Take Your Time Now

[Pharaoh]

"The very same..." Arry-Aurin answered with a grim snigger. "Or at least an echo of Arry. I have all his memories... I feel as though I was him, but I might just be a reprint. Can a soul be relocated? Fuck if I know." Finn would hear other familiar motifs in this Symphony. This version of his diamond in the rough remained an uncut gem. He'd never trained in his Craft, and had used it recklessly or it had used him. The guilt in this strange Symphony derived, in no small part, from actions taken in the heat of passionate moments where his power exceeded his comprehension. He hadn't meant to cause the death of the smith, nor to commandeer Aurin's body. Or rather, he had meant for those things to happen, but not while he was in his rational mind. They had been fiery whims that might have burnt out in a matter of moments, if the gravity of his preternatural power didn't render them painfully permanent. In the murky depths of this complex Symphony, Finn could not but recognise how easy it would have been for his own Arry to have turned an inexorable corner and how pivotal Finn himself had been in averting this Destiny, or one like it.

But there was no time to dwell further on the intricacies of this grim reality, when things started happening very quickly. Phædreon appeared, eyes widening at the sound of gunfire. He winced, expecting to be struck, but suddenly Finn was before him and he was unharmed. Arkænyn roared at the sound of the pistol firing, already poised to attack at a moment's notice, he bolted up to his full height and gripped both hands together as the hilt of a massive claymore appeared in his grasp, even as he lunged forward, pinning Arry-Aurin against the metallic throne with its blade to his bare, pale throat. His eyes were crazed, teeth gritted as he found himself in checkmate.

"I didn't..." He choked out the beginning of a sentiment, wanting to explain that this had been another mistake... another reflexive attack, even now that he'd lost the mighty power he'd once wielded in another body. Arkænyn was not so quick to lash out, though he seemed ready to strike if the red-head made the slightest gesture of aggression.

"Shit!" Phædreon quickly knelt at Finn's side and inspected the area of impact. "Are you all right? Your clothes are warded, aren't they?" He didn't see blood straight away, but that didn't mean it wasn't pooling somewhere out of sight beneath the human's form. With any luck, the bullet had struck an area that would resist the full brunt of the impact.

[Finn]

"M'fine," he finally managed, although it took some time and some doing. He didn't know if that was true, though. His Sentinel weeds were warded, truly, and he didn't seem to be bleeding, but he wasn't sure he could move his arm just then. All that practice had worked, apparently. Taking a bullet to the shoulder was less dangerous than in the gut, but it wasn't nothing.

From his knees, he struggled to his feet, using Phædreon as a bit of a ladder.

Finding that Arkænyn had only pinned him was a blessing, but he didn't call him off. Finn stood straight as he was able, soothing his own pain so he could lead properly. He was still careful of his shoulder, however.

"Take us where we need to go, Phædreon," he said quietly. And, in case he complied before Finn got the chance, he looked cooly at the face of his husband's former lover, the Mesmeric ghost of a version of his husband overwriting or intertwined with what lay beneath.

Inhale, exhale. Slow, careful.

"I know of no Aurin or Arry who didn't have a shit childhood, a fraught youth. I befriended a prince who became the god of justice and I can tell you that the world is not fair. I don't know if you want a path to redemption or just someone to witness your pain. You have apparently elected fellating a firearm as your final solution; very well, both of you have been better men and worse. The choice is yours."

Of course, a part of him wanted to stay, to nurse that spark of his beloved back into a fire he could be proud of, to hold him while he released his pain, but he could not. That was just another choice whereby Finn could lose himself, possibly endangering his compatriots, and certainly abandoning the actual man he had made vows before his God to.

No, they needed to go.

Now.

[Pharaoh]

Arkænyn was relieved to hear Finn's voice behind him dismissing Phædreon's concerns and the Time Mage was only too happy help the human to his feet.

"Yes, yes. I apologise for the..." He glanced around them, taking in the surroundings for the first time since appearing, "...delay in finding you, but I did locate our quarry in the interim. I shall conduct us there straight away." As Phædreon began to incant, Arry-Aurin gazed at him in terror- a cornered animal with an instinct to survive in spite of everything. In his Symphony, Finn would feel that, had he access to his whilom Rune of Mesmer, he might have lashed out with such a fury as to put all his other regrets to shame. Every one of the travellers would have been imperiled, had his magic transferred into this form with his soul, but this Aurin had been stripped of his Runes and this Arry was powerless beneath Arkænyn's blade.

As the temporal portal expanded from the ætheric weavings of the chronomancer, Aurin's face and Arry's Symphony expressed their strongest emotion at its zenith: Regret. There was no path that would undo what had been done, and he knew it. Whoever and whatever he had become was a loathsome betrayer of his former selves.

"Then, at least, I have been seen for what I was... one last time." He rasped, and tipped his head back to tighten the skin against the Platinum Elf's blade. Arkænyn tightened his grip on the claymore, but Phædreon called out:

"Come, boys, and stay close this time. We must go forward in time for you to get... the full effect." And, with that, Arkænyn took the Zaichæri Oberst's pistol and tucked it into his belt, before backing away and joining the others. And then they were absorbed into the portal. It was like their first journey in reverse, but far far faster. Perhaps this was just their perception, but it might have been that Phædreon had charted this course before and there was less guesswork involved. They didn't really have time to process the forward churning of vignettes of different timelines before they were deposited in a new place and a different time.

Arkænyn gasped audibly as they stood on a hard surface before the Palatium Furiarum in some version of the Luxium, but the sulphurous smoke-laden air was hazy from the erupting volcano that hurled flaming debris onto the Luxian streets, setting all ablaze that wasn't crushed to ash already. It must have been magic that protected the palace sitting at Sorokyn's base from the full brunt of the volcano's fury, and soon they would see some of the falling ash was offset by an otherwise invisible barrier of sorts.

"What-..." Arkænyn began to pose the obvious question, but Phædreon cut him short to say.

"The subject of your vengeance awaits within."

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[Finn]

Finn stiffened at what he felt from Aurin-Arry, but relaxed when he found him powerless to do what the Aurin or Arry he knew could have in a similar situation. He didn't call Arkænyn off of him; he didn't need to as Phædreon called him over. Finn was injured, but he straightened and moved in close on the time mage, personal space be damned. When Arkænyn was within reach, he pulled him close so their arms encircled Phædreon like the statue of Suion's Graces he had seen in a travelogue about Sol'Valen.

He didn't know if it would be a blessing or a curse, galvanize him to do something positive or deep dive into death; Finn poured a single, tight melody into Aurin-Arry, the pared down version of how he felt for his husband, hot and bright, without all the nuance and ornamentation, but True. He released it with the breath before he felt Phædreon move them.

Finn was putting Arry's laundry up on the line, moving gingerly. His knee hadn't worked right since the war and his injuries. Then, another day, he came home to find Arry fucking the pretty new baker from town in their marriage bed. Arkænyn had no shame. Finn's heart broke.

Finn was an actor on a giant island nation. Arkænyn was a musician covered in tattoos, none of them magical. They had never met. Arvælyn was an actor, too. Perhaps they could meet. Suddenly he wanted to, though he didn't know who Arvælyn was. He didn't know who Finn was.

Finn, Arvælyn, Arkænyn, and even Phædreon didn't exist outside the minds of a pair of old friends.

Finn coughed carefully. It hurt.

He concentrated and three orbs appeared, wards around each of their heads to keep ash out of their eyes and their mouths.

"She's here?" he asked, causing himself to cough again. He couldn't get the fuck that he wanted to say out.

He did what he rarely did, and worked his Mesmer upon himself. Pain became a thing that he could compartmentalize. He was careful in his movements, but the pain itself didn't cause him to seize up.

"I'm fine. Let's go. Phædreon, you are our only defense against chronomancy. That must be your priority. Protect us from that and keep her from leaping away again." His eyes turned to Arkænyn. "Amatus. Are you ready for this?"

It was a magic word, a dangerous word, but he said it because it was true. Perhaps it would no longer be true when they returned home, when they recovered from the resonances of other times, other places, and other selves. If not, they would figure it out. Nothing was ever simple.

But this had to be.

[Pharaoh]

Finn would only feel a momentary mental gasp in answer to his influence- a bittersweet twisting of the heart of this familiar stranger, before he was pulled outside time and space and cut off from that world of Zaichaer Ascendant. He saw glimpses of other worlds and other versions of other selves. Perhaps Phædreon's mercurial mind would come into clearer focus as Finn's own perceptions of reality began to blur with this knowledge. It was for this that Phædreon had urged them to prepare in advance: The mental stamina to bear witness to courses not taken; to ruined selves and happier ones. Facing the knowledge of the power of perception and the fickleness of gods so alien to their reckoning as to be incomprehensible.

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But then they were in the Luxium, or some version of it, as fire rained down from the skies, melting sand to glass and littering the unpeopled streets with ash. If there were still people alive in the city, none were to be seen- Only smouldering skeletons, black with ash. If there were screams in the distance, they could not be heard over the roar of Sorokyn and the crash of her fiery spittle smashing the odd domus to dust.

Arkænyn snarled, looking around in horror and disbelief at the devastation, while Phædreon seemed impassively somber. His eyes said that he had seen worse. Sensing Arkænyn's dumbfoundedness, he nudged the prince with his shoulder to break him from his daze as he trudged toward the steps of the palace, still somehow protected from the brunt of Sorokyn's wrath.

At being called 'amatus', Arkænyn's jaw tightened.

"Please... don't call me that. I..." He shook his head, and bounded ahead of Phædreon, wanting for a bit of space in this impossible moment, and only able to find it in the gap between his soulmate from another world and the mother who'd tried to kill him from his own reality.

Their journey took them on a straight path through the unattended gates through the empty entry hall and into the imperial presence chamber. They would hear the quiet chanting of arcane incantations in the familiar rasp of Arkænyn's baritone uttered in unison by twin versions of the Platinum Prince, projecting formidable ætheric energy through pillars on either side of the throne room to fortify the palace against the falling fires from above. Kneeling at the foot of the throne daïs was another princely figure, their face obscured by their golden hair glinting in the light from the chandeliers above. And high upon the Radiant Throne she sat: Thalya IV Imperatrix: Regina Derelicta, herself.

Her gaze fell to the approaching travellers, seeming to need a moment to focus and longer still to recognise. Despite a third version of her son being present it was upon Finn she focused.

"I know you..." She muttered, "...have touched your mind." She sighed, "You are too late to stop me." Her eyes fell, then, upon Arkænyn... her own, true Arkænyn, and she sighed grimly.

"I wish you had."

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[Finn]

Perhaps Finn would have time to apologize for using the correct word. Perhaps they would die here. It seemed there were infinite realities in which they succeeded, and infinite realities in which they didn't, as well as infinite realities in which this quest never came to pass and infinite realities in which they didn't exist at all. It was a dizzying concept: infinities within infinities. He had actually spent a fair amount of time preparing for this journey merely meditating upon this ideas that were mind-breakingly vast.

And yet he was, for the moment anyway, in love with Arkænyn. He wondered if Phædreon had experienced similar visions in their passage, and how he set them aside so deftly. Obviously, practice made perfect, but the practice of it seemed vague.

In any case, his warding got them into the palace without choking on or being blinded by ash fall.

The throne room, the twinned Arkænyns—did he love them too? Thalya. Surely there were countless realities in which there were only happy connections between them. He supposed that by the logic of chronomancers and philosophers past, there were countless Finns who even called her Amata.

He felt compassion welling up in him suddenly. The power she had in time magic was not paired with Phædreon's skill and wisdom. If Finn was a bit upside down even with all his precautions, how much more had her travels warped her? Certainly, a part of him still wanted to call upon Khyan even if only this realm's version of him might hear. But, no; he had promised justice, if possible, before revenge.

Removing an artefact from his belt, he let one arcane manacle fall, dangling, while he held onto the other. A part of him wanted to bludgeon her to death with them. A part of him wanted to kneel at her feet and thank her for creating his Amatus, to chide her for not acknowledging his worth and giving him the love he deserved.

Instead, his own crown shone from his brow, bright as it had ever been.

"Exercise your free will and submit to us. You will face judgment divine and temporal. Reclaim some modicum of your honor. Phædreon will clean up your mess."

At least, he hoped Phædreon could. He had faith in the piebald archidux. At least, he hadn't cut off discourse with screams of 'we're all going to die!' or similar. Arkænyn was ominously silent, but he couldn't spare attention and power to keep a Mesmeric leash upon him. In case of emergency, he could always attempt to use his oath to force compliance, easier with his God's grace flowing through him already.

[Pharaoh]

► Show Spoiler

Thalya's eyes began to illuminate with the same golden glow that emanated from Finn. Gripping the arms of her throne with hands aquiver in their effort to hold her to that royal seat, she slowly, relucantly rose.

"Belay that edict." A strikingly sonorous baritone emerged from the figure kneeling at the base of the throne's daïs, and Thalya collapsed back onto her throne with a gasp as a Radiant crown materialised to illuminate his golden pate of the locutor. Slowly, the figure stood, turning to face the interlopers and regard them with impassive, golden eyes. Arkænyn's violet pair went wide at the sight of him.

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"...Kædryn?" Disbelief tinged the utterance. How could anything be shocking after what they'd already experienced? And yet, being faced with it in the moment... seeing, in flesh, a face he'd only seen in portraiture, still struck the prince to his core.

"Amici..." Arkænyn rasped, as the tall, elf with the glowing crown stood with one foot upon the first step of the daïs, looking like a portrait even in life. "Meet Prince Kædryn, Primus of Thalya's line and my... older brother."

Thalya's expression twisted into a grim smile as she looked down to behold her eldest, deceased in their timeline, as she imagined he ought to have been: Brimming with life and bathed in the Radiant Grace of Aværys. With a hand on the hilt of his sword, Kædryn boomed:

"You dare stand in the imperial presence chamber of the Sacred Solunarian Empire making demands of its Sovereign, human? You presume to claim the right to arbitrate in matters 'divine and temporal'? We have warred against foreign concepts of Justice before, and I would sooner command my brothers to release their hold on the walls and let us all be consumed by Sorokyn's fires than allow my mother to submit to you." As he unsheathed his sword, the bright golden sheen of the blade was blinding and when it was fully free of its scabbard it seemed to grow in size as a shockwave burst forth that threatened to topple the time travelling trio.

As he regained his footing and his eyes adjusted to its brilliance, Phædreon's purple eyes went wide.

"I know that blade... That is Halcyon! Wielded at Kaladon by Aværys Himself!"

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[Finn]

"That is not your elder brother," he reminded his Amatus.

Finn could only hope Phædreon was doing his damnedest to ensure no chronomancy stymied their efforts, but he could not compartmentalize his mind sufficient to deal with the situation at hand while also completely overseeing Phædreon and Arkænyn. At some point, even with this small a party, leadership required delegation and trust.

"And that is not your mother," he corrected the revenant prince.

He felt his divine crown expanding. It hurt, though he didn't know whether that was a function of reaching toward a God Who only truly existed for him in another reality or because he was drawing more grace than had been allotted him.

"She is Thalya Derelicta, fugitive from our timeline, and her crimes include those against family—attempted murder your brother being but one of her infamous deeds. The Divine Twins have abandoned her to temporal judgment, Deus Aværys Himself witnessing my vendetta. She so mismanaged her realm that the Crownwyrm felt the need to reclaim his throne. She sought the ruin of our Solunarium; it seems she would do worse to yours with your well-meaning cooperation. If she is here, then she is sitting upon your throne, Your Divine Radiance, and you ought to oust her as one who holds no right to it here and now."

Re'hyæan elves had a strange familial connection. It gave him an odd feeling when it came to his husband, but he didn't truly know how it was with those born and raised to it. Would this prince give anything, even his own throne, for a semblance of his mother? Perhaps she had been kinder, truer to him than she had been to Arkænyn.

But Finn called upon every iota of favor he held with his God, called upon Vengeance by whatever name and face it wore in this reality, augmenting whatever meager authority he owned on his own, feeling like a peacock in a competition for whose feathers were the grander, but if this course achieved his goal and preserved his team and both timelines, then so be it. Finn would have paused to consider anyone's worse if they were underlined by Aværys' authority, though only Vrædyn shared it with him in his reality. He wished he had the Pontifex's surety.

But of course she would feel to another reality where Solunarium's code involved elven supremacy.

[Pharaoh]

"She is all the mother I have."

Prince Kædryn laughed darkly, cruelly as Finn laid out the case against Thalya Derelicta.

"Do all foreign humans in your world make for such poor sons? To propose matricide so blithely, tsk..." He took a few slow, graceful steps closer to the ex-temporal trinity of Finn, Phædreon and Arkænyn.

"You speak with two mouths, peregrinus extempestus. On the one hand she is an inattentive and on the other hand she is overambitious. What you call dereliction, I call initiative and every at every slight you sling, I scoff. You presume too much to think I was anything close to a sovereign before she plucked me from the brink of a fate worse than death. She remade me and I was party to every one of the supposed crimes you are come to make her answer for." He bared his teeth,

"And you invoke Him of the Hunger as you seek to tame hers? Ours?"

As he drew closer still, Arkænyn stepped between Finn and this simulacrum of his deceased brother, claymore in his hands.

"No further, Kædryn." He commanded.

"Mummy's little disappointment..." Thalya grumbled from her throne, "Placing revenge before family, pride before duty." Arkænyn winced, clenching his teeth.

"Get out of my head, harridan! I can't..." He strained against her will, his own Rune of Mesmer glowing to life and turning the corresponding witchmarks a stuttering silver as he vied against her greater power, until he wrenched around, facing Finn red-faced, with tears streaming from violet eyes. Kædryn took a place at his side, grinning.

"If you have come to join us in our final hour to die by Aværys' own blade, then you shall be our final Sacrifice to usher us into the hereafter." The Knight Prince rasped, a crazed look in his golden eyes.

"Oh no you don't!" Phædreon's arm shot forth toward Thalya, and a bolt of purple lighting shot from his hand to strike hers. She'd been about to try something, it seemed, but startled, her hold on Arkænyn momentarily broke. He whipped to his side, striking Kædryn with the hilt of his sword and knocking him backward. He caught himself in a crouch, and glared up at the Platinum Prince.

"You have come to the end of the world, you fools, but as long as I draw breath, we will meet the end on our terms... Not. Yours!" And with that, Finn would feel a tingle in the slipspace behind him, as Kædryn began to Traverse the distance between them.

[Finn]

Kædryn was twisting words as well as any bard, and Finn knew somehow that even the coldest scalpel of logic would not deter him. And he was a Master among Grandmasters, outmatched no matter how high he climbed on that Pyramid. Aværys' lessons were deep inside him, however, and as his God had not countermanded his Vengeance, nothing Kædryn could say would dissuade him. And so the battle chess must ensue.

Pieces moved: his Amatus to protect him; the Queen to deter his platinum prince; the Time Lord to stymie her next move; her knight dancing through space.

He wondered if Kædryn had been party to disinheriting his own son, who had been heir apparent until Arkænyn's revelation. He wondered if he would live to speak to Vrædyn about it, whether he should. Philosophical questions such as these could still injure.

Overpowering them was not within his abilities, and so he had to be clever. He couldn't bring himself to call upon Khyan, even if whatever version of the man could help him. The risk of doubling down on Æros' sin was too great; he would not sacrifice a second Khyan to stave off the consequences of his own actions.

But even as he felt the tingle of his Rune when Kædryn began to blink, he acted. If Phocion were here, or Cithæra, he might have merely been a piece on the board, directed by a cleverer mind to match Thayla's own. After all, Cithæra had already outplayed this Derelicta once.

Finn dematerialized just as Kædryn, reappearing in an arcane blink behind Thayla herself. He reached, hoping he had caught the prince off guard such that he could hitch the blade right out of his hands and bear the flat of it down on the bitch's fucking head. If not, he would attempt to knock her out with the flat of his own blade. Death would only be hers if he could not take her alive, but his Vengeance would be sated by justice, too.