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As the energy from new, virgin souls unknown to the Faith of Aværys streamed into the Ætherium, the Deus Imperator wept, enraptured. His extraplanar Palace of Majesty, so long neglected, radiated with a new and greater lustre the like of which had not been thus since before the Rending. That which had eroded was at last beginning to be restored. Floating through his dominion, Aværys regarded his undisputed realm with a broad smile and, with a blink, he was within the stately ætherial structure seated upon the throne of thrones, tanned hands clenching the arms of his empyreal seat.
"We are pleased." Raithen's tongue imparted Aværys' word and thus was apparent to all who heard this new, musical voice that seemed to harmonise with itself in a radiant chorus. Moments later the distant Sceptre of Aværys that hung over the desert in the distance would seem to grow brighter as a beam of light shot forth that blinded all onlookers and when it faded, Raithen was gone from the isle... gone from Ransera itself.
At the foot of a towering daïs the Avialæ now knelt in a world between worlds. The chamber surrounding him was beautiful... oppressively so. The figure that sat the throne above was familiar, but titanic in size... Closer in size to the colossus at Tertium than the Aværys he'd known thus far. His choral voice boomed, infused with the consummate power of his ætherial realm.
"You have served Us well. Ask of Us a gift, and if thou dost not fain overreach, it shall be bequeathed unto thee. Answer now if thou wouldst, or consider o'er time and beg thy boon at a later date."