Forbidden Knowledge (Paragon)

[Lyra]

65th of Frost, 120 AS

"Tell me again why we are in this gods forsaken place?" Naila asked.

Around them was a dense white fog, impenetrable and enveloping that clung to the fitted leathers that the mercenary wore. Lyra found it an odd sensation, even after nearly half a season, to look through eyes that she was not in control of. She drifted absently inside of Naila, her living vessel, partially enjoying the sensation of 'riding along' with someone once again. In the prime of her power, she had done this very thing quite often, sometimes for years at a time to observe and make minor changes to a person's thoughts and mentality until they finally broke. She had been an elusive thought, a quiet whisper in the back of the mind, and that was in part how she had earned her title 'The Lady of Whispers'. Now though she did not seek shelter in this woman for the pleasure of manipulating her. Instead, Lyra was in need of this vessel to interact fully with the physical world. It was a simple, yet very important distinction.

"We are searching for someone." Lyra spoke softly, her smoky body flowing from beneath Naila's clothing and forming the upper portions of a silver-haired elf. Lyra playfully wrapped her arms around Naila's neck, smiling as she whispered, " Or rather, someTHING."

Naila shivered and waved a hand over her shoulder, swatting at Lyra who laughed and flowed back inside to the safety of her vessel once more.

"Yeah, I got that part." Her companion responded, glancing sideways and throwing a dagger and a moving shadow. The blade struck, sticking for a moment in the form which screamed and vanished. Naila then walked over and picked up her knife, applying a new coat of ichor to the blade and resheathing it, "But WHY are we looking for it?"

Lyra considered for a time, long enough for her to hear the strings of irritation being plucked in Naila's melodies.

Early this season, the Iron Queen came to me. Mentally Lyra pressed down on Naila's question she felt bubbling to the surface, and continued, We have an agreement, and I am bound to it by ancient oaths. To ensure that I uphold my end I need something. The Queen directed me to ask the thing that lives here, and thus here we are.

"That doesn't really tell me much." The elf said, rolling her shoulders and glancing around nervously, "There isn't anything in this place that is worth risking my soul for."

At this Lyra did laugh, the sound reverberating through their shared soul space.

Child, you needn't fear. Remember, your Soul belongs to me.

Naila grumbled and swatted at another misty figure as it was forming, her blade passing through it with a screech and making it vanish, "Maybe, but I would rather not die here for something I don't even understand."

They walked in silence then for several more minutes, Naila glancing about and swatting at specters that they passed, and Lyra humming softly to herself. It was an old tune, one she had almost completely forgotten until recently. It came to her shortly after the girl Fawn showed up in her shop. She couldn't remember the name of the song, but Lyra was certain it was important.

"What, uh... What did you promise to the Queen?" The mercenary seemed hesitant as if she did not quite want to know the answer, "And what are you getting out of the deal?"

I am to bring ruin o the High City of Zaichaer. Lyra stated simply, In exchange, the Lady of Ice will aid me in collecting my soul fragments.

Naila halted suddenly, looking over her shoulder as if she expected to see Lyra there as she hissed, "What fucking moron promises to wipe out a god's damn city? And Zaichaer at that?" Her voice was low, but her tone was incredulous.

Lyra sent a mental shrug to the woman as she lounged in the soul space, a smile quirking her lips, A pittance, little one, and the prize is far far more grande. Now keep going. We do not want to stay here overly long."

At first, Naila seemed like she would resist, but finally, she sighed and started walking once more, "You're a crazy bitch, you know that? And I don't care who you used to be, taking down a place like Zaichaer isn't something that anyone can do."

Lyra did not bother to argue. It made sense, of course, that Naila would struggle with the concept. She was like the rest of the children of this age. They all thought so... small, so simplistically. The most minor gust of wind could change the world itself. Lyra herself knew that from experience.

We shall see, child. We shall see.

[Paragon]

They watched. From the mists, within the fog. As they always did, as they always would. Such was the way of it. The eons had ticked by but it seemed no more than a breath had passed since that day, so long ago. They had thought, just as they all had, that it would not come to pass. How could it? Why would it? So much had been lost. So much had been forgotten. But the amusing thing about forgotten truths was that once they were no longer remembered, no one remembered they weren’t possible.

It was a funny thing to them. Funny, because it meant they were wrong. And they so enjoyed being wrong, because ultimately...it meant they were right.


Y̸̲̹͚͖͍̮̭̪̍̇̈̏̓̓͋̈͜͜͝ó̷̤̟̣͔͔̩̖͐̓̄͠ͅư̷̧̦̮̦̯̦̯̫̭̭̊͋̋̓͋̎̀̑͝ ̶̢̨͍̺̹͈̟̤̤̂́h̸͕̞͗͗̐̆̐a̴̢͍̖͚͌͋̇̓̊̒v̸͋̾͜͜ë̶͓̺̼̱͆͂̃̑̀̂̅̚ ̵̩̟̏̀̎̏ç̵̪̻̦̠̉o̸̪͕̠̫̤̗͒̽͂̈͑̔̆̀͝͝m̸̛̠̥͚͚̰̣͓̄̈́̊̿̂̇͘͜ḛ̶̢̼̜̼̻͗́̒̈̍͐̄̚͠ ̵̱̹͙̎̓̿̔̑̅̚ḩ̴̮̮͚̼͚̐͜e̵̙͈̔̎̂͌̚ř̶͙̥̺͉̬̅̎͆̈̓́͑͠e̸̲̣̍͂̒̾…̷̨̭̹̟̞̖̾


A thousand voices speaking as one turned their words to the minds of the two souls that had waded through their mists.

One of them knew fear. They needn’t have bothered. There was nothing for them to fear.

One of them knew nothing of fear. There was much they should have been afraid of.

Y̴̛̳̜͚͚͑̐̔̆̊͆̅̈́̊ỏ̴͉͎̪͎͍̟̯̭̟͛̅̀̉̑̔͊͠ͅu̶̢͈̬͕̮̫̦͙̮̞͌̏͒̀̈́̀ ̵̼̪̖̺̋͊̇͆̚s̸̞̦̲̗̺̫̝̅͒̄́̂̎͠e̶̩̫͇͈̿̀͜͜ͅę̶̩͇͔͙̥̼͙̼̐̈́̿̓̓̽̑̎͛͝k̷̳͓͖͐̑̅̎̆̀͗̈́̕ͅ ̵̧͉̳̟̩̯̬̇͐͌͗̋̑̓ḁ̸͇͈̻̤̯͈̫̘͂̐̌͑̀̋̐̕n̶̰͔̾̈́̌s̵̢̹̪͍̺̲͉̍͆̑̈́́̄̀͠͝w̸̲̠̐̔ẻ̷̳̒́͊̋̊͆r̷̟̓̄̌̈̓̃͊͛̃̐s̵̪̱͔̻̹̾̀́̍̀̄͜͠…̴̨̲̫̼̻͇̮̜͆̓̅̏̂̋̕̚̕

They could see it. They could see many things. They wondered, which road would they take? Which road would they be allowed to? They turned their gaze back upon their visitors.

The mists shifted. The phantasms that drifted lazily through the haze withered and hastened their steps to evade the attention of that which lorded over the Third Deep. The rumbling echo of a beast skittered over the flesh of those things that claimed to be living across the Four Deeps of the Warrens. It did not brush the Fifth. The Fifth was not to be disturbed. Not then. Perhaps not ever.

One step. It shook the rocks, making mice of the most fearsome monsters that swarmed the caverns of the Buried Empire. Soldiers of the Sky Guard looked in fear and confusion as shinaegri, somaval and other twisted horrors scampered to find a place that escaped its notice.

A second step. The mists rippled. A tidal wave of fog rising with the movement of its master. The mystical flora of the Otherwilds dimmed. The fauna abandoned their habits to find a place to hide. Predators hissed and snapped, gnashing their teeth as their instincts kicked in, knowing that it had moved. Prey cowered, scrambling for places to hide.

A third step. The Haunted Reaches swirled with fear and anticipation. The lost souls that drifted listlessly in its mists found purpose. One motive. One drive. Run. Hide. Be unnoticed.

A fourth step. The eternal clockwork of the Mechanus of the Fourth Deep, sputtered. The mind-boggling machines paused in their tireless march, gears slowing to take note of its stirring.

Silence. A weight hung in the air of the Third Deep, like a breath being held in anticipation of something unspeakable.

Y̶̙͔͔̹͍̘͙͔̎͂̿̐o̷̟͔̞͎͆̇̂͊̒̿͒̀ụ̶̠̮̐͗͑̄̄̓͌̚ ̵̨͉̹̠̝̊̃̔̓̀͝b̵̡͔̓͐ṟ̴̻̼̭̒̽͛͘i̵͚̥͈͓͍͇̔n̶̖̼̟̞̦͓͓̝̿̉̎͗͒̄̓͆̚͠ģ̸̧̱͚͇͚͈̱̀̾̾̕͝ ̸̢͉̖̝͔̗͐͑́̔͜ù̴̥̟̫̪̪̻̺̈̾̍̄s̸̳̎̈̿͋̀̊̕ ̶̨̙̼͓̮̐̉̃̈́̏͐͘t̴̬͓̝̋́̅̎̽͑̇̓͜ͅh̴̥͚͘ẽ̴̜͙͕̫͜ ̷͓̭̣̼͈̀͐̄͜͜w̸̺̹̦̻̪͎̠͛̏̀͝r̴͓̳̹̯̗͔̪͎̝̀̓͒̉̆̂̈̕͘͜ò̵̼̭̺̐͊͗n̸̟̱̰̭͋g̴̡̡̪͎̮̭̭̳̳̰̾̈́̈́̔̑͘ ̷̦̪̥̙͓̻̱̒̓̊͛̈́̀̚͜͝q̴̳̯͎̗̼̬̫̥̬͖̾̀͠ǘ̵̢̨̺̘̣̞̣͚̞̙͊́̒̋̑̽̕e̴͕͍̣͓͓̟͋̿̌̊̿͂̊͜s̸̭͝͝ͅt̴̪̫̿͐̂͘̕̕͘̚͘į̸̞̖͚͒̀̈̌̾̀̄͜͠ó̶̮̜̟̩͙͜n̵̝͖͚̽̒ͅş̶͚͙̗͛̒͐̇̽̚.̴͉͖͕̘̲͙̈́̏̄͆̉͒̇̅͠

The silence imploded. The pale mists began to darken. A rushing of winds built in a slow scream that became an earth shaking rumble. That was when it became clear. The mists weren’t darkening...there was a shadow hurtling toward Lyra and Naila.

[Lyra]

Naila was a survivor. She knew what it took to live, to keep living. She knew when it was right to run, and when it was time to fight. The years were not kind to a woman who wasn't prepared to do whatever it took. So when she felt a shift in the air she immediately fell into a crouch, both of her daggers flashing into her grip as her eyes shifted to swiftly take in her surroundings.

Lyra was amused, though even she could sense the change. Everything became... still in some way. She opened her mind to the symphonies, listening, searching and was met with as close to nothingness as she had ever felt. No, not nothingness... Frowning she thought, barely, just barely she could hear something, but it was as if her mind refused to recognize it as a melody of any kind.

When the voices spoke Naila flinched, and without thought she turned and bolted in the opposite direction she had been traveling.

Wait! Lyra demanded, black smoke swirling around Naila as she ran.

"Shit no." Naila spat, now sprinting, "I know a bad deal when I sense it, and I am NOT dying here."

Frustrated Lyra struck their bond, making Naila stumble. As she righted herself Lyra wrenched control of their body back, slamming Naila into the soul space.

NO! The woman cried, beating against the walls of Lyra's will, but it was no use. She owned the soul space, and the body it resided in. Naila was her soul bonded, and with a mental shush Lyra silenced the woman's voice.

Over several steps Lyra slowed to a stop, turning toward where she thought the voice had come. Inside Naila wailed, fighting, clawing. Despite herself Lyra felt a faint shudder in her own soul, but this was what she had come for.

Gold eyes scanned the fog, though she did not know what it was she was looking for. Then it presented itself. The voices, multitudes that spoke as one made her vessel tremble, but Lyra herself felt... Something else. So many years locked away, so much of herself gone, she could not remember what the sensation was, but it urged her forward. She didn't smile, but looked curiously at the condensing shadows.

Lyra felt the vessel's limbs twitch as Naila fought for control, but Lyra held them at bay. She stared at the charging darkness, teeth gritting. Naila pressed, urged, begged. The screaming, the noise and wind.

Its going to kill us. The woman plead, Run, let me take over. I'll get us out of here.

"No..." Lyra whispered, holding control with an iron will. It wasn't right, all of this. If it wanted them dead then... it could have done it without letting them know it was there.

"If there is a such thing as a right question," Lyra shouted, stepping forward. Black smoke flowed around her as she struggled to keep Naila from snatching control back, "Then speak them."

She paused, and continued, "I am Lyrielle tu Kovash Elmari. I request an audience with the master of this place."

[Paragon]

The shadow came rushing forward blanketing Lyra and Naila in a cloak of darkness. The screaming faded. The cold seeped into bones, crawling through the skin, digging into muscle and clutching at the frayed edges of the souls within that shared space. Fingers brushed over the essence of both souls almost as though they were grasping, touching, feeling, exploring. The shadow moved on and before Lyra there was a shattered realm. A grey wasteland that was devoid of color. There was nothing but the hazy outline of what something thought the world should resemble.

The first eye opened. A red so crimson it was as though an ocean of blood had manifested in mid-air. In those scarlet waters there stirred an intelligence.

The second eye opened. Red like fire that burned like the hot magma in a volcano. It burned with heat.

The third eye opened. A burgundy that seemed to laugh with the drunken whimsy of a rich wine. Amusement danced within its depths.

One after the other, eyes opened, each of them varying shades of red that all stared at Lyra.

Y̷̢̤͎͓̪͙̓̆̃̿̀͠͝o̶̦͎̯̗̘͐͆̀̔͊̈́ǔ̴̠̺͖̔̂̋̈́ ̴͎͙͔͐͛͊͛͑͐͆b̴̛̟̑͊̊͘r̶̠̥͚̜̦̀̈́̈́̓͐̓͘ͅĩ̶̡̠͕͕͉̌͋̚͝n̴̘̠͖̲͌̒͆g̴̛̰̳̣̻̈́̽̓͋̌̋̚͝ ̸̨͙͓͇̣̮͆̿͛̉̈́̐̀̔u̴̯̰̫̟̓̀̊s̷̛̳̘̻͇̩̤͛͌̄̈̒ ̷̧̢̨̠̦͚̝̳̤̺́́̽t̵̡̨̥̖̙̍̾̄̃̄͊̑̑͜ͅh̷̛̙͎͙̥̻͔̯͇͓̻̍̔̃̇̒̃̀͋e̷̢̟̻̳͘ ̵̺͕̩̮̣͕͕̻̽͐̆̒̈́͋̔͝w̸͇͒͒̽͛͠r̶̠̮͎̮̲̫̬̀͗͠o̸̡̧̱̩͍̬̝͖͌̌̔̀n̵̨̘̘̣̲̂́̀̓g̶̝̦̹͗̇̈́̔̈́̅͑́ ̸̬͙̘̎̅̈́̿̏͒͘͝q̷̮͚͉͕̻͕̟̖͎̆u̸̬͓̇̑̍̽̃̂͌͐̅e̵̳͍̭͙̪͗̇s̶̢͚̻͚͎̦̹͒̆͐͂̇͆̕ͅt̵̛͔̬̝͐͆̔̂̋̆ḯ̴̖̠o̴̫̞͖̬̙̜͝n̴̪͈̊s̸̢͓̞̦͓̗̠͆͋̆́͝.̴̝͔̚

Wrong questions...




[̷̨̟̫̱̭̗̬̀̈̇̌̂̊̽Y̷̨̡̧͙͎͙̙̝̹̍̀̓̓̎̿̏̓͛̚ơ̶̗͉̙͕̈́̽͂̀͐̈̔̾ũ̵̯̙͚͖̜̐̋̌͘ ̵̙͈͔̦͙̿̾͂ͅs̶͓͈̻̬̀̊̍́̕̕e̷͇͗̕ė̷̺̦̯̃͗̚̕ͅk̴̙̤͍̼̭̣͓̚ ̷͇͐t̸̡̪͔̽h̵̛̘̖̜͓͓͉̪̱̙͒̇̐͠ë̸͇̲̰̖̪͕͎̼́͂̏͜ ̴̱͍̱̠͍̩̳̦̰̽͑͒̇w̴̢͓̪͈͙̬͛̑͜͜r̵̦̦̜̳͎̩̫̳͐͗̓͋̅̀͘̚͠ồ̶̱̘̠̞̼͙̙͇̏͆͑̓͒̽̊ͅn̵̡̡̖͎̹̩̮͛͒̈́͋͂̇͠͠g̸̜̬̫͖̥͇̫̤̭͎̅̑͑̄́̊̚͝ ̴͓͔̞̘̭̙̝͍̯̊̌ă̷̺̪̬̖͆̾͗͜͝ͅn̷̮̬̞̺̻͋͗̉̎̎͊͆̕͜s̶̛̝͑̋̌̚w̵̬͉͔̳̜̜̲̦͚̩̔͋̊̈́̑́̿͠ė̷̮̝̳̗̺̩͔̮̎̀̉͌̆̓̽̋ṛ̸̢̻͈̝̉̈́̀̌͊͒̒ͅs̵̘͎̋͝.̷̮̫̙͊̒̂̓̇̒̄̋̚̚ ̴̨̯̭̤̰̠̐͜

Wrong answers...

S̶͔̳̟̰͇̪̍͊͝h̵̡̗̙̙̜̩̟̤̰̅͘ė̸̲̫͇̝͆ ̵͔͍͖͉̙̙̫͎̑̈́͗̊̈́̈́͠͠í̴̡̧̺̟͙̻̼̟̌̎̈́̿̓̇̇̕͠s̶̮̱̩̫̠͇̈̃́ ̸͎̯͎͈͆̈́́̇́̇͝͠ͅt̶̘̀̾ḩ̴̧͖̙̞͎̉̀̿̈́ḛ̷̓̏ ̷̭̗̔̋̌̎Ç̸͈̳̤̟̠͕̹̖̀͐͐̄̈̈́͘r̴͍͕͖̐̓̂͗ͅi̵͖̪̲̼̻͊̀̀̿̕p̷̧̰̱̑͌p̸̛̪̉̓̈́̊͝l̸̬̻̹̩̹̠͉̫̺͐e̴͔͊̅̃̚͠͝ ̵̳͕̖̲͚̲͔̥̂̆̏́̎̄͗̏͜W̵̫͈̹̼͖̰̼͙̒͆̍͌͗́̽̀̚͝h̶̡̖̳̬͉͎́͑ọ̷͙̘̪͑̎̀͌̃̓̉͗͝ ̴̞̺͓̰̎̓I̵̠̣͕̞̬̠͔̘̋̿̓̈́͒͊s̴̬̀̉̈̑͌̊ ̷̧̨̝͓̼̣̫̹͑̃̓̆̿̚̕͠Ŵ̵̡̧͈̳̺͙̘͇̓̀̾͗̇̿̕͘h̸̨̘̯̩͎̳̮̠̑͒̀͒͆͘ơ̴̛͖̦̘͚̾̐̓̏͐ĺ̴̢̙̬̳̦͇̻̞̈͋̒͊̒̌̕͝ê̵͈̼̝̼̰̳͇̯͜.̶̻̜̟̳͒͑̐́̆͆ ̶̡̱̯̳̩̖̞̠̉̊̌̀̾̃͐͘̚T̴̰̟͎͙̜̱̣̼̩͕̏̀͐̌̾ḩ̸̢̼̺͖̈͑̇e̵̼͕͕͚̗̳̽̃̍͊̃̂͂͜ ̶̡̖͍̮̖̙̠̂̾͋͑S̵̨̠̞̆̂͐̈́̎͂̇́̃͝o̴̞͓͚̤̗̩̺͋̉̀̓́u̴̟̟̖̫̟͒̀̂̕l̵̡̙͉̹͇̟̥͕̈́̓͜l̴̨̩̤̮͙͕̐̍́̓̎͘ẹ̶͎̣̤̲̣͋̽̇̈́̒̚͝ş̴̠̻̭̭͈̣̪̗̰̓͂͐͑̐s̵̰͑̐̌̑ ̷̡͚͔͇̮͇̫́́̈̕ͅͅẄ̸̢͇̮͉̜̤̋͆̑̔̈́́͘͝į̴͔͚̪̫̽t̵̞͖̠͍͊̊͗̍̇̈́͂̚h̸̢͍̘̜͈̖͚̊̇͊̔̓͒̕ͅͅ ̶̺̙̪͉͆t̶͇̳̉͋̓̓͌h̴̢͖̣̣̮͈͎́̈̋̒̂̀͒̍̓͝ͅę̶̡̧͓̹̲̫̲͇͑̋̇͛ͅ ̸̢̢͉͈͚̭͓̪̔͗̍͘͘͘͘B̷͇̩͚̮̗̞̩̊̆̅͊͠r̸̺̀͗̽͐̎̊̕͠o̸̰̓̾͆ķ̸̧̰̤̞̱͒̆͋̈̓e̷̖̜͓̘͍̺̗̰̓̂͒̃͛͘ń̸̜͈͓̠ ̶̨̨̯̩̔͐̉̍̆͘S̶̡̻̲̟̀̔͌͠ͅò̴͓ŭ̶̖̺͈̔l̶̢̦̊͒̓.̴͔͌͊̍

Cripple Who Is Whole

Soulless...

...Broken Soul

Ỉ̴̪̀̎̋̅̓̈͊̀s̴̡̧̼̠̤̻̯͔̽͐ ̴͈̠̹̳̪̞̮͔̒̆͗̒̕̕͝ḯ̵̛̗̩̩̣̲̺̥͉̅̇͗̋̀t̵̨̟͔̭͎̱͒̒̿͐̄͐̍̕͝ ̷͉̭͂h̵͕̪̜̭̹̽̏e̵̢̧̧̦̣͔͚͖̅̾͆͐͒̆͆͂͊r̷̭͚̄̔ ̶̼̮̥̩̰̟͓̊̓̈́ͅD̵̛̲̗̎͛́́̓̊͝͠ȩ̵̘̪̲̘͎̜́͂͊̀͝ͅs̴̛̳̱̰̼̀̈́̒̋͝ḭ̵͔͙̺͒̕ĝ̴̡̯̳̯͉̞̄́͐̾̐̈ͅn̸̜͐͌̀͘?̶͇̠̠̙̭̾̐̽̐̑̃̒̏̈͜ ....Design?



.̴̧͚̰̺͌ͅ.̵̧̥̘͚̥͋̿ͅ.̷̟̣̩̝̞̟̣̈̊͌̏o̷͍̜̤̫͚̠̔̐̏̓͌̆̈́͆͝͝r̴͙̳̖̤͚͎̦͚͌̿̉͜ ̵̩̩̪͙̖̰̹̟̄̽̄i̷͎̺̾͑̒͒s̵̘̙̜̒̿͒̈́̎͗͋̕͠ ̵̨̜̞̤̣͍̪͙̺͓̄̌i̴̛̯̠̠͚̳͇̻͒́́͌̿̈́̆̕͝t̶̢̻͖̖̱̱͠ ̸̛͔̿͒̅̑͛̽͑͛̇h̴̨̪̞̺̼̺̗͗̿͆̊͗͒̊̚̕ͅẹ̷̢̢̢͖͔̝̌̇̀̃̌̕͜͜r̴̢̧̹̠̙͇̱̣͗ͅ ̶̟̼̝͙̇͊͒̐̐̀̋͂̔D̸̗͔̄̅e̸͈͂̂̇́͂̅̑̂̆͜ͅs̸͚͍̯̦͎̦̠̜͊ͅi̸̲̼̘̪̺̋̊̔̃r̶̛̼͒͂̀̇͂͠͝ȩ̸̰̮̥͐̅̆?̷̯̗͕̬̓͒́̓͆͜ͅ

...Desire?

̵̡̘̻̎̔

̸̛̻̣̙̝̌̉̇̿͑̀͝S̶̛̗̱̬͒̏́͑͝h̶̨͈͑ē̷̻͓͎̪̖̠͍̑̐̐̀̔̈͘͝͠ ̸̢͙̬͖̾̒̈́̽͂͌̐̚͝h̸͎̳̟̼͓̓́̆͝͠ͅa̵̫̱̟͓̿̑̂͌̓̕͝s̸̗͓̣͔̆̀͜ ̵͓̙̱̻̭̖͓͓̩͇͝ḧ̷̫̘̯̱͈̜́̃́̄̓̏̈́̚ȩ̵̡͕̬̲͓̰̠̙́̋͜͝r̴̜̖̣̫̫̪̪̩͖̆ ̶̻͙̖̀͊͗͂͘͝a̸͉̝̖̺͙̤̤̺̼̳̚ǘ̴͍̪̭̦̳̙̄̇̕d̷̤̬̜͖̳̖̭̲̮̈́̄͠͝į̵̩̘͉̥̑̓ḛ̵̘̲̗͆͒͛n̷̢̖̠͗͂͊̆̊̂͂ċ̸̭̞̫̙̒̈́̾̋̄̀̓̽͠ę̸̡͔̠͖͍̠̎͊̇͘.̸͇̱͖͗ ̴̡̻̣̫̼̮̺͓̭̇

̴̢̣͎̭̦̝͊

̷͈̙̯̤͔̋̅̓̌̒͋͠Ŵ̵̬͈̅̀̓̿̕̕͜͠ĕ̵̜̬͗̒̀͝ ̸̥͖̼̊̋̓̋̀͜w̸͖̯̒̑̾̄͊͠ả̴̡̗̠̗̼ị̸̲̙̥̪͓̉̔͂́̂͝͝t̶͉͇̖͕̺̠̮͎̩̄̍̍̾̂̓̕̚ͅ.̶̮̮͕͙̳̻͉͍̐̑͋̑̈́́̽̑̌̚

We wait.

̴̳͗̊
̸̧͚͇̗̙͇̼̦̳͗̆͊͆̚͘͘Ẁ̶̡̯͚̯̗̑̏͐̾̚ȩ̶̖̙͓͖̇̈͂̽͒̄͠͠ ̴̻̯̍͗̽l̶͖̔̈́̓̃̕i̷̜̗̥̣͎̰̣̱͕͐̚͜ş̸̻͔̰͛̿̆ṱ̴̡̨̣̤̤̞͎͒́̀͝e̴̹͕̹̠̟͖̪̮̭͂̽͂͋n̶̯͛̿́̀̃̓̍̕.̸̨̢̹͓̺̻̩͔̓̈́̉̑̅͘

...listen.

[Lyra]

Despite herself, Lyra closed her eyes as the darkness rushed over her. Inside Naila hunkered down deep in the soul space, gazing around nervously as she felt the tendrils of consciousness poke and prod. Lyra shivered, though not from cold, and instinctually wrapped her arms tighter around herself. Only when the feelings passed did she open her eyes, and gazed at the shattered wasteland of greyscale. Turning in a circle she breathed in, gold eyes squinting to peer for something, anything to show itself.

As the eyes opened Lyra found herself staring at them, their depths and colors mesmerizing. Again she cast out with her senses, looking for the gongs of this creature, but again she heard nothing. It was like unconsciously she was choosing not to hear them, or perhaps it was not something she could perceive? With a shake of her head Lyra banished these thoughts, useless as they were, and her face hardened into a frown as she inspected the thing before her.

We shouldn't be here. Naila whispered deep inside their mind. This presence all but cowed the normally fierce mercenary, something Lyra found odd in a way she couldn't quite put her finger on. Still, the woman had given up trying to wrest control from Lyra, and the black smoke steadily settled and slipped fully inside of the body once more.

The multitude of voices was difficult to understand, let alone comprehend. The noise rang in Lyra's mind long after it was finished speaking, and Lyra absently rubbed one ear as if that would help.

Wrong questions and wrong answers? Lyra wondered, trying to piece together what she was experiencing. Did it already know what she would ask? Did that also mean that what she was asking was not what it wanted to answer? And the other cryptic responses it gave?

Well, it granted my request for an audience. Thought, setting a hand on her hip with a sigh, So I suppose that means it is at least willing to talk...

"You already know what I am looking for don't you." Lyra whispered, chewing her lip thoughtfully she glanced around the space, "And you have already decided that the question and answer are both wrong. You leave me with little to work with."

Without thinking Lyra slipped into her native tongue, turning in a circle to look at the world around her, curiosity bubbling to the surface.

What are you doing? Naila asked Lyra, some hint of her old fire there, Just ask your stupid question and lets get out of here.

Somehting is odd. Lyra thought. Her mind drifted back to her conversation with the Iron Queen, and the words she had used. Then Lyra's eyes widened slightly and she turned to face the 'Monument'.

"I came here to seek others like me, trapped as I was. But I wonder now..." Tilting her head Lyra took a step closer to the creature, looking for something in its eyes that she could understand, "I remember what she said. It was here that she found what lead her to me, and you approached her." She paused, "You KNOW who I am, do you not? Why would you help free me?"

[Paragon]

The air rippled. The eyes shifted their gaze, staring inward. Footsteps echoed in the dirt as the cruch of gravel drifted to Lyra’s ears. A hazy figure began to take shape until his form became completely visible. He might have been an aristocrat from long ago or perhaps from as recent as the current era. His face was that of an old man but where his eyes should have been there was only melded flesh and subtle indentations. He wore robes of blood red which made the pallor of his skin stand out starkly against the color. He was mostly solid but as one looked down to the earth where he stood, his form became translucent. In any other setting he might have been considered a noble scholar. The many eyes turned their attention back to Lyra. The voice of the Monument spoke but where many voices had joined their words together, it was now just this figure who exchanged them with the ancient lady.

“We know who you are. Do you?” It was a simple question accompanied by the slight arching of one eyebrow.

“Your assessment is incorrect. The woman sought answers. We gave them. Those answers led her to you.”

The many eyes that drifted in the air blinked. When they opened, there was a ripple of movement in the air. As though shifting the veil of a mirage, the immense form of a spidery creature could be seen for the briefest of moments. Mountainous and twisted, with webs extending from its body threading through the mists in all directions. But just as clearly as its form was there, it was gone again leaving only those many eyes and the spectral form of the old scholar.

“There are no others like you.”

[Lyra]

Had she been wrong after all? It seemed so, though Lyra struggled to not see connection when there wasn't any. Coincidence? That the Questions the Iron Queen asked lead her ultimately to her escape? She doubted it, or she chose to doubt it for the accept that it had not been plot meant that everything was simply chance. There had been far too many 'occurances' of late for Lyra to ever suspect that anything that came to her now was by chance.

Thus when the old man made his presence known, she turned suspicious eyes on him. Her gaze flicked between the creature and the old man, uncertain of the connection.

In their soul space, Naila shifted as if peaking out from behind her hiding place.

Guess that was a wrong question too. She said, half in jest and half in concern.

So it seems. And Lyra sighed. She saw it when it happened, that flash of something more deep within the mist. Naila shuddered, but Lyra once more found herself curious. Had the entire trip been pointless? The old man, or the Monument's avatar she supposed, seemed to say as much.

"The difficult thing with questions," Lyra said almost absently to herself, "Is knowing what the right one is I suppose."

Instinctively Lyra passed a hand through her hair, frustration coloring her expression as she looked the man up and down, "You say there are no others like me? Very well Ale'fira, then tell me. Who are you, and what do you think you know of me that I know not?"

"Lady of Whispers"

[Paragon]

There was a yawning silence as they observed the ramifications of their answer. The scholarly old man clasped his hands before him patiently as he watched the frustration color Lyra’s expression. His eyeless face remained blank.

“We are what we have chosen to be. The Monument. An edifice unmoved by the passage of time’s stalwart march. We watch. We wait. We listen.” More than that, the Monument did not say. What it left unspoken was exactly what it was watching, waiting and listening for. It considered her question or rather her accusation that they did not know what they spoke on. A rumbling chuckle emanated across the Third Deep of the Warrens. It was like the creaking of ancient wood, bending and moaning as it swayed in the winds.

“Your implication that we know not of which we speak is heard. It is noted with amusement. To that we say, are you actually broken or have you chosen to believe that you are?” The old man quirked his head in a decidedly stiff motion. It was unnatural in the sharpness of its movement. The many eyes blinked out of sync and as each opened once more, Lyra was reflected in their dark crimson depths. Different pieces of her. Joy. Pain. Suffering. Sorrow. Agony. Ecstacy. Hate. Love. Loss. All of the emotions and possibilities that one person could experience were reflected in its eyes. Then with a single unified blink, the scarlet eyes were blank once more.

“You speak of what you know. What do you know? You have been told that you are broken. Are you? You have been made to believe that you have lost something. Have you? What is it that you have lost that you cannot regain? Is it knowledge? Are you not learning? Can you not learn again? Is it power? Do you not have power now? Can you not gain it again?” The old man leaned forward but it was a jerky motion. The sound of bones popping and creaking could be heard as he moved.

“What is it you seek to gain? Yourself? Are you not yourself? Or is it that you seek to become who you were irreverent of who you could become?” The old man spread his hands and beside him appeared the shade of two women. Both of whom resembled Lyra as she truly was...or could be.

“You know not who you are because you have chosen not to know. You know not what you know because you have decided to cling to what was instead of what is.” The shades of the two women vanished as the old man brought his hands together once more.

“So, who are you? We know who you are. Who you were. Who you could be.” Another quirk of their head. “Do you?”

[Lyra]

Confusion, uncertainty, disbelief. She didn't, couldn't know what to say to such words. She felt as if she had been slapped in the face, and simply stared open-mouthed at the old man as if he had indeed grown 2 heads.

"I..." The words caught in Lyra's throat, and she snapped her mouth shut with such force that her teeth audibly clicked together.

What is he talking about? Naila whispered, but her voice was silenced with a mental shrug as Lyra looked up at the deep eyes of the Monument.

Pain, sorry, agony, love... So much of her was there, shown in details that the woman had never thought possible. As quickly as the revelations came they were gone and the old elf was left staring dumbly at the old man and the two visages of herself. Was this a trick? A riddle? Of course, she was broken. She had felt that pain, the shattering. She even had a piece of herself returned to her, had she not? Nonsense, utter foolishness.

Or is it? A small voice, deep within seemed to whisper.

"I am... Lyrielle." She began, though her words were hesitant.

Or are you Lyra?

Lana?

Reima?

Mirai?

Name after name began to tumble through Lyra's mind as a floodgate had suddenly been opened. Things she had forgotten or chose not to remember, blinked in and out of her mind's eye as she shivered and hugged herself. Names, faces, voices, thoughts, and ideas over and over again spilled through her. Some she knew as people she had touched with her whispers, others she had played the part of. Still, others were unknown, hidden to herself. Why now? Why was she thinking of all of these now?

Was it the Monument? The questions themselves? Or, perhaps, what the creature said was in part correct? Was she hiding things from herself, choosing to be broken? Choosing to not remember? But then, what were those pieces of herself she felt? Who was Odison? Where did the necklace that Fawn wore come from?

10,000 years was too long to live... And in that moment Lyra realized something. She couldn't remember how long she had existed. The circumstances of her birth, the time between. Holes upon holes in her memories that seemed so sinister now, maliciously put in place by her own twisted mind. Who had she been? Who was the Lady of Whispers? Who was Lyra? Was she really broken by Eikan, or had he simply imprisoned her and fragmented her power? Was she her power, or was her power her?

Lyra thought she heard something like the cracking of glass, and she blinked, finding her hands pressed against her forehead as the room seemed to sway ever so slightly.

"I..." For the first time in thousands of years, Lyra found herself speechless. Frozen, pained, confused. Things had been so simple before. She was Lyrielle tu Kovash Elmari. She was the Lady of Whispers, broken and shattered, and now sought to piece herself back together to obtain her past power. That was simply the way of things. Things that were broken wanted to be whole again, didn't they? But... What she was, that Lyrielle she remembered was so scattered, pieces upon pieces. Did she know who Lyrielle truly was any longer? If she did, would she want to go back to that? She had never, in all of her sane years, considered it. Hadn't she been broken long before the final battle? Were the holes in her memories from the shattering, or were they...

"Who was I," Lyra straightened slowly, pushing a stray hair back into place as she steadily rearranged her clothing. She stared straight into the monument's great red eyes, searching deep, desperation thinly veiled by determination, "If it is true, that I am holding myself back... Then what could I be?"

[Paragon]

“What you have always been.”

The old man began to grow more distant. The landscape around Lyra began to rush past her or perhaps she was rushing past it? Little by little the form of the old man became less and less discernable as those scarlet eyes became more and more the focus of her attention. They never grew smaller though it felt perhaps that the space they were allowed to occupy grew larger. Until finally, Lyra looked upon the landscape as though she stood upon the edge of an immense canyon and in that canyon, The Monument was revealed.

A colossal creature of spindly legs that jutted out from a bulbous core at odd angles. An infinite number of blazing red eyes peered at Lyra from all directions as those legs touched upon unseen walls, into the skies and down into the very bowels of the earth itself. Webs like tendrils of mist extended from its gargantuan body as it regarded Lyra from within the heart of its perch. A thousand voices spoke with single purpose.

W̶̲̘̠̔̒͆̿͝h̸̢̘̤̜̦͊̑̎̾͝ą̴̝̳̍͠t̸̺̮̟̖͉͔̞̦͇͋́͌̚ë̴̺͇́͗̓͛͘v̵̖̒͊̿̈́̈́̓͠e̸̥̳̰͖̠͙̫͓̫̮̅́̂r̷͔͈̓̀̀̀̿͆͒̂͒̚ ̶͙̺͓͙̪̗̰̺̤̳̍̒̇̚ẏ̵͈̺̮͍̰͎̗̇̓̌͗͋́̄̐͜o̷̢̞͓̟͇̺͔̜͚̓̂̐͆̊͌̚ű̷̬͆̂̆̃̉ ̸̧̛̥̦̈̀d̴̨̖͙͖̳̻̘̗̈́̌̉̕e̷̮̭͙̖̜͐̾̀͝s̷̡̡̛̽͐͛̅̔̔ì̶̫͇͎̑̃̄͠r̴̰̈́̕e̴͙̝͉͓̠̲̳̒͛̽͌̿̾̅̎̿̆͜ ̶̨͔̰̪̘̈́̋̊̓͝͝ţ̴̫̟̯̩̣͊o̴̧̺̩̩̻̣͇̱͚̺͋̇̍̏͘ ̴̢͙̭̠͚̫̦̗̯͔͂̎̍b̷̧͎̘̫̲͓͓͔͎͒͋̾͛͛̀́̓̏ȩ̵͖̙̜̞̈́̊̎͝ͅ.̷̇̈́̓̇̄̏̃͘͜

...to be...

...Desire....

The winds gathered and the mists returned. Lyra's vision of The Monument blurred. Each of the crimson eyes closed until one by one they blinked out like lights in the darkness. Very quickly, Lyra was left standing upon the edge of that cliff with only the fog to keep her company. The Monument was gone but the feeling that it still watched lingered.