Legend of Ransera

All Finn's attempts to build bridges only seemed to set them alight. He eyed Destynrael sadly, hoping his clan had not fallen victim to Zaichaeri death squads or similar in this timeline.

"I knew a few Fae'ethalan before I journeyed to Solunarium," he informed Phædreon quietly. "The Vigilia Argenti did not require that I learn Ecitharese." But, other than that, he fell silent. He did maintain his grip upon Varvara's instrument, lest a need for it arise quickly. Let them see Her argent gift in his hand if they marked him for His golden crown that sometimes graced his brow.

His eyes were everywhere as they traveled, however, gathering as much context as he could to support an understanding of this reality. With some frequency, he checked upon his men, attempting to maintain his aplomb lest they lose faith in his leadership. Cohesion would be necessary to weather these time storms.

Rather than a volcano, this reality had a tree that reminded him of myths from the Age of Dreams and a World Tree.

Finn from before would not have hesitated to kneel. This Finn, however, had more steel in his spine and gold, as well. He should have bent the knee, if only to appease these people and protect his men, but he found that he could not, whether because of his God's influence or his own growing sense of self.

He bowed, just as respectfully as he would to any regnant monarch, but he was not a slave.

His smile was radiant, if not Radiant, and his voice was a song though he was not singing. He could feel the silver in his hands resonating with every word, every sound. He did not want a battle of wills here, nor a battle of steel. They were entirely outnumbered, and if their position became untenable, he had to hope that Phædreon would take them elsewhere or elsewhen. Perhaps they had given him enough context to track their quarry closer to where she had gone to ground.

"Greetings, Your Blazing Brilliance. We seem to have trespassed all unknowing upon your lands, but all the roads we've had to walk were winding, and all the lights that led the way were blinding. There are many things that I would like to say to you, but I don't know how..."

Or, rather, he knew how, but not how to couch those words such that they got what they needed and didn't cause undue damage to this reality.

"All my best intentions and attempts to explain myself have only served to anger these our guides as we find ourselves strangers in a land strange to us."

"I have been called a Herald of Hubris," he said wryly, eyes flicking briefly to Arvain Princeps and back. Said in Vallenor, he was able to imply that the Hubris was his rather than Arkænyn's. "And I apologize for mine ignorance, but I know nothing of you, Sire."

Knowing that they would be unable to prevent this imperator from stripping away their protections and sembling them, he gave a succinct, somewhat reductive version of the truth.

"Surely you will semble the veracity of my claims in due course. We hail from another reality seeking a fugitive Thalya from our own who has likely gone to ground here. In our reality, this great tree does not exist, but rather a volcanic dragonhome. And yet," his eyes flicked again to Arvain, "there are familiar faces lacking all familiarity otherwise. We seek no harm to you or yours, merely free passage to follow our quarry. She made a mess of things in her wake, and we would prevent her from doing the same here, leaving your demesne and subjects as we found them.

"I am anomalous there, too. As are my compatriots. For me, the quest is personal. When she attempted a coup for more control beyond her queendom, she attempted an assassination of her own platinum blood, but also that of my husband, an Arvælyn Princeps."

This time, he didn't look at Arvain. It was a strange knife in the guts to have his husband's seeming look upon him without recognition, let alone love that had transcended continents, races, and divine trials.

"In our reality, Aværys-once-Streleon and Varvara-once-Ugrimal are the Divine Twins of Solunarium and the Atraxian Expanse. I am one of His Radiant, and my husband is one of Her Tethered. I understand my existence is blasphemy here, but I do not seek to subvert your religion, merely bring her back in silver chains to face judgment for her attempt on the life of that Tethered."

Good, he thought. Yes.

Phædreon was mining the conversation for more context and, given he had more than Finn did as their bridge over troubled times, that was all for the best. And Arkænyn, at least, had his temper leashed. The Arkænyn before the fall would have been dangerous to have here and now. He didn't require Finn enforce his leadership, and that was better for an actual working relationship.

He would have to ask Phocion about his sentinel blacks and their counterintelligence measures if this Imperator could see through them. But he was, at least, reasonable. Finn could work with reasonable.

Finn, if anything, felt sad for the brief history lesson. He hated the idea of his homeland conquered by anyone, even Solunarium. And he also hated the idea of enmity between his God and His Sister. Their balance was becoming a foundational notion for him.

"It pains me to know this version of history, Sire. In our realm, we are loosely paired, Radiant and Tethered, my husband and I, the Pontifex and his cousin, a leader of the Vigilia Argenti. I too am a Sentinel, and perhaps anomalous again in one of His chosen among the ranks of Her branch of the government. Being anomalous, I am still finding my place upon the Pyramid, and certainly my companions might outrank me in other circumstances, but for the purposes of this endeavor, I have the honor of leading.

"When she fled our reality, His Resplendence, Phædreon Phædryn-Sol'Aværys Archidux, had the power and knowledge to open the way for me. His Starlit Highness, Hyperion Arkænyn Princeps, having his own personal stakes, offered his skills to the endeavor, for which I am grateful. I was born merely Finn, the son of a blacksmith in a village on Lake Udori, near Kalzasi. Kalzasi is a city-state unto itself, and it was via a Solunarian diplomat that my vector toward the Atraxian Imperium came to me. What honors I am accorded are a combination of the regards of one God, one Prince, and my own merits. And so... I am still learning where I stand in the grand scheme of things. At the feet of Deus Meus, I have learned to follow my Ambition, but to bow to greater Power even as He bows to Holy Eikæn.

"As for Thalya Derelicta, if she be not here, then we must seek her in Ailizane. She might seek to supplant her other self. If she succeeds, her gaze would inevitably turn southward. Her hunger was not sated by a single throne in our reality."

He did glance from one side to the other, at prince and archduke, for further elaboration. The son knew her better, and the elder knew more in general. Finn was their leader, but he used each according to their skill and knowledge.

Thank the Gods, they were communicating now. As much as Finn had trained to fight since he had fallen victim to Zaichaeri thugs, he much preferred diplomacy. He sat upon the bench with Arkænyn, and returned Varvara's instrument to its case upon his back.

"Thank you, sire," he said sincerely. "Here I must defer to the Archidux. Phædreon, I presume that if we get you close enough to this world's Arkænyn or Thalya, you can ascertain whether this reality holds too much of... them?"

For all the theory he had crammed into his mind, the rules of chronomancy involved a great deal of guesswork depending on what branch of the timeline one followed. He hadn't seen a dark mirror of himself, but he didn't know if his presence pushed the other out of time or if two of them existed here and a potential paradox might happen if they came too close to one another or if there was or ever had been a Finn here.

"If physical proximity will allow you to search for our benighted version and this reality's circumstances aren't too altered from our own, I can open a portal to various places. Not Sol'Grandal, but certainly Kalzasi or Dalquor or Aur'arnis. Or even Mount Kaladon..." He paused. "Mount Kaladon is where Arvælyn and I faced the Divine Twins. Perhaps we ought to avoid it. Deus Aværys might seek to turn me against our new friends and I would not be used so, not even by a version of my divine patron."

Finn frowned. There was much he would lay at that altar, but he would not sacrifice allies upon it—not this version of his best beloved who knew him not nor his wise grandsire.

Finn nodded, trying to take into account what Phædreon said and how he might apply it to what he did. Perhaps in an emergency, he might vault and his Rune would take him to Arvain because he looked enough like Arvælyn that his magic would interpret the fiery, feisty prince as home and safety and happiness. Now that Arvain's grandfather seemed to be on their side, that might not be terrible, but Arvain's side might not be where they needed to be in an emergency.

"Kalædium," he murmured to himself, attempting to rewrite his mental map of Atinaw.

He glanced at Arvain, finding himself compelled to answer his better half's other self.

"In our world," he said, pitched a touch soft, inviting ears to listen, audiences to lean forward, "Kaladon was the prison of the Divine Twins for quite a long time. Hence, Arvælyn and I made a pilgrimage to the caldera to answer Their call, to face Their test, and to earn Their favor. A foreign prison as the borders of Their realm no longer extended beyond the continent of Ecith." He considered. "Kalædium by way of Kaladon, then?"

He glanced from Phædreon to Arkænyn. They were quite different people, with different strengths and weaknesses, and he had to manage both of their states. They were a unit, brothers-in-time. Perhaps Phædreon had the training and the frame of mind to adapt to any given timeline, but he and Arkænyn were only here following vengeance. Phædreon's presence was necessary, but Finn didn't know if he would ever catch his drift. If they survived this, if the hint of thralldom didn't sour things, they might accomplish a great many things together. Finn seemed to be a partner crafted for any number of Solunarian potentates, his husband only being the first.

Vengeance.

Finn perked.

Khyan, he called along the line of his emblem, his oaths of fealty. Has the mighty Bottom of Vengeance followed me to this reality?