The Prince Returns (Talon)

[Lyra]

A kiss, sweet as honey and hot as dragon flames rose goosebumps on her flesh. Lyrielle twined herself around the man, drawing closer, her form disintegrating to envelop him and become enveloped by the drawing shadows that stretched toward them. A thousand upon thousand years of suppressed emotions left her gasping when he pulled away, and her vision swam.

"Let let us dance soon." Lyrielle said breathlessly, still hovering close, her smoke twining the dark one's form as she turned half glazed eyes on Talon to listen with half an ear. She felt Killian's form with every tendril that ran along his clothing, she clung to his symphonies that thundered louder than a coming storm. Unwavering concentration, fear held tight by the reigns, darkness made of twisting shadows, a heat from the voiceless cries of vengeance that sang in the hearts of mortals. Em'bra, or Killian as he went by now, felt as vast as the sky, and by comparison the point of light which was Talon seemed so very small and fragile.

Though both her magic and Killian's power Lyrielle could sense the fear within the prince. A coldness, creeping at the edges of panic, born of a situation he had little control over. Fear of the man who stood before him, fear of what was to come, fear of what he had gone through. Betrayal was a taste of bile at the back of her throat, the sickening tones of it heightening when he looked at her, and for a brief moment Lyra felt a twinge of... something. That something though was washed away by the gentle squeeze of her hand, and Lyrielle smiled an understanding smile at Talon.

There was something that her lord wanted. She felt it, and looked into the man's eyes as he looked at Talon. Her magic twined into both of their symphonies, parsing through thoughts as they arose, and finally she understood. Their dance had already begun.

Like a shadow at dawn Lyrielle faded away, her smoke flowing outward in all directions, licking at the ankles of the two men as she wound herself over the buildings, over the towers and the other structures in the area. This was her domain, and it thrummed to her desires. A soft melody began, slowly in the background, yet steadily rising as their conversation continued.



Her song carried the shifting melody of longing, softly clinging to the mind, yearning. Her whispers grew to a second chorus that joined the first, and through her eyes she saw Talon as he was. Across the veil his soul extended outward, grand though it was lacking in the majesty of a full divine. The shining light that was shaped as a humanoid shifted then, becoming lines, patterns, twisting images that resolved themselves into sigil.



A flicker of memory with the Spider most Elegant came to her then, revelations of a path only she could walk. As her lord spoke to the man Lyrielle spun a weave of music and magic around Talon, quieting the anxiety and uncertainty and bringing forth the sensations of curiosity, confidence and determination. As her magic flowed through him Lyrielle felt the twisted fragments of the armors influence that still clung to Talon's fragmented soul. Before her meeting the flesh mother Lyrielle may not have noticed it, but now she saw more than she ever could before. The world, and the two demigods that stood within it, lost the detail of their physical forms, and around them formed a language only she could understand.



Extending herself Lyrielle touched the souls of these men, and with new found understanding gifted to her she created a small thread from them. The song in the air became sigils, glyphs that changed with the melodies of the two men, but Lyrielle kept her focus on her task. From the dark lord Lyrielle created a brush, and with it she drew a small symbol inside of the glyph that was Talon. A small spark, a seed of vengeance. A link between the seemingly opposite elements of hope and vengence



When they embraced Lyrielle spun around them, half forming and resting a hand on each man's shoulder. Her smile widened until it split her face in two.

"Vengeance is often only possible because hope exists in the hearts of the victims of injustice. Let us aid you, Be'melar, little bird. Let us help you fly once again."

[Talon]

Talon squeezed his eyes shut. Some part of him said that he should push away from the demigod who was his sworn enemy but…was that true? What made this man his enemy? Was it because their portfolio’s were the direct opposite of each other? That did not make them enemies. Not in and of itself. In his mind he could feel the jagged claws of the Imperium’s control slowly being tugged away. It was like a veil being lifted from his thoughts. He looked over at the ghostly smoke form of Lyrielle. She was an entity of complexity that was not always benevolent. However, while Lyra was certainly capable of great evil, there was capacity in her to do as much good. He had seen her do it. He had helped her do some of that good.

All his life he had tried to push himself toward being a person who could be an example for others. He had become that example. An example of a person who had been torn from his heights and brought low. It hurt. It hurt more than he could perhaps say. Lyrielle spoke and he heard her words. They rang truer than ever before. He looked back at Killian and for the first time, the darkness that enshrouded him was not as impenetrable. He saw standing there a man with a different face. A man whose features were not dissimilar from his own, suggesting a familial link. He was staring at Talon with wide eyes that were filled with Hope. There was pain there. There was suffering. But Hope shone so brightly in him that is was almost desperate.

“Brother?” He saw emotion flicker across that face. When Killian spoke, his voice was heavy with it.

“Yes?” That hope rose higher.

“Help.” One word. Talon felt small saying it. He felt weak. He felt weary. He felt lost. Killian’s face softened.

“Of course.” Killian drew him into an embrace then. Talon sighed and allowed himself to be taken into that embrace. He closed his eyes. In his heart, he accepted the other god’s offer.

Maybe, just maybe, Killian and Lyrielle were right. Maybe this world did not deserve him. The shadows around them came forward and began wrapping around him. He felt neither fear nor pain as they began covering his body. All he felt was a soul deep weariness. In his mind’s eyes he saw that man who had been staring at him with such desperate hope. He was reaching for him.

Talon took his hand and together, they walked to a place where he could rest.

---

In the waking world outside of Lyrielle’s soul space, the Dark One was very gently touching his hand to Lyrielle’s chest. From it he withdrew the soul that was both Talon and the Aspect of Hope. Silver-white light was extracted from her until a ball of flame hovered in his hand. He stared at it almost as if he could not believe it was real. As he held it, he looked at Lyrielle in disbelief before stepping back. With deliberate slowness, he brought the ball of silver flame to his chest. Cupping it, he pressed it into his chest, directly over his heart. The ball of flame sank into his chest and for a moment, the entirety of Killian’s body was illuminated from the inside by that heavenly light. His veins, his bones, his heart, all of it became suffused with that light. Breathing picking up pace, he opened his eyes and they burned with a twilight fire that held within it a divine fury that would have been enough to make even the Burning King feel fear.

“I am no longer your slave!” At first, it was not clear to whom Killian was speaking but he jerked and doubled over, wrapping his arms around his torso gritting his teeth in pain. He groaned in pain, falling to his knees and curling in on himself as he gripped his skull in agony. His whole body began to emit tendrils of darkness as shadows spread out from him. He cried out in blistering pain as his body jerked, one arm flying out, the bones snapping at odd angles, drawing screams of agony from him. Across his skin, spikes of crystallized darkness began piercing through his flesh.

“I. Will. Never. Bow.” Killian screamed in pain as darkness writhed beneath his very flesh. To Lyrielle’s eyes, there were three souls before her.

The first was that of Killian’s. It shone with the familiar dark power of Shadow, Fear and Vengeance that she was intimately familiar with and yet strangely different from before. Housed within the heart of this soul was the Aspect of Hope that had been taken into him and that was suffusing his soul with power near a level she had witnessed only once before in her life.

The final soul was that of an impenetrable darkness that felt savage and primordial. It was vying for dominance in Killian’s body, as it did battle with his soul. Lyrielle would notice that little by little, this darkness was being absorbed by Killian and that battle for dominance was steadily shifting into a desperate attempt to escape.

But there was no escape.

Killian emit a terrible roar that shook the room and made the earth itself tremble as a bitter rage and fury overtook him. Darkness billowed out of his throat. An oily black ooze spilled out of the wounds of his body as he was covered by that darkness. The body in front of Lyrielle convulsed and twitched in odd angles. But after a moment…the body went still. The blackness receded revealing a very old, very familiar, and very known face to Lyrielle.

Shaeoth. As he had physically appeared all those thousands of years ago.

The spikes jutting out from his flesh retracted and were drawn back into his body. His limbs righted themselves. He lay there, covered in sweat, chest heaving for breath. Exhaustion was evident on his face but slowly, he opened his eyes. Eyes that were fundamentally different. Golden irises lined with a ring of black fire stared up at Lyrielle. In the elven woman’s sight, where there had been three souls, now there were only two. That primordial darkness had been absorbed fully into Killian’s soul.

“Lyrielle?” His voice was hoarse and he reached for her. “Finish it, Em’fala. Finish this dance of ours. I know you can.”

At first glance, the soul before Lyrielle’s unique gaze was complete but there was a fault line. A single imperfection that she could weave and repair.

[Lyra]

When Lyrielle opened her eyes she was again along the banks of the river within her demesne. A silence had fallen on the forest, and even the soft murmurs of things between the trees had ceased. The trees around them bent in twisting forms creating a tome of blackened branches over the two that stood in the quiet, one staring a light in his hands and the other staring at him.

The sense of relief mixed in excitement flowed in waves from the man in front of her, a man with a face she did not recognize but a soul she knew all too well. His eyes seemed tired, yet full of energy as the darkness in his irises reflected the shining light of hope he now clenched in his fist. The outsider had a momentary thought of how beautiful those eyes looked, but there was also a sense of change in the air as Killian took the light within himself. What transpired next happened in quick succession, leaving Lyrielle with little space physical or spiritual to react.

"Em'bra!" Surprise and concern for another, so odd for the woman who knew only selfish desires, flowed in her veins as worry creased her brow. To see the being she had devoted herself to crumble under some unknown pressure made a pain sting her heart, but all she could do is hover over him, observing yet unable to assist.

Past the veil Lyrielle could see the battle that raged within Killian. She saw her master as a man made of shadows, strong, fear and vengeance radiating off of him in equal measures. Then she saw something else struggle to burst from the depths of his soul, a darkness so black that Killian's shadows seemed grey in comparison. When she looked at that primordial darkness, that creature, Lyrielle felt fear. No, not fear. Terror. Paralyzing, inescapable terror like floating above the void with no way to escape. Terror like looking down into the black depths of the ocean. Terror like floating alone in the vacuumed between stars, infinitely vast and so cold it leached the warmth of one's very life from their bones. If she were to look back Lyrielle would realize she had seen this thing before. From time to time, the darkness behind her lords gaze. The terror that lived beneath the fear. Separated as it was from her master now, Lyrielle could feel a sense of age to the fragmented soul. Ancient even to Lyrielle herself, it held something even more complex than the aetherium within it, and were she not changed from her experiences she would have gone mad at the sight of it.

The darkness warred against shadows, its tentacles lashing and trying to tear off pieces of her masters soul. The two fought to consume the other, and as the contest seemed to tip toward that primal soul a light burst forth. With it Killian threw off the shackles of darkness that wrapped him, and the thing was ran through with a blade of white fire. In that moment of weakness Killian struck, and fire that burned gave off light that expanded the reach of his shadows, and together the darkness was drawn in, torn apart, and absorbed piece by piece. With the tides turned the darkness tried to flee, tearing itself in two in its struggle, but it was all in vain. Chains of shadows drew it back, and with a final tug shadow became darkness itself, and where there were three souls there now was only one.

With a gasp Lyrielle focused on the physical ward once more in time to see the powers within Killian raging beneath his skin. She drew back as he vomited the darkness, and became wrapped in it. She did not know what to do, and flowed back and forth, spinning in tight circles as she waited, but before long the darkness sloughed away like dead skin, and before her now rested a man she knew well.

"Em'bra..." she repeated the word, her voice now showing relief and some confusion. She came closer to the man, to the face she knew from before her imprisonment. Hesitantly she raised a hand to touch his chest, searching for an answer to a question she could not quite put to words.

His voice made her shudder. The way he said her name evoked too many confusing emotions, and for a moment she stared down at the man. He asked something of her, to finish it... Confusion showed on her face until she looked through him, and at his soul. The embodiment of darkness shifted and changed to anew form, an embodiment of everything that Shaeoth was, represented in a glyph.



At a glance it appeared to be only a singular pictograph, but the more she searched the more Lyrielle saw the depths of that one symbol. Each of its parts was a separate component of the gods soul, and she remembered looking upon the Spider most Elegant's soul, and how it seemed to fold in on itself in infinite patterns. Shaeoth's soul did the same, and Lyrielle saw those layers go on and on into depths that would be unfathomable to a mortal mind. It should have been for her mind as well... but the outsider remembered the gift the Flesh Mother had given her. Not a power, or tool... She had given Lyrielle knowledge and understanding of the soul to the highest degree, knowledge even of the souls of gods. So when she looked at the bottomless depths of this gods soul, Lyrielle's mind could comprehend it. If she could comprehend it, then she could also alter it....

Her gaze came up to meet Shaeoth's once more, and uncertainty melted away beneath those golden eyes. His trust in her felt misplaced. She was just a broken thing, unwanted and unloved even by her own people. He had saved her from her own madness and given her purpose, and she had been content to simply be his tool, yet again and again he gave her more than she felt she deserved. Now he asked something from her for the first time. She knew she wouldn't refuse, and even if it killed her, she would give this man everything he desired.

Looking back at his soul one last time Lyrielle sighed and closed her eyes. Unconsciously she had kept herself restrained, not wanting to show any ugliness to this man, her world. When she opened her eyes Lyrielle shed her mortal seaming, breathing in as her skin shifted with the faces and hands of trapped souls. Her body rose up as black liquid dripped from the moving black lines across her body, and when she looked down at Shaeoth her smile was somewhat regretful. She did not want Shaeoth to see her ugliness, but to deny what she was now would be to put him at risk, and she would not allow that.

Breathing in the black lines over her body spread to engulf her form in the tar like ooze, and then her body split into 6 masses that moved around to encircle Shaeoth, reforming into 6 identical copies of Lyrielle herself. Four of the fragments took a place at his head, feet and either side of his body. From them flowed more of the black liquid which mixed with the shadows of the trees as they reached for Shaeoth, gently wrapping him at the shoulders and waist to raise him up several meters into the air. A fifth Lyrielle floated a distance away, a thin mist of black flowing from her and filling the space between the trees. From this mist came the sound of soft humming, and as clasped her hands together and closed her eyes this Lyrielle sang a song that filled the silence.



The final Lyrielle, the true one, hovered above Shaeoth himself, a soft smile touching her lips before she closed her eyes and gently placed her hands on the gods chest. The sounds of the demesne faded until only the song from Lyrielle could be heard. The melody wavered with emotion, and with it streams of mesmeric energy flowed through the mists and touched each of the people on the riverbank. They all began to hum in hun in unison, and all versions closed their eyes and the world vanished.

In world of darkness floated the soul of Shaeoth. Lyrielle studied its form, considered its depths, and realized that it was truly complete. If left alone the soul, and Shaeoth in turn, would be mighty... but the words of the man in white haunted her. He was a creature of skill beyond mastery, and he had not been one to be content with perfection. He instead sought to bring things to their ultimate logical conclusion. This was an ability Lyra had envied, and as she studied this soul now the Dinor'afael realized that this was a turning point for her.

A look around the constructed soul space showed the four other Lyrielle's hovering in darkness, eyes open and looking at the soul as she was. Each of them bore a fragment of her soul, one of her masteries. Alchemy, Artificing, Necromancy and Runeforging. She knew each of them saw something else within this soul, and that it was only together that they could make the change Shaeoth desired. Lyra looked at the soul again, the eyes of centuries of mastery in the Scripts coming to bear, and all of them realized that this moment represented the step toward their ultimate goal.

"What is it to alter a soul?" Lyra asked her selves.

"To change its form, through addition and subtraction." Said her mastery of Alchemy.

"To enforce what is there, and bring out its true potential." Said her mastery of Runeforging.

"To find its greatest utility by trial and experiment." Said her mastery of Necromancy.

"To give it purpose through knowledge." Said her mastery of Artificing.

"To understand it, through its desires." Said her mastery of Mesmer, whose voice came from the world around them as she held the space in place.

Lyra thought on the answers she had given herself, and continued to stare at the floating soul before her. She searched her memories and knowledge for an answer, and found she were lacking in some small component. How was one to know what to alter? How did one know what to change in form? How did one learn the greatest utility? A soul was not something that anyone could simply see and manipulate, and the thought of experimentation on the soul itself felt... wrong. How then did one enact a meaningful change in something without damaging the thing itself? In the nothingness her mind was allowed to expand, and in seconds she had thousands of conversations with her own soul, questioning, wondering... And then all at once something changed.

All of her selves gasped in audible underading as her world shook. Symbols of vastness appeared in the real world as aether spun in quickly growing arches as a new epiphany took shape in Lyrielle. Lyra looked at her selves, and they looked at her. How did she converse with herself? How was it that her fragments could exist as separate yet whole? They could live lives fully separated from her own, and yet when they returned their accumulated knowledge and experienced was returned to the whole. What this simply an extension of her the concept she had come upon during that night she was reborn? No, because as she looked at herselves Lyrielle realized as Lyra did. The soul was not simply whole when it was fragmented, but each fragment was a manifestation of an aspect of the soul it originated from. If her fragments could exist and grow, then Lyra knew that what they represented could also be manifested and changed as well.

"The changes in the physical world are merely manifestations of the will of the soul." Lyra said, and as the words left her lips reality trembled, "Then to alter the soul in completeness, the soul must be made manifest as well."

A flood of knowledge spilled into their collective consciousness as all of her selves reached inward, piercing their bodies before slowly pulling from their chests a glowing object. Lyra did the same, and from her chest an item was pulled, floating above her palm. A quill made of black flames, and from its tip came golden light.

In the physical world all of the Lyrielle's opened their eyes and extended their hands. Lyra who touched Shaeoth's chest plunged her hands into the gods body, breathing out as she slowly drew back. In her cupped hands she held a physical manifestation of Shaeoth's soul. An orb of black flame that with a brush of Lyrielle's finger expanded into a sphere as large as a dragon. Its surface was covered by layers of shifting pictographs as Lyra has the soul manifestation shape itself into a form which suited her purposes. In this sphere rotated smaller lights, which upon closer inspection revealed more spheres of glyphs which went on seemingly endlessly.



The four Lyrielle's at Shaeoth's sides hovered upwards, in their hands was a quill similar to Lyra's though the designs and colorations were slightly different. The one of alchemy was a dark green made of smoke, the artificing one was bronze and metalic, the necromancy one was made of bone and dripped black ink, and the runefoging one was crystalline and glowed with an inner light.

With the soul manifested in reality Lyra could see in greater detail the areas of weakness. Small imperfections, accumulations of fractures as the result of the fusion between the two powerful entities. All of them flowed forward, and their hands became a blur of motion as they began to work in tandem, erasing and altering lines, correcting misaligned paths, and finally removing the thin fissure that separated Shaeoth from the full power of the primordial being. As their movements slowed Lyra hesitated for a moment. Her golden eyes stared down at the gods soul, and separated as she was from the strongest desires that were Lyrielle's, she found herself wondering...

There, in the depths of Shaeoth's soul there was place where nothing existed. A places where something could be added. She hesitated, and then while the others worked without noticing Lyra created a thin line. A design which integrated with the patterns around to be nearly imperceptible. She created a spiraling design like a curled snake, a minor link between her soul and Shaeoth not dissimilar to connection between a god and their emblem holder. As she did this she thought of her conversation with Talon on the nature of bonds. The bonds of the aviale were things of magic, and allowed intimate connections to pass unimpeded. What did Lyra hope to gain from this action? Perhaps it was driven by the desires of Lyrielle after all, but the link she made was a lifeline. Why did such a being time and time again come to her, do so much for her? Was it to get services such as this? Or was there another reason? Lyrielle was a being obsessed with Shaeoth and loyal to a degree that Lyra found disturbing. This was her means of creating an alternate path for herself, one which Lyrielle could never do.

We will never be imprisoned again... Lyra thought as she finished her work. The words she had spoken the season prior, the conviction she held when finally she got her body back. Lyra made the decision. If the time ever came... Lyra swore to herself she would not be used and thrown away again. With this She would be linked to Shaeoth, just as he was to her.

The others finished their work and flowed back. Lyra made a final adjustment, and then pressed her hand against the sphere. It shrank down to the size of her palm and she pressed the manifestation back into Shaeoth's soul. Her other selves burst into smoke and flowed back into Lyrielle who shook with the accumulated knowledge they had gained. Her form cracked, yet she held herself together black blood flowed from her eyes and mouth. The lines of black had become more numerous now, the souls within her body now physically beginning to break her skin as they struggled, but she contained herself and slowly lowered Shaeoth's form. She looked through the veil at Shaeoth's soul, and was pleased by what she saw.



Not changed, but brought to its final form. The edges smoothed, imperfections removed, the soul hummed with power and control it did not have before. Exhaustion came as a wave and Lyrielle was forced to the ground beside Shaeoth's body. She placed one hand on his chest, her eyes questioning, concerned as she waited for him to move or open his eyes.

[Paragon]

With the last stroke of Lyra’s pen, Shaeoth let out a breath. The black and orange fire of his soul trailing like mist out of his mouth as the wondrous work that Lyra had performed, fell into place. When she returned to the ground and rest her hand upon his chest, he was still. The steady beat of his heart and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest showed that he was most certainly still alive. He lay there, simply breathing, for a short time before his hands came up and gently began sliding along the length of Lyra’s arms. Gently, tenderly, he pulled her down toward him. He wrapped his arms around her and guided her head to his chest. His embrace encircled her as he enfolded her into his arms, resting his chin in her hair. He let out the long sigh of a man who had finally found something. The sigh of a man who was finally, after thousands of years, at peace. He simply lay there in the eldritch beauty of Lyra’s dark domain, idly rubbing a gentle circle into her arm with one of his thumbs.

“Since the night I first met you, you have believed one thing to be true about yourself.” His voice held power. The very world around him stilled as though in anticipation of his words. The darkness drew nearest, a tangible yearning from it as if to seek his attention.

“Broken, you have called yourself. A twisted, shattered thing.” The memory of their first meeting flashed across Lyra’s mind. The chaos of her ancient being, a chorus of whispers without form or function.

“Yet, who was it that danced among the hearts of men and gods, bringing them together in single purpose? Who was it that found me when I was lost? Who was it that inspired euphoria, horror, madness and epiphany in all they came across? It was not I.” He brought a hand beneath Lyra’s chin and tilted it up so that she could look him in the eyes. Those infernal irises with their gold and black light held within them such adoration.

“The girl who defied fate by vowing to never bow to the will and whim of any but herself. How far Little Lana has come.” He smiled indulgently. It was not a mocking smile but an understanding one. The smile of a man who knew her. Who had known her for thousands of years in one form or another. Gently, he flipped their positions so that Lyra lay with the flat of her back upon the ground. Shaeoth rolled so that he was atop her. The darkness all around them began to move and reshape itself. Beneath Lyra a silken bed made from shadows formed. Shaeoth leaned in closer, his pale white hair falling over his shoulders as he trailed his nose along the line of her jaw.

“Broken, you called yourself.” He brushed his lips over her neck tailing a light touch over the length until he came face to face with her. His face was close. He stared into her eyes steadily.

“You were never broken to me.” Shaeoth allowed the weight of his body to press more firmly against Lyra. He trailed his hands down the length of her arms, gently raising them above her head.

“May I have you, Em’fala? Will you have me?” He paused, easing up his weight just enough to give Lyra room to untangle herself if she so desired. He loosened his already gentle hold on her wrists.

[Lyra]

The steady rhythm of his heart mingled with the awakening sounds of his melody just before the man's eyes opened. A breath of sheer releaf escaped Lyrielle's lips as she leaned closer, uncertain still. She should have been confident in her work, but there was always a small sliver of doubt present in the back of her mind. What if he were different? What if he were changed beyond repair? What if he... didn't need her anymore. The thoughts tumbled one after the other even as the rational part of her that was Lyra reminded them of their own actions to ensure they would not be abandoned. Yet the doubt was still there, and only his voice in the silence was enough to quiet her own inner whispers.

His touch was gentle but firm, and she gasped slightly as she found herself pulled down into the man's embrace. Though she had laid next to him for some time, somehow she had not realized how large his chest was. His arms fully enclosed her, and the thump of his heart beat like a steady drum while her own quickened its pace considerably. Lyrielle did not speak, could not speak as she was caressed, but neither did she pull away. Thoughts were lost as even words seemed meaningless in the moment.

His deep voice made her very bones feel as if they were vibrating from the power his words contained. She listened, still unsure, yet growing warmer and warmer the longer she was held. The things he spoke... touched on something deep within, and she pulled back enough to look into the man's face, still confused, uncertain... and perhaps a little ashamed.

Years and years ago that name had lost its meaning, but when he spoke it Lyrielle trembled. Ever since she could remember she had known what she was. A broken doll, a tool barely acceptable for the purpose she was made, and when the time came she even failed to die as she was meant to. Worthless, shattered, unwanted. These were the words that Lana came to associate with herself, and from them was Lyrielle born as a mass of unrefined madness and whispers. She had clung to Shaeoth when he had reached out to her, because in him she found something solid, something real, a purpose to hold onto.

"No I..." but the words of protest died on her tongue as she were flipped and found herself staring wide eyed up at the most beautiful face she could ever imagine. Every touch was now fire, his breath bringing the heat higher and higher until she shivered and pressed her hands against the broad chest that now began to press down on her. She could not stop her voice, so pathetic sounding, as she made noises she had never thought possible.

What was it that Lana always desired? Lyrielle had forgotten. The anger and hate from centuries of grudges had piled up and blocked out the original intent behind the actions, and before she knew it Lyrielle became just a force of vengeance acting on the will of someone whom she adored... who it seemed felt much the same way for her. What did little girls want when they were all alone? What did children without love wish for most of all? A connection, something to tell them that they mattered, that they were needed, or wanted. A kind word said without hidden intent, a hand in the dark, and a voice to call them by name as if they really meant something after all.

As she lay on the silken sheets of darkness, breathing heavy and arms above her head, Lyrielle struggled to find the words. She felt as if she might lose herself in those dark eyes that were like portals to the void itself, golden irises flaring like dying suns as they were consumed by darkness at their center. He had asked her a question, and her muddled mind attempted to piece it all together. As he began to pull away Lyrielle felt a pain in her very soul at the absence, and from the lines of her body black tendrils flowed outward and snapped around the man's body, pulling him close once more. Biting her lip Lyrielle raised her head just enough to whisper into his ear.

"I was always yours... and you will always be mine." When she lay back her eyes burned with passion, and the teldrils of her essence steadily began to wind up Shaeoth's body. A mischievous simile played on her lips, broadening to a grin that trailed into smoke.

[Paragon]

The passion that followed was, in a word, godly. Shaeoth lost himself in the woman in his arms. It was as if Shaeoth had always been holding himself back, keeping a distance that had always been present but never fully named. As he lay with Lyra, that distance evaporated. When the passion reached its zenith, Shaeoth brought them both back to the waking world with a firm steadiness that allowed them both to bask in the afterglow for a time. He kept her enfolded in his arms for a time, simply resting. Simply breathing. Eventually however, the rest of the world called and Shaeoth let out a sigh. He sat up slowly and unwound himself from Lyra, sitting on the edge of the bed made from darkness. He remained there for a moment, simply staring off into space looking like a man who was finally at peace with himself. He touched a hand to his chest and beneath his palm, a silver-white glow began to emanate within his heart, illuminating the inside of his body. The light projected a silhouette of his internal body structure, showcasing his bones, his veins and arteries, and even his beating heart.

“Rest, little brother. Just rest.” Shaeoth spoke softly, stroking a thumb over his heart. The silver-white light softened until it faded. The dark god rose to his feet. As he did, the darkness gathered around his nude form, wrapping around it until it became clothing that complimented his form. He turned to face Lyra.

“I shall, I think, keep him with me for a little while. At least until I am more secure in my power.” He looked down at one of his hands before clenching and unclenching it.

“The world deserves little in the way of Hope anyways. Not after everything…” He cut himself off, shaking his head.

“Justice is shackled. Light subdued. Hope is weary and afraid.” A grim smile played across his face. “So it is that I shall give the world what it so clearly wants. Vengeance unrestrained. Fear unchecked. Darkness unchallenged.”

Leaning forward he cupped Lyra’s face, brushing a thumb along the arch of her cheekbone.

“I must go to claim my realm. I shall return. When I do, the world will know and even the gods will tremble. Before I do, a gift.” He leaned forward, pressing his lips to Lyra’s and from the heat of his kiss, across the link that had been forged between them, clarity passed. Into the crevices of Lyra’s soul, darkness flowed into her, bringing with it knowledge spawned from the depths of the Void. It sunk into her mind, encircling the knowledge of what she had performed on the soul of a god, casting stark shadows on the burning light that had nearly blinded her understanding bringing what she could comprehend into focus. As Shaeoth drew back, his form became cloaked in even darker shadows until all that was visible were golden and black lights of his eyes.

“Build your wonders, my Lyra, my Lyrielle.” Shaeoth’s form faded but his voice lingered. “May they be half as wondrous as you, Em’fala’dor.”

Beloved Shadow Dancer.

The shadows lessened and Shaeoth was gone and with him, Talon.

But though he was no longer physically there, the bed of darkness remained, cushioning Lyra until she climbed out of it. Lyra was by herself…but there remained with her a sense that she would never again be alone.

Off Topic

R E W A R D S

Name: Lyra
XP: 20 XP
Requested Lore: +13 Lores

Name: Talon
XP: 20 XP
Requested Lore: +12 Lores

Note(s): Lyra has been granted her Second Revelation as an Outsider. You may proceed to utilize all of the aspects associated with it. Please get with me at your earliest convenience to determine your second gift. Talon, this part of him, is now in the hands of Shaeoth but will be returned in due time.