Legend of Ransera

The call had come abruptly and without warning. Finn had been at the Vigilia Argenti Prætorium in the midst of a training session with a martial adept of the Silver Sentinels, when his Vastian pædagoga halted suddenly, and let out a call of "Pausa!" as she spotted Sentinel Phocion in the doorway.

"Forgive the interruption, Vigilia Rauda. Subvigil Finn has been summoned to return the Palatium Umbrarum." The implacable Phocion, looking a bit more animated than usual... perhaps anxious. The enchantments in his uniform would prevent an incursion into his Symphony, but Finn was an observant sort and had spent enough time in the company of the Moonborn prince to recognise this was not a casual call.

"Towel off and join me in the corridor, if you would..." Phocion nodded to them both, before stepping out into the hallway to wait for Finn to join him. When the human peregrinus emerged, the elf immediately started to stalk down the hall, expecting that Finn would infer to join him without his needing to say as much verbally. Instead, he began to speak on more pertinent and less perfunctory matters.

"I've received a missive from His Exalted Highness, Arvælyn Princeps. He is currently attending a meeting of the Consilium Draconum back at the palace. It seems His Exalted Majesty the Crownwyrm feels obliged to better acquaint himself with the favourite of his heir. Make of that what you will." Phocion offered, as if he wasn't sure what to make of the news himself.

"Whatever the case, the council meeting will conclude within the hour and I am disinclined to keep the Umbrian Monarch waiting. Let us make haste. I've already reserved a sitting room near the council chamber and sent for more suitable attire than your training gear for when you are in the draconic presence." By the time he was done, they were approaching not the exit to the Prætorium, but Phocion's office.

"Consider yourself briefed. Now, vault yourself to the Presence Chamber where servi are waiting to conduct you to your waiting room. Dismissed."


As indicated, there were servants in the otherwise empty presence chamber poised to attend to Finn, who leapt to action as soon as he appeared. He was encouraged to follow them, and offered water, fruit and nuts in case his training exploits left him peckish. By and by, he was led into a sitting room, where a selection of his own finery (and a few unfamiliar options, should he be feeling adventurous) were on offer. There was even a servus with Kinetic abilities, who offered to give him a quick æther bath once he'd undressed in case he'd worked up any sweat or grime during his martial regimen.

He was just barely vested, when a knock sounded at the door to indicate that the concilium's work had concluded. He would be led out into the hallway, where he briefly crossed paths with the councillors on their way out of the chamber- The starkest of the group were four strikingly beautiful elves with platinum hair, fair skin that seemed to glimmer with a metallic sheen and violet eyes. Through his Rune, Finn would note that each figure had the same illegible, nebulous... almost alien Symphony that Kyrin had always exhibited, even before his true nature had been revealed. It would be apparent, straight away, that these were not Platinum Elves, but the Seemings of the Crownwyrm's siblings. Two feminine, two masculine, all beautiful. Their purple eyes regarded him curiously, but they did not pause to greet him. Instead, speaking softly amongst themselves with graceful voices in a tongue with which Finn was not acquainted.

When he was led inside, he would feel the familiar, calming influence of Arvælyn's Symphony, from where he was seated at the council table. At the head of the table, facing him was a figure whose face he did not recognise, but whose murky Symphony he did. It was that of Kyrin, or rather Zalkyriax. No more did he don the face of Aværys, but a pale-skinned visage framed by long, platinum hair that covered his shoulders.

"With the liberation and return of His Divine Radiance the Deus Imperator, it seemed meet that I should adopt another guise for the benefit of mortals and..." He glanced around the chamber with an arched brow, "...the local architecture." For indeed, high and vaulted though the ceilings may have been, the chamber hadn't the breadth to house the Crownwyrm in his true form.

"Won't you join us?" The voice was the same as Kyrin's, although the face was different. A hearty baritone, rather than the thunderous basso profundo that had echoed through the Fortis Lacerta Arena on the night of the great revelation.

"My son suggests I have been negligent in acquainting myself with you. Please be seated." He gestured with a pale hand to the seat directly to his left, opposite where Arvælyn sat smiling over to him with a sheepishly apologetic shrug. Finn had all but asked for this, though Arry was certain he'd have preferred more time to prepare.

Phocion simultaneously furrowed and arched his brow as he plucked the slip of paper from his desk with a gloved hand and held it by the corner, letting it dangle as he turned it between his index finger and thumb. He half scoffed, half sniggered shaking his head.

"Honestly." He muttered to himself, as he hung it over the bin and let it waft down to join the rubbish therein. If he wasn't pressed further on the matter, the notoriously reclusive Phædryn prince planned to pretend the succinct invitation was never posed.


"I did not infer that your influence infused Arvælyn's insinuations." Zalkyriax replied, ignoring the compliment to the æsthetic choice of his current form. The face may have changed, but its still, stony stoicism was the same as when he'd worn the visage of Aværys. His countenance was as an edifice carved into a volcano. Mostly an unmoving monument, but all knew that eruptive flames churned behind its foundations.

Silence followed his prior statement. He merely stared at Finn with impassive, violet eyes until Arvælyn's voice drew his gaze to his right.

"Perhaps some wine?" He suggested with a nervous twitch of the wings at his back.

"Very well." Zalkyriax nodded slightly and servi rushed to attend them with platinum, jewel-encrusted goblets that looked better suited to sacrificial blood rites than casual, family gatherings. Fittingly, the wine poured was a red as human vitæ. "You are, of course, at a disadvantage." The dragon mused to the bard. "I have known you as you are, and you have known me in a deceptive guise. Even if you did due diligence and read up on me, or perchance visited the museum dedicated to my kin and me, little is chronicled that ought to be relied upon."

Arvælyn reached for his goblet and drew it closer to his edge of the table, but didn't sip yet.

"I expect you've questions..." Zalkyriax trailed off, as he stared at the pale-faced human. "Pose them."

Zalkyriax inclined his head in answer to the expression of gratitude, and Arvælyn looked anxiously back and forth between the two until Finn answered the Crownwyrm's unkindly broad opener.

"I was desperate for greatness," The draconic elf chuckled, "Hardly was I certain it held any place in my destiny. I was just prepared to fake greatness even if fate denied it me in sooth."

"A part of you was subdued, which would have alluded to grandeur and invited danger. You are here, because you survived and the winds of fate blew you desertward. But you are also worthy. Inborn greatness is exiguous without the augmentation of the earned."

Though the content of Zalkyriax' sentiment was encouragement, the framing felt to Arry like chastisement. He lowered his head, half in a nod and half in defeated deference.

"Yes, Pater."

Both of their attentions returned to Finn.

"I do not mean to condescend in saying that it would take you many long lifetimes to ken aught of my mind, or that of any ancient, conscious force. To embark upon that exploit, know you this: I am Atraxia, as are my kin. In this realm of refugees, we were the first. Aggrieved with our prior lot and unfocused upon how to correct it, we lived in unnatural chaos for many years. At intervals we observed, at intervals we ignored, and betimes we participated. ...But I speak of memories belonging to other lifetimes. Today we participate."

Arry, for his part, seemed rather fascinated by this speech. If it was a sentiment he'd heard thus far, it hadn't been imparted in this particular way and it struck him. "I am Atraxia, as are my kin." He'd said, and Arvælyn was kin to the Crownwyrm.

Zalkyriax tipped his head back, laughing at the request.

"You were well chosen by the Archon of Ambition to seek such boons. Moreso for having the boldness to express them so directly. I know not what you will become, boy, but your present tongue, though silver it may be, was not formed to utter the language of dragons. I have seen men's skulls shatter to ash in the trying. Were the heart of my child not a factor, I would not begrudge you the risk, but things being as they are it is not a whim I would indulge." He tilted his head to one side, hints of the reptilian evident in the gesture, albeit executed by the swanlike neck of an elf, rather than the serpentine neck of a dragon in its natural state.

"As for stories? I would not shirk my mystique for the mickle masses, but for the heartsworn of my son, I will not withhold the odd tale of yore."

"Vallenor is spoken. Draconic is incanted." Though there was no malice in so saying, Zalkyriax's directness (coupled with his nebulous Symphony) might have made the statement sound dismissive of Finn's achievement.

"I would not know where to begin..." The Crownwyrm considered, momentarily. "My memory is long. I have lived several lives and many mortal lifetimes." He took Finn's mention of the Leh'anafel for prompting.

"I know of the order... The Children of Re'ha dabbled with such things ere they graced the desert in realms I only ever knew as battlegrounds. Elements of their ways traveled South. Some were lost, some evolved, others are preserved better here than anywhere in the world. It is a strange thing that the ancestors of refugees who fled Sol'Vallen in disgrace today uphold some of its elder ways more accurately than the origin point." It wasn't exactly a story, but that of the Leh'anafel was not his to tell.

"We will work at the pesky issue of your mortal lifespan, Finn." Arvælyn protested, "If there is anywhere such obstacles can be surmounted, I believe it is here."

The Crownwyrm remained mum on that particular point and, though a goblet rested before him, he had yet to imbibe from it.

"I think I should like to hear the music of he who would fan the florid flame of the Leh'anafel toward rekindling." The dragon decided. Was that the hint of a smile eroding the stony stoicism that set his visage so still? "Would you indulge me in this, Finn?"

"Pater, please..." Arvælyn grimaced, "It isn't fair to ask a performer to present something impromptu- Least of all a renowned bard!"

"Ah... Well, it needn't be this tide. Nor even this decade. I am nothing if not patient, but it would please me to hear."

"Yea or næ, He would doubtless be impressed if you found your own path to deathlessness..." The Crownwyrm observed, almost blithely. He did, after all, know the Deus Imperator for longer and with greater intimacy than most. And it would certainly align with the domains of Aværys to pursue such an exploit.

Arvælyn, for his part, wondered whether immortality was something toward which Finn was naturally inclined. Perhaps, rather, it was the influence of his forebear's crown upon his brow... Perhaps it was his own influence upon the human. He could see that Finn was changing, and he wondered at it. Arvælyn loved the innocence and sweetness of his amatus, but those were the elements that also caused them to be at cross purposes most often. Would their relationship be the same if Finn lost them? Would be himself after bearing a Mark of Majesty for a year? A decade? Would he be himself after being tied to Arvælyn for so long, irrespective of the Emblem?

Zalkyriax just looked blankly at Arvælyn as the boy protested. He didn't appear confused by the grievances, but neither did he appear indulgent. His eyes darted to Finn when he spoke up for himself.

"Yes. I would hear this song." He replied without hesitation, "But we can send for an instrument if you would prefer to be accompanied. Or even a musician, if you'd prefer to keep your hands free and use your Craft to instruct some player in the performing of your composition." He may not have shared his son's aversion to an impromptu command performance, but he didn't wish for the human to feel handicapped by a lack of resources when so many were readily available in this well-stewarded imperial palace.

Arry blinked at his father, then his lover, then shrugged and took his drink as he sat far back in his chair, and arched a brow. To be fair, he was quite interested in this composition as well, now that he knew it was about him.