“We shall take our leave!” Albron answered with a courteous nod as two of his siblings left after visiting their comatose sister. The weird humming of the Astral Callers of Septurrion continued onwards, his ears already accustomed after the first two weeks of vigil. Their robes sumptuous, sewn from rich threads possessing a chromatic luster near the violet edges, an almost liquid like along the black center speckled with embroidered stars and waves, high collars reached even beyond their napes at the back, whilst at the sides slanted downwards stiffened, their sleeves puffed above the elbow, tapering, narrow at the peculiar, eight-cornered cuffs. Their eyes blinded by golden and black scarves of velvet, from beyond their sockets glittered in strange hues as they stared up the ceiling and down the floor.

  Albrion himself returned to his post, on the inner stool of the arched, deep-set window half-opened to let a little warm vernal air in. He wore not his armor for his vigil, but dressed scantily, wearing a black tunica of fine linen with crimson trims, exposing half his rippled chest adorned with his lustrous onyx black scales gleaming brilliantly, running along the lines of his ribcages on his smooth, marred and dewy fair flesh tinted middlingly with the white of snow. And on the top, they connected to the long and thin crest running across his collarbone, and ran along edge of his shoulders before turning down and forming into three long streaks sharply winding across his muscular, long arms, ending right at his wrists, segmented along by two silvery bracelets beset with crimson and jet-black jewels.

  His long vampiric sword rested in its scabbard along his leathery breaches adorned with numerous tassels flowing along his lap, their angled, sharp tips covered in silver, beset with runes of Dusk and its facet, Time. Albrion’s clawed fingers remained ever tautened around the handle made from the hardened and polished scaled hide of a Vampiric Dragon he himself slain with Moirstyria in the north.

  Months passed like days as Albrion waited for Aurelithae’s awakening. A little regret occasionally formed in his mind, born not consciously, but from his draconic lineage’s side, the desirous side which wanted to taste blood, experience the thrill of battle which led him to adventuring and serving as the executioner for his brothers and sisters before returning home and joining the Draennith Praetoreath under his uncle’s wing.

  A choice made not for the loyalty towards his kin, but believing he could carry on the dream of His, Moirstyria’s and Drussaev’s. A dream in which he now believed little in, witnessing the work of Angura, and his father’s approval of it.

  Though all these dark thoughts he was left alone to fester with vanished on the visits during the first year which passed. Siblings whom Albrion greeted with faux smiles each time, knowing they visited only because Aurelithae was the inheritor of the Elhyrissiar’s title. He chuckled a little as he watched them feign how they miss her, even if it was the first time they met, how they prayed for her, even though their eyes belied their true intents, their envy for the attention given to her. In a way he understood them, but loathed them for being blind, for focusing their anger at Aurelithae and not the true malefactor.

  To his surprise Angura took a visit, broke away from his endeavor to offer a prayer to Aurelithae and shown affection for little more than a blink of an eye. It surprised Albrion as much as the care he picked up in his father’s voice as he murmured to Aurelithae. In a strange way, he sensed honesty in the tone and manner of his brother, yet doubt still lingered towards said honesty.

  “When I heard about your little outburst, I was majorly disappointed brother.” Walking over to him, Angura quickly discarded his genial, vicarious expression and spoke in a low tone mingled with an accusatory gaze. “I truly believed you had grown up, or am I wrong?”

  “I am, but you must admit, this whole farce could have been avoided. Our Empire is on the precipice of doom, if she doesn’t wake up.” Though his eyes remained calm, Albrion spotted hints of surprise in Angura. And for a moment, pondered.

  “That I agree with.” Angura sighed and massaged his sheared temples. “Still, refrain from further outbursts, and if necessary, mull your words before uttering them. We both know The Elhyrissiar is a fickle being.” He murmured the last part before curtly departing.

  A vague belief formed within Albrion, regarding the last words. He entertained the idea of swaying Angura into the fold of the Blackened Circle. Albrion loved him not, but even he acknowledged his arkhaine knowledge could be fruitful for the Order’s future endeavors, but the longer he ruminated on the matter, the quickly he realized it was a foolish notion. Mulling further on the words, he simply concluded Angura was more loyal towards his own ideals than their father. That seemed the logical choice to him.

  And deep down, Albrion wished to plunge his vampiric blade into Angura’s heart after seeing his prime achievement in his little, hidden workshop. Just thinking about it riled his anger, hatred towards his own brother. This desire, he nearly forgot about was the sole thing he felt wholly certain about in those days.

  *****

  One night, as his lids grew heavy as orichalcum, Albrion noticed shadows skirt around the room’s walls, lit only by the glow of the spell erected by his father’s potent will. For any other, they would have awakened a portentous, foreboding feeling. For Albrion, they brought soothe and relief, knowing Aurelithae still possessed a strong role in His plans. Strong enough to warrant his presence in the Radiant Keep as the shadows lengthened across the hardwood floor, the eastern frescoed ceiling, taking a barely visible shape near the foot of the bed.

  Only he remained within room, the Astral Callers retreated to the adjacent rooms to rest, recuperate in fear they were attracting only outer intelligences and the Rage itself. Albrion stood straight and started moving towards the forming figure of translucent, swirling shadows but stopped, stopped by His potent suggestion planted into Albrion’s mind, freezing him into place.

  At last, tall figure draped in all black of voluminous folds appeared, dark hood drawn over the head, long arms resting at his sides, the hand closest to him adorned with seven long fingers, and what appeared to be a stola embroidered with strange, eerie runes slithered about the base of the hood, down the chest. He glided across the barrier, through the bed and leaned over Aurelithae dreaming and then murmuring for the first time in nearly two years. Shadows sinuously crawled over her form, slithered in every orifice of her body then He vanished.

  Albrion walked over, but reached not the bed, stopped at the cupboard which creaked softly, and as he moved to close it, spotted a stack of tomes, two smaller used for journals which he recognized belonging to Terrianis and Moirstyria, whilst the largest holding the two like scaffolding, The bound in strange, horrid leather of the deepest black he saw since exploring the Veinways of Dhaugruz with Moirstyria and her companions.

  “It is improper to peek into the cupboard of a lady.” Nearly his heart stopped, hearing Akaerith slip up, but calmed noticing the tray of steaming coffee which bitter fragrance rejuvenated him already–besides the momentary scare.

  “I know that myself. Just saw it ajar.” Albrion said, taking one more peek at the stack of books before closing and locking it with a meager spell. Then his stomach growled and a smile curved upon Akaerith’s lustrous red lips.

  “Would you wish some late dinner my lord?” She asked whilst placing down the polished and ornated wooden tray upon Aurelithae’s desk.

  “No need, I can last till morning with coffee only.” He said returning to his post upon the window’s stool facing the bed. He sighed a little, then added: “And you can drop the lord. I believe we are friends, aren’t we Aka?”

  “I know, but I have my vows and being the next of her kin, I am at your service, whether you like it or not Lord Bri.” Albrion chuckled hearing his old friendly moniker last uttered when his mother introduced Akaerith to him and Moirstyria.

  The two reminisced of the good old times, the times when Akaerith served as his handmaiden but also as a practice partner when it came to his arkhaine studies. “I still carry that scar.” Albrion pointed at his thigh. Akaerith looked at him questioningly, raising one of his highly arching brows.

  “Men are the strangest of beasts.” All she uttered.

  “That I won’t refute. Though I may come to the aid of my fellows and say, it is not all of us, but I am of the same breed as Augermil.” Albrion said, looking out into the stretching horizon slowly painted in the warm rays of the Illius as another vernal day slowly began. With dawn their chatter came to an end, the door slowly opened and Akaerith excused herself to fetch his breakfast. For a moment, he glanced a pair of crimson eyes cast in tender shadows.

  Time continued onwards, and Albrion continued his vigil, patient, knowing she shall awaken. “How can you be so sure of that brother?” The sole sibling besides him who whose soft voice smothered by grief and worry said, whilst her bright, citrine yellow eyes gazed at him, searching for answers.

  “Nothing more than the intuition of a warrior who experienced hundreds of harrowing events conclude positively.” Albrion said, relieved he could be a bit of himself as he knelt to pinch young Calaviril’s snout. A sister from a separate mother, a decade younger than Aurelithae, and kind as Drussaev and Moirstyria were.

  A gold silken dress with a faint liquid sheen draped her petite form of tan and amber golden, whilst her scales glowed brilliantly in the same citrine shade as her eyes. Her lush, dark hair smoothly soared down onto her high collared dress, her small and soft palmed hands barely poked from under the voluminous sleeves. Calaviril remained silently content with the hope and answer of Albrion, and walked back towards the bed, kneeled and prayed once more to the One and the Eight. She prayed like the others, except her tender innocence honeyed each word.

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  Albrion knelt beside her, but refrained from uttering a prayer. He listened and waited. “No need to fear for her.” He added reflexively.

  “And she just banished a higher being, that should put fear in many of them lurking in the Astral Seas regarding her.” Albrion tallied her half-truths to lessen her worries. He held one palm out and within it, ethereal powder flittered about, forming a vast, hard to comprehend image of the Astral Seas. “And it is a vast place, even for beings not constrained by the Myriad Streams of Time. If they wish to challenge her and feel dread, they have to traverse infinity.”

  Calaviril looked ponderous, and upon sitting closer, Albrion seemed to sense a faint waft of smokey scent, like that of meat on the city’s markets. Though before he could mention it, Calaviril spoke first: “I know you are occupied here brother, but when she awakens, could you tutor me in matters of the blade and battle?”

  “Shouldn’t you enquire Drussaev when he returns?” Albrion asked, a bit flustered.

  “I will, but I already know my path leads to the Draennith Praetoreath when I fly out from our nest.” Calaviril said, invoking their father’s often repeated words when it came to the youngest.

  “We’ll see about that.” Albrion patted her lush crown as she pouted a little at his avoidance of an answer. Then once more before he could ask about the smokey scent shrouded by her heavy layers of perfumes, Albrion rose quickly onto his feet, hand upon his vampiric blade’s handle staring at the door creaking open slowly.

  A waft of mana he sensed fluctuating in the air, and a flaming mass of sphere hurled before he could look at who stepped into the room without invitation. Whilst the ball of flame sore towards him, the grinning figure, Calaviril and the birds all moved slower as Albrion stepped into a quicker Stream of Time.

  Though it took him a bit long to recognize the tall draevhe with the same citrine eyes and scales as Calaviril, though his skin slightly fairer amber golden with a reddish undertone, whilst his once voluminous, lush mane always combed back was nowhere, in its place a smooth barrenness stretched mostly across, except for the sole, braided black tail right in the middle of the crown, falling behind on the diamond-shaped long head. Albrion swiftly altered his own course back to Calaviril’s side, blade sheathed and the harmless spell hurled back at Drussaev.

  “I see your aim got better Bri.” Drussaev complimented him as Albrion caught the ball of flame which simply tickled his palms, and threw it back at Drussaev’s fully exposed, ribbed abdomen ornated with hundreds of mended scars.

  “Forgive me brother, for returning this late!” Albrion’s eyes grew teary, and he nearly forgot about his true allegiance and of the events which unfolded the past decades as he rushed to embrace his one truly dearest brother amongst thousands. They slapped each other on their backs, as he thought it would have mattered not, souring his own mood.

  “There is nothing to forgive.” Avoiding from further souring, he looked back at Calaviril half-smiling. “Other than letting another of our sisters down in troubling times.” Calaviril let out a strange sound as she got caught on her act.

  “An old bad habit. And I can assure you, capable hands kept eyes on her.” Drussaev tried saving what could be, and then assumed a morose expression, looking at Aurelithae’s resting visage. “I wish we could have met under better circumstances.” He knelt and whispered besides the bed.

  “She shall be glad to have you here brother.” Calaviril spoke, what Albrion almost said himself too. The two remained with Albrion and dreaming Aurelithae till the onset of night, Drussaev regaling his many adventures with his friends and companions, his explorations in the gloomy ruins resting beneath the colorful dunes of the Far-South where they fought the stirred dead, cultists of the long-gone Black Pharaoh and the nightmares he called from the distant realms where not even the Deossos tread.

  “Have you chosen that blade, or uncle Grippievar left it to you in his inheritance?” Noticing the vampiric blade resting hungering in its scabbard, Drussaev asked.

  “I chose it myself. I thought it would fit us better, you carrying a blade of Dawn, me as with one of Dusk.” Albrion answered, looking at its long, twisted fang sculpted pommel. “And it looked the least ominous from all the others.” He added jestingly.

  “You have strange fancies. But tell me when if ever it takes its toll on you.” Drussaev added with a somber expression and tone.

  “Fear not brother, we have been through the worse, and I triumphed over it.” Albrion said, to lessen his brother’s worries. But before they could continue on, the door opened and the Astral Callers came along with their father. All three bowed then Drussaev and Calaviril excused themselves. He remained stiff and awaited any word from Terrianis but besides a greeting, he addressed him no further as he joined to aid the Astral Callers. Though Albrion wasn’t sure, he felt faint traces of a masking spell upon Terrianis, and his gaze felt forced, as if trying to hide something from him, or to be precise, from all of them.

  *****

  Albrion remained alone on the onset of the second year. Still no doubts lingered within him, on the contrary, Albrion vaguely felt power grow within Aurelithae. Though he wasn’t sure if it was her own efforts, or of His. Whatever he done a year before, bore fruit was his thought regarding the latter, as he watched vigilantly as the Astral Callers continued their rituals, though the visitors lessened to Celsushar who reported in whispers even whilst they were alone that Nawfal started his own investigation, waiting not for the return of Augermil.

  “He has been approaching me, asking for permission to look through our documentations.” Celsushar reported. Though he maintained a calm demeanor, Albrion noticed the feint signs of unease upon his old friend.

  A sigh escaped him as he pondered on the matter. “Provide him the ones regarding the interrogations done by us and the Order. There should be nothing substantial in those.” Celsushar nodded.

  As he hoped, it brought them time, and allowed him a bit of respite to continue his vigil. A few times Drussaev visited later, but not as frequently as Albrion wished. His presence lightened his brooding mood. On his third or fourth visit, he at last learned Drussaev late return came because of a task given by Angura himself, to retrieve some old bauble hidden beneath the many-colored dunes of the south, a venture which took at least four years to conclude as the piece belonged to the Black Pharaoh himself.

  And as he learned late, their brother Tiberiluth perished, torn apart by a maddened crowd on the upper levels of the city, leading to Drussaev inheriting his position after proving his mettle and charisma in the south, beating down a horde of sand nomads who razed numerous towns along the river and eastern coasts. After his inauguration, Drussaev visited less and less, though he often sent messages with the handmaidens and Calaviril.

  On the 34th day of Dhaektria, two soft knocks prefaced the all too familiar tender moan of the polished wood, and a soft voice addressed Albrion. “Pardon me my lord! The bath has been prepared for you.” Finished with his coffee, Albrion faced the beauty blessed with crimson eyes, one of Aurelithae’s handmaidens called Iruniel as he remembered it.

  “Thank you, I’ll find my way there soon.” Albrion handed her the tray with crumbs of his late dinner, and stretched his arms, before leaving the room. Outside he repeated once more his orders to the two imperial praetors stationed at the door, and headed straight towards the bath area two or three turns away. An eerie silence settled upon the twisting corridor, the shadows dancing upon the walls appeared thicker, trailing after him.

  In the bath, he quickly bereaved himself of his clothes, pleasantly scented as they were freshly washed by Akaerith and another of Aurelithae’s handmaidens. Though he kept his blade close, an old habit willing not to die out from his adventuring days. He sunk and sighed as the water tenderly hugged his form, tearing off dirt and sweat accumulated through the long and remarkably hot wintry day.

  He unbound the knot of his hair, and slid back, cleansing his thoughts regarding matters within the Draennith Praetoreath, Aurelithael, Blackened Circle, and the New Dawn. Albrion moaned softly as he sunken deeper on the seating beneath the translucent, misty water relaxing his muscles as if soft hands fondled all his tired limbs, and even reached into his soul, wiping away woes as if they were dirt. In his hundred years since he returned home, he thought of the years spent in Dhaugruz after he traversed the Veinways led by nothing but his desire to find Moirstyria.

  To the days he truly felt alive, to a place where he expected to find enemies, instead Albrion found comradery, friends and family. He felt ashamed of not thinking about them, but excused it by focusing on his long task. Once Aurelithae awakens and fulfills her part, Albrion shall return with her, free of the suffocating tendrils of their father. But he could linger no more on such pleasant thoughts and memories, a coldness he experienced there caressed his legs and opening his eyes, Albrion spotted blackness envelop the whole bath.

  Quickly Albrion tightened his grip around his vampiric blade whilst leaping out from the water, the lengthening darkness slowed as he shifted to a rapid Stream of Time. Warmth spread through his arm holding the blade as the spell passed from hand to sword, and a bright sphere of amber and golden flame shot out from the tip as he thrusted forward. It quickly landed at the epicenter of the darkness, deep below water and steam slowly enveloped the room, then quickly when Albrion returned to the Stream of Time mortals existed within.

  Slowly, his fair skin reddened, and he ignored the pain, looking for the creature of pure darkness. He wasn’t fully sure, but conjectured it was a Dusk Elemental or some kind of spectral nekros, though how it slipped through the protections of his father he wasn’t sure. Neither he had any idea who sent the beast to take his life. Possibly an old enemy from his time on Vhalleryon. But even the idea of it coming not for him, but for Aurelithae crossed her mind.

  Albrion rushed out, ignoring his own lack of garments, but stopped when the thick shadows enveloped the entrance section, blocking the way out. He clicked his tongue, and spew forth bright flames from his throat onto the black shadows forming into spears reaching for his naked body. Flames swallowed them whole, then latched on and spread onto the walls, consuming the darkness until a small amorphous blob of shifting blacks, indigo and deep violets remained. He thrusted his blade down, and felt strengthened when it seeped out whatever vigor the creature possessed before it disintegrated into nothingness.

  His naked soles rapidly beaten against the marble floor, though Albrion refrained from yelling, not out of shame, but from seeing the two imperial praetors dead upon the floor. Blood cascaded from under their prismatic plates, tarnished their regal violet clothes within and stretching over their plates at the front and hideous prima materia lingered around them. A controlled anathema killed them Albrion concluded with a grim sight as he leapt over one and reached for the knob.

  Though he suspected her, Albrion rushed almost silently towards mesmerizing handmaiden, holding a needle thin bladed dagger its curving cross-guard, the handle both resembled twisted, blackened tendons. He lifted his vampiric blade in preparation and swung to cleave her in two across her torso.

  Vipsaeril turned reflexively, and met his blade with a grin and her dagger enveloped by swirling and inky tendrils of crimson. “Seems I was impatient.” She murmured, pushing the hulking Albrion away with ease, and instead of engaging, hastily leapt out the window, her long dark hair unreleased and flittering in the air, melding into the dark surroundings before she vanished whilst Albrion cursed himself almost leaping after her.

  But he remained still, a cold shiver running across his spine, as he felt the pervading anger of Terrianis