Chapter 1: Shadows & Gold
Chapter Text
Mae rushes through the undergrowth, dipping and leaping over logs and under vines. Old scraps sing as her skin presses against brush. Her head whips around on a swivel. Mae listens for the quick hum of mechanical parts. Three days of hiding and running from scout bots.
Her lungs burn .
She stops briefly to catch her breath. The forest rings with the sound of birds and insects. Reaching into her shirt, Mae pulls out her symbol of Providence. A small string neck that holds a gilded flame sits in between her fingers. She, holding it between both hands, begs out a prayer. Her whispers press into the carved flame.
The forest gets quieter.
Mae shoves the necklace back in her shirt and she lowers herself to the ground. The teal-toned steel of a scout bot flies over her head. Her eyes widen and she presses herself closer to the tree trunk.
Snap .
A twig breaks under her palm. The scout bot spins and stares Mae straight in the face. The scanning light hits her in the eyes, sending little white dots over her vision.
She breaks into a run again.
Losing scout bots is not an easy feat.
Mae looks up and sees a sudden slope, jagged rocks and mosses loom in front of her. I’ve made it to the mountains! How far have I run? She walks towards it, scanning the side for a place to climb. The rock face leans down towards her, making climbing a feat only for those who had incredible strength. She is not one of those people. But her eyes catch a nook between the slope and large rocks on the forest side. A small cave space fills the space between them. Mae glances over her shoulder and dashes for the shelter.
Her legs hurt from the running. Sweat stings at her eyes. Mae wiggles in between the rocks and lowers herself down. The space leads downward, and opens up just enough for Mae to stand. She slides down and rests at the bottom, listening for the sounds of machinery.
When only silence greets her, she stands.
Looking around, the cave is typical. Rocks, soil, and debris had fallen from the forest above and made a thick wall held back by tree roots to her left. To her right, the bedrock of the mountain makes the other wall. On the far wall, an archway that was clearly carved into the underbelly of the mountain looms before her.
Mae carefully approaches, eyes dashing from shadow to shadow looking for any signs of a trap. Under the arch, a massive smoothed out stone with delicate carvings sits nestled in. Mae walks up to it and places her hand against the stone, old carvings press back into her hand. Awe kisses the back of her mind. Cold laps at her fingertips, like ice cubes pressed against her skin. Pulling back her hand, Mae sees light mistings of frozen air float off her hand.
Warm purple light filters through the cracks.
Her eyes widen and she hops back. A colossal crunch shakes the ground around her. The stone heaves and dust spills across the floor. A long hallway tunnelling deep into the mountain opens before her.
Mae steps back and pauses. The stonework looks ancient, dust covers the ground utterly undisturbed. She purses her lips. This place may be sacred. The last thing Mae wanted to do was desecrate a holy site. Her goddess has had her temples sacked, her Ash Priests slaughtered.
Then Mae hears the near silent whirl of mechanical parts and she bolts inside.
She turns around and reaches for the stone door. Without even having to touch it, it slides closed.
Darkness shallows her. Regret grips her chest as the door slides shut. Once the sound of scout bots fades, she presses her hand against the stone. It doesn’t move. With no other choice, Mae turns around and walks deeper into the mountain.
Eventually, after a few turns and trips, she sees light begin to filter in. Mae looks around and can’t see where the light comes in. Closing her eyes briefly, Mae sends a prayer to the goddess of flame for guidance and protection. Mae keeps walking.
Stone doors open in her wake. The labyrinthian halls go from stone to carved marble and granite. The air around her feels frozen in time. Light bends and twists at odd angles, seemingly pointing her deeper. The deeper she goes, the stranger the angles become. She is well in the mountains and the rooms still remain lit. Mae has seen her fair share of light based magic, but this is new.
It’s better than being at the mercy of the wilds.
A set of great stone double doors stands before her. A stream of golden light paints the pale marble and casts beautiful shadows across the carvings. Mae reaches forward and before she can touch the door, it shudders and opens.
A long stairway downward stares at her. Mae looks over her shoulder, back at the path that leads to the mountains. Back to running .
She descends the stairs. Her company, the echoes her boots make on the walls.
Mae reaches the bottom and a room filled with sarcophaguses stares at her. Stacked beside each other, with a thin gap between them that is barely wide enough to fit the body into. In the center of the room, two sit elevated above the dozens, no hundreds , of others. They face each other on a circular platform, breaking the pattern of rows and rows of coffins.
Mae steps up next to them and sees similar runes to the ones on the stone door. A thick layer of dust covers the carvings. She leans over and brushes off some of the dust.
A purple light, nearly identical to the one on the door except with a warm golden core, glows under the runes. Mae’s eyes widen and she hops back. The lid shifts, a grinding noise ripping through the silent air. It slides off and rests beside the case. A shimmering golden light arcs over the body of a woman.
The woman is alive .
The woman in the sarcophagus lies peacefully. Ink black hair covers her shoulders and meets with a set of dark purple robes. Mae can faintly see the presence of magic in the stitchwork glowing a subtle silver. Her hands rest on her chest and gently pulsing under them is golden light. It grows and fades like a heartbeat.
This place is ancient, how is she alive?!
Mae leans forward and her hand briefly touches against the shimmering dome.
The magic dissipates under her touch.
The woman’s eyes rip open. She gaps and snaps upright, coughing and sputtering. She grabs onto the side of the sarcophagus. Shadows erupt from that golden core and blanket the room.
Mae leaps back. She squeaks.
The woman clutches her chest as the golden light brightens. Pain erupts across her face. Her hair spills over her face and chest, obscuring the light. The entire room goes dark. Heavy breaths rumble from her chest. Slowly and carefully, her breaths still and become consistent.
Mae freezes. A primal terror drowns the fear of being caught by mechanical eyes. The magic in the air is almost suffocating. Her eyes stay fixed on the woman whose breaths bend shadows across the room.
Keeping one hand on her chest, the woman leans forward and steps out of the sarcophagus. Her legs shake under her. They give out under her.
Mae may have been afraid, but she still rushes forward and catches the woman as she falls. Her own legs nearly cave under the weight of them both. The woman’s feet gain grip and she carefully rises. She uses the side of the sarcophagus and Mae to stand.
Mae hears her mutter something under her breath. She assumes it's thanks.
The woman steps forward and places her hand against the other elevated sarcophagus. The same purple light that illuminates under the runes on hers glows on this one. The door slides off and a man lies resting in the same position she was.
Mae sees him and terror sinks its teeth in her throat.
The man lying in the vessel is covered head to toe in Auric Armor.
Auric Armor. The same armor the Godseeker wears.
Not a soul in Terraria lacks the knowledge of the Godseeker and his visage. The golden armor of legend is rumored to be impenetrable, or bathed in light, or touching it would seer off the hand of anyone but the wearer. Regardless, it was stained with the blood of gods and countless of their pious. He would consider her pious.
Mae takes the woman’s arm and tries to pull her away.
“Please! You don’t know what he can do!”
The woman stops and looks down at Mae, who is now nearly pulling off the top layer of her robes. Her dark eyes display confusion before she turns to Mae.
“We should leave,” Mae says, glancing and gesturing at the door. She sends a prayer to her goddess of flame that this woman understands her. “Anything with that is dangerous.”
Looking over her shoulder, the woman pauses. Mae still cannot help but notice the way the shadows ripple as she moves. Obscuring the light in the room, and smothering the places where none touches. She gives Mae a sympathetic glance and then says something.
Her voice is calm and boasts a low hum. It’s motherly, warm, comforting, yet filled with authority. Mae, however, doesn’t understand anything she’s saying. The language from this woman’s tongue is foreign to her. Not even in the lack of fluency. Mae’s never heard anything like it. She can recognise languages outside of her own. Ilmeran has a specific rhythm to it and Azafuri has its hisses. This language, with its vowels and liquid consonants, doesn’t even give Mae a hint.
“I’m sorry,” Mae says, extending her arms to hopefully convey confusion, “I can’t understand you.”
The woman’s lips briefly form into a tight line before she beckons Mae closer. Hesitantly, she comes within arms reach. Cupping her hands, magic pours through the woman's fingers. Golden light that shadows leap at to try and smother it pools in her palms. She brings her hands over Mae’s head.
The woman stops.
Mae slowly meets her gaze. She raises an eyebrow. Permission , Mae realises, She’s asking permission .
She prays quickly. Mae nods.
The woman lowers her hands and places them on Mae’s forehead. A cold, then quickly very warm sensation runs across her face and down her neck. Mae slams her eyes closed as a shudder ripples across her back.
“How about that?” The woman says, “Can you understand me?”
Mae exhales, shaking as the energy leaves her body. She still nods.
“Wonderful,” she says, “I’m sorry for startling you. What’s your name?”
Mae clears her throat, “Mae.”
“Nissa,” she places a hand against her chest. The golden light continues to pulse, now much more like a heartbeat. “Are you harmed?”
“No,” Mae says, “But, we shouldn’t stay here.” Her mouth dries as she looks back at the man in Auric armor. “That… could wake up.”
Nissa looks over her shoulder and at him. She pauses and her eyes search the space between them.
“Mae,” Nissa says calmly, “I can assure you. If it's Leon you're afraid of, I can promise he only looks intimidating.”
“You know him?” Mae says, taking a small step back.
Nissa’s mouth opens slightly before she gives her a sympathetic smile. “You found all of us together, it should not be a surprise that we know each other.”
Heat flashes across Mae’s face, “I– I guess. I’m sorry.”
“I’m certain this is an odd situation for anyone to find themselves in,” Nissa gives her a kind smile, “But, yes, I know Leon quite well.”
Nissa waves her hand and the golden light over his sarcophagus dissipates. The man, Leon, awakes with even more coughing and sputtering than Nissa.
“Good morning, Leon,” Nissa chuckles, “How did you sleep?”
He grabs the side and sits upright. Sitting upright, he rolls his shoulders and chokes out, “Nissa?”
“It’s me.”
Leon reaches up and removes the Auric helmet. Mae realizes instantly that he’s from the Brimstone Crags, the lands surrounding Azafure. His skin is charcoal black and his eyes are a warm crimson. He has a pair of horns that curl up and back, and one is snapped off a few inches from his skull. A silver cap sits over where the wound would be. He reaches up and rubs his eyes.
Mae watches Leon’s eyes soften as he sees Nissa. She relaxes slightly. It is strangely comforting to see his face and not just the mountain or draconic steel. I wonder what the Godseeker looks like under all of his armor?
“How long have we been out?” Leon says, stretching.
Nissa looks down at Mae, “Mae, this is Leon. Leon, this is Mae.”
Mae gives him a small wave and he gives her a kind smile in turn. Her fear dissipates a bit more.
“Uh– I don’t know,” Mae says, “I don’t even know what here is.”
“This is the Citadel of the Samarene Guard,” Nissa replies, “Or just the Citadel.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what that is.”
“It’s probably been a good bit of time then,” Leon chuckles as he turns to Mae, “What year is it?”
“The year is 1892,” Mae replies. “If that helps.”
Nissa and Leon both blink. He chuckles under his breath, “Unless we’ve gone back in time that is not adding up.”
“Calendars can change,” Nissa says, waving towards him in a way that resembles her swatting something. Probably him . “We can discuss this with Zeratros when we get to the Aerie.”
“Zeratros?” Mae tips her head to the side, “Who’s that?”
Leon blinks, “The Dragon of Light or just Lord of Light if people are particularly formal.”
Mae coughs, “What do you mean dragon ?”
Nissa and Leon exchange glances, with more concern passing between the two of them.
Hesitance coats Nissa’s face before she asks, “Do you not know what a dragon is?”
“I know what a dragon is!” Mae says, trying to use offense to hide the twinges of fear in her voice. “There's only one dragon still around, and that’s Yharon, The Godseeker’s dragon.”
The concern on their face shifts to a different kind of fear.
Leon looks down at Mae, “How did you find us?”
“I was… running. The Godseeker’s armies have been driving south past what’s left of Ilmeris and–” Mae’s voice hitches– “I was one of the few who got out when the attack started. I cut through part of the Jungle and into the mountains, where I fell in a hole and the hole led here.”
“Are you being chased?” Leon says, putting his helmet back on and turning to another sarcophagus. “We should awaken the others.”
“No–!” Mae stammers, “I wasn’t chased I promise!”
“Easy,” Nissa says, “Even if you were, that would not change anything. Leon, wait.”
Mae wraps her arms around her chest. Her breaths come quick and shallow.
“Let us get our bearings before we awaken the others,” Nissa says, “So she is not inundated with questions. She is already overwhelmed.”
Leon stops moving, his hand only a hair’s width from another closed sarcophagus. “Very well.”
Mae tries to sigh, tries to let relief fill her chest. Instead, a strangely choked sob quietly bubbles through her nose.
She watches Nissa and Leon exchange a brief glance. Their expressions grow unreadable as tears muddy her vision. Mae, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from crying, meekly straightens her spine and looks her in the eyes.
“If you go out of this place, the scout bots will see you and then the Godseeker will know you’re here,” Mae’s voice quivers, “If he sees you, especially your armor. He’ll come here.”
“Mae,” Leon says, his voice soothing, “Who is the Godseeker?”
Chapter 2: Buried Under Moss and Time
Summary:
Nissa and Leon catch their bearings.
Chapter Text
Nissa brought Mae and Leon up to one of the higher rooms in the Citadel. Many of the rooms where the magic of her matron still bent the light to illuminate it. Time has hollowed out the once vibrant Citadel. Only the stonework and magic remains.
Mae, whose panic ebbed and flowed like the tide, sits on the floor. Her tattered coat cushions the ground where she sits. She looks like she’d been running for days, bags hung low under her dark eyes. Her hair is a mess. What once was a head covered in braids, is now uneven. Some of the braids were coming undone. Some had been ripped off. Only one still has its end intact, the small brass beads wink at the light around her. Mae’s body is frail and her voice quivers with every few words.
Yet, she describes the Godseeker. A King by the name of Yharim, who was accompanied by a dragon, had conquered most of this continent. His armies were of both machine and man; his eyes were everywhere. His vow to his dragon was to slaughter every god and their pious as revenge for the deaths of dragons.
She sighs as she finishes.
“King Yharim has since vowed to hunt down every god and their followers. That’s why he’s called the Godseeker.”
“I think God slayer would fit him better,” Leon says, looking off into the stone halls. Thoughts work at his eyebrows and his gaze tightens away from Mae.
“And he hunts you?” Nissa says, “Why?”
Nissa watches the girl reach into her shirt and pull out a small pendant from her necklace.
“I serve Providence, the goddess of flame.”
“Well, I have to thank you Mae for awakening us,” Nissa says, “Even if it was by accident. The lady we honor intended for us to be awoken during a time of strife, and if this is not strife then I do know what is.”
“Wait, you honor someone?” Mae perks up, “Can I ask who?”
“We serve Samaru–” Nissa says, “–The dragon of shadows. I am her champion and seneschal to the Samarene Guard.”
She watches what little color is left in Mae’s face dissolve. “–Wait.”
“We are not going to harm you.”
“But–”
“Neither of us are Yharim, Mae.” Nissa gives Mae a small bow, making a point to reveal her hands and show that they are devoid of spells. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Leon raise his in a similarly reassuring gesture. “You will not come to harm by our hands.”
Mae stays tense, “Swear it on your dragon. Like how I would swear it on the sacred ashes.”
“I vow on the name of Samaru, the dragon of shadow, that no harm will come to you as long as I am the Seneschal of the Citadel.”
Mae looks over at Leon and he places his hand on his chest, “I vow to the lady Samaru and the High King, Zeratros that no harm will come to you so long as I draw breath.”
Mae relaxes slightly.
“Mae, what is a god?” Leon asks.
“What do you mean?” Mae tips her head to the side, “A god is a god. They, um, it's kinda hard to describe.”
“What does Yharim classify as a god? What are his criteria?”
“Oh!” Mae replies, “In Yharim’s eyes, a god is someone who’s consumed an auric soul.”
Nissa sees Leon’s brow tighten and realization washes down her spine. He grits his jaw and stands, turning away from the two, “I need some air.”
“Wait!” Mae lunges forward and grabs Leon by the arm. Panic coats her face in a thin layer of pink. “You can’t! Your armor–”
“At ease, Mae,” Nissa says, giving her a reassuring smile as she walks up to Leon. “I swear that he won’t be shiny when we go out.”
Mae looks between them. Concern doesn’t leave her face even as Nissa begins weaving together a spell. She cups her hands together as shadows pool from her chest. She looks at Leon and raises her cupped hands.
For Leon’s limited knowledge on magic outside of his own, he knows Nissa’s well and he dips his head. Nissa lets the shadows spill through his fingers and over the helmet. The dark tendrils twist across the golden glow of his armor. The waterfall of shadows mask the auric steel and eaves behind plain leather and chain mail.
“Better?” Nissa turns back to Mae.
Mae giggles, still clearly trying to hide her anxiety, “Yeah, that’s better. You still look out of place, but if a scout bot sees you I don’t think they’d rush to Yharim.”
Leon glances at his arms, “Your illusions still surprise me with how natural they look.”
She smiles, “Thank you.”
Leon, with a quick bow to Nissa, turns around and leaves.
“What were they like?” Mae asks.
“They?”
“The dragons?” Mae says, “What were they like?”
Nissa gives her a smile, “Varied, they were like us in a way. Some kind, some cruel. My lady Samaru was compassionate, but firm. Her consort was more firm than compassionate.”
Mae chuckles, sarcasm dripping from her hunched shoulders, “And we got stuck with cruel.”
Nissa sighs and walks up to Mae’s side. Sitting on the floor beside her, she tips her head slightly, “You never mentioned the dragon’s name. Do you know it?”
“Who doesn’t, it’s Yharon.”
Nissa knew of the phoenix. King Zeratros’ right hand and closest advisor was the dragon of rebirth and rivaled his lord in might. From what she could recall, he was more of an advisor than a general. Yharon oversaw the magic and maintenance of the Aerie. Due to his duty-bound seclusion, he did not take mortal champions. Nissa did not remember him as cruel.
Maybe desperate times call for desperate measures.
“That’s unfortunate,” Nissa says instead, placing a gentle hand on Mae's shoulder. “You do not deserve cruelty. Not for the actions of another.”
“You barely know me,” Mae murmurs, “How do you know that?”
She sighs, “I can assure you, I have seen cruelty in all its forms. I made to rest with the Citadel to fight a cruelty not even my lady could fight. You have been terrified since you woke us up and yet you still leap to protect us from the things that hunt you. Cruel people do not do that.”
Mae looks down at the marble floor and chews the inside of her cheek, “I suppose.”
Slowly, Nissa rises to her feet and for once, Mae doesn’t flinch. She turns in the direction of where Leon walked off and she says, “I too want to see the outside, I will return soon.”
“Got it,” Mae says, her voice barely audible.
Nissa finds Leon standing on what she assumes used to be one of the Citadel’s balconies. Now, soil and ivies weave through rocks that just barely cover the entrance. He leans against the side of the stone and turns his head only slightly to acknowledge her. She steps up next to him and looks out.
A small gasp ripples through the air.
“Yeah…” Leon mutters, “It’s gone.”
Nissa walks out and feels the warm air brush past her. A forest, old and mighty, stands before them. When they were put into slumber, the city of Samacrista circled this mountain. On the surface, the court of Samaru, the dragon of shadow, would gather on the slope to talk business with her. Marble and intricately cut stone used to cover this mountain.
“It’s– gone.”
“I knew there was a likely chance that we’d be awoken to ruins,” Leon says, resting his head back against a thick root. “Or have it be utterly unrecognizable, a new name and a new people.”
Nissa blinks and a pair of tears she didn’t know were dotting her eyes fall down her cheeks. She reaches up and wipes them away with one of her sleeves.
They stand in silence, listening to the wind.
“I knew there was a chance someone might try,” Leon nearly whispers. The unspoken what lays heavy across them both. Kill a dragon.
Nissa closes her eyes and lets the breeze take the few hairs from her face. “I never thought someone actually would.”
“Where were their guards?!” Leon hisses, head whipping around. Anger and grief dancing through him. His lip curls in fury, “Where were their champions?!”
“Leon.”
“We made vows to them!” he faces her, “We swore to protect them from harm, help them govern as the universe ordained it. Why would they abandon their posts?!”
“Maybe they fought and lost,” Nissa steps closer to him. "Maybe they joined their dragons in death."
Leon falls silent, closing his eyes and exhaling.
Looking out over the forest, Nissa whispers, “I’m shocked that there's not even ruins.”
“The dragons have been slaughtered . Likely the cities they once inhabited fell with them.”
Nissa can feel the anger in his voice. It’s veiled like this conversation was a funeral and the forest a burial site. Pain rustles underneath everything. They both knew grief would meet them when they would be awakened. It would be a different time. Everyone who was interred into the Citadel knew those they loved would be long gone when they awoke.
Everyone is gone.
“Mae tells me that Yharon lives. If the souls remain, we can bring them back.” Nissa’s hand rests against her chest. The golden glow briefly hidden under her palm.
“I suppose, how are you feeling?” Leon asks, eyes briefly glancing to the glowing core. The anger lifts as he turns to her.
Nissa sighs, “It still feels… heavy. It’s not painful anymore. I suppose I’ve had a millennia to get used to it.”
An auric soul sits nestled next to hers. She vowed to bear the soul of Samaru and bring it to the Aerie to be reborn. She, as Samaru’s mortal champion, took the oath to ensure her revival before she, Leon, and the Samarene Guard were interred into her Citadel.
By the stars, it's still just as heavy.
“We must get to the Aerie,” Nissa says, straightening her shoulders, “Finding a portal site should be our first priority.”
Leon pulls himself from the wall, “Understood, I’ll awaken the others.”
“No, give us a day,” Nissa says as she steps back into the Citadel, “We gather our bearings so we can help the others. We’ll awaken those who can serve as scouts, to gather supplies and information.”
“Very well,” Leon replies, following her back into the marble halls, “I assume we work in secret.”
“Until we know enough to make a rational decision, yes.”
“And about Mae?”
Nissa pauses, briefly chewing on her lower cheek, “It would be beneficial to have some council.”
“If she stays.”
“Then, we’ll discuss that with her.”
The two walk back into the room where they left Mae. She is still sitting on her coat. Her knees are pulled up close to her chest and her head rests on them. Leon, shortly after Nissa, steps into the room and the sound of armor startles her up.
“I–! Oh, welcome back,” Mae answers, stifling a yawn.
Nissa sees the tiredness pulling at the girl's face and gives her a smile. “Are you departing soon?”
Mae’s eyes widen, she reaches over and grabs the edge of her coat, “I– Um– Do you need me to leave?”
There’s fear in her voice.
“No,” Nissa replies, “Having someone amongst us who has even a slight grasp on everything would be convenient, but I understand if you were travelling you would want to continue on.”
“I don’t exactly have a… destination,” Mae says, looking away.
“Would you like to remain here?” Nissa asks, “Leon and I will introduce you to the others when we wake them.”
“It won’t be all at once,” Leon adds, leaning against the wall. “Just a few at a time.”
Mae’s gaze flickers between the two. Uncertainty bubbles in her eyes like tears. “Are you sure? I honor a god, and you said you follow a dragon.”
Nissa inhales, “While I… disagree… with the actions of the gods, I do not believe in punishing someone for a crime they did not commit. You did not kill a dragon. We will protect you if you choose to stay with us, as long as you help us gain our bearings in this new time.”
They are tears. Mae chokes out an exhale and tears of relief pour from her eyes, “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! I promise I’ll help. I swear it on the sacred ashes. Just don’t let them take me.”
Out of the corner of Nissa’s eye, she can see Leon’s gaze soften. A mixture of pity and remorse covers his face, hidden behind a curtain of neutrality.
“Very well, we should start preparing the Citadel for the others.”
Chapter 3: Old Fashioned Scouts
Summary:
The Citadel and its guard begin to rise again and plans are being made.
Chapter Text
The first few days passed Mae sluggishly. She had skirted at Nissa’s heels as she gracefully walked through the walls of the Citadels. Many doorways and rooms had been surrendered to time, cave-ins had taken the peripheral rooms and many of the doors were reduced to nails. The wood had been completely rotted away, two thousand years having eaten it whole. She had watched in awe as Nissa had conjured up the initial repairs. Mae had seen the lady of the Citadel slowly moving her magic outward, slowly restoring this pile of rubble to glory.
Leon had gone through the Citadel, finding all of the old and new entrances. Before he would step outside, Nissa would cover him in her illusions, masking the auric armor. Mae had accompanied him once, with her own illusion, and pointed out scout bots. She had explained what each of the Wulfrum machines did and how to avoid them. Leon had learned quickly and kept a close eye on Mae, keeping her out of harm's way.
They had found a room deeper in the Citadel and gave it to Mae. Leon had healed her wounds and Nissa had helped her clean up. She rebraided Mae’s hair, taking the split braided and snapped ends and replacing them with neat cornrows. The dirt and dried blood that clung to her umber skin was finally gone. The first slivers of kindness given to her in days felt unreal. Mae would sweat that one day she would wake up on the marble floor and all of this would have been an exhaustion induced dream.
After the first week, time began to pick up speed. Leon and Nissa awoke the first batch of the Samarene Guard. They were mostly scouts, but a few other mages and soldiers came as well. They each took turns going out with Mae and learning about the new world they had come to. The scouts were all significantly less noticeable than Mae, avoiding many of the mechanical eyes without guidance. Nonetheless, she taught them as much as she could. The new mages took many of the rooms filled with soil and transformed them into elaborate gardens. Edible mushrooms, root vegetables, and herbs sprung from the fertile walls. The soldiers did not bother her much, except for the occasional question about drones. She did her best to answer them all.
Mae was far from idle. The Citadel was ancient, and was as devoid of technology as a place could get. With assistance from some of the mages with geomancy, Mae had begun to run electrical wire through the walls. The scouts brought any and all technology they could get their hands on to Mae and she happily striped them for parts. Most of the technology was in her quarters, no one understood it well enough to use it other than her.
At some point, Leon had noticed the pipe she had managed to run from a stream outside into her quarters and asked her how it worked without magic. All of the “plumbing” in the Citadel was magic in nature, so Mae happily explained the simple process.
Ever since then, part of her morning routine had been bringing new technology and concepts to Nissa and Leon as well as suggestions for bringing the Citadel “up-to-date” in secret. Nissa, Leon, and the rest of the Samarene Guard are from a time before the concept of a lightswitch. Complex spells and rituals had bridged the language barrier and staved off disease. But, no amount of ancient scrolls could bridge the technology gap. Mae woke them up, so she felt it was her duty to catch them up to speed.
If she could explain to the Ash Priests how a gun worked, she could explain it to her new hosts.
She thanks her goddess repeatedly that Nissa, the closest thing this Ancient Citadel has to a Lord or a Queen, is merciful. Leon, even with his vengeful spirit, affirms repeatedly that he reserves his blade for only Nissa’s enemies. The Samarene Guard, craving vengeance almost as much as their general, were loyal to Leon’s word and Nissa’s commands.
She knows that Nissa is not the Godseeker. She knows that Mae will not die at her order.
Still, Mae keeps her prayers close to her chest and her offerings small.
She walks through the ancient halls of the Citadel, her gear hugged to her chest. It pins her symbol of Providence to her shirt. She ensures it stays out of sight as she ascends the stairs to the chambers that Nissa had claimed for her maps.
Mae sees the surveying equipment that looks almost as old as the Gods and she chuckles to herself.
She approaches the door and taps it with her foot. The door opens and Leon, adorned in his auric armor, smiles down at her. “I was almost certain you’d overslept.”
Mae steps into the room and shakes her head, returning the smile, “I haven’t missed one of these yet.”
Even after a month, most of the Citadel is spartan in appearance. Moths had long claimed any decor that once adorned the walls. Only a long stone table and a few (hypothetically) stolen chairs sat around it.
Nissa sits at its head.
Mae flashes her a smile and sits next to her, dumping most of the equipment onto the table. Metal, computer parts, scout bots, and a few other miscellaneous quality of life machines lay before her.
“How was your morning, Mae?” Nissa asks, her eyes sweeping across the machines.
“Good,” Mae says as she yawns, “The bit of sleep I got was good.”
“Are you still having trouble sleeping?”
“Not really, I was just up late.” Mae omits that she was up late praying.
Leon takes a seat beside her and taps one of the broken scout bots, “I’ve seen a few of these.”
Mae’s blood runs cold, “Please tell me you weren’t in the auric armor.”
Leon shakes his head, “I promise Mae, I have not ignored your council. I wasn’t and I pretend they’re not there, so do the rest of the guard.”
Mae sighs in relief, the last thing they needed was the Godseeker coming here .
“Good, the last thing we need is Draedon knowing there’s a second person with auric armor.”
“Draedon?” Leon asks as he examines the machine.
A shock of excitement runs up her spine and she perks up, “Have I not explained who Draedon is yet?”
Leon shakes his head and Nissa replies, “You have not.”
“Draedon is the inventor of all of the machines I’ve been showing you all,” Mae says, “He’s Yharim’s chief engineer and one of his closest advisors. Not many people have actually seen Draedon, since he typically keeps to his laboratories, but he is beyond brilliant. In less than three decades he revolutionized Imperial technology and almost all of modern science is built on what he's done.”
“I imagine his reclusiveness may also be a tactic to ensure his security,” Nissa says, “Yharim would be wise to keep his best inventor’s protection.”
“He is responsible for most of Yharim’s weapons of war,” Mae nods, “He’s built machines that can counter the raw power of gods. I am fairly certain he’s the designer and builder of Yharim’s auric armor. Even as just an engineer, he is a force to be reckoned with.”
“You’re an engineer yourself, are you not? Did you work under him? I can sense admiration in the way you talk about him.”
“Gods no, he terrifies me, but there’s a bit of admiration there. I was trained to be an engineer for the Ash Priests and Providence, so while I’ve never met or worked under Draedon, I’ve studied his work.”
“A bit of admiration,” Leon chuckles.
“Hey–!”
Nissa raises her hand and Leon falls quiet. “Enough you two. Do you believe Draedon will be a significant problem?”
“For now, as long as the scouts pretend they do not notice his machines and make it appear they are broken either by accident or at random, he should not be a problem,” Mae answers, “However, once the Citadel begins to expand that may change.”
“How so?”
“He is loyal to Yharim, so if the Citadel is noticed and is deemed a threat by the Godseeker then Draedon may send more sophisticated machines to counter your operation.”
Leon rests back against his chair, “More sophisticated?”
“Draedon makes weapons of war. The machines we’ve encountered are just observers. If Draedon intended to pursue us, he would use the Arsenal. Those machines are designed to kill.”
“I see,” Nissa says with a slight sigh, “Luckily for now so long as we operate in secret then Draedon and his Arsenal will be a warning instead of a threat. Speaking of, Leon, you had a proposition?”
Leon smiles and rises to his feet, “Yes, I am asking to be granted leave so I and potentially a few others can scout beyond the forest. If so I would like to ask for Mae to accompany us, since she is the most familiar with the world beyond our sights.”
Nissa looks over at Mae, “Would you be willing?”
“As long as we weren’t relying on illusions,” Mae replies, “Anti-illusion magic and machines are more prevalent closer to the cities, they would see through the simple mask you put over us. Your auric armor would draw the eye of the Godseeker.”
“That is the plan,” Leon says, “One of the scouts managed to procure some simple armor that would suit our purposes. We do not intend to fight anything, unless we absolutely must. The goal would be to gather information to update our maps and information about the current political situation.”
“Then I am willing.”
Nissa gives a nod, “Very well, I grant you leave. I want to be informed on who’s going and what you're taking.”
“Understood, your grace.”
Leon and Mae stand. He gives Nissa a small bow and Mae gives her a respectful nod. The two leave the room as an older woman enters behind them. Mae does a brief double take. She wears similar robes to Nissa, except hooded and lacking the regality.
“Who was that?”
Leon glances back, “Raviera, I believe. She has awoken recently and has been helping hide our movements.”
“Is she another illusionist?”
“No,” Leon says as he keeps walking, “She is– well she was– an assassin. Now she’s the Headmistress of the Onyx Order that came with us.”
Mae blinks as they round a corner and begin walking for Leon’s war room. It was technically his living quarters, but he opted for staying with his soldiers in the barracks. He wants to be present if any of them have questions or concerns about this new time. Both Leon and Nissa had put aside their grief once they began to wake up the others, acting as a bastion for the others to lean on.
“Onyx Order? Like the Onyx Kinsmen?”
Leon gives her a half-smile, “You have to elaborate, I’m not familiar with all of this time’s organizations, remember?”
“Oh, sorry,” Mae chuckles under her breath, “They are an order of ninja’s who honor the Slime God, Vaglasoth, since he keeps himself at a balance and is known for his evasive nature.”
“I would have to see them, or just their work if they are good, to be able to give you a better answer.”
“Fair enough.”
Leon opens the door to his quarters and Mae slips inside. The war room has dozens of map pieces spread around the few stone tables that had survived time. They were mostly scout reports quilted together to make a rudimentary map. Mae had helped try and center where they were in the world. The Citadel rested in the Gilded Mountains. While Mae was not a cartographer, she knew vaguely that the remains of Ilmeris were north, but she didn’t know much else.
Leon gestures to the most well put together map, sitting across the main table and raises an eyebrow at her, “What place would have the most information? Access to up-to-date maps and trade routes?”
“So, the best bet would be Ilmeris,” Mae says, “It’s north of here and may have outposts set up. However, those outposts would kneel to the Godseeker so we would have to be extra precautious.”
“Why Ilmeris? What about westward of us?”
“The area was decimated by the first of the gods to fall by the Godseeker. The bodies of the gods spread and made the area uninhabitable, the creatures that sprout from there are not easy to deal with either. It’s called the Crimson since, somehow, the land still bleeds.”
“Very well,” Leon says, “We go to the Ilmerian Sea.”
“Well about the whole sea situation,” Mae chuckles nervously, ‘It’s not quite a sea anymore. It’s a desert.”
“Did it dry up in the past few millennia?”
“It did,” Mae says, “Quite recently. Like less than a year ago.”
Chapter 4: Deus Rex
Summary:
Yharim contemplates his legacy and the future of his Crusade. Statis makes a deal.
Notes:
This chapter is meant to set up worldbuilding details that will be important later, fill in plotholes from the Calamity mod, and let yall know where we are in the timeline. Draedon hasn't messed with the bees (yet). Also, I am putting Statis in the torment nexus. If there is anything confusing *please* let me know, since this sets up the world for everything else to come.
Also, mild TW for Yharim being depressed, its not in your face, but I give him my flavor of existentialism
Chapter Text
Yharim had become a creature of habit.
His days ruling have grown long and arduous. His kingdom, Aurea, named after the auric souls he vowed to liberate, operates from decisions he made years ago. The momentum of his Crusade took the once small outpost into the expansive empire it had become. The palace at the core of his capital city is a testament to that momentum; it began as a garrison built to house and train soldiers, built even before he met Draedon and added his technology. Growing out from that practical core is a collection of intricate additions. Most were gifts from vassals that he freed from the deceitful grip of a god or tyrant. Some were Draedon’s choice, spires with artillery and elaborate mechanical networks. All lined in auric gold.
The Quilted Palace, his people called it.
Once, his quarters would move from section to section to convey the message that he had no favorites. That all who joined him in avenging the dragons would have his blessing. Now, his quarters remained in the garrison core.
When was the last time I moved them?
Yharim walks the balconies of the garrison most mornings. Silently observing the sections of his soldiers stationed in the city. Most were new, green troops learning to hone their skills in his name. A few were his elite guard, training under his eye. At one point, he would train beside them, honing his own skills as well as their own.
When was the last time I trained with them?
Yharim looks down at his hand, resting on the hilt of his sword. Under the auric armor, he can feel where it meets the mechanical braces on the back of his hand. Most men with his level of injury barely make it to sixty, much less…
110 years, 11 months, and six days ago, he met Yharon.
I am 133… how has this much time passed? How am I alive after all this time?
He sits back on his throne and looks across his court. The courtiers wait near silently for his word. They make up groups from all sections of his empire: soldiers, administrators, engineers, artisans, and common men and women who sought his counsel. Everyday since this place was raised from the mud, assuming he was here, he heard their grievances, arbitrated disputes, and sometimes just listened. His presence on his throne is the only truly unchanging face of his empire. Yet, when it was once hard to lose his attention, he now fights to focus. Courtiers’ requests run together, a stream of pleas and requests.
The only thing that holds him at attention is suggestions on how to end his Crusade.
The Devourer, his words brimming with suggestions, held him the longest. Yharim has to stand outside the doors of the palace to speak to the colossal serpent. He holds his head and a few of his impossibly long segments out of one of his portals. Their conversations are brief, but hold Yharim’s mind at attention.
“–And of Braelor and Statis?” He spoke, the courtiers whispering among themselves at his would-be assassins' names.
“Contained, your majesty,” The Devourer of Gods speaks, his voice far too loud for Yharim’s liking, “Ensnared in a vortex that not even a god could flee from. They are no threat to you, Godseeker, they will die of the limits of their mortality soon enough.”
Something in Yharim told him he was lying. Begged him to send away the serpent. Demanded he do this without him.
I have never trusted you, yet why do I keep you here?
The High Council of his is composed of the cream of the crop of Aurea. Every major sphere of influence and profession has a seat at his table. Only two chairs are empty, the one reserved for Draedon as his chief engineer and spymaster and the one reserved for the position of Archmage. Draedon’s absence is well known, a project in the jungle had enraptured his attention and he would be absent until summoned. He was last here to present him with the armor he wears now.
He had not filled in the position since Permafrost’s defection.
His High Council discusses the matter of Ilmeris. Many still call into question his reasoning, why send the Witch to boil the sea. The fallout, socially, politically, economically, had been tremendously difficult to grapple with. The brimstone flames displaced many of his people who had fished along the northern coast. The rains that Ilmeris provided the plains had grown scarce. His Council openly debated on how to handle the growing concerns.
At one point, Yharim would have chuckled at the pun. He would have actively joined in, interjecting his insight in with the mix. Now, he observes, adding his thoughts only when requested. He approved of decisions with hand waves and silent nods.
He moves absently up the stairs to the roof of his palace. The lights along the old twisting corridors are electric, but fashioned in a way to mimic candelabra flames. He once marveled at the subtlety of the wiring, concepts only dreamed of in his youth. It barely fazes him now. The palace’s servants and soldiers did not come through these old battlements, relics of the garrison that used to be, it was impractical at best. Nostalgia keeps him in these halls.
Is nostalgia the only thing I have left of this place?
The center of the roof lacked the golden arches and spires that the rest of the palace had. The old stonework, made without aesthetics, stands under his boots. He could, if he bothered, see the entire capital from the edge. Yharim stands in the very center and lets his eyes wander to the sky. Nestled in between the clouds, resting on one of the few solid ones, was a Dragon Circle, the portal that led to the Aerie. As the sun begins to set behind the mountains, the shadow of feathered wings ripples across the sky.
Yharon, one of his oldest friends, flies out from between the peach colored clouds. His wings are ablaze and rain a thin misting of ash beneath him as he circles the palace roof. The phoenix still loves to see the city from above. Once, the two would go together, Yharim on his back and utterly awed by the sight.
When was the last time we flew together?
Dust whirls upward as Yharon’s wings beat over the palace roof. It rumbles under his feet as he lands. He ruffles his feathers as his wings fold onto his back. Yharim’s face softens as he walks up to his phoenix.
“Welcome back,” Yharim says, relaxing as he feels Yharon’s heat through his armor, “Have you made progress?”
Ever since the first god fell by Yharim’s blade, the dragon has spent countless hours attempting to manifest their soul in the Aerie. If Yharon could bring their souls to their sacred nesting grounds, then they could be reborn with his magic coupled with the Aerie’s restorative properties. The ancient magic of the Aerie is familiar to Yharim. Everytime he travelled to the Aerie in a cloud of despair, the Dragon Aerie brushed it away and imbued him with a subconscious hope.
But even the Aerie had its limits.
Yharon exhales, almost uncomfortably warm air brushes past them. “No… None of my kin have manifested in the Aerie.”
Yharim watches Yharon’s eyes flicker with uncertainty. The beacon of hope for both Yharim and his subjects wavers. Yharon blinks and the uncertainty is gone. He straightens his spine, his feathers shifting across his shoulders.
“But, I can still feel their presence. I swear on the World Soul that they’re getting closer!” Yharon says, with an authority pushed towards himself.
Does he even believe that anymore?
“Any progress is good progress.”
Do I even believe that anymore?
~~~
The Devourer’s realm leeches life from Statis, yet it refuses to let him die.
The air around him is sharp, every breath carves inside of his lungs. Ripping across his skin, every movement sinks needle-like teeth into his skin, bathing Statis in a terrible sensation. He grew numb to it… a while ago. His stomach begs for anything, water, spit, or even air to fill the gaping vacuum that days have left.
How long have I been here?
The moment the serpent sent them here was the last moment he saw Braelor. The look of pure shock and terror on his face as the void uncoiled below them. Braelor’s scream had been smothered by the gaping void. He landed here, alone.
Where even is here?
He walks, there is nothing else to do. Everything is dark. There is no difference between the ground and the air.
A lowly chuckle echoes around him. The edges of a purple robe manifest at the edges of his vision, lapping at the sharp air. Dozens of whispers, mostly laughing, rumble from under the folds of ghostly cloth.
Signus.
“What do you want?” Statis’ voice cracks. His words have to push through a throat long starved of water.
The creature’s gaping maw emerges from the shadows first, its teeth winking off of the non existent light. Haloing its body, the purple shroud wraps around its twisting form. It looms over Statis.
“Your resilience, Onyx Child, is a sight to behold.”
Statis sways on his feet, his own eyes struggling to look up at the creature. He lacks the strength to retort.
“Yet you are not resilient enough.”
As if commended, Statis’ legs give out from under him. His eyes stare down into the solid abyss. Sluggishly, his blood churns through his body. He, from the floor, sees Signus float in front of him. Mouthfuls of teeth peek out from under his robes, grinning down at him.
“You cannot survive in our realm,” he says, his voice echoing off nonexistent walls. “Your mortal body needs what we cannot provide.”
What do you want?
“What do I want?” Sigmus laughs, his cackle echoing across his mind. “Have you learned nothing, Statis?”
Statis tries to open his mouth, his dry lips trapping his voice in his throat. Did I say that aloud?
“No, you did not. But you are nothing but an afterthought here. Your thoughts are the wind and your body but dirt. I want nothing, child. I simply have an offer I recommend that you take.”
Statis resigns himself, looking up at the envoy with hooded eyes.
“Yharim knows my visage, knows of my abilities, has suspicions of my desires,” Signus says, “I wish for a set of eyes and a set of hands that do not boast my face.”
“He… knows me… too…”
The grating sound of Signus grinding his teeth together. “As nothing more than a nuisance.”
I tried, and failed, to kill him.
Signus’ form ripples closer to Statis. He wants to back away, get as far from this ethereal monster as he could. His elders were wrong, this aberration does not deserve reverence. It was a hunter, but it enjoyed its prey’s torment. A hand extended downward and a crooked finger curls up.
Statis’ head jerks up to meet his gaze.
“I will take you from this place–”
“–Take Braelor!” strength returns to Statis’ voice, “Free him .”
“The brute cannot serve me well, only you, child of Onyx, can serve our purposes.”
Our?
“Please–!”
“Enough,” Signus waves his hand and Statis’ lips close. “I will take you from this place and release you into Terraria once again. In exchange, you will be at my service. When I require, you will provide.”
Statis stares down into the void. His mouth refuses to open. If there was any moisture in his body, it would form tears. Save Braelor, leave me. My hesitation got us here.
“Braelor will see his goddess again,” Signus says, mockery gilding his shrill voice. A twisted giggle bounces around his skull. “As contingent upon your consent.”
Fine.
If Signus’ smile could widen anymore it would. Lashing tendrils of dark magic unfurl from under the layers of his robes and begin to wrap around his body. They bleed into his arms and vanish. Corrupt strength shoots through his body like briars ripping through skin.
Statis’ arms raise, despite lacking the strength, and his palms face the creature. His prosthetic, bent and corrupted by this realm, snaps off his arm. Sprouting and twisting, a purple bonelike arm emerges from the old wound. Blood drips from the new slice. Statis feels it dribble down his tricep and soak into his robes. Pain rips through his side. The new arm is a mix of flesh and twisted metal. Purples and deep blues cover what once was steel. In the palm of his new arm, a small copy of Signus’ mouth smirks up at him.
“We shall speak soon enough–” The abyssal realm begins to dissolve around him. All consuming darkness is replaced with a star-lit sky. Black glassy void fades in favor of cool soil and sharp grasses. He can even hear the faintest sound of water trickling near him.
“–Statis.”
The creature’s voice fades from the side of his head.
Statis kneels in the grass. His vision adjusts violently. Even in the dark of night, his eyes reel as if they were just exposed to bright light. His limbs go slack and his face meets the dirt. The transition delays the pain. All of his senses ring.
Slowly, the trickle becomes clearer, and Statis rotates his head to face it. He sees the spray of the water off the rocks before he fully processes that water is within arms reach.
Statis all but dunks his head into the stream. Water has never tasted so good. Days or maybe even weeks had passed since he had taken even a sip. He silently vows to never take it for granted again. The water flows down his throat and he can feel some of the life blossom into his body. He drinks and drinks until his stomach cannot physically hold anymore water. Rolling over across the stream smoothed stones, Statis lays on his back and lets the crisp night air fill his chest.
Relief and grief fills his chest. As the moonlight winks him in the eye, Statis starts to cry. The pain and aches gnaw at every fiber of his body. His friend, confidant, his fellow conspirator, and the closest thing he ever had to a brother is still trapped in that hellscape.
He should have gone for the blow. He shouldn’t have thought twice. He should have shoved Braelor out of the way. He should have pulled them out when they saw that serpent. He shouldn’t have hesitated. He should have done something .
“I’m sorry– Braelor– I’m so sorry.”
Statis sobs. He curls around his knees and wraps his hands around his head. He wants to pray. Ask his god for forgiveness for failing those closest to him. No words come to his mind. Then, next to his ear, the mouth embedded in his palm whispers. The voice rings more in his head than it does aloud. Signus’ command is clear regardless.
“ Find Silva .”
Chapter 5: The Ashes of Ilmeris
Summary:
Leon and Mae go to Ilmeris and find out what happened there.
Chapter Text
Leon waits silently for the others to finish their preparations. The sounds of the forest above trickle through the cracks in the stonework. Nature, her solemn eternal everchanging grace, seems to be the one constant comfort. He remembers standing in Yarani, the dragon of life’s, court, or the closest thing resembling one, and basking in the chaotic glory. Dragonfollies surrounded Yarani, dull creatures made in her image, napping as the vines and thorns grew around her.
Who rules it now, if Yarani is gone?
He opens his eyes as the quiet sound of footsteps walks up behind him.
“I sometimes forget how quiet you can be,” Nissa hums, “When out of your armor.”
He turns around and his eyes fall on the seneschal’s face. Her raven hair is braided around her head like a crown. She replaced the long billowing mages robes with simple, practical, but still beautiful tunics. Her dark eyes glitter golden with the presence of Samaru’s soul. Darkness weighs heavy under her eyes.
Leon lets out a sigh, and gently takes her hand. Placing a tender kiss on her knuckles, he gives her a half-smile, “To keep you on your toes, your ladyship.”
“This again,” Nissa rolls her eyes, a light chuckle bouncing off the walls.
“You are the Seneschal of the Citadel, you have a title and duty that has earned you the respect.”
“You outrank me.”
The smile falls, “Not anymore, never again.”
The thick forest surrounding the Citadel hugs the mountains that carry it. The smell of mosses and moisture soaks the air. Fortune casts her favor towards them, however. It is not hot. Leon leads a group of a dozen scouts northward. Guided by the sun and the makeshift map that Mae was able to help them create. Speaking of Mae, he notices her skittishness very early on. Her eyes dart from shadow to shadow. Her hands work at the strap on her leather satchel, picking at fraying threads. She had left her necklace to– Khailese’s murderer –Providence back in the Citadel.
He subtly shakes his head, trying to dismiss the feeling of grief as it gnawed at his core. His anger will only make him reckless. I cannot afford to be reckless. Biting back his anger, Leon keeps pushing through the undergrowth.
The sand catches him in the eyes.
The final push through the trees opens to a wide expanse of sand and ash. The sight holds his breath in his chest. Grief and her needle-teeth begins to chew. Leon learned to swim on the banks of Ilmeris when his father had come to the surface for counsel. He played in the once pearl-white sands, took shells, and experienced his first boat ride on its calm waves. His mother once had a necklace strung of Ilmeris’ large and elegant pearls, one of the many gifts his father had given her. Concubines in the Azafure he grew up in rarely had such luxuries.
Gasps echo around him and he straightens his spine. Leon takes the stew of feelings, old and new, and puts them aside. He will discuss this with Nissa when they return. He is the Commander of the Citadel, and the soldiers in his company look to him for guidance and comfort. His grief can be fed later.
“Mae, you mentioned outposts,” Leon says, turning to Mae, “Do you know where they are?”
“Most are on the opposite side of the desert,” she replies, standing on her tip-toes, “But there are patrols that run across the sands sometimes.”
Leon purses his lips, “So we’re walking. I’ll handle any patrols we encounter. We’ll go out into the sand a bit and then keep to the treeline.”
It does not take long to get out into the sand. The scout’s eyes skim the dunes for signs of patrols. Mae pokes around for machines. Leon, keeping his mind off the smell of ash, skims the horizon. The humidity fades and thankfully clouds begin to cover the sun.
The wind kicks up.
Gusts throw sand and ash from the tops of the dune. In a heartbeat, a torrent sends pounds of sand around them. The winds that once sent waves onto the shore, try to fill their lungs with sand. The mouth of a sandstone cavern appears out of the corner of his eye. Leon brings his finger to his lips and lets out a sharp whistle, using his other hand to point to it. Everyone follows him in.
Once out of the immediate sandstorm, coughs echo around him. People spit out sand and dust onto the floor. Mae shakes sand out of her bag. Leon clears his throat and goes to each scout and helps brush them off. He guides them deeper into the save.
“We’ll stay in here, at least until the sandstorm dies.”
Many of the scouts sit down, cleaning themselves off. Mae plops down onto a sturdy stone and takes out one of her metal machines. Leon leans against a wall, keeping an eye on the doorway. A few of the scouts huddle around an opening in the cavern floor. One looks over her shoulder towards where Leon and Mae sit, “Sir, I think you want to take a look at this!”
Leon stands and walks over. The huddle parts and he leans over the hole. Water laps at the edges and the sweet smell of salt all but uppercuts him. “Is that sea water?” Leon nearly whispers. He reaches down and his fingertips brush against the surface.
Crack! The sandstone he leans on snaps clean from the rock and he plummets into the water. Water floods in his nose. He gasps and sputters as his head comes above the water. The salt stings at the lining of his nose.
“Sir–! Are you hurt?!”
Leon shakes his head and a laugh bounces off the walls of the cavern. “I’m unharmed.” He looks around and sees the vastness of the expanse below and around him. A smile creeps onto his face, splintered by raw confusion.
“Is that… Ilmeris?” Mae says, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “I thought the Witch boiled it all!”
“Not gone, just buried,” a scout with a similar shock echoes.
Like us, in a way.
“Are there still people living under the waves of Ilmeris?” Leon asks, “There were tribes in our time, in conflict, but present.”
Mae nods, “The Kingdom of Ilmeris is… it might even still be there.”
“How well can you swim?”.
She chuckles nervously and peers past him and into the dark waters. “I can swim, but I can’t breathe underwater.”
“Magic can fix that,” he says, waving over the mage in their scouting party. “But, if you can’t swim I’m not going to ask you to.”
“I can swim,” Mae reaches over and grabs her satchel, “But my equipment isn’t waterproof.”
“Do you mind leaving it with the others?”
Their mage, Kana, weaves a spell in the palm of her hands. A few droplets of water infusing into the magic, she readies her hands.
Looking up at the scouting party, Leon smiles, “Well, ready to get wet?”
Kana walks from person to person and wraps a water breathing spell around their heads. One by one they dive in the water with him. Mae is one of the first to get the enchantment, and the last to join them. Kana situates herself on the corner of the cavern and closes her eyes to more fully focus on the spell.
They swim downward, twisting through underwater tunnels. Sea prisms glitter across the walls, lighting their way. The sheer beauty of this constrained sea nearly steals all of his air. Sea creatures swim around them. Electric jellies twist and zap. A sea floaty passes over Leon’s head; he reaches up and gently pets along its under belly.
It zips off.
Deeper into the sea, Leon feels rumbling above him. Grabbing Mae, he pushes off the wall and shoots forward in the water. A thunderous crack rips open the dark sandstone ceiling and a rush of sand falls, blocking the corridor off. Mae gasps, and Leon lets her go. He swims up to the roof and finds an opening close to the ceiling that is maybe six inches wide. He looks through and sees the others pulling themselves from the sand.
“Is everyone alright?”
One scout, whose face is obscured by the kicked up sand in the water, swims up to the opening, “No one’s buried. Are you alright, sir?”
Leon glances back. Mae is treading water, unburied. He raises an eyebrow and she nods, “I’m fine.”
“We’re unharmed,” Leon says, “Head back to Kana, we will find another way out of the water.”
“Yes, sir.”
Leon swims back down to Mae’s side. He places a hand on her shoulder. The fear in her face is barely fettered. “We’ll get out,” he says.
She nods.
Leon sees a tunnel lead up and away from the cave in. He scans the roof; the seastone appears sturdy. He begins swimming and Mae follows. It leads up and then down, opening up into a massive cavern. Stalagmites and stalactites divide the room into sections. Sea prisms glitter from every surface. Leon glances over his shoulder and sees the light bounce off Mae’s eyes. Awe dances across her face.
She swims past him and starts poking around. Curiosity swallows her whole.
Letting himself float upwards, Leon keeps looking for an exit.
Mae screams.
He whips around. Mae tries to skitter back. Something catches her leg. Leon cannot see what it is, but he leans back. Pulling from both his sword and the core of his soul, he blasts a string of primordial light towards it. It throws it back. The shell of a giant clam hits the back wall. Sand erupts from the impact.
Mae kicks off and swims behind a stalagmite.
Leon draws his sword. Light ripples across the blade edge. He casts out a ray of light wrapping it around the stalactites closest to the clam. Willing it to solidify, Leon pulls himself through the water. Bubbles pop in his wake.
The clam pops up from the sand. It lunges forward. Leon spins his sword and braces his back foot into the sand. It comes over his head. He points the tip of his sword up. The clam slams itself down, shoving itself on Leon’s blade. The force of the plunge shoves him back into the sand. Crimson blood sprays out into the water. It’s fleshy core twitches and the clam shell stops moving.
Leon rips his sword from the clam’s mouth, light rippling throughout the cavern. He swims back slightly in the water as the shell of the clam goes limp. He sighs, bubbles rippling through the deep water. Mae’s head pops out from behind a pillar, her eyes twinkling in the prism light.
“Are you alright?” Leon asks.
She nods.
Out of the corner of his eye, a golden glint winks at him from the shadows of the depths. Leon grabs Mae and spins around, pointing his glowing blade towards it. Mae swims closer to his back, placing her hand on his shoulder.
Leon sends magic through his blade, primordial light boiling the water immediately around it, “Reveal yourself!”
A male merfolk with deep blue scales and aquamarine fins creeps out of the shadows. Across his chest is a set of bronze armor, wear and tear clearly having sunk its teeth into the metal. The armor is a set of interlocking scales sitting and protecting him. In his slightly trembling hands, a golden tipped trident points towards them. There is smothered terror in his eyes.
Mae pokes her head over his shoulder, “Leon, wait! That’s a person!”
Leon allows the light to die down and his face to soften. He shifts the sword down slightly, keeping it ready but threatening less.
The trident stays readied, but the wielder relaxes in symmetry.
“We’re not with the Godseeker!” Mae says, raising her hands in the water. “Just travellers!”
“How am I supposed to know that?” he retorts. Leon can hear the terror brewing under held fierceness. The merfolk grits his teeth, but eyes cannot lie. ‘I have nothing but your word, and words have cost me dearly.
“I worship Providence!”
Ripples of light run down the blade at the mention of her name. He sees Mae reach into her shirt and fish out the symbol. A twinkle of his light bounces off the carved flame. She leans over his shoulder to try and get the symbol closer to him.
Mae, didn’t you leave it back in the Citadel? Leon calms the light, pushing aside his confusion. Not now.
The merman sees the necklace and finally the trident tip drops. The terror, while not gone, subsides in his face. It shifts slightly, to a fear that Leon cannot place.
“You revere the goddess of flame?” he sighs, “I did not know that you all came this far west.”
“We normally don’t,” she answers, “But the Godseeker has driven us west.”
The trident finally falls. Relief, uneasy standing across his scaled features, steps into the forefront. He holds it closer to his chest, an attempt at a defensive position. While Leon did not specialize in tridents nor spears, he can recognize poor form. He’s inexperienced.
Regardless, Leon lets his blade come to rest at his side. Mae swims around him and comes to his otherside. “I’m Mae, who are you?”
“I– of course, where are my manners? My name is Amidias,” the Ilmerian says, placing a webbed hand on his chest. “Forgive me for my impulsiveness. I have been burned by hesitation before, and I have people to protect.”
Leon mimics the gesture, “Understandable, I hold no ill to you Amidias. My friends call me Leon.”
“Are you injured?” Amidias asks, swimming forward. Leon keeps as still as he can in the water as he examines them both. “The magic that preserves you is beginning to fade, I recommend that you recast the spell soon.”
Shit.
“The ceiling collapsed in by our entrance,” Leon says, cursing himself for his curiosity. We shouldn’t have come down here . “And we were separated from our mage.”
Amidias’ eyes search Leon’s face. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see panic begin to creep across Mae’s shoulders. Her eyes begin to dart from corner to corner, likely looking for air pockets. Leon watches the merman’s eyes notice Mae. He sighs to himself.
“It is not an exit to the Sunken Sea, but I know of a place with air access close to here,” Amidias says, swimming back and up towards a tunnel, “I have the resources to rework the magic myself there.”
“Thank you.” Leon does his best to keep the rawness of his relief out of his voice, but there is only so much he can restrain. Mae swims after him. He, sheathing his sword, follows.
Amidias leads the two of them up through a winding set of tunnels, cutting through the seastone. The light of the sea prisms guides their way. Eventually, Leon sees the surface of the water come into view. Amidias stops shortly before the surface and helps Mae climb out of the water. Leon follows quickly after.
Leon’s head breaks the surface and the bubble pops. He heaves himself onto the sandstone and offers a hand down to Mae to help her out. She leaves the water and sits on the ground, sighing and trying to wring out her clothes and hair. He kneels next to her and visually checks her over for injuries. Other than a bruise blooming across her arm, Mae sits unharmed. Leon rolls his shoulder and the soreness from swimming begins to set in.
Looking out into the alcove, dozens of homes carved into the seastone stare back at him. Their inhabitants, mostly other Ilmerians, watch him with wide eyes and suspicion. A few humans and dryads are intermixed with them, tucked alongside their oceanic counterparts. An Ilmerian, out of the corner of his eye, jumps for a blade.
Amidias exits the water and Leon sees the people around him relax.
“Oh, your majesty!” One of the merfolk, a young woman, hops up, “You’ve returned!”
Leon turns to him, raising an eyebrow, “Your majesty?”
“I– Yes, I am, well I was, the King of Ilmeris,” he replies, his eyes flickering off past the two at towards her, “Everyone is still accounted for?”
She curtsies to him, “With you here, yes, your majesty. Who are these?”
Leon places a hand on his chest and gives the young mer a bow, “My name is Leon.”
Mae, raising her hand from the floor, chirps up, “And I’m Mae!”
“I encountered them on my patrol,” Amidias answers, “They were trapped down here by the shifting sands.”
Leon sees her eye him slightly and flashes Amidias a concerned smile. He is not the only one, Mae upon seeing her concern, holds up her symbol of Providence. “Don’t worry, we’re not with Yharim.”
The woman relaxes and Amidias turns to him, “Forgive us for any perceived accusation. I– We do not see many Brimborn who are not with the Godseeker.”
“I understand,” Leon replies, “Caution can serve one well.”
Amidias sets his trident off to the side. “I did offer to redo the ritual to allow you two to breathe under the water as I do. Please, follow me. My reagents are in my home.”
Leon, keeping Mae within arm’s reach, follows Amidias up into an alcove nestled above the settlement. The remnants of regality sit around them. Old Ilmerian heirlooms sit along walls, criss-crossing the magical reagents and practical equipment. A sea style bed sits messy in the corner. Maps line the left wall.
A smile wiggles onto Leon’s face, “You have maps. Is there any way I may study them before we depart, your majesty?”
“You do not need to regard me with grand titles,” Amidias says as he moves over to what appears to be a mage’s workstation. “I am hardly a King these days.”
Mae tips her head to the side, “But she called you, your majesty.”
“Remnants of old habits,” he replies, pulling mystical reagents down from shelves.
Leon raises an eyebrow, “Were you stripped of your title?”
“Not officially, but what is a King without a people.”
Looking over his shoulder, Leon gestures to the settlement outside, “Are they not your people?”
“I failed to keep them safe during the incineration. What you see in this place is what is left of the tribes of Ilmeris. We are a fractured people due to my failures. I am not worthy of the title.”
The Incineration?
“Aren’t you still protecting them?” Mae adds.
“I have met kings who barely lift a finger for anyone outside of their noble circles,” Leon says, “Action, even futile ones, makes people worthy, your majesty.”
Amidias’ jaw knits together, “Leon, Mae, please. I would rather not debate this. Please feel free to study our maps, they are not the most accurate. They haven’t been adjusted since the Incineration.”
“Thank you, Amidias. Even outdated, they are better than ours.”
“If I may ask, Leon, what god do you serve?” he asks, “The Brimborn have always been slow to accept a god. Especially since Azafure sided with the Godseeker very early in the Crusade.”
“I do not serve any gods,” Leon says, coming to examine the maps. “Mae is the only devout of the two of us.”
Mae blinks, “But, don’t you serve Nissa?”
“I do, what of it?.”
“Nissa is a goddess.”
Leon retorts, almost on a dime, “No, she isn’t.”
“She has an auric soul, doesn’t she? In the eyes of the Godseeker, then she would be a goddess.”
“An auric soul?” Amidias interjects, “Forgive me, however, I’m not familiar with what that is?”
“An auric soul is the soul of a dragon, your majesty,” Leon says, “And she’s acting as a vessel for Samaru to be reborn. She does not use our lady’s soul for personal gain, Mae.”
“But she has it. And that is the point.”
Amidias raises his hand, “What does a dragon’s soul have to do with the gods?”
“Providence teaches us that her ascension to divinity involves her absorbing the auric soul of the dragon of flame. In her dialogues with her guardians, she proved that she was the best fit to guide the world,” Mae chirps, her smile widening slightly, “It is where she gives us our tenets.”
Leon bites his tongue.
“I will not question your goddesses teachings, as I would wish for the same respect with Otonilou’s rulings,” Amidias says. Leon can see a similar hesitation in his words. “But, I have my reasons to doubt the goddess of flame.”
Is Providence unwelcome here?
“Nissa’s status is unimportant,” Leon replies, “We can debate it when we return home. However, your majesty, Mae is not incorrect. My Lady Nissa, the Seneschal of the Citadel and champion of Samaru is no friend of the Godseeker.”
Amidias chuckles darkly to himself, “I would not let such rumors spread far. If Yharim comes to believe them he will stop at nothing to destroy her.”
Leon purses his lips, “It is a factor we are aware of.”
Amidias faces them and begins to weave a spell from a mixture of pearls and oceanic reagents. A bubble wraps around Leon and Mae’s heads. He inhales and lets himself get used to the strange feeling of vapors in his lungs.
“Thank you, Amidias.”
Leon looks around. Pain and grief weighs heavy in the air across this enclave. Most of the people in this place appear hopeless, nearly half starved. He can feel the eyes lay on Amidias and an empathy presses against his back.
“Do you have plans to leave?” Leon thinks aloud. The moment the words leave his lips sting him. I shouldn’t have asked.
Amidias looks down and away. “Where would we go? The Godseeker’s influence keeps us here, out of fear and of necessity.”
Not anymore, never again.
“While I cannot make promises on the seneschal’s behalf, your majesty,” Leon bows to Amidias, “But, I understand the desire to protect those who look to you for guidance. We have a complex, called the Citadel, with access to trained soldiers. Assuming she is willing, we can house and protect you and your people. At least until Ilmeris can be restored.”
Amidias pauses, his fingers tapping against his trident. Uncertainty swims around in his eyes like minnows. After a minute, he straightens his spine and meets Leon’s gaze, “I wish to meet her, the seneschal, before I make a decision.”
Chapter 6: Fungal Fabrications
Summary:
Nissa cloaks the Citadel and discovers technology that she cannot conceive.
Chapter Text
Nissa watched Leon and the scouts go from an alcove that overlooks the forest. Birds and insects chitter, the warmth of the early sky looks down upon them. Once she watches them vanish, she returns inside of the Citadel. She needs to finish the grand illusions to mask this place, so they could not be followed back.
She turns around and Nissa ascends the inner stairs and comes to the apex of the mountain. In the time before, marble columns and silks would have lined an artificial crater. The Dragon’s Roost, it was called. Samaru’s true nesting place was not actually the guarded yard, but tucked in the rocks nearby. Only the dragon of shadow’s champion could find it unaided. Now, a combination of shifting rock formations, overgrowth, and old fashioned time had nearly covered the opening. It is more of a dome now, marble having crumbled away. The roost was not selected to be magically preserved, so time battered it as it does everything else.
She comes to the center of the once grand forum. Weaving the encroaching shadows, Nissa comes to kneel at the center. Her mind intermixes with every dark speck as they peel off the walls. Swirling blackness wraps her and the room. Her eyes squeeze shut; her breathing steady. She wills the bubble to expand across the mountain, across any entrance or crack into the Citadel. The shadows spill forth and ripple like a newly burst stream. The corners of her soul ache with the exertion. Samaru’s soul presses firmly against hers, invigorating and exhausting her.
With an exhale, the illusion becomes firm pottery in the kiln of reality. If she does not will it, no one could find them.
Nissa opens her eyes and slumps, her shoulders bending down like old willow branches. Clutching her chest, she places her forehead against the cold stonework. A burning sensation ripples across her body. Samaru’s soul is the worm wriggling next to the apple of Nissa’s soul.
I need to distract myself. This pain shall pass, all pain does.
Biting the inside of her cheek, she rises to her feet and leaves the Roost. She pitters down the flight of stairs and lets the sounds of people fill her senses. Everyone has awoken now. Barracks halls bubble with life and personality is beginning to return to the Citadel again.
Nissa moves unnoticed around them. It is a simple spell, not invisibility; everyone can still see her. But, no one recognises that it is her unless she wills it. It was one of the first she learned when she was an initiate in the Onyx Order. If she does not cast it, everyone who sees her drops what they are doing to bow, curtsy, salute, by the depths of the World Soul, someone knelt at her feet once. Nissa appreciated the respect, but hated being a bother. So instead she keeps her footsteps light and the spell across her shoulders. But, Nissa wants to not hinder people, not be unreachable. So the moment her foot steps into the Grand Hall, the spell drops. Soldiers salute her, mages curtsy, and laborers bow. Nissa waves her hands, dismissing them from formality and they return to what occupied them.
The Grand Hall is still being restored, but the renovations were nearly complete. Time has not corroded most of the finery of the room. The dark metals and silver still shine due to being at the core of the magical preservation. For the tapestries and more fragile things, her mages had gone through and cast restorative spells on them. The head of the room curves around and rings the simple marble throne. It is not elevated like many other styles of throne rooms. It used to have a cushion to handle the harshness of the stone. It did not survive time.
She sits on the throne and lets people bring news, grievances, and questions to her. One of the scouts bows to her and informs her of villages and hamlets in the mountains. Another tells her of changes in the environment, rivers that shifted, lakes that filled, and springs that burst through the rock. The lst one brings her news of a cavern that unfurled under the Citadel itself.
“Most of our scouts are out investigating other prospects,” they say, “We have not had time to explore it further.”
“I will investigate it myself, “ she replies. “Where is the entrance to the cave?”
“Beneath the barracks, your highness.”
Nissa thanks them and stands. People bow and curtsy until she steps out of the room. She makes her way down the labyrinthine halls. The lights are stable now, no longer pointing towards the enchanted core. The soft purple hue wraps the marble in a blanket of decadence. She passes other guards and mages, each bow or dips their heads in respect.
I wonder if any are Raviera’s birds, watching me on her command.
The entrance to the cave is subtle. Magicians wove a lattice of lichen and mosses over it, keeping both the inside and outside obscured. Nissa waves her hand and the plants part. The maw of the cave is large enough for Nissa and Leon to stand shoulder to shoulder and still have a bit of room to shift. Shifting her shoulders, her magic extends from her hand and wraps itself around her body. The quaint court dress she wears molds and shifts. Silk becomes leather and linen becomes steel. As the golden shadows recede, Nissa stands in plain, traveller’s gear.
Probably archaic by this world’s standards. Ideally no one will be there to ask questions.
She steps through the lichen and the cool air of the cave splashes her in the face.The cavern spans out downward, twisting off to the left. Nissa follows the rocks into the heart of the mountain. The passage of time completely shifted even the depths underneath the Gilded Mountains. Once familiar caves now bend at unknown angles.
The path leads Nissa to an open dome covered in a blue glow. A room filled with mushrooms, from tiny against the stones to towering over her head. She steps into the room and pokes one of the pale mushrooms, blue spores filtering to the ground. Nissa walks around the side and climbs up towards a ledge.
The ground rumbles under her feet and she leaps behind a mushroom tree.
Is that a… crab?
A network of grey fungal stalks wraps around a pale blue shell. The mushroom caps poke up around the top. It shambles from a corner, entangles claws reaching out and grabbing an insect. The fungus puppets the claw into its slack mandibles. Fungal graspers take the insect into its core. It shambles after another.
Pity grasps her heart. It was a hollow shell with only the memory of the crab remaining.
Nissa walks past it, keeping to the upper alcove. A string sinks into the wall in front of her. She turns around and sees a tether strout from the crabs back.
The fungal crab lunges for that spot.
Nissa jumps back. The crab clings to the wall. Its claw stabs out towards her, clicking. She weaves magic into her palms and brings her hand up. The crab steps onto the stone ledge. Crack! The stone buckles under their weight and crumbles. Nissa falls and thuds onto a bed of the glowing mushrooms.
The air rips from her lungs.
More tethers stab into the ground around her. She scrambles back. The crab slings itself down towards her. Lunging at her, it brings its claw down on her. Nissa’s shadows knit into a lattice as it slams against it. Both claws beat against the shield. Dust and spores fly up around them.
Nissa pushes magic into the shield. She shoves it forward and wraps it around the crab. It reels, stumbling on patchwork legs. She jumps to her feet. Stepping back, shadows condense in the palm of her hand. The lattice shield falls. The crab lunges. Pointing her hand towards it, Nissa lets loose a beam of energy into its mouth.
A purple glow emanates from inside the crab. It stumbles back and prepares itself to lunge again. Nissa closes her fist. The magic erupts out of the shell. It splits into a dozen pieces and they fly across the cave. The legs give out. The husk hits the ground, mushrooms and spores fly into the air. The fungal stalks flail in the empty body of the crab. The husk of the crab lies still, unmoving.
She relaxes and brushes herself off. Spores cling to her hair and clothes, illuminating her in a dull blue glow. Nissa chuckles to herself and cracks her neck. “You’re getting rusty.”
The pull deep in her chest picks up again.
Nissa sighs and places her hand on her chest. The shadows of the cavern pull to her, stretching with the heartbeat of the soul. She walks forward, towards the entrance to the mushroom grove. Passing a tunnel, something dark catches her eye. She turns and sees a sheet of black steel.
She can tell it's a door, but where they meet is horizontal, as if the building had been knocked over. Nissa steps towards it, reaching out to press her hand against the dark steel. About a foot or so away from the entrance, the doors slide open. A loud crunching sound, like shattering oyster shells, rips out from the side of the building.
Rust chokes everything in the building’s main hall. Jetting metal parts, bending like limbs, cover the main hall. Dull red lights hum around her, a near silent purr emanates from the walls around her. Boxes crafted from a mesh of metal sit silently in corners. Their contents are alien to her.
Nissa walks in deeper, her eyes skimming across the abandoned technology. Its alienness presses down upon her. Creeping into the fathoms of her mind, possibility is suffocating. She rounds a corner–
An explosion of lighting slams into her chest. Protection runes take the blow and shatter. Nissa rolls behind a metal box. The smoke ripples off her chest piece. She curses. Pulling the shadows around closer to her, she wills herself to vanish. Peeking around the box–
Ping! Lighting rips past her again.
I’m invisible! How in the depths did it see me?!
Nissa drops the invisibility, cursing its uselessness. She pulls shadows into the palm of her hand and condenses them. The inky bolt shoots towards the source. Metal echoes with the impact. Nissa leans forward and promptly zips back. A bolt of lightning peels past her and burns a hole into one of the machines.
How do I get eyes on this thing?!
Nissa goes around to the otherside of the box and peers over. Finally, she sees the construct. It is steel, like the machines Mae introduced to them. A long hollow rod jetsons out of a rectangular base. A glowing circular core hums on its underbelly. It stands on a four legged, bent angle. It whips around to face her and its core glows brighter.
Willing her body to be like smoke, Nissa dashes to a box behind the machine. She reforms and crafts another shadow bolt. She throws it at the core. White hot liquid pours from the circular vessel. The machine spins to face her. A quiet click echoes across the belly of the steel complex. No liquid lighting sprays at her. The white liquid begins to boil and a caustic steam bubbles up from the pooling mass. Rapidly, it evaporates into gas and even the smell recedes as quickly as it came.
She sighs a breath of relief. Calling shadows to her chest, the broken runes reform and fill with magic. Walking over to the machine, Nissa nudges the legs with her foot. The long cylindrical tube points at her and clicks a few times.
“You’re out of lighting, little thing.” Nissa giggles, “Hiss all you like.”
Going through the complex, Nissa encounters more mechanical lighting spitters. They fall as quick as they raise themselves, white hot mechanical ichor splashing against rusted steel. Nissa leaves their harmless bodies; Mae may have use for them.
Nissa ascends a staircase, metal moaning under her. The second floor is much smaller than the first. The technology becomes familiar to her in a twisted way. Tables and chairs sit along the walls. Planes of dark metal are lofted above them. Devices covered in buttons, each labelled with letters, pray at the foot of these planes.
A pale blue light ripples to light across the room. The visage of what Nissa must assume is a man. His arms are far too thin, with long angular fingers. A massive set of hoods hunches his back and a flat, masked face looks off beyond her. A voice, muffled yet all too clear with segmented syllables, manifests to life from the image. “The power grid has been... ...eavily compromised. Abort research and proceed to the emergency exits located at... ...and egress with haste.”
“Who are you? What is this place?”
The visage does not reply. As quickly as it manifested, it vanishes back into its cylindrical base. Nissa approaches it and runs her hand over the glass dome sitting at the center. The visage appears again and repeats itself.
An illusion. I guess even an adeptus can be fooled by simple illusions.
Nissa chuckles to herself as she steps back. She does a once-over in the facility, ensuring her magic fully destroys those lighting spitters. Everything else in this rusted hull remains untouched. Time was unkind to the creations here and if Mae is to make us of them, they must not be damaged further.
Later, Nissa slips back through the lichen overgrowth. Her gear flutters out back into the courtly dress. The ashes from the construct fades into dark stitchwork along the hem of the dress. Brushing herself off, Nissa wills the plant growth to obscure the entrance once again. A guardsman stands at the ready in the doorway leading to the Citadel proper.
“Lady Nissa,” they say, giving her a bow, “The commander and his scouting party have returned and are awaiting your presence in the Grand Hall.”
“Thank you.”
When Nissa enters, the room stands at attention. Leon and Mae stand side by side at the foot of the throne. Leon’s soldier-ness is undeniable, straight back and square shoulders. Mae looks even smaller at his side, fusing with a strap on her bag. She notices a shell sticking out of a side pocket.
Nissa sits down on the throne and gestures to everyone to relax. Leon and Mae bow in their respective fashions. She looks down at them both, “Was the scouting mission fruitful?”
“We were able to acquire updated notes for our maps, but not direct copies,” Leon answers. “The state of the world is… painfully different.” Leon glances away, a twinge of guilt winks at her, “Forgive me, Nissa, but I may have made a promise on your behalf.”
“Oh?”
“There are people in the remains of Ilmeris,” he says, “There’s maybe two dozen of them left. Their King, Amidias, assisted us when we were separated from the others.”
“We have to help them!” Mae exclaims, placing her hands on the table, “They look like they don’t have food and they’re being hunted by the Godseeker and–”
“Mae,” Nissa raises her hand, “Continue, Leon.”
“Mae is not wrong. The people there have clearly been through toils unimaginable. The hopelessness is almost contagious. When I was speaking with Amidias I made the offer of sanctuary to him and his people.”
Nissa raises an eyebrow, “Did he decline you? I did not see any extra people with the scouting party.”
“He does not want to make any decision unless he meets you. They do have updated maps that would greatly mitigate the number of scouting parties we would need to send out, risking our position.”
“Wise,” Nissa notes, “And convenient since I have finished applying the illusions over the Citadel. It is possible for me to leave this place and not have us still vulnerable.”
“Are you going?!” Mae chirps, “We should help them!”
“Once our preparations are complete, we will return to Ilmeris and hold counsel with King Amidias. Having people acquainted with the more modern socio-political situation would be of use to us.”
Mae smiles wide and Nissa catches a half-smile encroach on Leon’s lips.
“In the meantime,” Mae hops to her feet, “May I be excused to continue to work on my technological projects?”
“Yes you may– Actually, speaking of,” Nissa says, turning to Mae, “I believe I may have found something of interest to you.”
Chapter 7: Tech & Treaties
Summary:
Mae goes through the Arsenal Lab and Nissa goes to Amidias.
Chapter Text
“This is it.”
Mae’s eyes fall on the compound door. She sees old sensors flick around, seeking out movement like a dragonfly seeks out prey. The colossal structure is a patchwork of rust and wires, red against the calm blue of the cavern around her. It is an Arsenal Lab, an abandoned one, but one nonetheless.
“Nissa,” Mae says, excitement boiling up through her nose, “How did you find this?”
Nissa chuckles, a motherly smile dawning across her face, “I was curious about the cave in and found this place. Such technology is alien to me, but I thought you may have use for it.”
For a brief moment, Mae wonders what it's like to be her. A woman jettisoned through time, three millennia lost under magical sleep, only to wake up to a world far more advanced than anything she could imagine. A light bulb is novel to her. What does an Arsenal Lab even look like in your eyes?
“Are you sure it's abandoned?” Mae says, shaking the thoughts from her head.
Nissa’s chuckle darkens slightly, “Heh, It is now . Whatever those… machines were inside are now no longer a threat to us. I ensured that they were either broken or rendered inert before you returned.”
Mae blinks, but sets aside the question of what that bubbles at her lips. Since not even a divine miracle could fill in that gap. She vows to herself to try.
“Well then, let’s do this!” Mae turns towards the door. She steps in the sightline of the sensors and the door opens. An angry crunching sound rips throughout the cavern as rusted hinges angrily beg for death. Walking inside, she sees a room filled to the brim with technology even she could barely conceive. Belts and manufacturing machines line the walls, all stuck mid motion. Crates sit in a corner, parts poking out from an open lid. Low red light bathes the area. The facility is operating on emergency power somehow. Mae makes a note to find whatever generator is still fueling the lights.
She walks deeper into the bowels of the Lab. Nissa’s light footsteps echo behind her, padding gently against the steel. Mae rounds a corner and sees a faint red glow on the floor. Active wires run from the ceiling to the floor and up slightly– that’s a turret .
She leaps back, pushing Nissa as she goes.
“Mae–! What’s wrong?!” Nissa says, pulling her close to her chest. Swirling magic fills the palm of Nissa’s hand, she mutters, “I thought I dealt with these things.”
Mae grabs her hand and waits for the sound of gunfire. Nothing comes.
She turns around again, peering around the corner. Her eyes meet with the turret again and she dashes back. She waits. Nothing comes. Taking a deep breath, Mae looks at it again. The power supply, while receiving electricity, is gone. The burn of magic forms a crater where the battery and plasma magazine should be.
It’s broken.
A sigh whistles from Mae’s chest as she steps around the corner, keeping her eyes open for more.
Nissa’s voice pipes up again, “Mae, what is wrong?”
“Sorry– sorry,” Mae chuckles, relief coming off her words like sweat, “I saw the turret before I realized it was broken. But hey, it's better to be safe than sorry with anything gun-related.”
“Ah, so that’s what they’re referred to as.”
“What?”
“Those machines that wield concentrated fire,” Nissa says, gesturing to the broken turret, “They were the biggest, but fortunately only issue in this place.”
“They shoot plasma– Wait… you were dodging turrets ?!” Mae all but yells, “Are you okay?!”
“The injuries were simple to mend,” Nissa laughs, “Leon has given me worse injuries when we spare. There were only six in this building, and they are all broken now. Once I encountered and dealt with the first, the rest were not difficult to handle.”
Mae blinks up at Nissa, “And you found six– You know Nissa. You scare me sometimes.”
“I am assuming that what I did is not normal.”
“ Not at all .”
Nissa giggles slightly, “Well, I suppose my condition is also the furthest from normal. Now, you seem to have taken a liking to this place.”
“I am just surprised you found a semi-abandoned but still intact Arsenal Lab,” Mae says, “Like, most of the facilities here are still functional. Give or take a few repairs, obviously.”
“It’s within arm’s reach of the Citadel, directly under it I believe.”
Mae turns back around and her eyes land on a set of rusted out steps. The faint glow of a potential second floor calls to her. First, she walks over and unplugs the turret. You can never be too careful .
She walks up the stairs, her hand patting against the side of the facility. The second floor is clearly the brain of the mechanical operation. Computers line the walls with other mechanical systems connected to them. Mae passes by a column and an image of Draedon appears.
She yelps and almost spirits backwards into Nissa, who had silently followed her up.
“Mae–! It’s just an illusion,” Nissa says, chuckling slightly. “There’s no need for you to be frightened.”
Mae turns around. The static image of Draedon speaks, “The power grid has been... ...eavily compromised. Abort research and proceed to the emergency exits located at... ...and egress with haste.” Static soaks the message. Regardless, she relaxes a bit.
“Sorry, just saw Draedon’s face and bolted.”
“Oh, so that’s what Draedon looks like,” Nissa says, “That armor is certainly a choice.”
“Yeah,” Mae sighs, moving back towards the computers, “Not the prettiest.”
Mae approaches the screen. She knows of computers, thinking machines that are the backbone of Draedon’s creations. The Ash Priests declared their existence heretical. Thinking back, Mae remembers how Providence’s decree swept through her conclave. Wreathing in holy fire, the gaunt faces of the Priests, having walked through the purifying flame of their goddess, came to the engineers and demanded the false minds be purged. The engineers and her mentors obeyed.
She runs her fingers across the keys. Tapping one, she sees the warm red light appear under it. The screen flickers to life. It appears and the script runs across, blinking into being.
Her mentor, an unnamed woman, had explained the mind of machines to her years ago. Students never learned their teacher’s names. Mothers gave the children of Providence simple names that families share and friends learn. Simple, so that when Providence calls it is easy to give up.
As she sits down at the desk, she wishes that she asked for her mentor’s name.
Code, as her teacher called it, is how machines mimicked the minds of people. Like words in a book tell a story, the encoder writes out the mind of the machine and it obeys. Her teachers were able to give them simple, repetitive instruction. The only person to fully write out mechanical minds like a god weaves people is Draedon.
Was it heresy because he is not a god or because he shows that we can be like gods?
Mae shakes her head, banishing the thought. She reads over the code, an alien script in the same way Azafuri is foreign to her. Yet, it enthralls her.
Forgive me, Providence.
Mae begins probing, reading deeper into the lines of code. With a bit of prodding, she learns what lines control the lights, door sensors, the mechanical arms, and the now broken turrets. She discovers the generator, a pump that sends water down pipes that sit over a pool of magma. The boiling water powers the facility.
I could make this mine.
“Is this being demolished?” Mae asks.
Nissa raises an eyebrow, “Not unless we must. Destroying a place of this size may remove the integrity of the cavern, and I would like to try and avoid cave-ins.”
“Um… could I– can I ask to remain here instead of going back to Ilmeris? I might be able to make this place somewhat functional, or be able to pick it apart for scraps?”
Nissa purses her lips, “Let me discuss the matter with Leon about you remaining here, but I do allow you to use this place as you wish.”
Mae smiles wide, beaming at her, “Thank you thank you thank you !”
~~~
“I don’t blame her,” Leon says, looking over his map table. “That clam clearly had her shaken.”
“She’s not keen on combat,” Nissa chuckles, “I’ve learned that much.”
“Fortunately, once we get these maps we should not need her to join us anymore,” Leon says, glancing over the incomplete collection scattered across his quarters. His belongings have begun their usual migration for organization to the wild arrangement that usually accompanied him. There is order, but said order dresses in a chaotic lace.
“She will be glad.”
Nissa’s eye catches her reflection in the shine of his armor. Shadows dance and twist around her shoulders. Darkness falls from her eyes like fog trickling through the roof of a cave. Her dark eyes ripple with purple and gold energy. Her presence smothers the light around her. The only part of her that seems to be filled with light is the glow of Samaru’s soul, disrupted by the outline of her ribs. She looks inhuman.
“Has my appearance been this… different?”
Leon’s gaze softens, “Different? You have certainly looked more ethereal since taking on Samaru’s soul.”
“Heh…”
“Nissa, are you well?”
Turning to him, she chuckles, “I look like I have thrown aside my humanity in favor of magic. I look like the mages who would burn their own souls to bend the fabric of time. I look like–”
Leon steps forward and places a hand on her shoulder. “No, you don’t. You look like your appearance has been influenced by Samaru’s presence. Which it has, you are carrying her soul. Everyone in the Citadel knows that you have taken this burden. Everyone knows that you have taken this on as a selfless act.”
Nissa does not respond. She closes her eyes and leans back into his palm. Silence washes between them.
“This isn’t like the Kings of Azafure where they would inflict themselves with brimstone souls in the name of power,” Leon continues with his voice low, “You are doing this to ensure the world can be at peace. A visage is only terrible when it is surrounded by terrible deeds. Your image invokes hope.”
“...Thank you, Leon.”
Leon leans forward and places a small kiss on the crown on her head, “This will pass, Samaru will return and things will go to what it once was.”
I hope you’re right.
Later, Nissa and Leon meet with the others, now a mix of soldiers and scouts. Leon keeps the simple armor, but the others keep their uniforms. Nissa ensures that someone informs Mae that they are leaving. Leon goes to great lengths to try and mentally prepare Nissa for the sight of the desert.
It still nearly takes the wind out of her when she sees it.
Ilmeris, the sea that once housed the dragon of the sea, Ilmer, was gone. The faint smell of brimstone floats in the air. The bite of sand blows past her face. Grief, an old simmering pot she’s come to nurture, gnaws at the separation between Samaru’s soul and hers.
Leon and the scouts guide them to the opening leading into the depths of the sea. Ash and glass fragments cover the sandstone caverns. What was once covered in glittering prisms is now dull and charred stone. Eventually, they reach an opening in the floor lapping with water.
Standing over the dark water, Leon looks up at Nissa, “Do we want to be a smaller group when we meet with him? I don’t want to give him the impression we are pressing him with military force.”
“That’s a fair point,” Nissa replies. She turns to the group, “Remain here, except two of you who will accompany us down.”
Leon waves two of the soldiers forward. Nissa weaves the breathing spells for the four of them. In moments, they plunge into the swirling depths. Nissa allows the fauna and prisms to awe her. The pristine world of the depths takes her breath away. The faint electric buzz energises her. She looks forward and silently admires the way the blue light casts purple over Leon’s face.
Thankfully for them, he recalls the way back into the enclave.
Leon breaks the surface of the water first. He is a familiar face to the people there, and Nissa did not want to frighten them. Her other escorts tread water beside her and Leon speaks to someone above the lapping surface. Then, he pops his head downward and waves the three of them up. He heaves himself out of the water, the soldiers at his heels.
She is the last to break the surface. Leon extends a hand down to her and she takes it, letting herself be guided. It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust. Blinking, she scans the alcove and has to bite back a gasp. Suffering chokes the air here. Nissa can feel the hopelessness press into her flesh as half-starved people poke their heads out of decrepit buildings.
Stars above…
A merman comes out of a house nestled slightly above the others. His armor, worn and well-used, is clearly meant to be an heirloom, but its practical use had become necessary.
Leon takes a step to the side as he approaches. Bowing to him, he gestures to her and says, “Lady Nissa, may I introduce you to King Amidias. King Amidias, this is my lady Nissa.”
Nissa places a hand against her chest, ignoring the pulsing light of the auric soul. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, your majesty.”
Amidias blinks, shock and awe draped across his face. Then, he shakes his head and drops into a bow. “Forgive me, your holiness. I did not realize Mae was being straightforward about your divinity. Please allow me to humble myself–”
“I am not a goddess,” Nissa says, raising her hand, “My appearance is merely a reflection of my duty to Samaru, the dragon of shadow. I bear her soul, and what you see is the influence of her soul on my body. My role is no different than your own, your majesty, as a guide and ruler to her people.” Nissa copies his bow, lowering himself to his level.
Amidias’ face flushes with embarrassment. He straightens his spine and looks over at Leon. “I will not lie to you, Leon,” Amidias says, recomposing himself, “I did not think Mae was being as literal as she was with her perceptions.”
“Mae is honest,” Leon chuckles, “Even to her deficit sometimes.”
He turns to her, “And my apologies, your ladyship.”
“I can assure you, your majesty,” Nissa smiles, “I take no offense. Now, you wished to meet me before you considered Leon’s offer.”
“I– Yes, I did.” Amidias turns away from her and towards what Nissa now assumes is his home, “May we speak in private?”
“Of course.”
Nissa follows him up into the carved coral house. It clearly once had a decorative element, but time was not kind to it. Now only the practical brutalities of war remain, maps, spells, and weaponry line the walls. Amidias stops short of a desk that is partially broken.
“Leon told me you follow Samaru, forgive if this is rude but I have not heard of this goddess.”
Nissa bites the inside of her cheek, “Samaru is no goddess, she is the dragon of shadow and the unseen. I am her champion and vessel.”
A terror flashes across his face and she sees his eyes flick to his trident.
“I am not here to harm you or your people,” she reaffirms, “I am not Yharim.”
I am going that a lot, aren't I?
Resolve fills the gaps as he turns to her, “We are devout servants of Otonilou, the goddess of electricity and The Deep One, the god of the sea. Ilmeris burned because of our piety and it is all we have left. If your stipulation for hospitality is that we give that up, we will not.”
“I will not ask you to,” Nissa says, “I have yet to make judgments of the gods for I have not met them. Regardless, you and your people are suffering. Why should you be punished for a crime committed long before the birth of even your ancestors?”
Amidias exhales and Nissa catches, for the briefest of moments, a relieved smile catch at the corner of his lips, “I grown accustomed to the Godseeker’s “justice.” If you meet them, our gods, what do you plan to do?”
“First, learn if their divinity truly comes from an auric soul. Immortality and immense power can be gained in other, harsher ways.”
“And if he, Yharim, is right?”
Nissa closes her eyes and exhales, “I am oathsworn to the dragon of shadow, Samaru, first and her kin second. I would demand they return the soul to the Aerie. What was stolen should return to its proper owner.”
“What if they refuse?”
Nissa sees fear aged like wine in Amidias’ eyes. The flecks of hope that swam across his eyes dim.
“I will not lie to you, Amidias. I do not know.” She closes her eyes and sighs, “For now I hope it is not the case. I do not like unnecessary bloodshed.”
The Sea King meets her gaze and for a moment, both rulers sit in the ocean of uncertainty. Questions dance between them both. The aches of loss eat into each other. The minnows of unknown fear scamper in their schools around them.
Amidias is the first to break the stare, “We have nothing. I have done nothing but beg to the gods for some sort of salvation, deliverance, or even a crumb of hope to swim by us. Either you are their answer, or they have abandoned us to the Godseeker’s wrath. I truly hope it is the former, the latter would break me as we have allowed ourselves to be broken in their name.”
Nissa watches the floodgates of emotion crash across his shoulders. She wonders how it has been since he even knew of hope.
He turns to his desk, “We will take your offer, your ladyship. I only ask that you help us relocate, we fear what would happen if Yharim learned that we still live, even broken.”
“I can promise that will be no issue,” Nissa smiles, “Illusions are a convenient thing.”
Amidias sighs and a weary smile goes across his face. “Thank you, give us three days to collect ourselves and grief our home. We will be ready for you when you retrieve us.”
“Excellent, I will see you in three days.”
Chapter 8: Flamma Aeterna
Summary:
A sorrowful goodbye between teacher and pupil.
Notes:
Calamitas enjoyers come get yo juice
Chapter Text
The whisper of a cloak cuts through the uncanny shadow of the icy peaks. The snow clinging to the dark fabric hides it in the pale landscape. The wearer comes to the open mouth of an icy cave and the cloak floats inside. Out of the wind, heat from under the layers of fabric melt and evaporate the snowflakes. The deep crimson cloak sticks out like a poppy pushing through a late frost. It follows the path downward, stepping into an open ice filled cavern. Standing at an icy table, an old man, human with a few drops of frost dryad blood floating in his veins, leans over a table of spells. He is absorbed into the work in front of him.
The cloak wearer looks up at him.
“Master Permafrost.”
The archmage spins around, straightening his spine and mimicking the regal stature he held in Yharim’s court for decades. His eyes widen, then soften.
“Calamitas, what are you doing here?!”
Calamitas, the Brimstone Witch, destroyer of the pious, and scorcher of Ilmeris looks up at her mentor. She tips her head back, letting the hood slip off her horned head. “I am here for you.”
A slow exhale leaves his lips. He closes his eyes and lets his stature soften. Authority ceases to gentility. “I see… I can only assume the King sent you to retrieve me.”
“He did,” she answers, “But I do not intend to obey.”
Surprise spreads its wings across his face. His head turns to the side and a hint of betrayal lines his tone, “Disobeying the King has consequences Calamitas. You cannot simply ignore Yharim’s decrees.”
Ironic, seeing as he too runs from Yharim.
“Yharim has broken his promise to me,” she says, taking a step towards him. “He vowed to help me preserve the remains of my family. And yet, he sends me after you. I will not follow an oathbreaker.”
“Yharim is many things, good and terrible. An oathbreaker is not one of them!” Permafrost corrects, adopting the same stern yet still gentle tone he had with her in the early days of her lessons. The scolding is as if she was still a twelve year old girl, still trotting at his heels.
But a decade has passed, and she does not buckle to the tone as she once would have.
“Then tell me what he is, sending me here to doom you.”
“He likely does not realize you consider me family–”
“–then he is blind.”
Permafrost sighs, his jaw clenching. Fractals of ice materialize around his mouth, air droplets crystalizing instantly. He shakes his head and turns back to the icy table. Now that he cannot see her, she lets her emotional wince from his scolding ripple onto her face.
“Blind, I will concede.” Permafrost says, the regality quickly returning to his voice. “But that is no excuse for turning against him.”
“Then why did you defect, Master Permafrost?”
Calamitas tries to keep the same verbal firmness as him, but the slight waver in her voice betrays her. She hates the thought of disappointment holding its sway in her teacher’s mind. The pressure to apologize and leave, returning to Yharim at his request, is immense.
Don’t, you want to be here.
Don’t let him shoo you away!
Calamitas mentally dismisses the two of them, instead focusing harder on Permafrost.
“I could see the wedge forming between us, and for your safety I chose to leave.”
“And throw me away with it?!”
“Absolutely not!” Permafrost retorts, spinning back around. There’s a fire in his ice blue eyes. One born of a wasp-like sting. “Your work deserves to be exalted, you are a magical prodigy. You do not have opportunities at my side. Yharim can provide you with chances to succeed in ways that I never could or can.”
At that moment, Calamitas did not care that her words could bite. She’s done countless bites with both words and flame. She deserves an answer at least. “I don’t want any damnable ‘opportunity’ given to me by that bastard. His cause brings nothing but carnage.”
“You forget, Calamitas, this is my cause as well.”
Calamitas stares into the pale eyes of her teacher. The tone in his voice, brotherhood , sits firm against her chest. If he was anyone else, she would laugh, call him an idiot for believing that Yharim was willing to place anyone above or even equal to his cause for the gods’ deaths. But, Permafrost’s voice carries that gentle authority that she would call fatherly if the term did not scare her. It makes her think.
Permafrost has known Yharim since the beginning of the conquest. For as long as she’s known them both, they were nigh inseparable. The stories of their work trickled to her through the halls of the Quilted Palace every moment she was under Permafrost’s stewardship. Mind and motive, blade and scabbard, sun and sky, river and spring. The allegories were endless, but all landed resoundingly. Yharim was the king, the hand which all followed, the hope which all looked to, and the action which all trembled at. Permafrost was the advisor, the hand which guided the sword, the knowledge which all seeked, and the plans on which all action rested. They were inseparable, incomplete without the other. Both men have seen horror and triumph, bore the images of terror and pain together that would drive most mad.
“Brotherhood” would sell their bond short.
What if it was us?
What if Catastrophe or Cataclysm sat on the Auric throne? It doesn’t even need to be that throne in particular. What if Cataclysm was able to brawl and break his way to the Archonship, sitting on Azafure’s ruling council? What if Catastrophe with his swordsmanship cut and carved through the Merchants and petty nobles who often cheated him out of pay and seized their assets, ruling a district of Azafure with the power that wealth brings? What if her brothers were corrupted by the same whispers of power that now claim Yharim? Would she still be hellbent on leaving their side if Yharim was one of them?
She closes her eyes, not liking her answer.
Calamitas ignores the ghostly whisper of Catastrophe’s soul pressing into the corners of her mind. The phantom feelings of Cataclysm’s hand on her shoulder nearly flinch her. She mentally curses them both. Damn them for trying to give her sympathy for the Godseeker.
“I’m sorry, Master Permafrost. Yharim has sent me to retrieve you. He was in a rage when he gave me the order,” Calamitas says, willing her voice steady. “But, I will not allow Yharim to bring you harm, even in a fit of rage.”
Permafrost’s eyes fall. “And I will not allow you to throw away your life in my service. You are twenty-two years old, Calamitas. You have a life that you deserve to live.”
“In my ten years of service to Yharim I have scorched more than him. Ilmeris is ash, Azafure is ruins, countless villages raised. I have felled lesser gods and I am barely an adult!” she retorts, straightening her spine and looking him in the eye, as an equal, not a student. “The world sees me as a weapon to be wielded, not a person to be loved thanks to him. I have failed those I’ve loved once, I will not , do it again!”
Permafrost’s gaze hardens and it takes alot for Calamitas not to buckle. It is not the harshness that Yharim possesses, but the authority remains. I will not call it fatherly. Stop trying to make me. But, it is. No it isn’t.
“You have not failed me, Calamitas,” Permafrost says, “I wish that you return to Yharim, my absence will make Yharim need another powerful mage to guide him. You have my wisdom, on top of world-weariness that I should have gained decades ago. He will pick you and you will be safe from the violence–”
At that, Calamitas cannot help but burst out into tired laughter. “Your love blinds you, Permafrost. He leaves the seat open and tells me to drag you back. The King has no desire to fill it, he’d sooner be rid of it than have someone else other than you be in its seat.”
Permafrost goes silent.
The two of them stand in the icy cavern. The faint sound of dripping icicles sing around them. The blocks of ice under her feet begin to melt as the passive effects of her brimstone magic filter off her and sink. With the silence, her guilt has time to ferment and bubble back to the surface.
“I’m sorry, Master Permafrost… I misspoke.”
“–No, you have no need to apologize, Calamitas. You are right.” Permafrost says as thoughts begin to swirl behind his eyes. “I have come to learn blindness clings to me, it is a shame I only see it now after over a century of life.”
Calamitas closes her eyes, pressing her lips together into a fine line. She lets a heartbeat of silence pass between them. She inhales and lets purpose fill her once again. “I am here to protect you,” the inevitable tears begin to pinprick at the corners of her eyes. “I am going to buy you time that time would not normally allow.”
“Calamitas–”
“I may have never been able to figure out how to reweave life into the dead. I can preserve the living, put a pause on the inevitable. We can wait until a blade or time claims Yharim’s life. When he is gone, I will return and dispel the magic and we can continue your cause, without the Godseeker’s wrath staining it.”
Permafrost looks at his student and a smothered pride blooms across his face, “I assume that I have no say in this?”
Calamitas nods, “Forgive me, Master Permafrost.”
He sighs, a look of defeat and shame crossing his face. She knows that he sees her conviction. It tears into her. She doesn’t want to do this. But, Yharim was not that brother he once knew. She even doubted if the love Permafrost bleeds out for him is mutual.
Maybe, if Yharim changes–
No.
Permafrost blinks. He smothers the shame and meets her gaze. An emotion swirls and swooshes behind his eyes, one Calamitas cannot identity. It is warm, but a sorrow that reflects like a mirror into her nestles behind it.
“I can see that I cannot stop you,” Permafrost says. Nostalgia, the hidden emotion, trespasses in his voice, “So I will not.”
“Thank you.”
The witch wraps her arms around the archmage, burying her face in his robes. For the first time in weeks, Calamitas sobs. Permafrost pulls her closer into the embrace, resting his chin between her horns. The presence of her brothers wrap themselves around her back, encouraging her.
She pulls her magic, everything but brimstone, to her fingers and begins to weave. The tears flowing down her face pull off her and crystalize. Magic wraps and embraces her teacher's limbs. Icy magic similar to his own covers him in a tender blanket of living and static embers of mana. Like a fungus, the crystalus of frost grows from the palms of her hands. Time freezes. Once the spellwork claims his torso, Calamitas lets go of him. It begins to grow outward into a polygonal shape. Her tears get caught up into the spellwork, freezing with him.
In the moments before it covers his face, Permafrost looks out at her fondly, “Take care of yourself, Cali.”
“I will, I swear to you, I will!”
The icy latic covers Permafrost’s face and his body sits in stasis, a small smile on his face. A dodecahedron of timeless ice cocoons him in a perfect, life sustaining stasis. His body, mind, and soul will not change. When Calamitas releases him, it will be as if no moment passed. The weight of it crushes her. She sinks to the floor and puts her head in her hands. Sobs echo off the frozen walls.
She loses track of how much time passes.
Then, minutes or days later, the Witch of Calamity rises to her feet. She brushes herself off, wiping tears from her eyes. She faces the frozen face of her teacher, the melancholic smile cutting into her chest. She bows, a student giving homage to her instructor. The Brimstone Witch turns around and walks out of the cavern. As she exits, she waves her hand and a wall of pale ice covers the opening to the cavern.
Permafrost will outlive you, Yharim. That much I swear.
XF-09 Ares's Left Laser Cannon (Guest) on Chapter 1 Wed 05 Mar 2025 06:09AM UTC
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Last Edited Sat 19 Apr 2025 12:17AM UTC
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