12th of Ash, 120 AS
The bones creaked and groaned, muscles pulling and fussing as she moved. As she moved her shoulders she felt a few pops, and Lyra grimaced. This was an issue she had never faced before. In the past, when she was at her prime, she had little need to possess the bodies of the dead, save for those few times when she needed to send a message. She had always been free, able to go wherever and whenever she wished. She lived in the hearts of the living, whispering sweet words of temptation to their very soul. Now, however...
Her fingers trembled slightly as she undid the buttons of her robe, moving one at a time until the cloth fell from her shoulders. Beneath she wore simple undergarments, modest as was all this vessel had. As she bent her back ached, the stiffness of death had set in some time ago. There was little for it. She needed this body to bend and twist, to move naturally. Her aether kept the rot at bay, and the chill of death from the bones. The stiffness though, that needed to be worked out.
Breathing in Lyra widened her stance slightly, breathing out slowly as she bent at the waist to touch her toes. She barely passed her shins, and annoyance colored her expression. Letting the moment pass Lyra continued the stretch, widening her feet ever so slightly as she bent just a bit farther before straightening with a sigh. She set her hands on her hips, rolling them in a circle first in one direction, and then the next. From there she bent down once more, this time reaching toward her left foot, and then the right. She repeated this stretch twice more before standing and raising her hands high overhead.
"This body be damned." Lyra hissed under her breath as she rested her fists on her lower back, rocking backward slightly to get just a slight bend, "Were I not inhabiting this vessel it would be as stone even now."
After a bit more grumbling Lyra resigned herself to her fate, slowly lowering herself to the floor. Spreading her legs wide Lyra grasped at her ankles, pulling herself until she felt the tightness begin in her lower back and inner thighs. She breathed through the discomfort, counting slowly in her head until the muscles began to loosen. As she continued through a series of stretches Lyra found herself falling backward in time, her mind tracing out a memory that she had almost forgotten. It was a hot day in the great dome of Then'alea, the inner sanctum of the Scribes. Back before the ancient gates had been destroyed, before the boundless empire had come to an end, before Lyra herself had twisted and become Lyrielle, the whispers.
She had once had a friend, Sierra la Tempira et Varshelle, a child of noble birth and great talent. In every way, their friendship should have been impossible. Though she was not of the common blood herself, the gap in their family stations was so vast that Lyra should have been like an ant to the falcon. Yet Sierra had been her friend and a good one at that. They had both apprenticed together as Dinor'afiel, Scribes of the Gods. Where Lyra had taken to the craft like a bird to the sky, Sierra on the other hand...
***
"I just don't get it." Sierra said, practically growling as she stared at the scroll in front of her, turning it this way and that as she stared at the pictograph on its surface, "It's just a box. A box with another box inside of it. It doesn't MEAN anything."
She had always been a loud one, rambunctious, and used to getting her way. It was rare that anyone ever denied her, and in most subjects, she was not only talented, but she was also close to a prodigy. Many times back then Lyra used to wonder why she had chosen to become a scribe, but it was perhaps due to her father pressing her to learn the scripts and the principles of archmagic. Back then that was all anyone strove to master, Lyra recalled. To bend and shape reality itself, how could one resist such power?
"A field within a field." Lyra had said softly, pointing at the inner square, "It is, in essence, a space within a space, like a room within a building. The one who created it seems to have intended it to act as a barrier or ward for something inside." she pointed to the dot at the center of the pictograph, and the lines that branched off and touched the inner square, "You see, there is the focal point, the place where the pictograph draws power and directs it to power the inner barrier. The outer barrier then protects the inner from outside influences."
"Then why not just label the stupid thing." the other girl groused as she threw the cross across the hall. A few older scribes glanced over at the pair, a look of disapproval on their features before they noticed who Sierra was. At which point they quickly turned their attention elsewhere.
With a sigh Lyra stood, picking up the scroll and carefully rolling it back up, tying the ribbon that held it closed before putting it into her own bag, "You really shouldn't treat the temple property like that."
Shrugging Sierra stood, stretching and bouncing on her toes. Golden hair that reached her waist, high cheekbones, and silver eyes that almost seemed to glow with an inner light. For a moment Lyra was captivated, staring at her friend as she held her bag loosely in one hand. It was true that this girl, this picture of beauty, was not what one would call gifted in the scholarly arts. She could hardly sit still through the lessons, and she was obstinant to her instructors as well as her fellow classmates. In some ways, Lyra wondered if the only reason they were friends was that she did not argue with her, or try to dissuade her from doing what she wanted. That was just how Lyra had always been, ever since she was little. She did not like to be the center of attention, for people to look at her. In that respect, she was like Sierra's opposite, her shadow that trailed in her footsteps and was hidden beyond her glowing radiance.
"Stop staring. It's creepy." Lyra dropped her bag as both of her hands were taken by Sierra, and she was half pulled, half fell into an embrace. Like a snake Sierra's arms wrapped around Lyra's waist, the fingers of her let hand twining into Lyra's as she spun them around, beginning a series of swaying motions as they slowly spun in a circle.
For a moment Lyra was too shocked to speak, but within a few seconds, she found herself and frowned, "Your father told me to tutor you in the scripts. From what I recall you need no instruction in dance."
"That is true," she conceded with a smile. Her face was uncomfortably close to Lyra's, and without thinking, Lyra leaned back slightly, "But you could use a few lessons yourself. I've seen the way you move. You are so stiff I would have confused you for a statue if you were just a bit slower."
Lyra did not respond, continuing to frown until Sierra's smile faded somewhat and she shrugged, letting Lyra go and spinning into a half bow, "Forgive me my lady, perhaps that was too forward of me. I merely wished to have a brief reprieve from the drudgery that is the scripts."
Lyra stumbled slightly as she was released, but caught herself and brushed at the front of her robes in irritation, "I am not gifted as you are in the ways of the Leh'anafel. I've no talent for the arts." Straightening Lyra shook her head, pulling her hair from her eyes and adjusting the braid that fell from one shoulder, "I have neither talent, beauty of station. You should not taunt me for the things I have no way of changing."
When she looked up Lyra found Sierra staring at her, her expression serious as she scrutinized her friend. Seeming to hesitate for a moment Sierra stepped forward, resting a hand on Lyra's shoulder and leaning close, "Don't say that Lana." Their gazes met and Lyra was forced to look away after several long seconds. Sierra continued, "I don't understand you sometimes Lana. How can you understand," she waved at the temple and the shelves of scrolls around them, "All of THIS and yet be unable to see what is so plain to everyone else."
Blinking Lyra shook her head again, pulling back slightly as she bent down to pick up her bag, "I have never been good at seeing what everyone else can see. There is a reason the others call me soulless." Shrugging her bag back onto her shoulder Lyra flicked her head back to their original bench, glancing meaningfully at Sierra as she did, "Come. We still have to get through the 12 primary schema for aether dispersion. We will be quizzed on them tomorrow."
