Legend of Ransera

No sooner did the portal split the air to Talon's rear than Vrædyn's voice resonated across the chamber,

"I apologise for interrupting your work, Dæmon, but I have news of Her Divine Radiance." He marched up to the statuesque figure of the foreign prince, "I think you would be best served if you allowed me to project my memory directly into your Symphony, for the sake of alacrity and clarity." His Rune was already primed to create the conduit between their two Symphonies and, once he was given the all clear, he would dip into his own recent recollections to divert them toward Talon's consciousness.

Vrædyn Princeps Pontifex strode through the familiar halls of the Blazing Palace, but something felt awry. It took a moment for him to process what was absent…

“I am come at the invitation of Her Divine Radiance…” The prince informed the Aværyan guards who stood sentry at the ingress to her presence chamber. “Is she not hither?”

Wordlessly, the golden-armoured sentries uncrossed their pole-arms and stood aside, as the double-doors parted open as if of their own volition. The tall Moonborn elf stepped inside and regarded the glorious Radiant Throne. He felt the divinity in his blood and Emblem surge at the sight of Aværys’ own imperial seat. No one so worthy had occupied the throne in millennia and certainly not at this current moment.

“Vrædyn Princeps…” The lean, pale-haired figured lounging upon the high seat of the Luxium sneered down at Vrædyn.

“Your Serene Highness.” Vrædyn inclined his head to the Platinum Elf. “I come at your mother’s beck.”

“And she awaits you.” Arkænyn replied in Aurisian-accented Vastian with a snarl, as he tipped the goblet dangling lazily from his long, slender fingers toward his mouth. He poured copiously, gulping down the amber draught, some of which spilt down his angular jaw. He gestured down to one side of the daïs that served as pedestal to the Radiant Throne. “The sitting room.”

“Very well.” Vrædyn took long strides around the side of the high daïs and slipped behind the curtains to its rear, where he found the door to the sitting room ajar. Still he didn’t sense the powerful energy of Thalya IV Imperatrix. His match in the Craft of Mesmer, he couldn’t read her Symphony at the best of times, but he could usually sense its presence… particularly at close proximity. Upon stepping over the threshold, it would fall upon him like an ocean.

He blinked as he stepped, not into Her Radiance’s sitting room, but into an unfamiliar chamber… dimly lit and awash in shadows. He felt the Sovereign before he saw her. The shifting posture of a hunched silhouette turned to regard him.
“Vrædyn.” She rasped.

“Your Divine Radiance.” He bowed low, his eyes remaining high enough to note the flow of gemstones dimly lighting her face from the table over which she was bent.

“Why are you hidden from me?”

“I… Since I attained the status of Grandmaster Mesmer, you have never pressed to scan my Symphony. I'd assumed it was a matter of respect… or trust.”

Thalya chuckled,

“What scant trust I have deemed worthy of risk throughout my life has proven a miscalculation. I speak not of your Symphony. I speak of your Destiny…”

“I… do not understand, Your Radiance. Where are we?”

“In Auris. The portal is warded by my most potent Negators…” She gestured to the door through which he’d come.

“Ah… Your absence from the Luxium has been keenly felt, Radiance.”

“By those attuned to such things, perhaps… but I have not been blind to the goings on of my realm. Cithæra’s machinations on behalf of her dragon prince, the winnowing of support for the House of Sol’Aværys and the death knell of the Sanguinist ideal… Arkænyn‘s disappointing decadence that renders him unfit to lead.”

At this last, Vrædyn arched an eyebrow unabashedly.

“Yes. I can see that he is unfit... Even more so than I have been myself.” Thalya rose from her table, the sheen of her brass brocade gown glinting in the polychrome glow of the shards on the table below. “I have made many mistakes. I am not blind to those, either. But what I am blind to, Vrædyn, is you. Why is this?”

“As I said, Radiance, I’ve never been asked to open my Symphony to your assessm-…”

“Destiny, Vrædyn, not Symphony.” She stalked toward and then past her grandson. “As I said, I have made many mistakes. You are the victim of one of my gravest. I groomed you for succession, knowing that Arkænyn would supplant you. A platinum son of a sitting sovereign… It has never happened in all of our history. The Conclave of Electors would have had no choice but to select him… But I had to protect my blessing. He would not… could not be safe in Solunarium until he came of age. I could not be a part of his rearing without granting Cithæra the chance to scry his existence. I had to all but forget myself that he ever existed… my Platinum promise. Perhaps if I had raised him he’d have been worthy, but… Well, I have been wallowing in regret since the Ides of Wither.”

“Grandmother…” Vrædyn turned to face, where she stood gazing out at the sands of another desert than their own. “You still hold half the realm. You are hampered, not wholly usurped. There are avenues…”

“Oh, how well I know this, Vrædyn. How many paths I failed to take.” She lifted her gaze to the Aurisian skies. “The roads I see before me today are in decline… a reduction from what and whom I have been for a century. You could not possibly comprehend such a loss.” Slowly, she turned from the window to look Vrædyn in the eye for the first time since he arrived. Her gaze was frantic… almost feral.

“All is not lost, Your Radiance…”

“Indeed… Do you know my greatest mistake, Vrædyn?” He shook his head, unsettled by the question. “I should never have asked you to thwart the release of the Founders. How deeply I regret that command…”

“I am glad to hear this, Grandmother.” Vrædyn’s relief was earnest. That had troubled Solunarium’s pontiff deeply. “The return of the Founders has always been the heartfelt hope of every true Varværyn.”

“Oh, mistake me not. I do not regret evoking Aværys’ vaunted Ambition by seeking to prevent Him from supplanting me and stripping me of my Power. That was, perhaps, the most worthy endeavour I have ever attempted... But I know now that the endeavour was always doomed. You failed me… willfully, I suspect.”

“I-…” Vrædyn’s breath caught in his throat and he paused before replying, “I did, yes. Your power comes from Them. Their will supersedes that of any mortal Sovereign.”

“And They are returned.” She said, icily.

“Deus Vult.” Vrædyn replied just as coolly.

“Ego te absolvo, Vrædyn. The return of the Founders was inevitable… a fixed point in Fate. But my attempted betrayal… and all that it has and will cost me? That can yet be undone. My betrayal of you in favour of Arkænyn… this too can be revised. I can yet govern the entirety of my quondam realm… a vassal to the Founders and you, Vrædyn… you can yet succeed me. Arkænyn can be returned to lead a lascivious life in Auris and you can sit the Argent Throne presiding over a Lunar Court that presides over all of Solunarium… the Luxium, the Umbrium and the Atraxian sands.”

“How, grandmother?”

“With the Craft of my most recent Rune, grandson. I have not been idle in my absence… and once I have mastered the full might of my Æternus, I will use the knowledge I have accrued from these misadventures to reweave my Destiny… to stymie Cithæra and reclaim all that is mine: My Crown, my influence and the fond regard of the Founders.” Her crazed gaze seemed to warp before Vrædyn’s very eyes. Her whole body seemed to warp and distort, as if it were overlaid by faint outlines of her figure just slightly out of phase with her corporeal form. The harder he looked the more seemed to proliferate until the whole of the room seemed to be filled with dim outlines of Thalya.

“That the Phædryns are obscured does not surprise me- Ever a wily lot were they, but why am I blind to your Destiny?” She inquired in a thousand voices, a thousand versions of her Symphony shrieking out in a crazed cacophony. The sensation was deafening and only a sharp response from Aværys' mark at his wrist was enough to soothe the enfilade that sought to pierce his very being.

“Because it lies in His hands.” Vrædyn’s own voice was magnified by the might of his Majesty. At his wrist the Emblem radiated golden light, which spread to wash over his entire form. The thousand Thalya’s regarded the radiant Vrædyn for a lingering moment, until both æthereal energies began to dissipate leaving two elves in a dim room.

“If you accept my offer, you take nothing away from Them. They gain an ally and you only aggrandise yourself with the promise of a puissant throne… I imagine He would be pleased for you to take such a gambit.”

“I will consider the matter…” Vrædyn turned for the door.

“Do not betray me again, boy.” Thalya bade, “I may have been ill-prepared for my fall from grace, but I have always been poised to rend that which I cannot reclaim. Do not doubt the severity of my spite.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Your Divine Radiance.” Vrædyn replied in a neutral baritone as he turned to bow, before pivoting to step through the door that would lead him back to the Luxian throne room in Solunarium proper.

Vrædyn nodded.

"I do, though that knowledge is far from consummate. It is not practised in Solunarium... Not to my knowledge, at any rate. It would be illegal for anyone, except... Well, except for a Sovereign. The danger to their reign would be too vast for any ruler to brook a subject wielding it. Withal, I have never known Her Divine Radiance to bear any particular interest or affinity toward the Craft. She was ever a cautious creature... Reserved in her rule. For Her Radiance to embark upon so reckless an endeavour..." He trailed off and allowed his silence to complete his sentiment, for there were no words and his Symphony was still projecting something of himself into Talon's.

It might have seemed odd to Talon that, even outside of Thalya's presence... even whilst critiquing her course of action... Vrædyn still seemed inclined to use formal titles when referring to her. Whether it was simple habit, or a sign of rigidity in his personal dogma, it was not something uncommon to a Solunarian.

The tethers of his Mesmer withdrew from Talon's Symphony, as he clasped his hands behind his back and paced away.

"I know that you saw what I saw... I felt them... Her alternate selves, as if they were in the room with us." The pace and pitch of his speech elevated. "The parallels were present, and I could feel all of their æther... It wasn't strong, not like the Symphony of a living person in our plane of existence, but... They were connected." The typically poised pontiff, was verging on manic as he described the sensations that assaulted him.

"Someone must have conferred the Rune... taught her this Craft and... She must be devoting herself wholly to honing it, for she seemed more powerful than she ought to be after so brief a span. Her every waking moment must be devoted to this act of... redemption? Revenge?" He shook his head, "Chaos. I ought to have known she had this in her when she tried to set me against the Founders." He whipped back around and stalked up to Talon.

"Tell me, Dæmon... for I am not adept at distinguishing between the threads of Destiny and the fabric of unfaltering Fate... how much damage could Her Divine Radiance wreak upon Solunarium... upon the very world?"

Vrædyn, already moon pale, somehow blanched further at the litany of terrors Talon exposited. His frantic energy stilled... he froze where he stood, knees weak, jaw set, eyes glistening with unspent tears and quivering slightly.

"I... I am afeard, Arcas." For the first time in his life rather than vexing Vrædyn to utter Dæmon's deific name, it felt like a comfort. The villain of those old stories was usurped by a more present nemesis. Not some bogeyman from remote antiquity, but a real and present threat to everything he held dear.

"It is not mere pomp and circumstance when we say that Her Divine Radiance is the most powerful mage in Solunarium. It can be argued that there are a handful of others who may exceed her prowess... Cithæra, perhaps... a few others of the blood who were born during her reign. But what they wield in potential, she exceeds in experience. She has had over a century to master sundry Crafts. There is not a one in which she has not somehow dabbled... in which she is not studied. It is by Aværys' grace alone that I am shielded from her scrying... And I would not be surprised if that entire encounter was a ruse to glean information from me, rather than an earnest overture. She cannot read me by Mesmer, but she has known me since I was a babe... raised me." He let out a sigh and turned away, his fair face awash in shame.

At Talon's direct query, he clenched his teeth and whipped back around, glaring at the Avialæ.

"I am Vrædyn Princeps Pontifex, Avowed of Aværys Imperator... a sworn agent of almighty Order. I would never concede to the calamitous chaos of one who would defy the very precepts of Tempus Omnipotens to circumvent her deserved destiny. What a hellscape this world would be if every errant knave might reweave time-space to serve their vanity. What I will do, Arcas, is protect this timeline with all the power I can amass."

"I do not reckon Her Divine Radiance would consent to meet you of her own will without an army at her back..." Vrædyn observed, "And I would not suggest you grant her the courtesy of an open invitation. When unsteady she is far less dangerous. My grandmother has never been an impulsive creature. She is not accustomed to being taken off-guard."

Vrædyn stepped back slightly, bowing as Aoren was introduced.

"Your Hallowed Highness." Ignorant to the foreign form-of-address that was appropriate to the station of Highlord Auravacis, Vrædyn would prioritise that which was more important in Solunarium: His draconic lineage. Thus he used the honorific appropriate to their present realm as he bowed low.

Rising from his bow, he pondered the question and shut his eyes to better revisit the memory.

"There was a great deal of gold, and the place was decorated with sundry relics... antiques from... the Rending, I would warrant. As I think on it- The place looked more Solunarian than Aurisian. I'd have recognised Aurisian architecture at a glance, but it also wasn't our temple at Kaladon. I'd have recognised that as well, so..." His eyes snapped open,

"My suspicion would be one of the estates belonging to House d'Averyx. Our families have always deemed the similarity between our nomenclature to be more than coincidental. It was they who reared my wayward uncle Arkænyn, and they who are the closest foreign allies to the Luxian Crown." Vrædyn didn't know where specifically Arkænyn had been raised. That secret had been kept from him along with all of the court, but he suspected Thalya was holed up wherever that was. It would have made sense for him to have been brought up surrounded by the trappings of his true realm, even as he was being raised Aurisian.

Thalya’s consciousness swam through a sea of eventualities. As Vrædyn had suggested, she was not an impulsive actor. This exploit, brash as it may have seemed, was not one upon which she embarked without careful premeditation. She had carefully contemplated the options open to her in the timeline destiny and decision had woven of their own accord. It was only upon recognising her poor prospects in the world that was, that she resolved to work outside its limitations by creating a world that better served her ambitions.

A voice pervaded the subtle threads of the great tapestry, louder than mere eventuality. She realised at once that it was in the main timeline, sharing space with her corporeal form. She inhaled a gasp and her golden eyes shot open to regard a projection of a figure. It was someone she knew without ever having laid eyes upon his mortal form- even now she was only regarding a spectral avatar. This fact softened the tension that tightened her shoulders.

“Ah, the catalyst comes calling…” She said through a snarl. She was seated on a golden throne, her posture stiff and severe. Even in her meditations her graceful neck remained erect, and her crownéd head never lolled in slackness.

“I take it you have returned to wreak further havoc upon our realm. Is it from thither that you now call unto us?” She was speaking Common in a faint Solunarian accent. Her manner of speech suggested one who knew the perfect, precise pronunciation, but didn’t trouble themselves to execute it.

“And am I to understand you’ve come to some sort of accord with the Founders? They must have contrived of some further use for you than merely releasing them from bondage. Elsewise they are well and truly changed from that experience.”