Glade 10, 123
The sky over Drathera was dark, clouds deep and heavy, the smell of impending rain permeating the entirety of the dragon nest turned city. There was no wind blowing around the mountain on this day, the weather seemingly holding its breath, as was the rest of the city. Two days ago, a young Orkhan woman arrived with grave and perilous and seemingly impossible news, demanding an audience before the Senate.
And it had been granted.
But bringing the entirety of the Senate together, especially in these more difficult of times, was an ordeal. Today was the day that legislative body of Ecith, in full, would meet, and listening to this young woman, and discussing what her tale meant and would mean, was the only order of business. Senators from all over arrived, wearing the colored sashes that indicated what constituency they represented, fastened by a shining metal ring, enchanted with many of the powers afforded to the Office of Senator. In addition to the typical Senators, the village chieftains all arrived as well. They wore no sashes, bore no Ring of the Senator, but rather, they carried their Relics openly on their person. Their relationship with, their mastery of those tools was what gave them the right of chieftain and senator alike.
A pair of deep brown eyes stared up at the massive doors of the Senate, tall enough that a flight of dragons could comfortably fly in together. They were crafted by Fyraea and her many followers, and enchanted heavily over the years. For one who bore the citizenship marks, for those who upheld the Tenants that all of Ecith was bound toward, the doors would open as easily as one's eyes in the morning. For those who were outsiders, enemies of the state, opening these doors would be akin to trying to push Drathera itself.
A worried inhale, a tightening of a green throat, a pit of nausea roiling through her stomach, Norani found her feet heavier than the stone she stood upon. She knew that she needed to do this, she needed allies, she needed support, her quest was far too important, was far too difficult for a trio of two Orkhan and a fae to accomplish alone. But Norani had never spoken before anyone like this before, had never attempted to convince the minds of many. The thought of standing before hundreds of senators, all of the chieftains, before Gods and tens of thousands of citizens was far more terrifying than the fight that came next.
Her legs wobbled and gave out, and she dropped to her knees, clutching at her stomach as the nausea increased tenfold. Her breathing began to quicken, and with it, the winds of Drathera came to life. As panic took over her, the winds began to whip around the mountain, small but vicious, ripping away anything not tied down and throwing it out over the lands. And it only grew as she knelt there.
She couldn't do this. She needed Yeva with her, she needed her mothers, her fathers, she needed her spirits, she was too weak, too small, too young to do this. None would be able to take her seriously, she couldn't even take herself seriously, could she? After all, what had she ever really done?
'You found friendship.'
Her ragged breathing paused. Words she'd never heard from a voice she knew so well.
'You found strength.'
Brown eyes looked up, around her, searching the air around her, as the comforting voice relaxed her shoulders, her hands falling away from her midsection. The voice she had longed to hear for so long now, the only voice that could turn her away from her mission. She knew it couldn't be her, but perhaps it was the part of Yeva that lived in her heart, the part she'd been reborn from by fire under the gaze of Agst'rasera.
'You found love.'
Norani could feel Yeva's slender fingers resting gently on her shoulder now, as the Orkhan closed her eyes. She nodded, knowing Yeva was right, even if she wasn't here. She had bonded with the World Tree. She had been chosen to save the Titan, Ghoron, and the missing seasons, not by luck or chance, but because she had the strength to do so. The winds around Drathera whipped more ferociously now, but they didn't pluck a single cloth, not a feather nor an errant bit of straw from their places upon the mountain. These winds raced higher and higher around the mountain, slowly closing in around the Orkhan lass.
Norani's hand reached up, to rest upon the hand that wasn't, couldn't be, upon her shoulder, as the winds swirled as strongly as a hurricane, wrapping around her. And when she opened her eyes, she bore a robe of cyclone winds, perfectly stable, flowing as easily upon her body as the finest Ecithian silk. She would do this, she needed to do this, for no other could. She stood up, striding toward the massive doors of the Senate, passing the most elite of Ecith's guards and dragons who watched her approach. Inside, it was a massive ovular building that extended high into the heavens, able to provide seating and emergency housing to the entirety of the Ecithian population, a building that grew and shrunk based upon the need of its people.
The doors gently swung open without even a touch from the Orkhan lass, the winds providing her a gentle and calming entrance. She looked up and saw over a million of her people, mostly Orkhan, seated quietly as she began to walk toward the center stage. The stage was not ornate or adorned in any way, simple marble flooring, no seating, no podium. Here, the art was that of the word, art of the emotion, of the mind. Here, Truth prevailed purely; here, a whisper would be heard by all; here, a tongue in Ecitharese was a tongue translated for all that deigned to listen.
And Norani Windwalker stood there, waiting to be welcomed and greeted by the Senate.