Legend of Ransera

Arvælyn absconded from the manor house in haste. Unseen, he set a serva toppling to the floor- the washbasin in her hands shattering and sending water spilling across the tile as he sped to the door and hurled it open to storm out. Teeth clenched and wings flexing, he marched to the Via Radians- the wide, beautifully appointed and landscaped boulevard between the Luxian Sol'Aværys Prædia that led to Mount Sorokyn and the Palace on the right, or the Templum Solis Radiant and greater Solunarium on the left. Arvælyn marched across, passing unseen between the other Prædia across from his family's and making his way to the Umbrian entrance nearest the Museum Draconum. There, he let the Masking effects of his Supremacy fall to the terror of the attendant guards, who bowed as he passed them. The silver collar of divinity dimmed as, unwittingly, his Re'hyæan soul was crying out for comfort he didn't consciously know how to seek. Nevertheless, it was received as soon as Supremacy's camouflage was no longer in effect.

Come to me, she beckoned. Meet me at the Templum.

Arvælyn sidestepped the massive lift and spread his wings, launching over the precipice as wide-eyed commuters looked on in shock. He was even surprised at himself, as he jostled through the still air on uncertain wings. He fought to keep taut these muscles not yet accustomed to this exercise. He glided more than he flew, and after a turbulent start, exploited his Kinetic abilities to smooth out the ride and guide him toward his destination far to the Southeast of his launching point. He might have been thrilled at the physical feeling rushing over him under different circumstances, but his focus was very much elsewhere.

Cithæra had cleared the great hall of the Templum Mediæ Noctis Matris on 'matters of royal import' by the time her son arrived. He rushed, weeping into her arms and, for the first time in his life he could remember, she felt like a mother ought to feel in his stunted reckoning.

"Tell me what tr-..." Cithæra gasped, as her query was interrupted by the answer. Feeling ill-equipped to verbalise his grievances, Arvælyn opened his Symphony and projected what he'd seen and perceived in the Prædium above. The Princeps Sibylla clenched her teeth, eyes brimming with tears under the puissance of Arvælyn's Mesmer. She had to fight against it to some degree, and recognised that a lesser equipped individual might have been pushed toward madness. There was a word in Vallenor for the weight of a dragon's woe, and this gave her a more consummate understanding of that distinction than she'd ever brooked. By and by he released, as he pushed those memories down in favour of an urging... Console me.

Cithæra sighed out the breath that had caught in her throat under the gravity of Arvælyn's grief.

"You know that your brother is an innocent in this. In our culture he-..." She winced as Arvælyn sharply commanded in a chorus of voices shrieking sforzando in her mind.

"CONSOLE!"

She lifted a hand to her temple, cringing and quakingly nodded.

"Very well. Let us find a more sound outlet for your wrath. Clericus!" She called out, eliciting a black-clad priest with silver chains hanging from his robes to enter, his garb clinking with every step as he led a row of four chained Vastians and one half-elf, all cowed and guided by the cleric's Mesmer. They were unnaturally agreeable as they were led to the Altar and stood before mother and son. The priest nodded silently to Cithæra, before slinking off to the percussion of chainlink.

"My son. You must not-..."

"Do not speak to me of 'must'!"

Cithæra sharply lifted an apologetic (or was it defensive) hand.

"Only to say that Sacrifice is a sterling means of loosing aggression... venting rage." She gestured to the row of prisoners, "These scelestos slandered your name in the Subforum. They called you an upjumped peregrinus and sought to foment dissent against you. They are guilty of sedition and subject to House Sol'Zalkyrion's Lex Agni. These, Highness, are your enemies. Let them serve your Faith as well as your wrath."

"Very well. But I do not want them placid..." Arvælyn lifted his hand and with a sharp gesture, he severed the tethers of the priest's Mesmer that tranquilised these prisoners. Suddenly they all blinked in terrified awareness of their circumstance.

"Pro Deo..." Arvælyn snarled, feeling a churning heat brimming in his chest. "Et DOMINA!" From that final vowel shot forth a wave of white hot flame in a blinding beam that scorched through the torsos of each prisoner, severing their upper halves from their lower and sending the scorching remains to the dais on which Varvara's alter stood. The Prince felt the profuse terror and agonising pain of their final moments, relishingly allowing their agony to colour his Symphony. For the flash of a moment his anger and grief were supplanted by utter ecstasy. The altar seemed to respond, causing the flames to flare and subsist until the corpses were naught but ash that floated up toward the altar to be consumed in its spillways.

Cithæra searched the snarling face of her son as he regarded his handiwork, his Aura was so difficult to read Marked as he was by She of the Scourge. He turned to look at her with roiling eyes and, through clenched teeth pluming with smoke, he growled.

"More."

Cithæra slowly turned her head to regard the priest and nodded. He bowed and departed to collect more lambs for the slaughter... or were they scapegoats?


A servus would wake Finn with an urgent message. Arvælyn had already departed on a brief trip to Tertium on royal business, but Finn was being summoned to the Vigilia Argenti Prætorium to the offices of the High Sentinel. Once he was groomed and dressed to his satisfaction, he would either walk or portal to the Prætorium interior, where he would be led directly to the austere chamber that Cithæra kept as her primary place of business.

"Finn." She glanced up from her affairs. She glanced to his recently severed arm, but elected not to ask after its condition. She already knew.

"Won't you take a seat?" She gestured, "I've contrived for us to enjoy a bit of privacy. His Exalted Highness will be joining us as soon as he returns from Tertium, but there are a few... delicate matters I would broach while we are out of reach of his Symphony." Varvara's Mark complicated matters a bit, even when it came to Cithæra's potent magic. It diluted the effects of her Semblance to the point that even she could not ascertain the range of his Mesmer since he acquired grandmastery over the Craft. She had suspicions that its reach was longer than either of them might have preferred.

"To begin, timing your proposal to coincide with the acquisition of a mortal wound and a great deal of sympathy was rather a statement. Don't you think?"

"Yes..." Cithæra said, considering the case Finn made for his valiance on the mission abroad. "You did well." She knew he was nervous in her presence. She was accustomed to that from most people. It was rare that she needed to exploit her Mesmer when it came to intimidation. In this instance, she would extend her Symphony in an overture to assuaging it. Of course she knew Finn would sense her exploit, but he would also know that it was not coming from a place of manipulation. She wished to put him at ease so they could have a candid conversation.

"I did not summon you as Vigilia Magna to debrief a Subsentinel, Finn. I summoned you as a mother of sons who care for you. We need to speak about Phædryn." She paused, and rose from her chair, slinking around the desk to perch herself on the edge nearest Finn. She looked down at him with gentle eyes.

"Arvælyn is a sensitive soul when it comes to some things... When it comes to you in particular. I know that you've been very aware of this for much of your relationship, but since the ascendancy of his Mesmer and the acquisition of Her mark, he's been struggling and concealing it..." She pursed her lips and paused, pondering for a moment.

"You and I share a burden, Finn. We are beloved of dragons. They are wont to forget how brief our lives are and how many adventures we might be keen to explore during our ephemeral existence. We have the passion of urgency. Phædryn may be young, but he is a dragon. And you are his treasure." She reached down to cup his cheek with her hand, her eyes softening even more with empathy.

"It is not fair to you. Most mortal lovers are not cursed with this heavy yoke. Most lovers can enjoy dalliances, if not of the flesh, then at least of the mind without consequence. You cannot. He knows and he feels when your affection wanders afield of him. He reads natural inclination as rejection or incursion..." She let her hand slide from his cheek to rest at his shoulder.

"You put Raithen in danger, Finn. You didn't mean to. It was an innocent thing, and I saw to it that Arvælyn found alternative outlets to his wrath, but... I know what happened to your friend in Kalzasi... the Runeforger? And I ask that you be cautious. Phædryn and Raithen are not as close as I'd like, and there's a cold severity to the prince... If something happened to Raithen, I would be-..." Her words caught in her throat, and she turned her face sharply away, her free hand rising to stroke a thumb beneath her eye.

"May Aværys protect him. Mark me, Finn. I can guide Arvælyn, but I cannot control him. He is... he stands above me in our social pyramid and by the Faith Varværyn I am as a thrall to him. Even when he is irrational." She withdrew her hand from Finn's shoulder and sat upright.

"That said... The Umbrium is breaking new ground and jettisoning old traditions. We will explore the political ramifications of a public marriage between yourself and my son, but please understand, whether public or private, what this commitment would represent to him. If you have wild oats yet to sow in your young, brief, human life, Finn, then I bide you- Do not take this step. Not unless you are absolutely certain this is a burden you're prepared to bear for the full term of your life. He would burn this world to ash for you. If you marry, it will be your duty to stop him from doing so."

Cithæra pursed her lips.

"I do like you, Finn. I always have. If I am difficult to read it is because of how I was raised and what my function is in our society. We of Solunarium may be a cagey lot, but we are honest when the time comes for candour." She rose and placed her palm atop Finn's head, ruffling his hair slightly before stalking over to a tray and pouring cups of wine for them both. She brought them back to the desk and placed one in front of Finn before returning to her austere high-backed chair.

"I am glad that you've found kinship with two of my children. Raithen, particularly, wants for kindness in his life in a way the others do not require. The Avialæ are born to pine until they bond, and such connections are difficult to achieve here. He stands, after all, astride two worlds..." She trailed off.

"I did not invite you here to forbid you his friendship, nor to overrule your plans. Kinetic initiation is different. It ought not draw your souls to such vulnerable places that may be taken amiss. But I did bring you here to prepare you for Phædryn's suspicions... To consider the toll your actions, however understandable, may exact from others in your orbit. You might even consider bringing Phædryn in to aid the next initiation. He is a Master Kineticist in his own right, and it would do both brothers well to know one another more intimately. I would fear for Raithen less if Arvælyn knew him better." She cracked a slight smile,

"The one great boon you've done the realm in all of this, Finn, is in catalysing Phædryn's increased fervour for Sacrifice. The antidote to his anguish has proven to be the blood of those he sends to slake Their thirsts." Cithæra's smile softened again,

"I know that you love him, and that your heart is not as natively inclined toward jealousy. He is more the dragon than the elf in this. And perhaps it is time you learnt more of his ilk." She reached under the surface of her desk and withdrew a scroll, passing it across to Finn.

"I've had this copied for you. Study it well and cast it into the fire when you've retained its contents." She took what may have been a fortifying sip of wine. "He will return at any moment, and he will know about what we have spoken. I thought it better he learn after than during our discussion. If you've anything to else you wish to impart before he returns, now is the time."

Cithæra cracked a wry smile, nodding in acknowledgment if not agreement.

"You have seen how I exhibit maternal affection, Finn. Who is to say I don't already feel it?" She paused to ponder, before electing to drop more of her guard and let this be a 'Come to Aværys' moment in their strange little relationship.

"You know my history... the fate of your amatus' distaff grandfather that may well have been visited upon his mother, as well. I have lived my entire life on a precipice. Her Divine Radiance held my life in her hand for most of it, and I had to manage my ambitions... or at least the outward expression of them, lest she squeeze her fist shut and crush me. Warmth does not come easily to most of my brood, but I find it particularly elusive. That is not to say that my love is not fiery fierce but, like magma, it tends to churn behind walls of adamant stone." Her smile broadened.

"If you could foster a fondness between my youngest, I would be grateful indeed. As for my eldest? You needn't exert yourself to draw blood from these Umbrian stones. We are princes, raised to particular purpose. Our stoicism is not born of malice. Raithen is Val'Aværyan, his prospects were different and his upbringing comparably lenient. Beyond that, his father was Avialæ... an histrionic folk, as I'm certain you know." She paused to take in a taste of wine.

A knock at the door.

"That's just as well. He's here." The absence Varvara's Mark left in the air around it was beginning to grow familiar to the Master Sembler. She could sense the clerk who knocked on his behalf, but not the prince himself.

"Come." She called, and lifted her hand to open the double doors symmetrically with her Kinetic Craft, revealing the Crown Prince of the Umbrium.

"I see you started without me." He observed, stepping forward with a slight scowl. "You told him, didn't you?"

"I may have the silver Emblem, but you yet have the silver tongue." Arvælyn snarled, but when Finn moved to intercept him and he caught sight of the arm he'd nearly lost, he softened at least enough to greet his betrothed with an embrace,

"Tertium was..." He blinked, seeming disarmed by Finn's gesture, or at least thrown off his trajectory. "What were you-..."

"Yes, I told him, Phædryn." Cithæra replied, "It was time. And you may think it meddling, but some news is better received from outsiders. You two have patterns... all relationships do. It is difficult to break those cycles from within, and so I asserted myself- Knowing what it might cost me."

Arvælyn knitted his brow.

"What it might cost you? What do you mean?" A silence passed between them. "Nevermind. Is that wine?" He stepped forward to pour for himself, before taking the seat next to Finn. "Is this meant to be some sort of confrontation to manage me?"

"No. It is as I said when I invited you: A discussion about your betrothal. I have told Finn and I will tell you that we are exploring the... temperature when it comes to the notion of a fruitless marriage. Of course many Solunarians will see it as purposeless, but if that's the worst of it I think we'll manage. You've succeeded in painting yourself as a maverick breathing fresh change into the stale Umbrian air, so it doesn't seem out-of-character. Now, if the complaints prove to be more fervent, we may find the endeavour more challenging. It's still not insurmountable if we employ our Mesmers to guide the public perception toward our preferences, that just becomes a lot of resources to devote to making you two feel confident in your relationship."

"Mum!" Arvælyn nearly spat out his wine, but worry not, dear reader, he managed to gulp it down without losing a drop just before his exclamation.

"Am I wrong, Finn?"