if she strokes his ego anymore by voicing that aloud.
“It wasn’t a complete lie,” she starts, smiling innocently at her father’s narrowed eyes, “I was out exploring the Sanctuary and got turned around, only to stumble upon this magnificent garden. I lost track of time, and Peter,” at his glare, she sarcastically corrects, “ Brother Peter brought me back.”
Balder doesn’t respond for a moment, eyes narrowed, trying to ascertain the truthfulness of his daughter’s confession. Eventually he sighs, shaking his head.
“Only you could accidentally stumble into the Elder’s private gardens. You were lucky all the guards were at the sermon – otherwise they would have certainly would have come up with a creative punishment for you.” There is a warning there, in the slant of his tone. She swallows, the budding apprehension that had formed in her gut upon arrival to Vigrid beginning to bloom.
“Well how was I supposed to know?” Cereza throws up her arms, exasperated. “It’s not like the bloody place had a sign.”
“Language, child.”
“And anyhow, was it not your suggestion that I acquaint myself with our new home?”
“I had intended for you to locate the kitchens and baths, not comb the Sanctuary looking for trouble.”
“I wasn’t looking for trouble.”
“And yet trouble always seems to find you. How curious,” Balder teases fondly, smile touching the corners of his eyes.
Cereza groans, sinking back into the chair and giving up on the argument. She lets her eyes drift shut, listening to the sounds of his golden rings clink against the marble desk as he removes them one by one. She’s more used to seeing his bare hands covered in dirt, shoveling hay in some dilapidated barn or planting a row of meager crops. She wonders if he, too, is feeling out of place with this level of opulence.
Which was not to say that the Lumen didn’t generally have an appetite for finer things, but years of traveling and never had she seen such blatant displays of wealth and power. Most Lumen holdings were run primarily by human members of the clan – small churches to keep their local communities fed and housed, advising town and city leaders when asked. The larger the city, the more money poured into those Lumen bases, and the more likely it was to find actual Sages presiding over matters.
But still, despite her father’s high rank and favorability among the clan, he had impressed upon her the importance of simplicity and survival. They opted more often than not to stay with humans, sleeping on lumpy cots or in barns, doing what they could to help but never overstaying their welcome. Their trips into Lumen controlled cities were few and far between, but even the opulence there was no match for Vigrid. The entirety of the Lumen land practically glints with gold.
No longer could her father get away with old robes and warm smiles – here, looking the part seems just as important as playing it.
“I know this is an adjustment,” Balder breaks the silence, as if reading her thoughts. “I know you are used to having more freedom, and worshiping in your own way. But Cereza,” he stands, coming to place a gentle hand atop her head, “I must ask you to try and do what is expected of you here.”
“Father –”
“Which includes coming to every sermon on time, and not venturing too far off on your own.”
Cereza clenches her jaw tight to prevent herself from lashing out, trying to contain her childlike petulance. It wasn’t her father’s fault they were stuck in a gilded cage, after all. He was just as disappointed to be here as she was, if not moreso; he’d escaped Vigrid once, to travel the world and do good as he saw fit. She can’t imagine how it must feel for him to be forced back.
His hands toy with the ends of her obsidian hair, a comforting smile on his face. She feels the tension leak out of her slowly, leaning into the familiar touch.
“It won’t be forever. Just until –”
“– You become the Elder, or are dismissed. I know, Father.”
And she does. Though Balder could explain her eccentricities elsewhere – oh, she is adopted, she’s been raised on the road, she’s a bit odd but devoted to the Creator I assure you, don’t fret dear Brothers – here, in Vigrid, there will be no such leeway.
She can feel the difference in the stares alone, Sages and humans alike taken aback by their beloved Father raising a daughter of all things, one with hair as dark as shadow and a tongue sharper than a blade.
She looks more Witch than Sage, she had overheard more than once already.
If only they knew, she thinks to herself with a twinge of bitterness.
“Well, good.” He grins, nodding to himself, clearly feeling accomplished. “I have several more commitments today, so I won’t see you until the evening meal and prayer.”
“Alright,” she says, already dreading a meal surrounded by judgemental Sages and overly curious humans. On the road, she’d relished shared meals in taverns and community homes, learning about various cultures and connecting with the locals – but here, the gazes are sharper, consequences attached to every word she dare utter.
“If you find yourself with another urge to wander,” she rolls her eyes at him, which he mirrors back at her before continuing, “then I might suggest heading to the library. It is quite magnificent, and the one on Thule was modeled after it.”
Cereza is up and out of her chair immediately, mood brightened as she heads to the door. She misses Balder’s private smirk at his daughter’s eagerness.
“Stay out of trouble, Father,” she calls, hair whipping behind her as she strides out the door and down the hall.
——————————————
From her chosen perch, she tracks her target with beady eyes. He moves closer, humming to himself idly. The stack of books in his arms towers over his head, but he seems unperturbed by the predicament, walking slowly and with purpose through the winding shelves toward his destination.
Just a bit more…closer…closer…closer –
“CAW!”
“Goodness!”
The various tomes go flying from his grasp as he jolts at the unexpected sound, glancing around wildly to find the source.
Cereza allows him to search for a moment, delighting in his wide eyed shock, before cawing once more. He shoves wide square frames up his nose with pudgy fingers, frazzled look fading from his eyes as he finally sees the small leucistic crow dancing atop of a nearby bookshelf.
“Cereza?”
“Caw!”
She hops from one clawed foot to the other, pleased with her little prank, fluffing out her cream tailfeathers. Her mottled beak clicks in a mimicry of laughter. The rest of her plumage, as dark as her hair, shines in the light of the room as she celebrates.
“Come down here, please.”
She acquiesces easily, her fun had. She leaps off the shelf and transforms midair to her usual form mere inches in front of the man.
“Greetings, Ciaran!”
“Yes, yes. Good to see you, Cereza. Now help me pick up these books, you raclir orri.”
Cereza obediently picks up the fallen tomes, quite a bit heavier than she had anticipated them being, while the man watches on.
Ciaran doesn’t look much different from the last time she had seen him, nose buried deep in the Lumen library in France. Still short and stocky, head barely reaching her shoulders, with a soft belly, wide set shoulders, and arms deceptively stronger than they look. His eyes, a deep ochre, are as curious as ever, framed nicely by thick rimmed glasses perched atop a cute button nose.
The only noticeable difference is his hair – once a short shaved russet, it now falls into his eyes, streaked with grey.
“What brings you to Vigrid, Ciaran?”
The library had been void of occupants when she entered, but she keeps her voice low to prevent any nosey patrons from overhearing her informal address. His presence is the first soothing balm she’s found in the gilded maze of the Sanctuary. Her first proper teacher, after Balder, and the man who’d fostered her love of learning.
“The Elder requested my presence for assistance on a project.”
“Oh? Pray tell?”
“Not everything is your business little one,” he reminds her, leading her to a different area to reshelf the books in her arms. “But even if I wanted to tell you, I cannot. He has yet to give me details on any of it, beyond saying my expertise would be most helpful.”
He takes the books one at a time from her arms, stretching on the tips of his toes to reach the top of the stack. They slide back in their proper places on the shelf, his fingers lingering with affection on the spine of each.
“Quite an honor,” Cereza points out as he finishes.
“But?” He prompts, hearing the unspoken remark at the back of her throat.
“But I didn’t think you wished to return to Vigrid, is all,” she comments nonchalantly, bending over to peer at the books he had returned.
Umbran History and Culture, Vol. II. A Witch’s Guide to Summoning. Potions and their Purposes. Vigridian History, Vol IX.
“I hadn’t…but when the Elder summons you, there is no option to decline.” He shrugs, as if the summons had not derailed his every plan. Unlike the Sages, Brother Ciaran was only human, and had a limited lifespan to complete his work – documenting the progression of Lumen culture over the millenia. Cereza knows deep down he must be anxious over how much this detour will cost his research.
She hums in response before tapping a well manicured nail against the spine of one of the returned tomes.
“Taking an interest in witches now, are we?”
Ciaran grins. “They are quite fascinating, you know. I had tried to learn a bit more in town about them, from some of the human shopkeepers, but they kept mum.”
“Out of fear?”
Cereza has only met a handful of Umbra throughout her lifetime. The ones she’s spoken with were all pleasant enough, but it is hard not to allow rumors to bias one’s opinion of them as a whole.
They deal in darkness. They sell their souls. Their magic is pure evil.
Such rhetoric seemed to be gaining popularity, much to her idle curiosity and her father’s increasing frustration. Balder always insisted that the Umbra were just as good and kind as the Lumen – though their beliefs and methods differed, they were working toward the same goals of peace and prosperity for all.
“Umbra and Lumen, Witch and Sage, we are two sides of the same coin. Only together can we achieve balance – to lose either side would mean succumbing to chaos entirely.”
Cereza trusts her father’s judgement. There was only one Umbra she had any reason to look unfavorably upon, and she is not so foolish as to equate her personal vendetta to a fatal flaw of all witches.
“Fear? Goodness, no! Quite the opposite, actually. It almost seemed that the Vigridians were protecting them.”
“From what?”
“Outsiders, I presume. The Umbra are notoriously private – very few are allowed into their halls, and even less are trusted with any information regarding their powers or rituals. Though I meant no harm, I imagine they were simply doing their due diligence to dissuade any unwarranted curiosity.”
“The witches I have met have certainly been private, but even here? I had assumed we all worked much closer in the heart of the world.”
“In some ways, I suppose – there is a higher concentration of Sages and Witches, and any major political decisions with far reaching impact are made here, together…but I doubt most Sages here have ever set foot into Umbran territory. From what I’ve gathered, all meetings are held here in the Sanctuary or in the Hall of Time. Or Thule, but that is reserved for the scholars as you know.”
At the mention of Thule, Cereza perks up. There, most of the stuffiness and boundaries completely melted away as Sages and Witches alike put their heads together to uncover the island's many secrets. Cereza had only visited thrice, but it was by far the most interesting place she’d ever traveled to. She hopes once Balder is installed as the next Elder, he will permit her to take a post of some kind there. She isn’t much of a scholar, truth be told – too easily distracted – but she is sure she could be of use somehow.
At her longing expression, Ciaran smiles fondly, placing a warm palm on her bicep. The gesture, familiar and comfortable, brings a matching grin to her own features. She had missed him so, so much.
“I’m sure you’ll have the opportunity to meet your fair share of Umbra while you’re here.”
“Perhaps. Though Father intends I stay out of trouble, so unless they decide to scuttle out from their little hidey holes, I may be out of luck.”
She doesn’t miss how Ciaran’s eyes brighten at the mention of her father. She fights back a laugh when he clears his throat and adopts the worst attempt at a casual tone she’s ever heard.
“Ah, yes. How is he doing these days?”
“As well as you’d expect, being groomed to be the next Elder.” She pauses, before adding, “He seemed pleased that you happened to be here as well.”
The tips of Ciaran’s ears flare red, and he shoves his glasses back up his nose with more force than necessary, nervous and hopeful.
“Is that so?”
“He was disappointed he wasn’t able to stop by with me to see you. I’m sure he’d love it if you visited his quarters – that is, if you can find the time.”
“Oh! Well – yes, of course! I can, I mean, I will, yes, if that would be welcome?”
“Absolutely,” she assures, watching in fascination as a ruddy blush tracks across his cheeks at a startling pace.
Balder hadn’t said as much, of course, and Cereza isn’t sure he even knows Ciaran is also here – but she feels confident that her read on her father’s feelings are correct. Ciaran had felt the closest thing to family that the two of them had had back in her youth, when the historian had traveled with them for several years. Balder had been morose for weeks when the trio had parted ways.
He might hate my meddling, she thinks, but it’s for his own good. The old fool would go months without seeing Ciaran out of fear of bothering him or some such nonsense.
“So,” Ciaran clears his throat, “Since you’ve been sent here to stay out of trouble, how about giving me a hand with some notetaking? It will give me a chance to see if you’ve kept up with your written Enochian. I remember how much you used to hate those lessons.”
“You’re worse than Father about that.”
“Have you considered your father and I have a point, then?”
“Never.”
——————————————
Three hours of tedious notetaking later, Cereza leaves the library with a stiff neck and throbbing hands. Seeing Ciaran had put her more at ease, but his expectations were higher than ever, and she knows her wrists will suffer for it tomorrow.
Well into the afternoon, the sound of energized shouts draw her attention from a distance. She sets off toward the noise, curious – the sun high above the clouds, she surely has enough time to explore before the evening meal and prayer.
The paths of the Sanctuary are nearly identical in appearance. Her heels click over marble tiles inlaid with golden grout, and the towering windows warm her in the light of the midday sun. Everything is designed to be seamless, hallway after hallway following the same pattern, everything connected under the whole of the Sanctuary. She is grateful to be guided by the continuing cacophony, lest she find herself lost once more someplace she is forbidden to tread.
There were only so many lectures from Balder she could handle.
The closer Cereza gets, the clearer the sounds become. Clangs of metal, thuds of wood, and shouted jeers and prayers float down the hall. It is of no surprise when the hallway expands to reveal a sparring room, filled with Vigridian Sages and their acolytes.
The room is spacious, high ceilings allowing the noise to echo for long moments, sound practically reverberating in the air as various Sages and acolytes square off. The walls are painted with detailed reliefs of the Auditio – Courageous Fortitudo the Bringer of Flame, Temperate Temperantia the Manipulator of Wind, Prudent Sapientia the Controller of Seas, and Just Iustitia the Giver of Life. They stare down at the gathered Sages in judgement, stony faces unnerving.
Sapientia’s jaw is open wide, maw poised to devour. He was always her favorite.
The scent of blood lingers in the air. Only a trace of it remains, hastily wiped away in the middle of the floor, though several acolytes still clutch bloody rags close to their chests. The marble makes more sense, here at least – easier to clean.
None of the assembled Sages seem to take note of her arrival, attention focused on the ongoing duel before their eyes. Two acolytes, judging by their loose attire emblazoned with a rayless sun and their arms uncovered. Grappling in the center of the floor, she can already tell they are well matched, struggling to gain the upper hand.
Cereza never properly trained with other acolytes. Only Balder and his angels, for years and years and years, and then the incident in France. She tries not to dwell on that, though.
It looks like a good fight. Her hands twitch, desperate to summon her staff, Tamiel the Unseen, and join the fray, cutting down anyone that would stand in her path. Here, in the heart of Lumen society, she imagines she would find greater challenges, something worthy to sink her bladed staff into besides low tier demons and Father constantly holding back.
But, despite all of her mischief, this is one of the few rules she knows not to break. It would put not only her in danger, but Balder as well, to reveal the true extent of her power. There was no leeway in Vigrid – any Sage worth their salt would know she was holding back, leading to questions neither her nor her father are prepared to answer.
Cereza swallows. She has no business here.
She turns on sharp heels, already dreading finding her way back through the marbled maze –
– Only to collide with something painfully solid. Her glasses crunch.
“Ouch.”
“My apologies! One moment, please.”
Vision blurred, she can only stand useless as the broken glass and wire is plucked from her face by startlingly cold fingers. A whispered incantation later, and the frames are clumsily placed back over her eyes.
"Hello, Sister Cereza. Please forgive me, but I swear they are as good as new."
She readjusts the glasses atop her prominent nose, finding them satisfactory, and looks up.
She is met with the sight of a broad chest, garbed in a finely stitched sun pattern, rays pointed and sharp. Straining her neck, she meets the stranger’s gaze.
"It's alright, Brother…"
"Larei."
"It is alright, Brother Larei. No harm done," she says, trying not to blatantly gawk at the man before her. Unnaturally tall even by Sage standards, he is a good two heads above her in height. With a strong jaw, ashen blonde hair, a neat trimmed beard and pale jade eyes, he makes quite the picture.
Handsome, Cereza thinks. And a nice voice to boot. But far too tall.
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Brother Larei. Thank you for the quick fix. But I am afraid I was just leaving, so if you would kindly step aside –"
"You're not going to spar?" He looks a bit like a kicked puppy, eyes wide and pleading. She shakes her head.
"No."
"Oh, but you have to! It's been so long since we've had anyone exciting to play with." She blinks. He smiles. "It will be a real treat."
"I assure you, it wouldn't be particularly exciting," she argues, feeling the room begin to focus on them. So much for avoiding attention.
"Nonsense! I insist. Brother, come here!" He calls across the room, and in seconds she can feel another awfully tall presence at her back.
When she turns, she is met with an identical face. Her neck already hurts.
"There's two of you?"
"Mother used to say that the Creator did such a good job the first time, she decided to replicate the perfection as a gift to the world," Larei says jovially.
"So which of you is the first, then? The original perfection?"
"Me," the twins reply simultaneously. Larei laughs heartily. His brother's face remains eerily blank.
Cereza doesn't miss his attire. Clothed from the chin down in pristine white robes, not a speck of skin shows besides his face. Even his hands are covered with long gloves running up his forearms and disappearing into his sleeves. Cereza shudders to think what must lie beneath.
The last Sage she’d met who had dressed so was in France, when –
Larei claps her on the shoulder, grinning wide. One golden tooth shines in the front of his mouth. He gestures to the other man with his free hand.
"This is my brother, Ieral."
Ieral stiffly bows.
"I've been wanting to meet you," Ieral says, with all the inflection of a hollow drum, "The Sister Sage, home at last. Welcome." Cereza bows in return, even more keen on leaving, suddenly unsettled by this second twin.
"I've spent my whole life traveling, so I am not sure 'home' applies to me, but thank you."
"Is the Sunrise Valley not home to us all?"
It feels, very suddenly, like the air has gone from the room. A clear test, judging by his thin lipped grimace. She was always rubbish at them under Ciaran's watchful eye, but Balder's warning rings clear in her mind.
"Yes, of course, Brother Ieral."
Ieral's lips twitch. She has an inkling it is his best attempt at a smile.
"Yes, our glorious home, one of the greatest gifts bestowed upon our worthy heads by the Creator herself! Speaking of, Brother, please assist me in a matter most urgent – we must convince our Sister to join in the daily sparring."
"Why do you refrain?" He rubs at his wrists absentmindedly, as if pained. She can guess why that might be.
"I'm not much of a fighter…certainly not compared to you, Brothers. My training was quite unorthodox, you see. I'd prefer not to make a fool of myself so soon before the congregation."
The words are sour on her tongue. The implication that she is weak, and worse yet, that Balder had failed to train her properly, burns at her pride.
As it has her whole life. Truth, chained in the cavity of her chest.
"Watch us for a time, then, with the acolytes. Brother Lynn can help guide you, and when you are ready, we shall test you alongside the babes." He inclines his head toward the boys milling about, heads bowed and tense as they wait for their turn to prove themselves before their peers and teachers.
"That isn't necessary."
"It is," Ieral insists. "To be Sage is first and foremost to protect. I am sure that the great Father did not neglect to teach you that much, at least."
“Father Balder is an excellent teacher, and neglected nothing in his training. Any fault rests solely on my shoulders,” she bites back, ignoring how Larei’s hand tightens on her shoulder, clearly trying to calm her down. Larei’s face wrinkles as if assaulted by a foul smell.
“Even so –”
She imagines kicking him down the long stone steps on Thule.
"It will be grand!" Larei cuts in, mood ever bright as he tries to cut through the mounting tension. "We'll have you in fighting shape in no time. It will be the perfect way for all of us to bond."
She smiles, but it does not reach her eyes.
"Thank you for your brilliant generosity."
"We are merely performing our duty, to our home and our Creator," Ieral says. She imagines him hitting a crate of porcupines at the bottom of the steps, sharp spines piercing through his thick robes.
"We can start today –"
"Tomorrow," she insists, smoothly moving around Larei's massive frame. "I've been instructed to familiarize myself with the ins and outs of my new home, and I have yet to fully map the Sanctuary in my mind's eye. So if you'll excuse me."
"Allow us to guide you," Ieral says. Larei's hand falls to her shoulder once more, cold and concerned.
"Right. Thank you," she grits out.
In her imagination, the porcupines gain the breath of a dragon. The fire is a stunning violet as it lights their ashen hair ablaze. She likes violet. The vision is lovely.
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Her reflection stares back at her, exhausted.
The twins had not only insisted on leading her around the Sanctuary at an abysmal pace, explaining in excruciating detail every room and its purpose as if nothing else could possibly hold more thrill, but then proceeded to accompany her to evening meal and prayer. Stuck between the shoulders of two Lumen whose distant relative must have been a towering cypress, the day had dragged on far longer than she could stand. To add insult to injury, Balder had spent the meal hassled by various Lumen keen to hear stories of his travels, and she hadn’t had a chance to speak to him again beyond a passing hello.
Ciaran had smiled and sat behind her during prayer, at least. Thank the Creator for small miracles.
She now finds herself in her bathroom, any excitement she’d had for exploring thoroughly dulled, staring back at her expression in an ornate mirror, inlaid with pearls. In these halls of gold and marble, she stands out like a sore thumb, hair blacker than shadow, skin paler than moonlight.
According to Balder, she is the spitting image of her mother.
Not for the first time, she feels the bitterness of resentment burn in her throat. If only her mother had stuck around to help her more, to teach her how to control whatever Umbran magic may be lurking within, to suppress it, then she could participate alongside her fellow Sages, could cease being the odd one out – or at the very least, be less of a burden on her father, her very existence a constant risk to everything he has spent his life building.
Balder rarely spoke of the woman, for there was little he could say. A single night dalliance had resulted in the life of a baby that should have been impossible. Rosa had dumped her on Balder and ran.
“She was in danger,” Balder had explained countless times, “She left to protect you.”
Yeah right, Cereza thinks.
She pokes at her cheeks, bares her teeth in a grimace at the mirror. Her own face, a reminder of all she’d never get to know, the curse that is her life.
She splashes her face with cool water, banishing the thoughts to the back of her mind. They would do her no good. Drying her face with a cloud soft towel, she hears her name called from the other room in a strangled tone.
Her father stands in the doorway, the deathlike pallor of his face setting every one of her nerves on edge.
“What’s wrong?”
His white knuckled fist is gripped tight around a simple cream colored paper, broken seal red as blood.
“We’ve been summoned to see the Elder.”
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