Chapter XXII#
Limned in Flame#
well who could possibly have seen that coming (hint: faelorn)
Warning
Chapter illustrations currently WIP.
The interior was empty of people. Furniture lay in disarray, thrown or in splinters. Fire powers had evidently been used. The receptionist was mostly gone. They hadn’t cleaned out building interiors anymore than exteriors, apparently.
“This was all done by Governance clients?” Bia whispered. “It doesn’t make much sense for them to have killed so many tier equivalents.”
“I doubt it was only their recruits from here,” Arodorros slanted his mouth in worry.
“What, then? Some kind of bomb?”
“Grim, you idiot,” I budged in. “How would a bomb do this?!”
Arodorros shrugged. “I don’t think Grim would have stayed instead of giving chase. They may have brought some other cosmic forces to smooth the process.”
“Hopefully not many,” I reached for the elevator buttons. “There was at least a bit of a fight, judging by the furniture.”
Arodorros’ silence evidently did not share my optimism.
The elevator’s dinging was not covered by the spell. A collective cringe passed through the group – but nobody seemed to have noticed. The streets were eerily quiet for all those cultists passing through. We slid into the elevator.
“349, right?” Bia punched in the numbers.
“Yes,” I confirmed, conjuring my dagger
“Wrong side, by the way,” Lloyd said. The elevator had a door either side.
“Won’t it just open both doors?” I raised an eyebrow.
“It will?”
“Do Deliran elevators not have that either?!”
The elevator hummed softly as it passed upwards, droning three floors into an eternal climb. Each clank of the building’s mechanisms was an alert to any nearby cultists who had the presence of mind to hear it.
No cultists or interdimensional forces waited for us on floor three, not even in the hallways winding towards room forty-nine. The door was left ajar, the apartment in the same condition it had been when we left. Faelorn was still scattered around, his notes in equal disarray.
We locked the door behind us – not that it would have stopped anyone who wanted in. In hindsight, it might’ve been stealthier to have left it open the way it originally was.
“These what you’re looking for?” Lloyd kneeled to take a look at the papers across the ground.
“Hopefully,” Arodorros said, likewise picking up a few pages. “Do not read too deep. These words will entrap you.”
“What?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Best not to dwell on it,” he didn’t answer. “Gather these up and then we leave.”
Bia and I joined in picking paper. I immediately ignored his nonsense warning and read a page, eyes scanning across it faster than any t-zero could perceive.
I know, I know. The Brush is clearer in your dreams than ever. It reaches out, it remakes you for its own whims. I don’t know why. Faelorn doesn’t know why.
A machine is imminent. It is here. The engine’s iron limbs, oiled daily by the Brush. They fly so free and cage so many. Or is that not where songs go once their melodies have ran? Should a song presume to rejoin the cycle? I would hope so, I would think so, I would hope so. Will not they come back imperfect, twisted by the engine? What perfection is to be found in twisting perfection?
Faelorn does not want to fulfill its purpose. The Brush pushes regardless. You know this will be found soon. Song of my soul, my voice is dead. Die thou a mentor, your stories read. Twin suns don’t even exist here! What is a sun?! What is the sun?! Where is the sun?!
Should a Brush be so callous? Should a Brush care so little for lives it crushes in aid of its grand design? Shall the golden piece be so callous too? Shall mine own leaves be broken beneath its heel?
What song is there to sing, what voice is there to puppet if all threads return to the pondering of the puppeteer? Why. Why. Why. Cycle thrice. Why thrice? Should it be too much strain for the ink if the dial winds further?
The rest of the page is covered in more indecipherable bullshit. I filed that away and open up another, crumpled against the foot of a table.
Dear Faelorn Hastor. I hope this letter finds you well. Imagine you’re Faelorn Hastor. Today. Sincerely, Faelorn Hastor.
The rest is empty. I find another, my dwindling faith in this detour dimming by the second.
My eyes tire. They are drawn in circles. Over and over. Over and over. Over and over. Day after day. A helix, a spiral, six spheres. Repeat repeat repeat. The cycles, resonating. I have found the edge, the place of death and life. The great recycling depot. Found is not the right word, for I have felt it. I have felt it brush against my soul, speak and whisper in my withering ears.
Nestled beneath those wings, it hides. Glaives bar its gates, gates built not of metal or wood or stone or any material, but those damned. Is it a hell, or a heaven? I felt pain and pleasure in equal measure. Its aphelion is that of uncountable minds past, perihelion only a mere metre.
I will encounter it soon. This realm may encounter it soon, but the chronotrees haven’t grown so far yet. I don’t even know to hope or wish.
I thank you for your love, but it too shall die in that dim court.
I lost interest. Another.
A light is coming soon. There is a bar of gold in here. It will be taken by the fire. It will leave the other metals disturbed as it so withers, limned in its flame. It will not be
“Ari?” Bia taps my shoulder. “You’re not reading them, are you?”
“Of course not,” I shuffle the page away and keep collecting. “I don’t think this was worth the effort. This is all nonsense.”
“I thought you said you weren’t reading them,” Bia said.
“I have eyes, and glancing is a thing.”
“The words are nonsensical, but decipherable,” Arodorros said. “Each manuscript is a wealth of truth, and may be invaluable to the war effort.”
“From what I saw, these are just the last gasps of man about to die.”
“See, he knew,” Arodorros shuffled papers.
“If the only thing he wrote down was a bunch of bullshit and his own death predictions I doubt he’d be of much use. He is dead anyway. He has served his use.”
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that his own daughters think little of him.”
“Was he really that bad?”
“A pompous man. Judgemental. Not pleasant to be around if you weren’t Duskir. Doubt it’d be if you were for long, anyway.”
“You two had a feud?”
“I was among many who disdained him.”
“Um, guys?” Bia called from by the window. “There’s a lot of cultists gathering on the street outside.”
“What?” Arodorros said sharply. “What are they doing?”
“Just… standing, and watching,” she said uneasily. “They’re looking at something in the street. But there’s… there’s nothing there.”
“You’re sure?” Arodorros moved to look himself. Lloyd and I followed – nothing there.
As one, the cultists began kneeling.
“What are they…”
“...praying?” I tightened my hand on my dagger. “We should be quick. I don’t like the vibe they’re giving off. They’re being weird. Everyone, get your shit together and – ”
“This, this is bad,” Arodorros said. “We need to move. Pack up the papers and – ”
The cultists began chanting.
“Forget the papers!” my pupils flared. “Get moving! Move!”
A blazing golden light slammed through the window like a second starsphere. Voices, hundreds of cultists, demonic and angelic together weaved into a holy chorus to herald the arrival of –
A Presence settled over the city.
It was not the hungry, sanguine presence of Grim, but a simple, resounding awe. Pure manifested order and justice festered into a golden statute, a heavenly mandate of spite and vengeance, weathered tribulation and committed atrocity, an infinite will impressed on a finite world.
Simply failing to kneel was a sin.
“We need to leave,” Arodorros scissored through the noise. “Run, now!”
Gathering the papers, we sprinted out of the office, doors not opened but smashed through with haste. The elevator hurt to wait for, and hurt more to ride down.
“What the hell is that?!” Bia hissed, eyes wide, jabbing incessantly at the elevator buttons.
“Cosmic forces, I’d assume,” I prepped my free hand for casting. Lloyd had conjured his greatsword – which glowed like a lantern and probably wasn’t much good for stealth.
“Haelborne,” Arodorros raised a hand to stop Bia from trying to kick out the elevator door too. “An actual one. I didn’t think they would send… ”
He cut off. The street outside was crowded with cultists, direct line of sight to us through the window wall. We backed into the elevator again and shut the door.
“Lloyd,” I commanded. “Do you still have those maps of the city?”
“Yeah?” he shuffled through his bag for them.
“Will they show entrances and exits of buildings?”
“Maybe – ” he squinted – “Yea, yeah they do.”
“Find one for this building,” I said and opened the door on the opposite side of the elevator.
“Let’s get something straight,” Bia paused her feud with the elevator. “What the heck is a haelborne? I don’t care if it’s a rat or not – what do they do?”
“They… can do most things,” Arodorros said. “I am assured each haelborne posses immense power, but not informed what specifically they – ”
“Of course,” I hissed. “Let’s not tell our people what we’re fighting! I’m starting to believe Faelorn’s prejudice against Dawne was valid after all!”
“The Matriarch has a reason for everything,” he said.
“There’s back entrances along the south, opposite reception,” Lloyd said, stuffing the map away. We sprinted that way, through a kitchen and a lounge and glass double doors swung open to a blazing golden light across the city, as if the starset had been grabbed by the throat and forcefed firestorms. The light focused like an eye and the Presence followed.
Simply failing to kneel was a sin.
To transgress its will was warrant of damnation.
Spell [Invisibility] has been dispelled.
Spell [Conversation Lock] has been dispelled.
“Shit!” Arodorros swore for the first time since we’d met. “It knows we’re here. We have to – ”
A small red-robed figure existed into being a few tens of metres down the street, palm clawed and outstretched by its side. The golden light whistled and flexxed around its hand. Its other hand, three-fingered, raised slowly to point at us. Six yellow eyes stared from the darkness of its hood.
“Is that… ”
Being: [Unknown] (Haelborne)
[Obfuscated]
Entity does not have a root in Governance system
Entity shares foreign magic system equivalent of your title [Dormant]
It disappeared, and the spell held across the city shattered into movement.
The roar of encroaching footsteps crowed our sprint down a side street. Golden flames sprang up where we moved, alive as any animal, whether chasing us away or trying to snatch us up impossible to determine.
No abilities were fired from our hands, no weapons swung. There was no fighting this thing – who were we to fight such a thing? Who were we to presume defiance in the face of God? Who were we? Why did we do this? This was a waste of time. I would make clear to Arodorros that unless he could put safety over the procurement of some shitty manuscript for his queen, this arrangement was over.
The fires died. Cultists caught up to us, spells and weaponry whistling through the air towards us. We fought a few scuffles, mostly ran more, unable to combat high-tiers. Each cultist had become a subvessel of the Presence, fingers on the incomprehensible hand of a higher being.
We made it out of the city, scrambled back over the walls like bugs in the wake of an encroaching boot. The light died with our exit. We didn’t question the change of circumstance, just pushed on until Troltano was kilometres behind us and that being’s Presence faded from our minds and we wished to never remember it.
I collapsed on the grass. It was tall grass. Presumably south of Troltano – but I didn’t really keep track of the direction we ran. “Are we away?”
“They don’t seem interested in chasing,” Bia panted. “Do you think – ”
“They got what they wanted,” Arodorros said pointedly.
“What?”
“I don’t know why they’d want him,” he pondered.
“Who…”
“God, fucking, damnit.”
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