Bold smaragd and amber rays shone on the unsettled tiny islet betwixt the shores of Vhalleryon and the Caesselis Archipelago. Both clearly visible as Mirayroth’s feet sunk deep into the pleasingly warm sand on the shores, pristine as snow yet possessing a hint of opulent golden. An equally pleasant breeze impelled the waves frothing onto the shore making up most of the islet, its foams taking on the sand’s gilded quality upon themselves. Yet there was a chill in the vernal winds as the winter, the last month of 1273rd year of the First Age approached far in the zenith of the world, where inky black and regal gray clouds gathered above the white north and its dreadful mountain.
Amidst the melody of the sea, the migrating birds of the Archipelago joined in with their own disjointed cacophony rich in their dread as they flittered towards Vhalleryon. The golden edges of their multitudinous feathers glittered, gleamed right into his eyes, calmly surveying, searching the skies. Crows and ravens, he recognized as the messengers of the Solemn Mistress and her brother and mate the Gray Monarch, singing their unheeded warning to those below. Pigeons rotated around, confused seemingly before they altered their trajectory at last towards the sprawling continent. A few other mingled amongst the rest, though he recognized them not, even though some had quite the peculiar natural decorations granted by the Mother of Nature.
One gryphon he nearly mistook for a dragon, its prismatic feathers filling him with hope and relief he came not in vain to the unsettled, abandoned islet, where the only sign of civilization was a tower reaching above the verdant foliage of the mesmerizing trees. Their leaves sharply contoured, their trims and veins warm golden promising richness to any onlooker as it shimmered loftily under the vernal grace of the Illius. From their old adventures, Mirayroth felt nostalgic from the trunks, he last seen formed into plates and shields worn by the barbarous elevated kindred hiding in the lush forests of Vhalleryon. Sturdy as steel, smooth as stretched silk, lustrous as the hide of beasts favored by the Lustrous Empress.
“The Aevernoin.” He muttered, repeating the words of the Captor of his heart.
Tired after hours of gazing at the blinding, interminable skies where the clouds billowed, following the migrating birds, Mirayroth sought haven beneath the tender shade, and stared at the far shores of Vhalleryon, he longed for. The work slowly neared its end, he was sure from the frequency Grimslaukh manifested in the capital, aiding Ephraimur in the translation of the scrolls. And now, he called him away from the capital to a far parcel of the main island. One where Dawn shined no more.
Before that though his agents within the Praetoreath and the First Legion reported of Albrion taking off on the wing of his great dragon of Dawn to Vhalleryon. Though for what reason, none could tell besides the ones Albrion himself trusted the most. Despite this, Mirayroth suspected what led him to Vhalleryon. The protégé of Augermil who sought answers regarding the assassination of one of their own, and for the disappearance of the Prismatic Lord believed answers laid in the continent. An assumption not utterly wrong, but acting on them was late. So he understood not why Albrion sought to remedy this matter.
Just as he felt comfortable, drawn by call of Oneiron, the flapping of large, reptilian wings roused him onto his feet. Above he stared at the long, broad overlapping scales of a dragon, glistening in warm mélange of shades striding in waves from his long, gaunt head ending in a beak shaped mouth to his long, feathered tail. Along the way the shifting graces all its feather contoured scales, the long wings sprouting from its sides, sprawled out, the regal antlers protruding slantingly from its forehead. They even tint the large plates, the vambraces adorning its muscled limbs dangling in the air, far above him still.
Albrion sat rigidly on the large saddle, clad in his full panoply. The dark chest plate with golden accentuations at its rims and decorative elements, pauldrons trailing down on his broad shoulders and toned upper arms, whilst at the fore section, tight vambraces hugged the fine garments beneath. His crested helmet hid his visage, though in the Y-slit visor, could make out his glinting onyx black eyes focusing on him, frowning in the shadows.
Around them not a single bird–be it gryphon or raven–flew. Not out of fear, but of devotion, respect towards the true apex of the skies. Mirayroth lifted up his arms, and at once the promontories of the gargantuan spires sprouting from the stones resting beneath the waves enveloped the whole isle in a dome of grayish black and smaragd. Under the erected dome, all sound ceased from egressing.
“Your pale friend seems desirous to speak with you. Want to stop or shall we continue?
“Let’s hear him out. He may hasten our task twice fold.” Albrion pondered a little before giving his answer to his old friend and winged companion who quickly dove towards the isle, through the dome, disturbing its glow.
The dark rims of his voluminous hood, and the layers of the kimono languidly flowing down his slender, wiry pale form fluttered as Colciorh landed just one or two steps away from the waves breaking onto the shore. The sand muffled Colciorh’s heavy landing, his flapping wings kicked up the sand all over, though not a single mote reached into the confines of Mirayroth’s kimono. Albrion wasted no time, leapt off at once, unbothered by the weight of his panoply. He landed right before Mirayroth, took his helmet off to reveal his visage calm, for the most part.
Though Mirayroth seen the little contempt he held for him, for the role he played in tainting two of his sisters. “What do I owe the pleasure? Hope it is information that may aid me in the task.”
“I’m afraid not so much. Instead, I wish you to cease your effort and return where you are needed.” Mirayroth began. “I know you still feel the need to prove yourself to Him, but you already succeeded at that, years before. He knows your heart Albrion.”
Albrion shook his head, disappointment showing first upon his countenance. “I am well aware of that, which is why I have to do it myself. Just as you done so long ago.” Venom tainted his tongue for a second. “If you have nothing relevant to say, then farewell until the games.”
Mirayroth remained silent as curiosity, hope mingled for the second. “If you so wish to taint your hands, be my guest. But knows our agent in Limniolos works already besides him, straying him from the truth, nearing him towards his doom. Know this, there is no need to be the executioner, just be the witness.”
A sour reared next on Albrion. His fingers curled, the metal grated around his clawed fingers whilst the vernal wind lifted his high tail, black as the opulent onyxes. “Order him to cease his hand.” The words nearly came in a yell. “I shall not relent on this matter Mirayroth. And we both know, he wants utter proof, he wants the ink to be his blood with which I seal the contract.”
Darkness enveloped Albrion’s face one last time as the helmet slid back on. Mirayroth let out a sigh, seeing the thirst in Albrion’s black eyes, the thirst to prove himself one last time before the curtain rises and falls over the Caesselis Isles, Vhalleryon and Elhyrissiar.
A foolish endeavor, but nothing he could do about it, he realized that moment. “So be it. I shall order him to stay his hands, keep him there until your arrival.”
“Thank you Mirayroth, my friend.” The words made him feel strange, to be called a friend by him for the first time. He watched as he climbed back to the saddle, and with silence, bid him farewell and good fortune. Mirayroth gazed until the horizon swallowed their mighty silhouettes then turned as a portal tore into reality, beyond it a blackness of the windless cellar awaited. He still had a few hours before setting out.
A straight path cut through the seemingly endless meadow, swallowed by the black veil of the night. Mirayroth only sensed, heard the forest surrounding them through the leaves rustling in the dim distance. No stars illuminated lightened the dark, only the eerie, luminescent grass growing as tall as reeds. Their slender nodes golden as all around the isle, their seedheads sizzled into the shades of lavender, ethereal mist swirling about them, unremittingly swallowed by the darkness. Wind whilst gentle, proved its dominance slanting the gilded grass towards his destination.
Guiding him towards where Grimslaukh and the First to Awoke, the manifestation of the Night itself and all its aspects awaited him in an ancient cloister buried by the ravages of time and adroit hands who feared those who sought His veil and wisdom.
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Once a prosperous edifice, stretching along the meadow surrounded, hidden by the forest which name was stripped by the order of the previous Elhyrissiar. His hounds hunted down this haven, erected by black stone brought from the old realm of the teneavhei, imbued with the essence of darkness. No survivor got left behind, yet when the hounds of the Elhyrissiar parted, the memory of its location faded first. Though most if it they obliterated, the gloomy high tower, the steeple remained, towering amidst the meadows and the trees migrated a little further. From that day onwards, it stood unseen in the light of day, revealed only in the silvery grace of the Lunarius, in the utter darkness of starless nights.
At least that was what he gathered beforehand from his agents and the two of the turncoats worshipping the children of the former monarch of Twilight. The tower arising from the center of the crumbled boat resembled the gargantuan, slender front fang of His direct bloodline, its curve beckoning, guiding him towards itself with silent whispers.
At once a warning sensation halted Mirayroth in the middle of the long, serpentine road betwixt the overgrown foliage. From the shadows of the ruined arches, two figures appeared, wearing long cloaks of a pale blue with texture resembling languid waves. Robes made from a dull fabric, soft and smoothly flowing like silk, yet lacking its opulent luster, as it absorbed the silvery glow of the Lunarius bathing the run-down temple. Over their heads, the midnight blue robes tapering cowl draped over, casting tender shadows upon the silvery-blue masks depicting a dreamy youth with lips sealed by the butterfly sprawling its wings onto the cheeks.
“What do I owe the pleasure?” He asked, recognizing all the patterns of the worshippers of the Almodo. Though a bit of unease spread within him, despite Grimslaukh assuring him, they had nothing to fear from the greatest of all beings. Neither from his misguided worshippers.
“Fear us not, Mirayroth. We seek not your death–unless you continue to blind yourself in the darkness of the Night.” Spoke the one on the right, his voice deep and raucous. An orkh who still bore the scars of his enslavement, the recompence for the sins of his fathers.
“I fear neither of you. respect the Almodo as any other of his children bestowed with existence. I am sure, he holds no contempt towards me, otherwise I may not be speaking right now, am I?” He answered, cutting off the word of the orkh cultist.
“Good. Then step no further into this oubliette of blind fools. Here only evil awaits you. Evil from beyond, that tainted not only you, but your master.” Spoke the second, her voice smoother, melodious, much more pleasant to the ears compared to her partner, Mirayroth found it.
“Evil is only a matter of perspective. Like my true lord, he is nothing, but a manifestation of change. Nothing more, nothing less.” Mirayroth turned and spoke genially to the aevhe who remained calm under her mask.
“It is evil masquerading as friend. He seeks nothing but to defile the Dream of the Almodo, herald a world of utter chaos. I beseech you Mirayroth, be wise and return home, where love awaits.” Spoke the Aevhen Cultist, her cadence full of raw emotion, forming tendrils, reaching into Mirayroth. But for love, he chose damnation, for love he nearly betrayed friends, family and love itself too.
Both sensed he made his decision before his name was uttered. The billowing wind lifted the skirt of their long robes. The earth rumbled as thorny vines hissed and lashed Mirayroth, though bound him no long. They crumbled, withered into black dust, flittered down and swallowed by the blackened earth, a few carried onto the foundation of the temple.
“It was a fool errands haven’t I told you. His soul, his whole being is blighted by the nightmare from beyond.” Said the orkh, whilst the light of dawn gathered in his palms. Though once the light formed into a sphere, their color shifted into one wakening terror in their hearts. The color which neither ever witnessed in their lives, yet invoked an unknown terror just at the first glance.
Mirayroth sneered under his mask, staring at the two, reminiscing of his own expression when he took his vow, when he drank his blood. Then felt a little shame, when he watched Aurelithae tip the vial containing the same ichor, furtively painted a familiar black. “May you both find respite in the city of Asphodei.” He whispered, watching as the sphere grew in volume, then popped. The shockwave splintered the orkh into myriad segments, breaking further into motes, then nothing.
The aevhe followed not long after, whilst preparing to avenge her brother, comrade. Behind her, the blackened space distorted, parted open like maws dribbling with saliva. Her shrieks echoed across the ruined temple, the illuminated meadow as she got torn into pieces. Not a single of her innards, drop of her blood got wasted by the maws, manifesting all over, before vanishing once nothing remained of her. Mirayroth inhaled the air, devoid of what he expected to be the scent of fresh death. Only that of the old lingered, wafted and carried by the nightly breeze.
He walked past where the two impeded his way, felt a little nostalgic walking on the foundation, overgrown by nature. He walked where the pious children of the Night contemplated on the relation between the House of Dusk and Life, how both nourished each other, advanced the high arts of Dusk, stood their grounds when those blinded by Dawn’s foolish promises broke down their doors, burned down their abode.
Mirayroth stopped at the end, below the tower. He waited, recoiled as the stones parted open, revealing the steps leading down, where two of the greatest beings awaited him.
Each step down between the benches proved harder than the last, Mirayroth gritted his rattling teeth, his body trembled from the otherworldly cold permeating the whole derelict, underground chamber where Night ruled unabated. Regardless, he pushed through, continued his march towards the broad dais across the entrance where Grimslaukh awaited with a fraternal smile, the same he showed him upon his offer. An offer he took for love, and regretted not ever since. No matter how many lives he sacrificed to further their plans, to play his part in the grand game of Higher Beings.
Besides him stood another, the one he respected and feared the most. A shadow within shadow He manifested within the temple, taking on the vague shape of a tall aevhe with long, slender ears, wafting hair of the threaded from the interminable midnight sky, stars included which shimmered in brilliant silvers and violets. His arms and legs stretched long and still appeared clawed and regal like in His mighty form, though beyond those no feature appeared in the shadow within shadow. Not until he neared close, where his legs nearly gave in and Mirayroth spotted dimension in the blackness which nearly sucked him in. There three eyes–each seeing one of the Primary Streams of Time–glared back at him.
The right commiserated him, reminded Mirayroth of his long path, him fighting against those he venerated whilst living under the Veil of the Nightscale; the left prided Mirayroth for his long endurance, for his willingness to be their knowing pawn in their aeons long game; the one sitting above those two promised the end nearing, it filled him with the power to push through, to end the weakness in his legs and kneel by his own will and not by timidity.
“My child, a long way you came proving your loyalty unflinching, your love unwavering amongst those blinded by the light of my beloved brother. Whom you befriended before delivering them to my embrace. No Father could be as proud of their children as I am for the sacrifice you made for your kindred, for my dreams. Though a long path awaits you still.” The eon sonorous old voice shook his tired soul fresh as it bellowed across time and space. Doubts lingered in the furthest corners of his soul, but now as the words swept through him, Mirayroth felt a new surge of vivacity springing open his eyes and heart.
For the first time in centuries since he made his vow, since he changed, Mirayroth allowed entrance to pride, even knowing how many he doomed, how many more he shall doom. He had to strengthen himself, not to cry out of joy and relief before the two elders.
“Thank you, my Lord, your excellence! There is no greater feeling, certainty than hearing those words of yours.” It took him a lot of effort to keep his tone and voice calm. Even more so when he felt the touch of the Night itself upon his shoulders, beckoning him to stand and face him. Staring so close into the shadow, he felt like he stood in the deepest, hallowed stratum of Dhaugruz, where only those of the greatest within the Host could stand, including the Arnyak his chosen emissaries, hounds and warriors.
“The greatest challenge of your life is ahead of you still. And I desire not for you to fight there alone.” His eyes closed and through the shadow, Mirayroth felt himself stand beneath his gargantuan palm each of the clawed fingers stretching heaps beyond him. He felt the soothing cold winds of the North once more bracing his face as tendrils dug deep into his soul, latching onto the arkhaine points.
And he felt the shadows billow as the arm rose, touched the left of his bosom. Little maws grew within the shadows, gnawed playfully into his tendon, marrow, the very essence of his soul. Their breath pervaded across his being, a pleasant nightly or wintry breeze he likened the flooding gift of his true master.
Then He continued after a momentary relapse of silence: “You have received my friend’s gift. Now it is time at last, to receive mine. My authority of time, of death, of change is now partially at your service.” And at once the world changed before all his senses, no more the instinctual dread of time lingered in Mirayroth’s heart, nor he feared Death after peeking under the veil, seeing its secrets and promises, nor he feared Change as the interminable blackness taking the form of a frightful stranger became a trusted companion, a guide of veiled whispers.
“Rise my beloved child. Rise and stand before their Elhyrissiar in the fated hour, pierce into his being, and plant the seeds of doom into his heart. Let him know, the hour of their twilight approaches, the recompence for a deal made in a withered realm is due.” Mirayroth arose, and the temple crumbled around them into dust, until only he remained where a new life shall born in the unseen cradle of the old. “Go, my Herald of Twilight!”
“I shall, my lord!” His whisper danced around the darkened meadow; his gaze focused on the distant mountains alighted by the Lunarius.
