The Lyra Mystery

[Finn]

A crater, Zaichaer
27th of Frost, Year 123 of Steel

Finn was late for a very important date, but better late than never, he hoped.

On 67th Glade, on one of his rare days free from the exigencies of the Custodes Deorum and Arvælyn's court, he had been taking a nap when light, pleasant dreams of what he might do to Arvælyn should he come to bed had been violently altered into a nightmare of darkness and fear, primordial pain and determination, of being hunted. He awoke in a cold sweat, his right hand aching where Lyra had inscribed her mark upon him.

The next day, he had discussed it with Phocion Vigilia, as the Custodes Deorum was already aware of Lyra and her strange magic. Aværys himself had only been mildly miffed when she answered his call on Hilana's disastrous quest, but Finn knew he no longer had carte blanche to pursue his whims, or even his instincts and intuition.

In any case, it was less than a month before he was in Kalzasi for the coronation of Shokaze Karam Senue, and he had managed to make time to return to Lyra's shop and her home outside the city to question his former co-workers. Again, in Ash, he compared notes with them over several trips to Kalzasi with Hilana, her sister, and Lykos.

But it would take until after his wedding at the beginning of Frost to persuade his brother-in-law that he ought to go to Zaichaer to investigate. That was where all the evidence pointed and while it was the belly of the beast to a man raised in the shadow of the High City, he was determined to do his job and to be the friend Lyra had been to him. Without her, his hand wouldn't be able to play music, and he wouldn't understand magic, nor indeed the world, as well as he did.

So here he was, dressed as a decently successful man of Karnor, his raiment as secretly protective as his Sentinel blacks. The flight over had been aboard a Solunarian trade vessel, testing Zaichaeri airspace and market value, but now he was here, he could suss the slipspace and return home without any further apparent affiliation with them. Some might wonder at the golden cast to his skin, a gift from Aværys' sceptre throughout the Eclipse, but what light there was in this benighted city would only serve to wash it out. Phocion hadn't let him go alone, whether because he wanted eyes on Finn or to protect him or both. But Decius had warned him of the warding preventing physical intrusion, as well as the fact that it didn't encompass the entirety of what lay below.

He daren't linger long here at the edge of this crater. It was cordoned off, but his compatriots had already noted the rotation of the guard. This was his first time seeing it as they hadn't wanted any possible guards to note a familiar face. It was unlikely he would be troubled by military or the Order, and they seemed to rely on the good sense of the citizenry to avoid spelunking in craters that emanated the strange feelings. While Finn began to recall flashes of that long ago dream, he rubbed at his right hand through the black leather glove. While she had taught him much, she hadn't given him an instruction manual for her mark—he hadn't even known it was there at first—and it was entirely possible this was a fool's errand.

But he had to know. He had to do his due diligence, both as her friend and as a Sentinel to ensure the Zaichaeri weren't attempting to do something along the lines of what the Imperium had intended with Talon Novalys. He didn't want his friends to become batteries, nor to suffer the indignities and pains of forced incarceration.

"Lyra...?" he called down into the void, feeling both apprehensive and foolish. Then again, she had always made him feel a stripling boy. He had thought her a long-lived elf, but she was apparently something else entirely. Varvara and Zalkyriax made him feel that way, too.

Wanting out of sight in case this took a while, he felt along the slipspace, found lines leading down and in that didn't interact with the Order's wards capping the crater. He vaulted into darkness. There was some light from above, but very little. Zaichaer didn't have the Sceptre and so their night was dark and full of terror.

She wasn't going to answer to his voice, so he reached up to his neck, remembering the feel of her power—what had remained in the mark upon his hand at that time, anyway—stitching into him there. A golden serpent, Hilana had said, though he couldn't see it in any looking-glass. Still and all, he felt as though it were there, close to him similarly as he could feel Aværys' crown about his brow even when it wasn't flush and burning with his Majesty.

Thrice he could call upon her and she would answer; she had promised. Finn knew more stories than most about the wild fae and other creatures who offered their gifts in sets of three, but he saw no other way through the dead end between his investigations and the mysterious Lyra. He wasn't sure how to invoke it other than with intention, but he could see more of the room as golden light shone through his fingers, could feel his voice altering such that it echoed through the Void in a way that made the nothingness reverberate as if it were something.

Lyrielle tu Kovash Elmari, he said, a name he didn't know. Epithets poured out of him in Vallenor, which he could understand, though he didn't know from whence they came. Lana. Scribe of the Gods. Lady of Whispers. King Breaker. General of the Dark. I call upon you and you will answer me.

He blinked, hoping the light pouring from his neck like heartsblood and the augmented voice hadn't drawn any attention from above. That had been dramatic, he thought. That had been something. But his hand itched where she had first marked him, even though the Vigilia had determined that its power was spent. His neck burned. His throat throbbed from carrying that voice that was his, but more than his, words he knew without knowing how. Damn Lyra and her mysteries, but then, they were what had kept him as her beck and call boy for years.

Still.

Finn prepared to vault away, having already mapped out several places he could move between in quick succession should anyone from the Order be able to match him and attempt to track him through the slipspace. But really, he just wanted to hear her voice once more.

[Lyra]

The Lyra Mystery

27th of Frost, Year 123 of Steel

In the shifting darkness of her prison, Lyrielle stirred. A faint tug, an echo of words spoken in the old tongue. A summons, a call that strung together notes that resonated with her soul... A link that seared fire in the icy of her mind. Around her the prison shuddered, though from the outside the gem in which she was contained only seemed to glow slightly brighter as the wards flickered. It was powerful magic, wrought to life by the hand of a master, but what notes sang from her inner world was not something so easily bound by the laws of the Od. With another wavering call, a keening whine that turned into a hum the world shattered, and across the boundaries of the world, through the veil Lyrielle reached and touched upon the marked one who called on her boon.

*****

The rustle of barren white trees were like a hundred scratching notes in a chorus of untuned strings. A dense fog coated the ground... but it was not fog, rather it was a mist which sparked with faint chaotic light. Shadows moved in odd angles against the dim light that shown from the crater above, and though there was a clear canopy above the crystalized lights that dotted the ceiling of the second deep could not extend withing the bounds of this realm.

It was soft whisper that came to Finn's ear as the mark upon his neck burned, and his world twisted as his mind was drawn into a spiring pit of black. There Lyrielle engulfed his mind, two scarlet gold orbs and a barely distinguishable visage made of smoke spun around him in the void within his mind... or rather within the steadily crumbling space that was her soul.

Though she opened her mouth, no words escaped, a fact which narrowed the outsider's eyes before resignation gave way to a deep sigh. Instead she waved her hand, a faint, hardly solid thing, and Finn returned to the world though now something new appeared in the scene. A line of blue flames flickered in a line leading deeper into the twisted forest, to a gathering of trees whose branches formed a dome. Inside the fires burned bright, revealing a pedestal made of blackened wood at the center with four great pillars of wood, each carved with thick lines of power and topped with an unlit brasier.

Urgency flickered across their link, desperation, and a note of apprehension as Finn was urged on by the whispers in his mind. No words, simply indistinct impressions, as that was all Lyrielle could send from her prison.

[Finn]

This sort of experience proved to him that he was no mage, no matter his mastery of two runes, and his progress with another. Certainly, he could have shifted himself from the depths of a crater in Zaichaer to the Palatium Umbrarum in the blink of an eye, or turn an unguarded mind to his will, but Lyra could twist reality to her will. His reality shifted and they connected, but could not communicate. Then his reality shifted once more and he was back where he had called to her across the Void or whatever else separated them. He got the sense that she was spatially close, perhaps having run afoul of the Order of Reconciliation. Close, and yet impossible to reach without the connection she herself had forged between them.

She was gone, but the eldritch trail was clearly her means of communicating her will. If he couldn't rescue her, at least he could do her this favor. He laughed hollowly to himself, having spent one of her boons just to fulfill a boon for her. Ah well, that's what friends were for.

Finn glanced skyward, the ward-capped mouth of the crater depressingly high and small from this vantage. The blue fire didn't warm him, but what made him shiver was the realization that this was not the normal world any longer. Whatever that had caused this crater—and perhaps taken Lyra down—had opened another door into the Warrens. This wasn't the one he recognized from his brief foray from Kalzasi. Perhaps he was better equipped now, but that didn't make him feel any better.

With a determined sigh, he followed the will o' the wisp lights deeper into the Warrens until he came to the strange alter. He looked over the dark altar, muttered apologies to Aværys and Varvara, assuring them that he wasn't worshipping Lyra, merely aiding and abetting an old friend and teacher. He laughed again, though he ought not to have done. There were perils in the underworld that he likely couldn't counter. No, he was no mage. He couldn't light a candle, let alone a brazier, with his magic. Thankfully, he was a village boy through and through. He pulled a flint striker out of his coat, and a dagger out of the aether. The former was a standard thing, the latter perfectly made, though non-magical other than the fact that he had claimed it and infused it with a bit of his soul.

Between steel, flint, and a bit of tinder from his pouch, he brought the brazier to fiery life, hoping that was what the insistent whispers in his head wanted him to do. Cupping the nascent flame with his hand, he blew carefully upon the tinder until the fuel caught properly. Then he stood back, because Aværys knew what would come next.

"Are you certain I'm the best one for this job?" he muttered to her, unsure whether she would hear or not. He figured she wouldn't—couldn't—respond.

[Lyra]

The Lyra Mystery

As the tinder was lit a thin line of smoke curled upward into the domed ceiling made of branches. Slowly the flame was coaxed into life, growing stronger until at last it could stand and flicker on its own. It grew steadily with each second, and then burst forth with sudden vigor as blue flames licked down the column and raced toward the other brasiers where similar blue fire came alight within their depths.

As if in answer to Finn's spoken words the mark on his neck grew hot as the sigils across the structure grew brighter. The fires traced new lines down their pedestals, and in their wake fresh glyphs were revealed and hummed with ominous power. Soon the entirety of the dome filled with magic, and the blue flames collected together over the center dials to form a great reptilian, or perhaps draconic, head which stared down at Finn with a searching eye. Its mouth opened wide, but as it seemed about to lunge the mark on Finn's neck gave a soft pulse, and the reptilian burst apart in a shower of sparks.

The show of lights slowly dimmed, and the blue flames in the brasiers became the only light within the dome. Great shadows extended out from their flickering glow, growing longer with time and where they touched the world was different. A muted grey tone, a twisted reflection of the world was shown where the shadows passed. They showed a glimpse into a place beyond... into the void. The shadows turned and converged over the dais. In the flickering blue light the world of Ransera parted, and revealed a great crystal structure which glowed dimly with power.

► Show Spoiler

[Finn]

Whatever he had expected to find, this had not been it. Lyra had burrowed deep into the Warrens, whose geography he didn't entirely understand. Beneath the rebuilding Brass City, where magic was more tightly controlled than anywhere in the world, she kept her great arcane altar. As if she heard him, the mark on his neck thrilled once more. It was both comforting and disconcerting, as if she could reach out of the Void and asphyxiate him. She wouldn't. At least, he didn't think she would.

Finn could only trust in Lyra's hand upon his hand, and then upon his neck, marking him as one of her people. Her magic conjured an energetic wyrm, who seemed to judge him and find him wanting. But while he stood firm, ready to blink out from between its jaws, Lyra's mark pulsed and banished it.

The magic changed and something akin to one of his portals opened before him, revealing what looked like a magical egg, clear as the finest glass, throbbing with power. Within slept what looked like a moonborn girl.

"Lyra...?" he whispered, then shook off his awe. "Lyra?"

He stepped forward, trusting that if her marks kept him safe this far, she meant him to be here. His flesh shivered of its own volition as he passed whatever threshold lay between where he had been and where he was going. Perhaps Lyra had a new form incubating. Finn didn't know exactly what she was, from whence her power came, but he knew that she was not bound to one body.

"Lyra," he said, more strident, not knowing how much time he had to do whatever business needed doing here. His left hand came up to touch the egg. His voice was laced with power from his Rune of Mesmer, reaching for the mind within.

[Lyra]

Thread Title

Time Stamp, 123rd Year, A.o.S.

There was no answer to his spoken word, but when his hand touched the crystal structure the air vibrated with magic. Thin tendrils of aether spun around them, intertwining with the threads Finn himself had woven as a flood of emotions came through the temporary link. Confusion, excitement, apprehension, fear, and once more curious. A mind touched Finn's, and though it weighed heavy with familiar rhythms, it did not belong to Lyra.

Blue flames flickered across the surface of the crystal, and where they touched the container seemed to melt. Quickly the incubator was gone, a mere puddle on the ground, and upon the pedestal now lay the child curled up with her knees to her chest. Her hair was black with streaks of silver, her skin pale as moonbeams. The features were unmistakably elven, both in the flawlessness of her completion and the defined pointed to her ear which showed its edge through her matted locks still dripping with the liquid aether she had been encased in.

The girl's eyes fluttered open, and she slowly unfurled herself and rose to a seated position. Her eyes the color of amethysts glowed with a soft light which quickly faded as she looked around herself, seemingly uncertain of her surroundings. The magic which had linked them dissipated with the disappearance of the crystal incubator, and now Finn simply stood before a young girl of maybe 5 or 6 years. She reached up to touch her hair, marveling at it before turning her hands over in front of her eyes. Then she seemed to remember Finn, and she looked at him. Opening her mouth she spoke in the old tongue, her voice soft and musical.

"Who are you?"

► Show Spoiler

[Finn]

The bard had some experience with the minds and symphonies of gods and beings greater than himself, and so he was careful with the amount of aether he poured through his rune, how much he let in and how much he pushed out. His hand remained fixed where it was despite the fire and the melting; the magic didn't harm him, whether because Lyra's work recognized him or it was just not meant to burn, he didn't know.

His hand only fell away when the form inside proved stable, not falling over, and then he marveled. It was decidedly not Lyra, not because of the shape of things, but because of the melodies she contained. There were hints of Lyra, of course, and he could only assume this was offspring of some sort. He could think of no other reason she would go to such trouble to protect her, nor why her music would resonate so with what he remembered.

The Rune maintained a tenuous connection between them. He didn't Command, but he surrounded her with a sense of comfort and safety much as he did with Hilana's venomous snakes so he could develop a rapport with them. And also as he did with those serpents, he listened for any hints that she might react in fear, lashing out.

"I am Finn," he replied in fluent Vallenor. "I am a friend of your mother. She is trapped, I think, but reached out to guide me here. Will you come with me?"

Rather than reach out a hand, he doffed his coat. It was cut short enough it would likely fit her like a robe, but wouldn't, at least, drag on the ground behind her.

"I can take you someplace warm and safe until we figure out how to help her."

[Lyra]

The girl seemed to process what Finn said, her brown furrowing in a familiar expression of thought before she nodded once.

"Mother said someone would come." The words were said with certainty, though the girl herself seemed unsure of the truth they held. She again looked down at her hand, slowly moving her fingers before she came to a decision.

Sliding off of the dais the girl gingerly touched her toes to the ground, carefully lowering her weight onto feet that had never walked before. It took a few seconds but she soon found her footing and took a shaking step toward fin, a small smile on her lips as she reached up a hand to him.

"I would like that very much, Finn." she used a phrasing and inflection which implied trust, like one would use with a close family member, such as a brother or uncle.

[Finn]

With an encouraging, accepting smile, he took the hand she offered, shook it in the manner of some cultures, and then draped his coat around her shoulders, buttoning it up so she wouldn't get cold in this strange span of the Warrens. He glanced back over his shoulder and sighed.

"The way I came is being watched now," he explained, as she seemed quite self-aware for her apparent age. But he knew nothing about her, truly, except that Lyra claimed her as a daughter and she claimed Lyra as a mother. He turned back to make eye contact, still kneeling before her so their eyes were nearer the same height.

"I don't think they are giving chase, but the aether is strange down here and I think we may have to travel by foot until I can find a safer place to open a gate back to where I live, where you can be protected. Don't worry. I can protect you, and I'm certain your mother has left some tricks up your sleeves." His smile was wry, concerned. He shivered. This part of the Warrens was cold, but they would be walking soon and his blood would warm up.

Finn stood, kept her hand, and began to walk in the direction where the slipspace seemed most auspicious. He didn't know how to explain that, though there were some high level academic studies on Traversion that he had skimmed. Something about the interconnectedness of all things, which was just a fancier way of saying he was using his intuition.

Other than her egg, there wasn't much. He didn't see anything to take with them, so they began their journey. The sooner begun, the sooner they could be back home, where she would certainly be housed at the Citadel until he could get permission to take her to the Prædium Sorokys where, he supposed, his family could give her some sense of normalcy if such were possible.

[Rune]

The area of the Warrens that coincided with Zaichaer above was well known to the being that watched from an opening in the aether of reality. Eshar watched from their own realm, the Traversion space through which they did inverted by both Semblance and Masquerade in levels too high for the mortal man and perhaps mortal girl on the other side to detect. It had been a very long time since Eshar's spying had been noticed, so long, in fact, that sometimes they wished someone would catch them at it, just for a moment of the delicious feeling of it. That moment of knowing you've been caught.

What was happening in the Warrens just then was, sadly, too important to play at being caught just for the thrill of it, so they remained hidden and observed. Lyra was known to the demigod, and, Eshar had no doubt, they were know to her, at least by reputation. What, exactly, had become of the powerful eldritch being Eshar had not been able to put together. Dornkirk and his Order (or perhaps the Order and their pet Dornkirk) had done something to her but there had been no trace since that incident. Had she fled, or been captured? If captured, to what purpose?

Eshar loved secrets as much as they hated them and this one niggled. So, they watched the human and the Lyra spawn as they made their way in magical hops and leaps to a part of the Warrens that would allow them to make a more effective exit. They did not do anything to aid nor hinder the pair but they did place a well inverted aetheric tag on both. It never hurt to be able to find people when one needed, after all.