“A fine tea isn’t this, sister?” A gentle breeze coursed through Aurelithae’s crimson tresses bound elegantly into a spiraling bun atop her crown. Mellowed shade spread over the four siblings, sitting beneath the pavilion in the arboretum’s center.

  A long dress flown across her slender form, its texture smooth, bereft of creases or wrinkles thanks to the tireless inscriptions whirling within each thread constituting the whole dress. A deep, crimson red matching her hair freely tumbling in smooth waves, along its rims golden velvet stripes sinuously stretched through the whole silhouette. From the round hem, up even along the shoulders and the elongated and starched funnel collar fitted around her neck, its topmost edges slightly inclined.

  Aurelithae turned at Calaviril, matured like her and their two brothers sitting across them, who joined their little stroll to her quiet chagrin.

  She too wore a long dress possessing the luster and extraordinary smooth texture of quicksilver, captured into the fabric of silk. Its shade matched her eyes and scales’, a bright citrine yellow, whilst its edges a phosphorescent silver of chromatic threads. Shoulders stiff, overlaid with leathery panels flared out and their tapered ends inclined upwards evoking the favored cloaks of southern nobility, in shade a black deeply contrasting the rest, pairing well with her luxuriant hair gathered into a high tail. Front a thick, silky wall fringed her forehead, two braided locks framed her face, cinched by golden beads, each a birthday gift from Drussaev. The collar likewise heightened through preternatural techniques, cylindrical and hugging her neck, even with its top half folded down into vertically positioned wings, reflecting her ear piercings dangling languidly over them.

  “It is, though I doubt it is to your tastes.” Her gaze moved onwards to Getaias and Caracallioth sitting across them.

  “Tea is truly the beverage belonging to women’s parties and gatherings.” Getaias said with all the pride of their kin written onto his handsome visage. The fine glass tapped upon his thin lips curved mirthful at their company, whilst his sunken eyes of gold tinctured with red–like his scales–lingered on the greatest prize he desired to earn. Aurelithae.

  He was the uncouth manifestation of Terrianis’s words penned in regards of her own mother, and Umbreniel.

  Though in terms of looks, Aurelithae averted not her gaze from the generously arranged face that may one day belong to a thrill-seeking, valiant praetor. One already decorated with little scars earned by his nature, his inability to held thoughts surfacing in his mind within seconds.

  His hair dense and elegantly trimmed short, reaching just his strong, tapering jaw in a dark red shade tinged with a wine-like, purplish tone contrasting the pale white complexion. On the other hand, his eyes set deep in the sockets, lifted and elongated the same blend as the broad patch of scales trailing across his exposed shoulders and bosom.

  “Though I wonder, if mead could mend the sweetness of this tea.” Getaias remained true to himself. He gently adjusted the deep purple Toga-Pulla adorning his slender form already possessing defined muscles like Albrion’s.

  “I doubt so.” Caracallioth, the brother whom he shared a mother with joined in the little conversation.

  Unlike him, he learned how to proper form his thoughts into words, like how he kept his distaste of all saccharine things within the confines of his mind. Though he was still afar from Sussuovar in terms of perfection, small ripples formed on his oblong, striking visage, once he forced a chocolate covered cherry between his teeth. Hard he bit down, tried masking his disgust by grinding the seed between his pointed, adamantine teeth.

  Caracallioth gently pulled the small, ceramic pot bearing a golden serpent around its lower and upper edges towards himself and put a little licorice into his cup. Relief appeared in his eyes, once the sweetness flooded away by the acrimonious beverage.

  He was a refined youth who reminded Aurelithae of Sussuovar in looks and the way he moved like shadows. Lean, gaunt face with a pale white complexion, scales red as the Bloodstone often used the construction of Mending Houses’ inner walls, his light red hair left loose, effortlessly flowing down on both sides, framing his handsome visage sculpted with narrow, naturally squinted eyes of a fiery red in an almond frame, prominent, high cheeks below them. Sharply tapering jaw of common amongst their kin, and their scaled ancestors, whose small chin horns he inherited.

  “So, are you two excited? Any plans where you shall head out first?” Aurelithae knowing both enjoyed the talk of their own future, changed the awkward subject.

  “I am absolutely thrilled. A peaceful life is for the elderly and statesmen, especially in days like this. When our enemies took the initiative.” Getaias spoke quickly, full of excitement, expectation on amassing glory to his name in the imperial annals like a merchant forming the scheme setting him up for a long life of peace and prosperity. Even surprised Aurelithae for abstaining from his usual outburst. Though it evaporated in a breath’s moment, as it was naught, but a momentary relapse into silence. “My hands already itch in expectations of all the scum blood to be spilled.” A wicked grin spread across his handsome face.

  “I like this one. A confident tool he would be.

  On one hand, Aurelithae believed she grew even more perceptive to the slight shifts upon the visage often masked in tranquil calmness. Though seldom she tested this belief, asking small things in regards of the three remaining Chosen and Augermil. Each time she spotted a faint ripple, mild tremor as if a cold wind swept through Terrianis. Each time, he managed a calm answer contrasting what Sigi told of her in the past few years.

  Through Typhaon, who shared the sense of his hearing, Terrianis involuntarily shared it with her, in his occasional outbursts towards his siblings across the sea. As she learnt, the two remaining with her uncle now stayed with Quariannis in Phyrgos, where they still refused to leave for Luth-Astaril, vowing to solve the city’s growing problems, including the anathema spreading from the north into the city, brought by the thousands flocking in fear of the coming war.

  “Certainly, excited to see how we shall fare upon the battle torn lands, though I regret that we shan’t be able to prove our improvements in the arena beforehand.” Caracallioth said. “I heard the opposing force of champions belong to a warband of the Host, captured near Vhoragos after the incursion there.”

  “Oh really? Haven’t heard of that?” Calaviril spoke up next, eyes gleaming as she listened excitedly to this news.

  “Aye, I heard the Chosen of the Almodo himself battled with them as they tried claiming the city. Even an Arny of the Nightscale was slain, though the body is yet to be found.” Getias said, trying his best not to appear too thrilled. Both headed for Phyrgos first, aiming to join the company of the Chosen, so Aurelithae heard. Though they weren’t the sole siblings of hers with such ambitions.

  “I wouldn’t be sure than the Arny is slain.” Aurelithae stated with utter confidence, and all six eyes turned at her inquisitively.

  She sighed, realizing neither studied the old tomes saved by Augermil himself, detailing his own attempts at slaying a few of the Nightscale’s chosen death dealers. “And here I thought you two would have read Uncle’s accounts. Slaying an Arny is a tricky matter, an achievement not yet claimed even by Uncle. He clashed with at least three or more. Five times he slain at least each, and they always returned even after the Grim Sovereign got banished by the Dawnfather.”

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  “Are they undead?” Caracallioth asked, almost with a childlike excitement in his tone.

  Aurelithae shook her head. “They are not, but mortals without death to quote Uncle himself. As future legionariir, you two should consume ardently the contents of the library’s section regarding monsters and our adversary.”

  “And quite wrong he is.

  “We shall, in these last year or so!” Getaias beaten his fist against his exposed bosom as he made his promise.

  “I started already, though I haven’t reached Uncle’s writings I’m afraid.” Caracallioth looked down lumbering. “Though I may skip ahead.” He whispered under the table.

  “I recommend so. The winds of war seem to be blowing whilst a shadow stretches across Vhalleryon.” Aurelithae spoke up, surprising herself a bit. “I expect not either of you to be on the level of Uncle, but if you prove to be a quarter of him, that would ensure our victory in the next war.” Though felt a little satisfaction when even Calaviril looked at her, eyes shimmered adorably.

  *****

  The verdant grass bent down before their feet as they walked betwixt the lifelike statues of their brethren fallen for the great cause of long eons. Aurelithae’s focus fell on a lost sister’s oblique. A marvelous recreation. Long hair chiseled from marble, black as onyx, fluttering in perfect harmony, soft as silk thanks to the sorcerous nature of the paint, whilst the waning Illius given it an iridescent glow making her almost lifelike. A corpse strewn in place, the hewn lithe and sinewy form refitted in her peculiar kimono of a supple, leathery illusion.

  Similarly, the skin section hauntingly resembles her faultless, pale silvery skin, her midnight blue eyes seared whilst the abyssal blackness slitting across her pupil’s center seemingly quivered, the dark tendrils danced and swiveled around the edges. The alluring, dark lips even opened a little, and seemed as if there was a cavity hewn where the tongue was partially visible as she strained her eyes before averting down to the lustrous, but dull marble base where it read:

  “Have you known her?” Calaviril asked as she noticed the lingering gaze of Aurelithae.

  “Only from tales.” Aurelithae relapsed into a silence, then turned at her. “She was even older than brother Quariannis. Once Albrion and she journeyed through the sea, whilst he was trailing after sister Moirstyria, towards the north if I remember it right.” She let a mirthless smile settle upon her lips, turned her head towards the statue erected for her close-sister. “A journey where they had the unfortunate opportunity to meet one of the Charybdises who swallowed their vessel and our sister.” Calaviril recoiled as she drawn up the drawn image of that horrible maw fit to swallow whole armadas.

  Then her attention drawn to on one wearing the distinct, scanty armor of the far south. Their lost-uncles elongated abdomen muscle protruded through the faux shirt manifested by the arkhaine paint. On his gaunt face, a fierce countenance, staring past the dozen other statues lined across the small parcel in the arboretum of the Radiant Keep. Similarly, a brother neither met but knew from the tales of Drussaev. They both stared each in their lightless eyes before moving onwards, trailed by their Impirith Praetors not afar from them.

  “Tell me sister, do you still dream of his Chosen?” They stopped as Calaviril decided to change the subject, one a bit more optimistic compared to talks about the lost. Aurelithae herself ceased her steps, took a small breath before answering.

  “Not as frequently as before.” She answered calmly, in an almost whisper. Aurelithae forced a bit of sorrow born of longing upon her gaze. “Are you still interested in the eldest?” Then she vanished it, and brought the question forward which was a weak spot of Calaviril. Though no more.

  “No… I mean I can’t wait to hear the tales of their journey.” Calaviril answered, her cheeks flushed.

  “Is it in regards of the city, the brewing chaos?” Aurelithae said, knowing well what choked Calaviril’s words. She leant closer and whispered. “Though I may add, you should not venture down there alone, bring at least Drussaev or one of his companions.”

  “Did he tell?” Calaviril asked back in seeing no point to lie. Aurelithae shook her head.

  “He needed not to. You are cut from the same cloth as us; I have no doubt about that.” Aurelithae said with a cheeky smile, recalling the fervor in the citrine eyes revealed each time they tested their feeble mettle against Augermil.

  “Fear not dear sister, I am not alone there anymore.” Calaviril said, though abstained herself from telling more. And noticed a bit of longing in there, knowing like her, Calaviril shall go down there the night ahead of them. “Though I wish I could count you amongst my company there.”

  “Maybe once peace settles upon our capital again. And if not, once we sail towards Vhalleryon.” Aurelithae spoke without a flicker, accompanied by a tender smile. Though all in vain as when she turned to meet Calaviril’s kindly gleaming citrine eyes, she was nowhere to be seen. Neither were the two Impirith Praetors. And in the place of the statue, they gazed at before, Grimslaukh stood, his robe fluttering as if a wind blew in the windless place, he took her.

  “Were that not a good note to finish?” Grimslaukh asked, a sheepish smile tugged at his black and white cadaverous lips.

  “Maybe the contrary.” Aurelithae said laconically, a bit of regret lingering in her heart, knowing the price of betrayal and saving Sigiwaer as she learnt recently. “Though master, before we begin another lesson may I ask of something?”

  “Told you little dragon, no need to address me as master. Call me friend, that sounds better, isn’t it?” She nodded at his answer, though as much as he respected the Higher Being of Dusk, the prospect of it seemed weird. A habit of her upbringing, strengthened further by the insistence of the Deos. “And you may!”

  “Is there a reason for leaving the two other Chosen…” The words choked as feared what Sigi would think of her words, her question. “…alive?”

  “Fear not, this shall remain between us.” Grimslaukh sensing her little agony, reassured her with a genial smile. “And there is no particular reason. Simply, they are no threat to the Nightscale and as you may fear, nor to Sigi. Eadwald lacks the resolve to kill his own kin. Even now, he spends dreamless nights envisioning a quest to rescue him from the clutches of evil.” A mirthful chuckle escaped the lips, spiced with the whispers of a hundred other voices fitting well with his deep, raspy voice.

  “And he knows little how truly perilous is the path to Dhaugruz. Besides the journey would take centuries.

  Aurelithae inhaled and cleared her mind, pushing the rest of her questions away. “What shall be the lesson today?”

  As Grimslaukh held his left foot covered wholly in umbral burns over the precipice as if he planned leaping down, he vanished and, in a blink, appeared circling Aurelithae. “A simple, but useful lesson which I understood not why didn’t you taught her already my friend.” His haunting eyes turned towards Dumath who quivered a little at their hollow intensity.

  “I believe not it was necessary in her case.

  “Regardless, we do not build without a foundation. The lesson this time around shall entail the Authority enveloping certain prominent, mortal faculties.” He stopped for a moment, pondering, gazing forward as the whole scenery shifted before them. “A power I no doubt shall feel nostalgic to you. The power to bring others under your sway, make them even worship you, devote their whole existence for your betterment if you will so.”

  Aurelithae followed in their trails, found herself once more on the Plateau of Leng, where led by instinctual fear of spiders–especially ones with the faces of humans, aevhe or any other kin–lingered. Besides descrying how the Authority worked unseen, granting her preternatural confidence, a boon in the terms of spellcasting, Aurelithae also learned of those queer spiders being inhabitants of this distant realm where she spent a few years dreaming.

  “Do I really need a lesson for that?” Aurelithae asked when they stopped in the epicenter of the plateau.

  “Certainly. You shall have a need of it in the coming days, and I am sure after this lesson, you shall understand how it is greater than the mere trick of controlling another’s mind, imprinting false memories and desires to gain a result that is merely the mimicking of dominance over another.” Dumath nodded along, and she too mellowed towards the idea of using it, even though beforehand she held no love towards the arts of mind control. It was a field belonging to Angura and a few other siblings interested in this domain of Septurrion.

  And as she ruminated momentarily, a spark lit. Once she carries out the deed, the necessity to flee shall come, and whilst Aurelithae had little qualms against fighting most of her kin, there were a few she wished not to face in the future. Now she had a tool for that, a tool to convert Calaviril, Drussaev and Albrion to their cause. “Shall we begin the lesson then?” Grimslaukh asked and she nodded.

  “Yes!” She answered quick, thrilled at the lesson before her. “My friend.” His flesh parting smile have not crept her at all.