Hope’s Legacy

[Laveriel]

Hope’s Legacy

3rd of Glade, Year 123 of the Age of Steel

“Happy birthday,” Iselya said to the clouds surrounding Mount Synnar. She spent a few hours earlier trying to find the highest point in Cloudhaven District that she could reach to view the sun rising. She was now sitting on the edge of one of the cliffs facing east, watching the skies go just the slightest bit lighter. “The view is terrible, I know. But this is the best I can get for now.”

What should have been the sun rose from the horizon, dark and foreboding. Seasons had passed the dark sphere was still there. Although, only two days ago the dark had lifted slightly during the night. Stars had returned to their black sky, driving away the void ever so slightly.

It was Ryo’s birthday. He should have been 163 years old today. If neither of them was out on a mission, they used to watch the sunrise from the highest point in Ailos to celebrate the occasion. He would always bring this bread with coconut jam filling from a small bakery right outside their barracks.

“They don’t have anything like those at Faulker’s around here, but Kalzasi has this pastry stuffed with red bean paste. I think you’ll love them.” She pulled out the fish-shaped treat and took a bite, the sweetness spreading across her tongue.

Only the gentle wind answered.

Some Synnekar flew across the sky in front of her, mere specks against the gray expanse. One of them caught her attention. Iselya could barely make out any of his features, but he had the wings of an osprey, similar to Ryo’s. He probably would have loved seeing Kalzasi, a world where the avialae thrived and ruled - a complete opposite to his old life as a Kathar.

With a sigh, the siltori closed her eyes.

Ryo falling from the clouds, landing with a sickening crack. The scream that tore through her as their bond was severed. Pain like nothing she had experienced before - like a million javelins speared through her chest over and over again - and the darkness swallowed her whole soon after.

Iselya forced her eyes to open before her mind had the chance to continue the vision. Even now, it still felt like someone had ripped a gaping hole in her chest where their core bond used to be. Some nights she still woke up screaming, her body shivering in pain as she relived reality.

Over the years, the woman learned the only thing that could soothe the pain was anger. The blinding hot rage, the thought of finding the man and piercing him with Iratallin. It eased the sharp agony, even if only a little.

If Ryo was here, he would tell her to let it go, to release the anger. She also knew that he would not condone her thoughts of vengeance. How she wished for an entire civilization’s destruction. But he’s not here to tell her that.

The Imperium took him away from her. They had their hands drenched in the blood of her friends and family, yet they suffered no consequence. Gel’Grandal was a beautiful and thriving city, while her home was probably still struggling to rebuild. Her people had been on the run for two decades as the Imperium hunted them down. Meanwhile, Iselya found it ironic that an order that was built under the name of justice was still letting those harbingers of destruction flourish.

It didn’t matter that justice would not bring him back. Nothing could. But she would one day come for the justice that they deserved. One day.

---------------------------------------

A part of her wanted to spend the entire day staring out at the water and spiral into the dark depths of her memories, but she knew it would be a waste of her time. It was why Iselya had chosen this day specifically for her plan with Imogen - so that her mind would barely have the chance to dwell on the fact that Ryo was dead.

Fortunately between climbing down the steps of the Cloudhaven District and making her way through the woods to reach the Illuminacras, Iselya had mostly been successful in keeping her mind occupied. To keep herself busy before the meeting, the siltori had even volunteered herself to help train some new aspirants.

Iselya had told them to start sparring with each other so she could go around and evaluate them. While she fixed stances and reminded them to keep their blades up, she couldn’t help but notice how many recruits there were. As far as she could tell, more and more people started joining their order. She had no idea how many were actually allowed to reach the initiation stage, but there was no denying the increase of interest in the Dawnmartyrs.

Perhaps they might return to their former glory sooner than she imagined.

While they trained in front of the barracks, people go about their day. Some of them passing shot looks at her as they passed, but that was a given considering the sword strapped to her waist. Most of the knights already knew that she was the wielder of Novuril for a while now, but quite a few still looked at her with a mixture of awe and disbelief. Honestly, Iselya couldn’t blame them. It was still just as surreal for her. Sometimes she still reached out to its hilt to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

Looking at the eclipse, Iselya realized it was almost time for her meeting. The orkhan woman should be arriving any moment. Turning to the gates, there was no sign of it opening yet. The siltori had tried her best to describe exactly where the settlement was hidden, but truth be told she wasn’t the best at directions either. Hopefully, Imogen found her way to the settlement just fine.

[Imogen]

Iselya's hopes, at least with regard to Imogen timely finding Illuminarcas, would prove to be ill-founded.

This, Imogen could not hold against the Dawnmartyr. She could hardly be expected to know that her contact was, perhaps, the single least-adept entity in all of Karnor when it came to finding things. The witch herself was painfully aware of the shortcoming, however, and had left three hours of leeway in her itinerary to facilitate a timely arrival.

It wasn't working.

"Take the right path at the burnt tree..." Imogen mused aloud as she looked at yet another fork in the path. Was that tree burnt? It looked somewhat wan and brown, anyway. The Orkhan woman silently cursed her adolescent self for daydreaming when her mother had tried to teach her the basics of botany.

Ordinarily, frustration would have driven Imogen to the air by now, but she wasn't sure flying into a hidden settlement of mage-warriors would end well. More importantly, she was wearing her dress uniform today, and didn't relish the thought of balling it up for transit as a bird.

The Sunsingers were not commonly in uniform when they worked, and Imogen hadn't worn hers since her misadventure with Peggy last Frost. To the credit of the tailor, however, it fit well even after being mothballed for months. It wasn't strictly in the Zaichaeri style--after all, the coven never really sought to highlight that connection--but Imogen still appreciated the austere Kathalan elements of the uniform. Hers was especially barren, bearing only the corporal's insignia and a series of marks of martial distinction on the sleeves. It reminded her a bit of the usher's uniform she'd worn at the Pfenning, a thought which filled her with a strange nostalgia.

This unproductive line of thought was interrupted by a sudden flurry of ungainly caws and other noises from the forest's sparse canopy. The witch peered upward and moved a bit off the path to ensure that the spies she'd bribed with tack could see her to deliver their reports. One of the more unexpected benefits of the Cardinal Rune of Animus; it turned out that the skies of Ransera were filled with eager informants who were willing to work for literal crumbs.

The witch listened patiently as her contractors began to explain what they'd seen.

~~~

Even with that trick, Imogen still arrived at Illuminarcas much later than she'd hoped. Birds were very good at spotting things from on high, but not so adept at explaining how to walk there.

The witch spotted the sentries posted at the old gatehouse before they spotted her, and gave a moment's thought to simply slipping by them and finding Iselya without delay. The notion appealed to Imogen's sense of whimsy, but she squashed it and moved to hail the gates. It was fun to evade sentries, but she wouldn't allow herself to reflect poorly on her coven here, especially not given the level of public support in northern Karnor they needed to support refugee interests.

One of the sentries walked out to greet her, while the other remained at range, armed with a longbow. Imogen raised her empty hands as she approached to show that she was unarmed; a pointless affectation for a master Reaver, but she didn't expect the sentry to deduce that.

"Your name and your business?"

This sentry was a young Synnekar, dressed in high-quality garments and with a sort of sheen to his owl-like dappled wings which Imogen suspected meant he'd treated them somehow. Certainly from wealth, but with a professional demeanor nevertheless. Imogen liked professionalism.

"Colonel Ward, here to see Commander Iselya," she replied. "I believe I'm expected?"

"Oh!" replied the young man, "Yes, of course. We thought you'd be here sooner."

Imogen silently retracted her previous positive assessment of the junior knight.

~~~

Thankfully, she was subject to no further hassle. The witch took in the sight of Illuminarcas as the palisade gate opened to admit her and found it... a bit disappointing, really. When she'd visited Ecith a year prior, she had hoped for the opportunity to see ruined Ailos, the subject of so many of her uncle's tales. The mists had forced her back to Karnor earlier than she'd hoped, and she supposed that she'd expected this new Kalzasern settlement to carry at least some echo of the legendary city.

The fortifications were antique, at least; otherwise, it was little different than any number of forts she'd seen from afar in the process of smuggling things past them. The people going about their day within the fortress didn't distinguish the place either.

When she reached Iselya, however, she found an interesting sight at last- the young knights sparring.

They were dreadful fighters, of course, but that didn't bother Imogen at all. Everyone was godawful with the sword when they were recruited, no matter how legendary the recruiter. No, what interested the Ork was the style of practice- the regimen which Iselya was running the young warriors through was quite distinct from both the practice she'd observed with the Synnekar and among the enslaved Avialae in Gel'Grandal. Though the weapons were more of the strange swords favored by the northern swordsmen, Imogen fancied she could see the ghost of the same techniques practiced by the initiates at the temple of Raxen in Drathera. Perhaps that was the lineage of Alios she'd been so skeptical of?

Well, no matter. She had other things to do than indulge flights of fancy.

"Iselya!" Imogen called out to the stiltori woman, "Sorry that I'm late. What's the good word?"

[Talon]

T A L O N

A shift in the aether currents around him was all the warning that he needed. Talon smoothly shifted his stance, bringing up his sword to deflect the incoming blow. No more than a breath later, his assailant appeared as the slipstream opened. They brought their daggers up in a slashing motion only to be blocked by the angle of Talon’s sword. Immediately upon being blocked, the attacker vanished back into the slipstream once more. Again, Talon saw the ripple in the flow of aether and he brought his sword up to block the incoming attack just as the assassin popped back into the physical world. The pattern continued with his attacker blinking and appearing at different angles only for Talon to calmly but methodically block each incoming blow with his sword. After the eighth attack, Talon changed his strategy. He reached out with Kinetics and grabbed the aether flux tightly, freezing it in place in a dome extending roughly 30 ft. around him. When the assassin attempted to blink back out into the slipstream only to find that they were locked out of it, their eyes went wide.

Talon swept one of his wings downward in order to trip them while they were off-guard. The assassin flailed briefly.

“Shit!” Mathias stumbled and fell back. Talon followed through, pushing off his back foot and stepping forward cleanly to bring the tip of his sword up to Mathias now exposed neck. The point of his sword hovered mere centimeters from his squire’s Adam’s apple. Mathias swallowed and held up his hands in surrender. Talon dismissed his Pact blade. The familiar ache that came with wielding a Reaved weapon skittered across his nerves. He breathed through it as he offered a hand to his squire.

“How do you do that?” Mathias took his hand and Talon hauled his squire to his feet. Around them the various knights of the Dawnmartyrs who had been watching began to applaud the sparring match. Talon smiled.

“Traversion causes ripples in the aetheric currents that are all around us. Similar to how once followed the impression I left in the world in my wake, I followed yours.” Mathias dusted himself off before waving bashfully to a few friends he had made among the knights.

“And stopping me from blinking?” Mathias looked at him curiously. Talon released his hold on the aetheric currents in the air around them.

“I used Kinetics to freeze the aether flux and aetheric currents around us in place, cutting you off from your ability to manipulate them and enter the Slipspace.” It was a technique that he had learned quite some time ago during one of his arcane tutoring sessions. His teacher had been quite thorough in explaining the relationship that mages had with the aetheric currents of the world both in themselves and in the spaces around them.

“That’s brilliant.” He rubbed at the back of his head. “I guess I’m going to have to work harder to conceal myself.”

Talon gave him an encouraging squeeze to the shoulder.

“You are making good progress.” Compared to the unsure teenager that Talon had come across in that market nearly two years ago, Mathias had shaped up to be a competent young man well suited for life in the knighthood.

“Alright you lot, quit your gawking! Back to your training!” An older knight stepped forward into the area that had been designated as the training grounds for what was coming to be known as the Dawn’s Hand. A subset of the knighthood was forming to serve as Talon’s personal entourage. From he was coming to understand, they were being groomed to be the strongest, most skilled and capable of the knighthood. Competition to be considered for the Dawn’s Hand was becoming fierce and it was something he encouraged but not to the detriment of the knighthood. He would allow it to be formed but only if it deserved to be.

“Aspirant Mathias!” The knight called for his squire. Mathias looked to the senior knight. “Your cohort is being called to the tower. It’s time for your magecraft lessons.”

Mathias gave a salute. He smiled at Talon who inclined his head. It was as he watched Mathias trot off to join a few of the other aspirants he was cohorted with, that Talon felt…something familiar. He turned his attention to what was drawing it, something old, something ancient, a part of himself that he had not felt in many Ages.

“Lightbringer?” Without realizing it, Talon had manifested his nimbus, almost as if that something was calling him to it. The knights that were assembled around him had stopped what they were doing. Some had taken a knee. He could hear their prayers.

“Excuse me.” The knight bowed.

“Of course, Lightbringer.”

Talon reached for his outer robe with kinetics. He slipped it on, adjusting it around his wings then began walking in the direction of that pull. As he walked, the light of his nimbus shone peacefully upon all he passed. The residents of the Dawnmartyr settlement paused in their activities as their patron god walked the streets toward the beacon that drew him. The silver-white light that was his signature shone softly from his body.

Novuril began to sing softly with radiant power as its Lord approached. The blade hummed with divine power in the sheath that housed it as Talon drew nearer. As he passed, knights knelt, people bowed, prayers were offered. To some who looked upon Him, the Light of His Nimbus was a soothing balm that offered Hope. To some it was the Light of Justice and in it they saw walking the Judge Himself, ready to cast judgement upon them for their transgressions. Others still saw the Morninglord, Bringer of the Dawn and the warmth that He offered with a new day.

Talon came to stand within sight of Iselya and Imogen. Silent. Waiting. Patient. His silver eyes settled upon Novuril, sheathed though it was.

[Laveriel]

At the sight of Imogen, Iselya waved at her. She told the aspirants to continue their drills as she jogged over to where the woman was. “Glad to see you’ve managed to arrive in one piece. Welcome to the home of the Dawnmartyrs,” she said lightly. “Not as grand as what we used to have in Ailos, but it’s a work in progress.”

Her smile faltered the slightest bit at the mention of Ailos, but the gloom was quickly wiped off her face. No use in grieving what they had lost. All that mattered was building something new and looking forward. One day, she would be able to take those words to heart.

“Alright, I was thinking that we should start looking for Arcas’s past in the archives - I’m sure. If we’re lucky, there would be some records about who this sorceress might be. If that doesn’t work then we-”

Iselya felt it - the moment Talon’s nimbus flared on the other side of the settlement - and went silent. The warmth spreading out from her emblem was a clear sign of who was approaching.

The siltori turned to Imogen with a nervous smile. “Actually, forget all that. He’s already here.”

And just in time, Talon came into their sights. Despite their previous meeting, the physical sight of the patron of their order still threw her off guard. It didn’t feel quite real. It was much different from interacting Andrus, the demigod’s previous incarnation. Her old mentor’s light was strong and steadfast, but more muted. Meanwhile, the avialae in front of her was blazing, a reminder that it was the divine who was walking amongst them.

The sword at her waist began to hum and with it every fiber of her being. It was a familiar feeling whenever she wielded its ability, but it was never this strong. She even had to check if she was physically shaking from the surge of power - thankfully not.

With a deep breath, the knight straightened. She could see her comrades kneeling in reverence around the demigod and made way straight to him. Honestly, Iselya had tried planning how she would hand off Novuril to Talon, what she should say, where she should do it, but all that just went out the window.

They were doing it here. Right now. And it was just the slightest bit terrifying.

Once Iselya stood in front of him, the old knight bowed. There was a relief washing over her body, knowing that she had been able to deliver the one task he gave her. As she unsheathed her sword, the siltori was already bracing herself, expecting the artifact to burst into silver-white flames.

Iselya went down on her knee and presented the blade to its rightful owner. “My lord.”

[Imogen]

As oblivious as Imogen might be, the pain in the Dawnmartyr's voice when she spoke of Ailos was unmistakable. It made the witch feel strangely guilty for her earlier judgments; what right did she have to compare this place and its fresh-faced aspirants with a dead city she'd never even seen? Luckily, one of the many advantages of not speaking your insults aloud was that there was no need to offer anyone apologies for them.

"Never fear- it may take me a while, but I usually manage to appear when needed."

It was interesting how the initiates around them continually snuck glances not at the unusual visitor but at Iselya herself. The witch hadn't tried to interrogate Isleya during their previous encounter, and the Dawnmartyr hadn't been particularly forthcoming about her history anyway. Still, given Iselya's obvious skill and heritage, it wasn't much of a reach to think that perhaps she was, herself, one of the original members of the Order. That would surely explain the pain in her eyes at the mention of Ailos, and perhaps the reverence those around her displayed.

Imogen nodded as Iselya began suggesting a trip to the order's archives, which seemed perfectly reasonable as a starting place to-

"...hm? Who's already..."

She did not need to wait long for the answer. Following Isleya's gaze, the Ork immediately saw the enormous glowing avialae's approach, and knew at once that it had to be Prince Talon. The image of the man silhouetted with light, burning like a star over the skies of Gel'Grandal was still seared into the back of Imogen's brain. That had been a pretty bad evening.

The Dawnmartyrs knelt as their prince and god approached, which, fair play, was a pretty reasonable reaction. Still, it put her in a rough spot. It wouldn't do to kneel, not to a foreign prince, but she was reasonably sure that the Marshal would fire her himself if she accidentally showed disrespect to the God of Light. Bowing might be appropriate- how was it that the Synnekar behaved at court? She thought Carina had gone over it with her in case they ran into any of the House nobility at Aurin's party last year, but she couldn't remember any of it, not for the life of her.

She didn't think it was a curtsey. If it was, the whole endeavor was doomed.

Luckily, Iselya and Talon seemed pretty fixated on each other for the time being. As the Dawnmartyr stepped forward to present her sword--probably yet another ritual Imogen wasn't familiar with--the Ork slipped stealthily backwards a few paces, to give herself time to try to work out what counted as polite and reasonable conduct in this fraught social situation.

This was the first time Imogen had gotten a good look at Iselya's sword anyway. There was something very familiar about it, which niggled at the back of her mind, but she could not quite place it. Wasn't that the sword on the walls in the murals at the Sanctuaries? Was this some sort of famous weapon?

[Talon]

T A L O N

He studied first Iselya and then the Orkhan woman she had been conversing with. As the weight of his gaze came to rest upon each of them, he looked beyond the veil of their mortality. He looked into their souls. He looked for their transgressions against the precepts of Justice. He looked for what brought them Hope. He looked for what they searched for in the Light. These things he looked at not with the eyes of a mortal but with the eyes of the divine. He then looked to the blade that was offered to him. A sword that the Sunsingers had dedicated their entire lives to guarding. The origin of the Sunsinger Coven that Imogen would recognize. Reaching out, Talon grasped the hilt of the sword and slowly unsheathed it.

As his fingers wrapped around the hilt of the blade, memories entered his mind. Novuril offered up the experiences of every warrior who had wielded the sword in the millennia since the two of them had been separated. He saw pride. He saw strength. He saw arrogance. He saw glory. He saw mercy and compassion and justice. He saw every path the sword had taken since the Age of Wonders. The runic markings along the flat of the blade began to illuminate with silver light. That light began to spread from the blade and bloom across Talon’s body. As it did, he felt invigorated in a way that he had not felt in thousands of years. Strength filled his muscles. Power coursed through his soul.

The manifestation of His nimbus came out in full. The facade of Talon’s mortality fell away as he stepped away from the realm of anything mortal and embraced fully the majesty of his godhood.

“Novuril! Bringer of the Dawn! I give thee Light! Arise, Dawnhold!” Talon’s aura flared to life, spreading outward and rushing across the settlement. It spread further and further, reaching across territory after territory. The shadow of the Eclipse, for the moment, was dissolved as the God of Light manifested in full on the mortal plane of Ransera. The crown of his divinity manifested with the full sovereignty of his domains. Talon looked across the threshold of realms mortals and into the fullness of the Aetherium. There in that realm of infinite possibilities he saw himself standing at all crossroads. Wielding Novuril, invoking the magic of the gods as only he could, Talon called out to every soul, every follower, every spirit that believed in the fullness of his domains. Marshaling his power and channeling it through the dominion of Hope, he brought into the fullness of reality what it was that the Dawnmartyrs hoped that this settlement would become.

All around them, the landscape that was bathed in Talon’s light began to shift. The walls of the township dissolved and reshaped. The building shifted, occupants inside of them were gently moved and unharmed as the entire settlement began to grow and expand to become a veritable citadel and fortress. Spires of alabaster stone with windows of silver glass began to shape. The trees leaves turned golden, their bark became silvered white. The grass became golden and limned with a celestial radiance. The landscape itself shifted to become reminiscent of the once great citadel of light that was built in Ailos.

Ailos would never again be the bastion it once was…but that did not mean its memory did not live on.

Into the very stones of this place were poured the dominions of Justice, Light, Hope but through Novuril, a sword forged by the God of Blades Himself, was also touched with the dominions of Truth and Courage as Novuril’s true potential was unleashed in the hands of the god it belonged to.

Talon relinquished his flow of the power of the Aetherium and blinked as his senses returned to the here and now. His form still thrummed with divine power. Novuril still hummed with a sense of exultation in his grasp, like a piece of himself that had been missing for longer than he ever realized. He shook his head, stumbling a little as he returned to his senses. Before he could fall, the thud of heavy boots rushed forward and strong arms wrapped around him, supporting him. Beside him, Aoren looked at him both with concern and awe.

“Easy, my prince. Easy.” Talon nodded, suddenly feeling as though he had been exerting himself for hours. It had been quite some time since he had felt this drained. He was glad that Aoren was close to support him. He looked around at the shining citadel of alabaster that had been shaped around them.

“What did you do?” Aoren whispered in awe even as he helped Talon to stand steadily on his feet. After a few breaths, Talon looked around. This placed felt connected to him now. It felt like a place that was his, a place where the Dawnmartyrs could thrive.

“I turned this place into what they hoped it would be; a haven to rebuild. A sanctuary to find themselves. A sacred place where they can grow closer to me and I to them.” Talon held up Novuril. There in the Aetherium, he had seen the roads where he would stand in possession of the sword and a few of the feats that were yet to come or that had already passed. He extended the sword back to Iselya.

“I offer to you, Iselya, Knight-Captain of my Dawnmartyrs, the Sword of Dawn. Will you become my Wrath? Will you wield my sword to defend the innocent and strike with righteous fury and retribution against the wicked?”

Off Topic

Talon has enacted Archmagic to accomplish the following:

Illuminarcas, the small settlement has been remade into Dawnhold, the Citadel of Light. It has the following features:

Demigod's Cathedral [Dawnhold] - A demigod’s cathedral is a place made sacred by them. It is the bastion of their godly might and is a realm where they reign in absolute supremacy as the prime deific power in that area. This can be a literal temple or cathedral, a fortress, a forest glade, or any such place the demigod deigns to claim as their own. The demigod infuses this location with a great deal of their time and power causing it to exist partially in the realm of the mundane and within the Aetherium. As a result, this haven for the demigod is subject to their interpretation of what reality in that space should look and act like. While they cannot break the laws of reality, as they are not a greater-ranked deity, they are able to bend them.

Stones of Light - The alabaster stones of Dawnhold have been bathed in the cleansing light of Arcas himself. As such, the grounds, structures, and space that comprises Dawnhold is considered consecrated against the influences considered to be the antithesis of all that Arcas stands for including Undead, Mistspawn, Voidspawn, and even the magic of Nyx cannot be wielded while within Dawnhold.

Incorruptible - As a bastion of Light, Justice and Hope, and thus a place of purity, those who reside within Dawnhold cannot be compelled to act against their true nature. This translates to immunity to the corruption of the Dread Mists while within it and the forbiddance of mind-altering effects that would compel the individual to act against their true selves such as with Mesmeric influence.

Faith of the Justicar - So long as the Fire of Justice burns in one's heart in true faith to Arcas, those who dwell within Dawnhold are empowered with heightened strength, agility, and stamina as though with Dominion as described on the Eminence Emblem page. This manifests at the Acolyte level.

[Laveriel]

The ground rumbled beneath her and there were no words to describe what happened next. Structures rose from nothing, twisting and rising high into the skies. Light bathed the world as far as the eye could see, banishing the darkness that had haunted them for seasons.

It was hard to tell how long it went but when all the rumbling stopped, they were standing atop a citadel of white stones. For a moment, the entire population of the settlement was frozen, unsure if the white city was real or simply a mirage that would disappear if they moved.

The towers, the archways… it reminded her of home. Of the people that were no longer here. Ryo. Nesryn. Thaddeus. Lyonette. Athras and so much more. They should have been here, marveling at this haven their patron god had created in an instant.

Before she had the moment to take everything in, the “I offer to you, Iselya, Knight-Captain of my Dawnmartyrs, the Sword of Dawn. Will you become my Wrath? Will you wield my sword to defend the innocent and strike with righteous fury and retribution against the wicked?”

For a moment, the woman could only blink. Iselya looked down at the sword, then at Talon, then at Aoren, needing someone to confirm that she wasn’t hearing things.

Iselya was not the best of them. Not the smartest, the strongest, the kindest, or the bravest. But here she was, standing in front of Arcas himself, the Dawnblade offered to her. The siltori had been resenting the fact that the world still suffered no retribution after destroying Ailos. It felt like the world was challenging her to right that wrong, instead of wallowing in her own hatred.

This was her chance.

“No,” she said as she met Talon’s eyes, slowly rising to her feet. With the newly born Dawnhold around them, she thought it was time. No more hiding, no more secrets. “Iselya does not exist. It feels wrong to stand here with a false name. But it would be the greatest honor for me, Laveriel d’Revrinti, to serve as your Wrath.”

The name felt foreign on her tongue. It would take time to get used to, but surprisingly there was a comfort to it. Iselya had provided her with safety and anonymity, had shielded her from the eyes of the Imperium. For years, the knight-captain had played dead and let them think they had successfully hunted her down. The female elf thought a quiet life was what she needed. Yet, her heart still bled every day and resentment plagued her memories.

Perhaps justice was the only thing that could heal her. And Laveriel d’Revrinti was the one wronged by this world, not Iselya. Should she bring retribution to the world, it should know exactly who she was.

And so she held out her pale hand and held Novuril, wondering if it would even accept her after its reunion with Arcas. The sword felt different. Her aether and emblem responded to its energy, the silvery markings all over her body glowing and growing underneath her robe. Having seen its full potential, the blade seemed heavier and more daunting. It was clear that she was not worthy to wield it, but there must be a reason it was in her hand now.

The knight scanned the crowd around them who were still marveling at the structure that had grown around them, her eyes landing on Imogen. It reminded her of why they had been here in the first place. She certainly didn’t imagine this was how this day would play out.

“Actually, we also have something to tell you. Danger is coming to the North in one year’s time. It’s actually why I invited my friend here,” she gestured at the orkhan to come closer. The knight wasn’t entirely sure what to refer Imogen as, but friend seemed fitting enough. Surviving a shadow-breathing dragon before nearly falling to their deaths was a bonding experience. That should be enough to make any two individuals friends right? “I think it’s related to you, Lightbringer.”

[Imogen]

Imogen stared in bafflement as Prince Talon took the sword and began to shine- the third time she'd seen the man up close and each time the encounter had ended with him glowing like a beacon and doing some sort of incomprehensible magic. She wondered if it was a habit among the royalty of Kalzasi or just a thing demigods did regularly. Either way, as the sword began to shine, the shock of recognition suddenly hit her, and she couldn't stop herself from swearing:

"Wh- Novuril? YOU had it this whole time?"

Difficult to describe the panic which had hit her order after the thing was stolen during the cataclysm in Zaichaer. Like every other Sunsinger, she'd spent weeks hunting for the culprits in vain, so certain that it was going to be the work of the Menders. This development didn't clear up her growing bafflement, either- Iselya had demonstrated no affinity for necromancy at all, so how was it she could have been responsible for the break-in?

This line of thought didn't last long, interrupted by the performance of what was, unmistakably, archmagic. If Imogen were a more academic mage, she might have felt some visceral thrill at getting to see such a working performed up close- as it was, she was mostly lost in the spectacle of it. The buildings around her melted and shifted as though the old fortifications were nothing but sandcastles, molded and remolded by some enormous hand. The weathered stones shifted, redefining themselves, and the crude glasswork of the palisade windows suddenly reformed into great apertures which seemed filled with spun elven-glass.

The earth shifted below Imogen's feet, but it wasn't much like an earthquake. As if the demigod were a magician, yanking a tablecloth off a set table without disturbing its burden, everything simply shifted and solidified around the people standing there, leaving them unharmed and unmoved. The Ork watched, wide-eyed, as white spires crested the former height of the walls and kept going. Beyond the merely physical, however, the most profound change of all seemed to be in the aspect of the world surrounding them- each pebble, every flowering bush, all began to burgeon with luminescence, a tell-tale sign of the locale's sudden nearing of the Realm of Light. It reminded her of the words of a song: "These inconceivable creations / retain the high state of their first day."

By contrast, the sudden appearance of Aoren and the Prince's bestowal of the sword upon Iselya were positively mundane. Still, it was obvious that the sight of this inexplicable new fortress, of Novuril being handed back to her, and of Talon's grave charge had affected the elven knight very deeply. That was perfectly understandable. Then, Iselya--no, Laveriel--announced her acceptance of this charge under a new name completely.

Plainly the Ork was missing something important, but that was fine. Figuring out the implications of all that was not, in fact, her job.

Her job, actually, was what Is-Laveriel brought up afterwards, almost startling Imogen with the sudden shift. Being brought back into the scene was momentarily disconcerting, but it helped the Sunsinger get over her stunned bafflement at the sudden displays of power and pagentry (and Novuril- she still hadn't worked out how that had gotten here). But when she opened her mouth, rather than a comment related to any of that, what came out was:

"It really looks like his Highness--uh, his Worship--could use a moment of rest. Perhaps it would be better if we discussed Exathun and the Voice and the assassination plot inside-" Imogen gestured to what was once the fortresses' simple keep, and now looked more like some legendary edifice from a fairy tale, or the legends of Ailos her uncle had often gone on about for hours. "Assuming... that there are chairs in there?"

[Talon]

T A L O N

He was, at first, surprised at her refusal but when it became a clarification, he inclined his head. As she rose to her feet, Talon gave Novuril to her. As soon as he did, the sun-brand upon the hilt of the sword glowed brightly with silver fire that wrapped around Laveriel’s wrist to form a blazing silver sigil. Feeling steadier on his feet, Talon stood up straighter. He gave a nod to his husband who released him slowly.

“There will be much I have to teach you about Novuril, my Wrath.” He rest his hands at the small of his back as Laveriel explained the reason for her arrival. With the introduction of Imogen, he looked to the Orkhan woman. He inclined his head toward her.

“A more private place is likely best.” Through the connection he shared with all of his Emblem marked followers, he sent a wave of reassurance to them. He could sense the awe and wonder that was had for the appearance of Dawnhold. Surprisingly, he could feel that his wave of reassurance reverberated through Dawnhold itself, connected to him as it was. The sense that things would be well and that his faithful were welcome within the citadel pervaded the area. He would have to discuss with the knighthood at large all that was available to them. That would come later in the day however. For the moment, he had to discuss things with Laveriel and Imogen. Gesturing with one hand, he opened the way for them to what he could feel was the heart of Dawnhold.

“Come. It would seem we have much to discuss.” Stepping through the open portal, Talon entered the sunlit hall of what appeared to be an immaculate chamber. It reminded him of the celestial hall of the Pantheon, where the gods convened in conference to discuss the matters that affected the mortal world. For a moment, he thought he could feel the presence of his Divine Father looking upon him in this place.

Tall columns made of shimmering silver crystal held up a roof that revealed a realm of light and tranquil majesty. The windows lining the walls of the chamber rose high, each of them revealing a different place bathed in sunlight. From grassy plains, to mountaintops, to radiant cities, each window held something different. At the far end of the chamber there was an alabaster throne. He did not remain in that central chamber but took them to a side chamber that had a round table with various high-back chairs within it. Talon took a seat at the table. Aoren sat beside him. He motioned for Laveriel and Imogen to do the same.

“Tell me, what troubles you?”

[Laveriel]

Arcas’s Wrath. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what such a title would entail. As the flames wrapped around her wrist, the dawnmartyr let herself marvel at it for a few moments. It was difficult not to wonder how long ago since a mortal was last bestowed the honor. A millenia? Perhaps more? The weight of the responsibility began to dawn on her, but it would take more time to fully process all of it.

When both Imogen and Talon suggested for them to move, the woman quickly sheathed the sword. “That is a better idea. Forgive me,” she said with a sheepish smile as she followed them inside. They were then greeted by a palatial sight. The roof above them was the most breathtaking, twinkling with soft light that could only originate from the celestials themselves.

Veriel smiled apologetically at the orkhan’s surprise as she sat down. She probably owed at least some explanation to a member of the sunsingers. “I was tasked to find the sword and I already knew it was supposed to be under the protection of Gregoire. I had escorted him and his father to Zaichaer decades ago.” Oh how things had changed from back then. “I contacted him and he told me that it was stolen and most likely had been taken to the Warrens. Fortunately, he was right.”

The siltori turned her silver eyes to Talon this time, hand fidgeting against the cool table. “Someone called the Master had the sword and gave it to me. I didn’t know how he had it, but he seemed to be familiar with it. And he marked me with the sword.” Her hand wandered to her chest, where her second emblem was carved into her skin. Veriel had always thought that one must be marked directly by the associated demigod.

“I have many things to ask you, Lightbringer. There are so many things I don’t understand.” Saying that she had a hundred questions would be an understatement. All these past seasons all she got was questions instead of answers. Perhaps it had been too long since she last involved herself this deeply in matters of the world, but it did feel overwhelming most of the time. Veriel had spent a better part of the decade being as unassuming as possible, but now she was back in the thick of the action once again.

Still, she should tackle one problem at a time. And this first one was enough of a headache.

“Last ash we encountered a dragon in Zaichaer, Exathun. After a bit of a skirmish, he tasked us to find this thing called the Voice, stolen by someone who wanted Truth dead and Justice slain.” She gave a glance at Imogen, hoping the sunsinger would be better at explaining things than her. “Naturally, you came to mind.”