89 Frost 120 Steel
The workshop had always been a safe place for Talon. It was where he could go to express his inner most thoughts, bringing to life creations that not even some of the most accomplished mages in his lifetime could have imagined. He had spent years building up his shop, earning a reputation as a craftsman who was as capable, if not moreso, than any who were twice his age. It was his sanctuary, where he could lose himself in the work of simply creating.
Talon sat upon a stool staring into the mouth of the runeforge. He wore his simplest clothes, the type of clothes that any ordinary blacksmith might have worn.
The shop was closed. He had sent Pyrra, Sylas and Velkan home with the promise that they would be paid for the day’s wages but he just needed a place to quietly reflect. So much had happened to him in what seemed like a comparatively short amount of time. Talon could hardly believe that he was even alive. The events that had transpired beneath the Warrens had been a complete disaster and an absolute miracle all in one. He looked down at his hands. They were the same callused hands that had been made rough from years of wielding a sword and working the forge. He recognized every swirl upon the pads of his fingers. He still recognized every line across his palm. There was even still the scar on the back of one knuckle where he had been cut during sword practice as a youth. Talon had inspected his body from head to toe.
He still didn’t recognize himself.
He had been killed. Of that, Talon had absolutely no doubt. He had felt the rip of claws tearing into his flesh. He had felt his innards get torn from his belly. He had felt teeth shredding his throat as he screamed at the tops of his lungs so hard his vocal cords burst. It had been an agonizing, painful and horrifying experience that still haunted his nightmares. He had witnessed an assassin, someone sent to kill him, turn himself into a monstrosity that he had never seen before. The magic that must have gone into play to create such a beast must have been terrible. But none of that mattered...or perhaps all of it did.
Talon had been killed and he had been reborn a demigod. He was the reincarnation of Arcas, Demigod of Justice, Hope and Light.
Talon did not feel as though he were the reincarnation of anyone or anything. All he felt was lost and confused. He felt no more the embodiment of Justice than he felt like a baker or a farmhand. He knew nothing of what that was like, just as he knew nothing of what was expected of him now that he had ascended to a level of existence he never would have thought possible. Even as he sat there in the dim lighting of his workshop, he could still see the silver line on the edge of the horizon. All he had to do was look beyond it and then he would behold a glimpse of the Aetherium. The realm of endless possibilities that he had only ever heard about in lectures from either his mother or his old teacher when it came to manipulating aether. He could see it. The realm of Ideas or at least, he could glimpse it enough to understand that was what he was looking at.
Talon sighed, running his hands over his face. Just as he was running his fingers through his hair, the sound of footsteps came to his ears. He knew who it was without looking. Aoren’s steadfast presence entered his mind. Talon performed the mental equivalent of lacing their hands together.
“I knew I would find you here.” He smiled. Glancing up, Aoren was dressed casually. His bondmate plopped down beside him. In his hands was a bottle of sake, two shot glasses and bundle of what smelled like fresh dumplings, Talon’s favorite.
“Aren’t you supposed to be grounded?” Aoren nudged him gently. Talon chuckled.
“Are you not supposed to be under confinement?” The two of them shared a smile. Aoren set his goodies down then promptly grabbed Talon’s face. Talon went willingly. Their lips met and he felt peace wash over him. With so many confusing things flooding his mind and senses lately, he found that Aoren was the single greatest point of solace for him in the storm of changes.
“You’re an idiot. Did I tell you that lately?” Aoren’s warm voice soothed some of Talon’s agitated nerves. He chuckled.
“Once or twice.” The brush of lips over his brow helped to soothe him further. Aoren released him so that he could pour them both a drink. He then nodded toward the forge and the assembly of in-progress artifacts that were waiting to be finished.
“What are you going to do about them?” Talon looked to the armor that he had been working to complete for the better part of two seasons at that point. He wanted to kick himself for taking so long. If he had completed the armor sooner, maybe none of what happened in the Warrens, would have happened at all. He sighed heavily, accepting his shot glass and knocking back the sake in a single shot. He leaned forward, picking up the bottle and poured himself another shot. This one he nursed slowly.
“It seems rather useless now.” Aoren was silent as he leaned back, stretching out his legs in order to get comfortable.
“I don’t know about that. We haven’t even tested them yet.” Aoren sipped his sake. His silver eyes roamed over each piece that he had spent countless hours pouring over. How much of his skills had he exhausted on the work before him? How much money had he spent? How many hands had been involved in their creation? Had it all been worthless?
“If I had finished--” Aoren cut him off.
“The same thing would have happened.” Aoren spoke over his shot glass. He emptied it. Talon poured him some more. “This was your fate, Talon. To become a demigod.”
Talon felt bitterness well up inside of him. It prompted his bondmate to settle those fiery eyes upon him with a curious glint.
“Fate? Is it my fate to be ruthlessly murdered like all of the iterations before me too? Throwing my life against the shadow of some insane evil counterpart? Am I doomed to be just another version of HIM and not MYSELF? I never wanted this!” His words held more venom than he intended but Talon suddenly felt the overwhelming sense of frustration that had been building up inside of him boil over. His bondmate was staring at him kindly, in that way that he always did when he knew that he was in pain, lost and confused. It was the same look that Aoren had given him when the two had first bonded deep down in the Warrens.
“No, but it was given to you.” Talon looked at Aoren. He searched his partner’s face.
“What choice did I have?” His bondmate sipped at his sake then picked up a dumpling and took a bite out of it.
“Would you give it up?” Talon blinked at Aoren.
“What?” His bondmate took another bite of a dumpling.
“Would you give it up?” Those blazing eyes were soft embers as they stared at him.
“I...I do not know.” Aoren nodded.
“Then the answer is no.” Talon furrowed his brow.
“I did not say that.” Aoren raised a finger over his glass as he took another light sip.
“You did not deny it either. The way I see it, you were chosen for this. Whether you want it or not, Talon, this is your duty. Fuck destiny, screw fate. This is your responsibility now. So either embrace it or don’t. Either way, you are stuck with me, at least. So we might as well make the best of it.” Aoren finished his dumpling and picked up another. Talon picked up one for himself. He nibbled on it lightly.
“What happens if I turn my back on it?” Talon posed the question wearily. Aoren shrugged.
“Who knows? Probably the same thing that has been happening. The world will go on. We could probably fly to Ecith. Or! Or, now hear me out, we could fly north and see what is beyond the Vykul Clanlands. The bottom line though is that something is happening, Talon. Not just to you.” Talon flinched. He looked at Aoren and opened up their bond to the deepest level of himself.
“Aoren, I did not mean--” Aoren reached over and brushed a hand over his hair.
“I know, beloved. I know.” Silence settled then as Talon sorted through his thoughts. Through their bond, Aoren was right there with him, walking through his thoughts alongside him.
“So, what now?” Aoren knocked back the rest of his sake. He hopped to his feet then extended a hand to Talon. The young demigod accepted it as he was hauled to his feet. Aoren picked up the hammer of his forge, placed it in Talon’s palm then gestured to the waiting armor.
“Now you finish what you started.” Talon looked at the hammer. He then looked at the armor around them. He touched a hand to the center of his chest, where the thin silvery scar rest over his heart. The sign of the blade that had been used to kill Arcas. He felt a welling to strength inside of him. Talon opened himself up to the flow of the aether around him. It came sharply into focus and with a clarity that he had never witnessed before. The world was limned in a silver aethereal light, a light that shone forth from Talon as well. He reached within himself and pulled forth the manifestation of his newfound divinity. The nimbus came willingly as though it had merely been waiting for him to call upon it. Divine symbols of power and authority that proclaimed the truth of what he had become, their light was captured in the feathers of his wings. The markings upon Talon’s body became silver-white and he drew in a deep breath.
He looked at his hand. He looked to the armor in front of him. He was struck with a realization.
“I think...I think there is work yet to be done.” Aoren gently nuzzled him, prompting Talon to smile.
“There’s my love.”
Talon stepped up to the anvil. He tugged upon the well of power inside of him. It was a power that he had gifted to others not long ago. This gift, he felt, no he knew, he could use it to protect those he loved as well.
Talon struck the first piece and began the work of modifying the still incomplete enchantments.
He had work to do.
