Legend of Ransera

“...and Her Divine Radiance is amenable to this?” Phocion arched a brow.

“Her Divine Radiance remains moot on this and all other points for the nonce, coz…” Vrædyn noted with a sigh, “And her Platinum avatar signs off on whatever the Consilium tells him to. You know you needn’t feign ignorance of Luxian affairs for my benefit, Vigil Phocion. We’re on the same side, now.”

“Force of habit.” Phocion chuckled,

“Force and Fire.” Vrædyn quipped, playing along with his kinsman’s joke. “Then we are agreed and our influence expands ever further.” Vrædryn smiled, rising to seal their compact in the traditional fashion: With an embrace. As the scribe jotted down the last of the notes, he would start at the burst of blinding light that suddenly flooded the conference chamber. Shielding his eyes with his hands he looked up to find the two princes, frozen in an embrace, were the source of the brazen beams. The light dimmed as the pair parted, Vrædyn’s glowing golden eyes gazing into Phocion’s striking silver, both of their wrists shining with the energy of their Emblems.

“Come, Soror.” Vrædryn intoned, “Let us collect our charge and hie us to Sorokyn’s Summit.” Phocion inclined his head, and both quit the room, leaving a befuddled scribe uncertain as to whether he should record that phenomenon in his notes or pretend it never transpired. (He would ultimately opt for the latter, fearing the alternative might land him in the College of Compliance.)
The subtle tethers that bound those who worshipped Her of the Scourge would draw the devoted down from the platform that rounded the mouth of the volcano to facilitate sacrifice and other rituals. Suddenly feeling their rites could wait until another day, they descended the winding path down to the Luxium. Many would pass three figures who were heading up the way they’d come. The passersby would take no note of the two royal princes sauntering hand-in-hand nor the hooded figure who followed them up the path.

When they arrived at the platform, the heat rising from the volcanic core and wafting on the breeze warmed their faces. The two Gods in the elven bodies of Their descendents looked to the North, and called forth to the Void in unison:

“In Vacuum vocamus! Domine tenebrarum exaudi canticum nostrum!” As They chanted, the dark smoke that plumed from Sorokyn shifted even darker, swirling into a small storm of utter blackness. By and by, a figure appeared in the midst of this pitchy portal.

“Annuimus te, Shæoth Divinus, Princeps Vacuum! Nos te ad nostram imperialem thronum invitamus! Quod Pantheo decrevimus, in Solunario agetur. Profer captivum et videte ut pactum nostrum impleamus!” Shæoth dragged another figure from the Void, this one smaller… limply it hung in the air until Shæoth and it descended to alight upon the platform as the portal closed above them. As the Dark One stepped toward them, the Solunarian Founders bowed in concert.

“Princeps Vacuum,” Aværys hailed in Vrædryn’s voice, “In accordance with Our covenant We are come. If thou wouldst condescend to breathe brief life back into the lungs of this poor wretch for the term of his trial, let Us begin. When he doth stir, We may set forth the terms of Our understanding and permit him to decide whether he can countenance the cost of returning to Our realm… or whether he should be evermore banishéd to thine.” He glanced down to the lifeless form of Endymion Len’Sælyan Æros, his throat slit in the clean line of a worthy Sacrifice, though his blood had yet to be claimed.

Aværys-Vrædyn sneered and Phocion-Varvara glared into the Void as Cælian eyes gawked back at their quondam realm.

“Ego sum Aværys, Rex Regnum. Look Upon My Works, Ye Mighty…” Quoth Aværys, “And Despair.” As the ill-starred dynasty faded back to their oblivion the Founders, via their progeny’s eyes, regarded the reanimated corpse of the starlit half-Fæ as he stirred. Varvara got straight to business, knowing how abhorred undead things were by the dragons who dwelt below. They were not like to brook the presence of such a creature for very long.

“Val’Sælyan Æros, thou hast miscalculated. Deceived wert thou by a creature of the Void masquerading as Our disciplus. This simulacrum of thy servus was tasked with seducing thee into suicide and did, with alacrity, succeed. Thy misadventure was his boon." Phocion's gloved hand rose to gesture mildly at the blackness above and behind Shæoth. "The Void is a depository for that which the Dei do discard. We have cast thee aside… dismissed thee in the past, and might have left thy soul to tarry thither…”

“However.” Aværys smirked, “Thy devotion did move Us. Though the premise was false the promise was true. E’en through the Void’s vaunted veil did We sense Thine intent…”

“And thy Sacrifice. Thou art changéd. No more the aimless rake whose paltry life he would blithely forfeit. In thy spirit dwelleth Pow’r We would not fain abandon to the Dark.”

“And so We did travel unto the Hall of the Hallowed, where We did treat with He of the Void. His is an hungry realm and loath to release that which it doth gripe. This compact We have drawn with Him is no simple thing. A worthy toll must be exacted to sate Him. To save thy soul from exile in Darkness, another must be substituted.”

At a gesture from Phocion the hooded figure who travelled with these avatars stepped forth to join them.

“We have rendered this covenant to accord thee another and a final chance. This much We have freely done for thee: Our investiture. However, We will not countenance the burden of the price thou, Our servant, hast incurred. That is for thee to pay. As We defer the toll to Our servant, so mayest thou defer it to thine.”

At a nod from Vrædyn, the figure between them doffed his hood. Khyan seemed to be entranced. His gaze was blank and his face slack. Phocion’s hand rose, revealing a glowing, silver chain protruding from his wrist and extending to connect with the collar at Khyan’s throat.

“This servus is thy property… possessing of a beautiful body. Claim it for thine and live again. Cast his spirit into the Void and commandeer his corpus for thine own to serve as vessel to thy salient Sælyan soul.”

“This is no deception. This is the path back to the living world that We have paved for thee. Whether you tread Atraxian sands with the soles of this Vastian youth or your own soul returns to banishment in th’abyssal embrace of the Princeps Vacuum? This is a matter which doth lie betwixt thee and He of the Void. We have no further boon for thee than this chance to live.” With that, Phocion flicked his wrist to the side and the ætherial chainlink that bound his wrist to Khyan’s throat dissipated.

Khyan’s eyes blinked rapidly and his breath caught in his throat, as he regarded a very different vista than that which he’d just been looking at in the comfort of Æros’s domus. His wide eyes regarded the scene before him: Two Sol’Aværys Princes, each wearing a Divine Nimbus, another celestial figure, dark and foreboding, and Æros… his galaxy pale from exsanguination, his throat open with blood drenching his front. But somehow he was alert and looking back at him. Unsure of what to do, Khyan froze where he stood.

“What fresh hell is this?”

Khyan felt like he was in a dream. He must have been. There was just way too much going on and the sights before him were too fantastical not to beggar belief. The sights of gods, or avatars thereof, were awe-inspiring to say the least, but the figure that kept drawing his attention was that of Æros. He was in so gruesome a state... It truly felt like the stuff of nightmares. The man who'd infatuated and later come to love and rely upon. A saviour from his lot and a succour to his sorrows upon whom he'd grown to rely greatly.

As this heart-wrenching representation of his amatus began to rasp out words, he strained to listen. He knitted his brow and squinted as he acclimated to this perversion of Æros' voice. He was addressing their Gods... apologising. His heart raced as understanding that this was reality truly began to set in. Something had gone wrong... Æros and Hilana had gone North, and something went awry. Something so abject that the Founders themselves had gotten involved. Æros was verbally prostrating himself before Them.

Lacking context, he had only sympathy. Clearly he was pleading for his life and it seemed like he may get it, except... whose place was he talking about taking? Who was this 'him' for whom he was pleading?

"Wait, what?"

He glanced about the platform, and it dawned on him. His brown eyes glazed over with grey as he took in the scene through the æther-tinged lenses of his Semblance.

He froze in terror, eyes snapping to Æros. His reflexes took over. Even before his very Gods this lowly slave would be heard. "So... you've brought me to Sorokyn's mouth to fulfill the fears you helped get me over." He let out a single, loud guffaw and twin tears burst forth- one from each eye, as he turned to face the heat of the volcanic core.

"I can't-..." He gritted his teeth and, terrified, started to strain toward a shift. His bones began to crackle and shrink, as fledgling feathers began to burst from his skin.

"Pax." Aværys-Vrædryn extended a hand to halt Khyan's transition. He grunted in pain as the Deus Imperator undid his work and returned him to his human form. "The avalanche hath already begun, boy. 'Tis too late for the pebbles to vote."

Khyan fell to his knees, weeping and hugging himself.

"What say thee, O Tenebrous Highness?" Varvara looked from Æros to Shæoth. It was not for the Founders to answer this last-ditch entreaty, but for the Lord of the Void. Only He could say what sated Him.

Memento mori... The phrase was a whisper at the back of Khyan's mind. It did not calm him, but it did alter him. Sadness gave way to rage. Varvara turned her eyes to the regard the servus..

Khyan gritted his teeth, lifting his tear-laden, scrying eyes to regard his betrayer. The one he'd taken grave risks to be with... the one who had promised him salvation for himself and all his family- Instead delivering damnation. Khyan had nothing of his own- not even his soul. And this pampered wastrel... this deceiver was to be accorded a boon for his folly at Khyan's cost?

"You have turned to hate a love that had no equal..." He hissed, his spittle peppering the sand before his bent knees.

Khyan could not hear what Shæoth uttered into Æros’ mind, but like everyone on that mount he could perceive the spinning of the half-Fæ's narcissistic mind, through his newly unimpeded Aura, as he pondered his response thereto. Khyan didn't need to hear the offer posed to know the content, for it was plain as day when Æros simpered out his reply.

"Princeps Vaccum..." Slowly, quakingly Khyan rose, stepping forward. "If Your Tenebrous Highness would treat in vengeance? Pray ponder a graver grievance. I, who have nothing, am still being drained of more, and for what? For whom?" He bared his teeth and, unbidden, the serpentine fangs that lingered after adopting his first totem extended. He turned his gaze, full of ire to rival Sorokyn's churning core below, toward Æros.

"A dissembler who promised me liberty and delayed its execution until such time as he could steal my very body to extend the life he lost by his own folly. If anyone is aggrieved here, Highness, it is I. He had much to lose and threw it away of his own volition. I had... I have nothing. Not even my soul is mine to give to the Void, but I accept this fate freely. Take me into your embrace, but pray let me exemplify the tenet of Vengeance that You represent and our Founders abet in this realm. Let me inhabit the Vacuum as a Spirit of Revenge to torment this deceiver until his suffering peaks higher than this mount. Or else, if you reject my soul, then let it cleave to this fleshly form long enough to desecrate this simpering corpse you granted enough breath to betray me. Take me to Your realm or let me die avenged and I will fall into the pit of Sorokyn to die as Aværys did before his rebirth. Before His Sister called into Your Void for the might to avenge the wrongs dealt the Children of Re'ha." He bowed his head, lowering himself to one knee in supplication. "And you answered."