"It's About Time"

[Pharaoh]

Phædreon observed at first impassively, then bemusedly, at one point early in the recounting he parted his lips and lifted his hand, as if poised to interrupt or interject. He thought better of it, however, and settled back into silent observation drumming one finger against his own thigh as his eyes remained fixed on the human.

The spirits quietly applauded as the final chord resonated to naught, but Phædreon did not. It seemed more a matter of neglect than disapproval, as his mind was hyper-focused and he was quick to speak as if Time was of the essence, suddenly.

"Thou'rt a teasing, taunting tart of an human, I'll be bound!" His voice was soaring at a higher tenor than his prior tessitura, "Have I not waited long enough? Since my present mode of speech was chronistic sans the ana! Thees and thous and Kingdoms Come and conquest and chivalry and Them. I see, in culmination, whither thou dost wend, but long was the path through the prickly rose bushes of thy love to the cold, golden sceptre and silver scourge of mine. An hot blooded human and his fire-hearted swain. Star-crossed would ye have been in my motherdays, but well do I know that these are not they and They are back, Viator, so tarry no longer in solipsistic psalm and give me what I crave." His demeanour altered abruptly again, as he dropped to his knees and spoke in a breathy rasp albeit contemporary vernacular.

"I beg of you, good sir, for many eons have I traversed to be in this place and I will genuflect and freely tell you, who faith and nature tell me should kneel at my feet, that I am afraid. Deathly so. It is terrifying to have devoted your whole life to a single event... to then miss the moment you prayed to attend... and be faced with the aftermath. Part of me wishes to rush to them, and my bulk wants to hide here and read, and listen and prepare prepare prepare for something one might never be prepared to brook. My life has been my love for Them, but who am I anymore? A wisp i' th' wind? A shadow on the wall? A memory. Indulge me..." Phædreon tugged at the leg of his trousers, urging him to join him on the floor.

"Tell me of thy Crown of Gold... soothe my terrors as if I were an amicus..."

[Finn]

Whereas his face was normally kind and amiable, it grew impassive as Phædreon spoke on. Only his eyes remained interested. Perhaps he had taken his time, waiting for the elf's Hunger to give the human Power. Or perhaps these things just worked out that way now that he was an avatar of Hunger and Power. At the tug to his trousers, he set his instrument aside. Instead of kneeling, he stood, towering above the elf like a statue of the God they shared.

He reached through space and brought Varvara's instrument to his hands, the one suspected of carrying Syren's blessing was now entirely that of the Chainmaiden. He strummed a secret chord, and when he opened his mouth, there was more than one voice singing. The light at his brow crystalized into Aværys' own mortal crown.

They have already returned. My crown is His; my instrument Hers. You overshot the moment, but here you are. Your divine grandparents chose my husband and me to propagate Their glory.

Power flowed through him, his own and the divine power that eclipsed it. He hungered for what Phædreon had: a means to hunt the bitch queen through Time. This was his ambition: to judge the mighty who would take from him what was his. He let the power flow through him, much as it had when Khyan swore to him, when Lystreia and Syrena swore to him.

Perhaps the timelord would swear to him, too. If not, he could at least bask in the power of his Gods, know it in a new way.

Be not afraid, Phædreon Time-Twister. If They did not wish you to know Their return, you would not.

It was as simple as that.

[Pharaoh]

Phædreon gasped, averting his eyes at first, before feeling compelled to glance and then to gape. His eyes glistened and quivered, saucer wide and unabashedly manic in the moment. This was not news to him and yet it felt so terrible profound, delivered through that Radiant figure underscored by that Argent chord and uttered in manifold voices from one mouth.

The spirits, which had been regarding Finn with varying degrees of mercurial disinterest up to now, began to circle over the bard's head creating a feverish gyroscopic orbit, like satellites around another Atraxian sun.

With a marked twitch, Phædreon's demeanour shifted again and his eyes becalmed, his visage relaxed and slowly he released his grip on Finn's clothing and stood to look at him directly. The spirits, too, waned in frenetic energy and began to disperse somewhat, as if influenced by their host. Phædreon spoke calmly, now.

"I forgot myself. It is an easy thing to do with so many souvenirs and stowaways... When they speak of my capital Craft, the focus is too much upon Time, I think. I pursued it to dance about Time, but because fate is no simple, linear thing, it is far more complex. There is no clear path, there are roads and fulcra and... a great deal of guesswork. It is challenging to know which path is proscribed and which is precious. I have my methods, now, but I spent so much time darting between threads and was not left unaltered. Perhaps They can render me whole again, or perhaps this is how I am intended to be in whatever... Time, I have left. What a curious thing it is to be ancient but not aged..." He began to slump.

"You look very glorious, sound... passing beautiful. But I grow weary." He ambled to the desk strewn with tomes and fell into the chair with a grunt.

"Why did you wish to perform for me?"

[Finn]

After a moment of silence, Finn became more contained. Undimmed, even the white, blue, and black of his eyes limned in divine gold. But he was a man, not a god, and the gravity of him didn't warp the world around him, not like he did when fully channeling grace.

His voice hinted at the choral still, but to a lesser degree. He watched the spirits meander away from him, their interest waning too. He returned his gaze to the elf, wondering at his weariness, but compassionate more than anything.

"My brother-in-law, Phocion Princeps, mentioned the felicitous convergence of your sojourn here with my oath to pursue the fallen queen. I would have been patient and awaited your emergence from this vellum labyrinth, but it occurred to me that your eyes might grow tired before your curiosity was assuaged. What bard wouldn't want to trade stories with one such as you? Eventually, I would seek your aid, but if you cannot or will not help me track down your renegade relative, then I will bear you no ill will, begrudge you no song or kindness. I will merely have to find another way to slake my vengeance.

"Deus Imperator gave me leave to seek it, but I do not believe he would approve of me commandeering his bloodline to accomplish it. The Pyramid is paramount.

"You needn't answer me now, either. I can only imagine the sacrifices you have made to get here. Aye, I want your help and guidance for my vengeance, but I also want to know you." A hint of a smile quirked his lips. "Perhaps I will be the one who sings your song to the Divine Twins one day."

[Pharaoh]

Phædreon lifted his head, regarding Finn pensively as he replied.

"I have seen her once, Thalya IV Imperatrix, in the flesh... She was young, newly crowned and impossibly... Well, what the latter generations have come to know as Sanguinist. Long stood this philosophy as an ægis against threats to Their Unbroken Line, this reverence for purest blood. Still she allowed the girl to live and scheme and receive the tutelage of half-forgotten forebears and rouse the dragons to unseat Her Former Radiance..." His pursed lips curled into a faint smile,

"It is more than pale skin that betrays you, Peregrinus. You, who dons His diadem yet sues for boons rather than commanding me to provide them, as you might. The Pyramid is Paramount, Lucida Pueri, and your place o'erperched mine the day He blessed you with His bequest. 'Tis good to be cautious, but take care that your softer sensibilities do not bring you to a dread moment so untimely that you would fain wage a war on time to undo it, as did betide with the forsaken queen... Still." He inclined his head,

"The Pyramid is Paramount and I will aid you. It will be no simple thing and, if you would pursue her outside the boundaries of your reality, you must steel yourself. Our mortal minds and bodies were not meant for this sort of travel, and a toll will be ta'en. You may return with souvenirs, stowaways... and, rest assured, whatever reality serves now as Thalya's fortress will certainly be hostile to them that seek her undoing." He let out a ponderous sigh.

"Now, leave me. Go forth and learn what you can of my Capital Craft... how you might prepare yourself for what lies ahead. Ere long I will emerge into the world. In the meanwhile, I shall see what tethers have been tugged, that we may find your quarry when you are ready to embark. Thank you for your stories. I hope to be rewarded with more." Several spirits moved to bid farewell, some waving, others nodding austerely, but others ignored him and wended their way toward the exit from which Finn had emerged. They paused there staring at the door, perhaps waiting for him to cross its threshold or perhaps intrigued by something that lay without.

[Finn]

After another moment of silence, Finn nodded. A pyramid was a simple enough geometric shape and his instructors at the Academy as well as those of the Vigilia Argenti had demanded he master some degree of mathematics for various reasons; all the same, he didn't know when he would understand this Pyramid.

In Sentinel blacks, he was below Phocion and Cithæra. At the Umbrian throne, he was below Arvælyn and Zalkyriax. In the Templum Solis Radians, he deferred to Vrædyn as it was his domain, but outside, they were equal, perhaps, in the eyes of Aværys.

"Absorb the century, Time Lord," he said. "I will armor and accouter myself for vengeance and stewardship of the divine bloodline. Whatever her Aurisian chronomancers taught her... It cannot be enough to evade me."

Finn slung his lesser instrument over his back and began to pluck the silver strings of Varvara's instrument, imagining them as chains resonating with Her will.

"May the Divine Twins bless you, Phædreon Æternitatis."

He turned and played himself out, wondering if Khyan followed him like the elf's familiars, only invisible to Finn's eyes. If Cithæra awaited him without, he would report on the proceedings and what he required. Else, he would report to Phocion and begin to question the experts within the silver order for whatever records and artefacts they might keep against tampering with Time itself.

[Pharaoh]

Phædreon pushed himself to his feet, the legs of his chair scratching the floor. He held the side of a bookshelf as if for support as he rounded a corner into some stretch of the library labyrinth that Finn had not yet explored.

When Finn opened the door, he would find a familiar servus. A male Vastian footman who typically tended to Finn and Arvælyn in their private residences. He bowed.

“Forgive the intrusion, but an unscheduled visitor has asked to see Your Grace. Were it not for his particular rank, the Major Domus would have insisted he return at a more convenient time, but His Serene Starlit Highness was most fervent. He awaits Your Grace in the Conquest Gallery, if you would consent to grant His Highness audience…”

The Platinum Prince Arkænyn was greatly diminished in stature since the Zalkyrian Ultimatum forced the Luxium to dismiss his mother as Solar Sovereign and they’d elected to suspend his regency in favour of a more steady Solunarian hand in the form of Prince Everyl. Where Arkænyn had once been a formidable force in Solunarian politics, the blow dealt by the Conclave of Electors had effectively hamstrung him, leaving him one of several potential successors and, due to his Aurisian upbringing, the least established in the Luxian court. Where his accession had once felt all but assured, he could now feel his birthright slipping from his grasp.

Though he was no stranger to the Umbrium, he typically restricted his visits to the night clubs of the Noctis Æternæ and very rarely crossed the threshold into the Palatium Umbrarum. But, for now, he stalked slowly through the unfamiliar gallery and regarded hitherto unseen scenes from the history of his sacred blood.

[Finn]

Finn nodded to the servus.

"Take this," he commanded, turning so the servus could unstrap the instrument at his back and take it to his music room. Finn had a music room in a subterranean palace, as well as another in his Luxian abode. Strange times.

He made his way to the Conquest Gallery with Varvara's instrument in hand and Aværys' crown upon his brow. This was another personage whose place on the Pyramid relative to his own was unknown, in flux. In any case, he wasn't taking the time to change, so the princeps would have to accept him as he came.

His bow was that of an equal. They were cousins-in-law, and Arkænyn's Gods favored him. The most logical reason for him to seek Finn out in particular was his errant mother, but she had tried to end his life as well. Perhaps he meant for them to be allies—or the enemy of my enemy is my friend, as the saying went.

"Your Starlit Highness," he said. "Welcome to the Palatium Umbrarum."

Finn's crown shone, albeit dimly now, and while he didn't strum the silver strings, they resonated with the thrum of his heartbeat, though even he couldn't hear it. He could only feel it empowering him, if only in his own mind. A spirit of vengeance, a Re'hyæan bard, and perhaps soon a royal chronomancer were his thralls. Here in his husband's palace, he was not at all cowed by the mercurial princeps where once every nerve in his body would have oscillated with alarm at his mere presence.

"To what do I owe the honor of your visit?"

[Pharaoh]

Arkænyn was staring at a triptych depicting the founding of Provincia Kalædia when Finn entered, only turning his head to glance back at the human when he was directly addressed. At the welcome he pivoted slowly to align the rest of his body with the direction of his angular visage.

"I thank you." He rasped, inclining his head, and pausing at length before he managed to conjure the words: "Your Grace." The prince's violet gaze slowly rose to regard the crowned emblem. They widened slightly, before darting away. He turned from Finn and paced to a pedestal upon which an old shield was mounted. He gazed at the gleaming metal, or perhaps his own reflection within it.

"Yes, let us get straight to it, then. As you can surely imagine, my... shift in status has left me with more time on my hands. It has been a struggle, I admit, going from leading the Luxium to loitering at the Radiant Palace. I tire of this stagnancy, and seek to act. With this goal in mind, I have been making certain enquiries." Finn would know that Arkænyn had been raised by members of House d'Averyx in Auris, the same dynasty of which Prince Qalanar was a member. Whether or not the Herald of the Black Sun himself had shared knowledge of Finn and Arvælyn's visit, Finn's performance in the courtyard had yielded no dearth of attention from members of the household.

"It would seem we are on a similar path, Finn. My mother has wronged us both. We both wish to see her answer for it. I cannot speak for you, Finn, but I do not wish to tread this road alone. Though it pains me to admit it, your resources exceed my own. You have a head start and, searching my soul, I find that I would rather join you than compete with you. I think that I got drunk on Solunarium when I first arrived, but I am remembering my Aurisian upbringing and acknowledging that alteration is quintessential to evolution. I must change my tack. Let me into your confidence, bring me on your endeavour, and, together, we shall exact the vengeance we both seek."

[Finn]

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Finn wondered if this were a gift from Aværys dropped right into his lap or a strange twist of fate. Either way, the royal elf and royal pain in the ass was adapting to a human being set on high by gods, dragons, and elves, and if he was begrudging of Finn's new Grace, he still acknowledged it.

The Pyramid is Paramount, but the stones that made it were not entirely set in place else Arkænyn would still be on a level with Arvælyn.

It seemed like the perfect offer, but if Finn had learned anything of politics, it was that showing one empty hand in good faith didn't mean the other hand behind the back didn't hold another weapon poised to strike. Arkænyn could conceivably desire revenge, but he could also seek his mother to join her once more—plots within plots within plots.

If Finn had learned anything of politics, it was that he knew nothing. In the grand scheme of things, he might never swim through these seas of sand with the same ease as those who were born to them. But if he would rather be a fellow shark than a sinecure, he would have to act decisively when a fulcrum moment presented itself. There would always be risk, but there could always be reward.

Idly seeming, he strummed Varvara's silver strings; he felt something akin to the heavy chains on the ship that brought him across the Crystal Sea moving through the through the hawseholes to drop anchor, something felt through wood and metal, flesh and bone, heard in the air and reverberating below the water.

The silver instrument seemed to reflect more light than the room contained, and his crown shone brighter still.

If I am path and partner to your heart's Desire, if you would be untrammeled by Time to seek your Fate, then kneel, Princeps Platini, and swear yourself true to me before Divine Aværys and Holy Varvara. An Oath for your Vengeance before the Oathbinder and the Spiritus Vindictæ, and you will turn your high-handed enemy into your friend.

Finn had faith that Aværys would answer his call; where He went, His Sister would follow. While he didn't know if the Great God would deign to observe an oath among mortals, he invoked Khyan with impunity. While the work of ruining Æros and his family continued apace, there was more vengeance to be had and he supposed what remained of his friend could feed upon that.

The care and feeding of his thralls could only further empower him.

And Aværys.