Legend of Ransera

Phocion Val'Evelard Princeps of Gens Phaedryn-Sol'Aværys was more frequently known by the less grandiloquent moniker of 'Vigil Phocion'. It was simple, as he was to be perceived. Such was the custom of the order in which he served... indeed the order to which he was committed by powers that felt lofty enough to be called fate. He more frequently called them 'Family'. Whatever one called them, they had set him on this path of shadow and he had obliged. Moonborn as he was, one might think he favoured umbral darkness over brilliant lustre, and yet his lot made him covet that which was denied him.

It wasn't as though Vigil Phocion was forbidden from sunlight or denied entry to the Luxium. He, more than most, would be afforded great freedom almost anyone in the empire, if he invoked his lofty position as a member of the smallest, highest caste in the Solunarian hierarchic pyramid. But he was so rarely afforded the luxury of making such invocations. And so, as the Overcity reveled overhead in celebration of their traditional harvest festival, he remained in the dim light of his cavernous office- situated in the Under-Palace.

The Palatium Umbrarum, on rare occasions, hosted the grandiose royal court of Solunarium. When no sovereign sat the Obsidian Throne of he Palatium Umbrarum, it was occupied by the stewards of House Phaedryn and headquartered their charges: The Vigilia Argenti. And it had been many years since a Moonborn monarch had ruled the realm. Fate, it seemed, favoured the sun. And why shouldn't it? The sun asserted itself- Warming the backs of those who turned from it to serve as an ever-present reminder that it ruled the sky. The moon was easier thing to overlook... Even in the cloudless desert skies that loomed above their capital. Phocion was easy to overlook. It served him well in his profession, if not his spirit.

He rose from his desk, straightening out the long, black uniform he donned, with its subtle silver trimming and matching medals. Turning, he stepped toward the great window overlooking the sprawling city that had been built up amongst ancient ruins of some unknown civilisation... His city. Gentle, quiet, and specked with points of light below that reminded one of the stars one couldn't see above.

He heard footfalls, before the sound of a knock at the high, double doors that led into his lunar solar.

"Enter." He instructed, in a voice barely loud enough to be heard through the heavy doors.

"Sorry you need settle for me." Phocion offered, without turning from his position at the window. His voice seemed just as soft as it had through the door, which meant it was actually softer- As if the Vigil knew exactly how much effort to expend to be heard in at least several situations, and elected not to exceed that. Slowly he turned his head to one side, to glance over his shoulder at Raithen. He shrugged it lanquidly.

"Well enough. How fare you?" He responded as he turned from the window and gestured for his half-brother to claim a seat across the desk. It might have felt more like an appointment than a fraternal drop-in to Raithen, but not to Phocion. It hadn't, after all, been scheduled.

As he took his own seat, high-backed but simple, he reached over to pour a cup of water from the pitcher to his right and slide it across to Raithen. The room was dimly lit, and much of what light shone at present poured in from the window behind Phocion, so his pale face dwelt in shadow though his silver-white eyes almost seemed to reflect lunar luminescence- Twin moons at twilight. They roamed Raithen, noting how his sunkissed features were maturing beyond adolescence and into adulthood.

He cleared his throat,

"And what as been keeping you occupied of late, Frater?"

"Ah yes." Phocion sighed as he replied, "I received your invitation." And their mother had followed up to emphasise her expectations of fraternal support from the elder of the two. "I shall attend." He added mildly, without getting into the wherefores of the matter.

"Are congratulations in order?" Phocion wasn't entirely clear on the reason for Raithen's departure. It clearly wasn't a matter of disgrace, if the Crown was troubling themselves with a ceremony.

"At any rate, I hope mother and I will suffice. I may be encroaching on state secrets in so saying, but our dear sister Valæra is indisposed. The work of our order has sent her abroad to visit our allies in Auris. I hope you aren't terribly disappointed..." He paused for a beat, and glanced briefly over his shoulder to the window.

"I am surprised you aren't partaking in the Solstice festivity." He noted, blithely. "I know it is rather diminished this year with so much of its usual flare being reserved for the centennial celebration of Her Divine Radiance's reign." He went about the usual formalities, even though they both had solid foundations to disfavour the reigning queen. She had, after all, been among those directly responsible for the summary execution of their distaff grandfather. But the forms were the forms and Phocion was an obedient scion of Solunarium.

"Still, you are better built for ostentation than for austerity such as this..." The wing of the Palatium Umbrarum that was occupied by the Sentinels was spartan indeed. Even the residences and ceremonial halls located in the northerly wings were ascetic when compared to the decor of the sunlit sister palace. Of course when it was occupied by a sovereign things were spruced up accordingly, but the differences remained stark.

"Will you be taking up residence here again indefinitely?"

Raithen had no such luck that Phocion hadn't noticed the shift in his wings. Phocion's job was noticing things and, even having spent much of his childhood with an Avialæ, it had been a spell and they were still a curiosity to him.

"Do mind the furniture, won't you? Like everything in this bloody kingdom, it's antique." He listened to the explanation of Raithen's discharge and shrugged,

"Congratulations, then. I suppose part of me always expected you to transfer to the Honour Guard, but I forget that we of Phædryn are not eligible, given the pedigree requirements..." He grumbled that last bit. It wasn't something he'd have uttered in mixed company, but they were all Phædryns here.

"Family is always first." Phocion echoed, grimly, saying without saying that the self came second at best. He arched a brow at the mention of mercenary aspiration. His initial instinct was to assume that their mother would find that unsuitable, but quickly- and well before Raithen expounded upon his reasoning- the Vigil saw the merit of it. To think of outward honour was such a gaudy, Golden notion, where he was a child of subtle silver. There was measurable merit in fostering mercenary allies. The walls were closing in ever more tightly around the Sanguinist elite who basked in their sunlit sister palace. And Phocion knew that their mother had fostered allies of which even her children were ignorant.

"That is a wise course, if it does not beg suspicion... Mother will likely have to feign coolness toward you for a time..." Was that a brotherly warning offered out of concern? Phocion's eyes shifted downward toward his desk. "But I'm certain she will tell you that herself." He paused for a beat, and when he lifted his silver-white eyes there was a glassy vulnerability that Raithan rarely ever saw.

"Did you know that I was able to travel abroad?" He asked in a tone that sounded seeking. What it sought was for Raithen to discern, "To Kalzasi in the North?"

"It was..." Phocion paused, a rare, albeit faint smile crossing his fair features, "...remarkable. The whole experience. Flying by night across the great Crystal Sea, camping by day with a stalwart crew." He was rarely this verbose, let alone this engaged. It might have looked bland on another face, or to one who wasn't familiar with this one, but he seemed downright enthusiastic.

"We camped in Auris in the shadow of Kaledon, and made sacrifices to the Founders. One could feel their presence in the very air there. They spoke not to us, but one could sense them in the ash on the ground and the smoke in the air.

"After that, one party made for Zaichaer and I led the others to Kalzasi. It was such a peculiar place, so... Vibrant and... disorderly. There was a charm to it... At least for a short trip like mine was, but I can scarcely imagine how they function in the day-to-day. With their patron missing, it was easy to forget the place was afflicted by the blight of Arcas..." He trailed off, shaking his head- as if apologetic for his enthusiasm and for taking up so much air in their exchange.

"It was... The experience of a lifetime. I'd never have had that, if Valæra weren't otherwise occupied." Phocion knew well that he was the second choice. He didn't know what work Valæra was about in Auris, but it had been taking up quite a bit of time and she still wasn't back. That meant the High Sentinel must deemed it to be of incredible import. Valæra was her natural heir in so many ways, and they'd never been apart this long as far as he could recall.

"There were of course many in Kalzasi..." He gestured broadly toward Raithen, and his visage cooled somewhat, "...of your ilk."