Legend of Ransera

Palatium Umbarum
9th of Searing, Year 123 of Steel

Travel via portal was clearly superior to any other form. Kala was not tired; there was no need to take time from the rigors of her journies. Thankfully, such a thing was opened directly from the Citadel to the Palace below ground, and the unofficial Kalzasern envoy stepped many miles in no time at all. Sentinels led the way, which seemed to be the way things would be here. Kaus and Kala followed, side by side. She didn't take his arm; she was a strong daughter of the mountain, not some wilting flower of a lady. They were followed by Ceran and Indric, the latter of whom was tracing the lines of the slipspace as they went. He would be able to open portals for them without needing to rely upon the Sentinels if the need arose. With any luck, such a need wouldn't arise, but Kala liked to have fallback plans.

The sorcerer Asallon followed the Avialæ. Nobody wanted to be left behind. If seats were only available for the twins, their entourage would be fine. Only Asallon truly felt up to dining with royalty. The Avialæ were baseborn orphans, though loyal to their patrons.

As she was in Solunarium at the invitation of a Phædryn prince and the realm's divine masters, she decided to dress more appropriate for the clime, which meant her wings were plain to see. In for a penny, in for a pound. Kaus was equally resplendant; while he was immune to the cold, the heat was another matter entirely. Even their followers were outfitted splendidly, though not all of them were comfortable with it yet.

They were not here with Sahfri's knowledge or consent, but neither were they prisoners in Kalzasi. Kala just had to be sly; that would, she hoped, also help her survive into the full flower of her godhead as had Aværys and Varvara.

Arriving on the steps of the majestic Palatium Umbrarum, the party would be met by an honour guard of tall soldiers in scaled armour that glistened with the bright sheen of platinum that was treated to emit an actual self-illuminating glow. Helmed in warded metal, their races, sexes and other identifying features were absent, but given their common heights and builds one might have imagined each knight was identical to the next beneath their martial vestments.

At their centre stood a familiar figure in unfamiliar garb. Phocion Vigil had departed ahead of the Kalzasern envoy and had metamorphosised into Phocion Princeps, crowned and bedecked in regalia more suiting his station in the royal family than in the order of his employ.



He bowed to Kala and, as he rose, cast glances of acknowledgement to the other magnati in her midst.

“Welcome to the Æternal Umbrium. The banquet awaits within. I shall conduct the party inside. Would Your Ladyship deign to accept my arm?” Phocion would offer his slender limb, gloved as usual but housed in silk rather than leather.

The citadel Kala had just departed was a poor representation of Solunarian décor and, though the Palatium Umbrarum was not as ornate as its Luxian counterpart, it was built and decorated to inspire awe, authority and invoke its patroness’ tenets of supremacy. The entryway was lined with massive statues of faceless, chained figures knelt as if in supplication to those who walked the broad chamber between them. The Draconic palace had more recently been decorated to broadcast its novel association to the Zalkyrian dynasty, with a colossal depiction of the namesake Crownwyrm levitating just below the vaulted ceiling.

At the end of the long chamber two massive silver doors were open, flanked by guards identical to those marching alongside Kala’s party. They would rap their glaives in unison, as Phocion led the envoy through the archway to the top of the steps overlooking an active, if not crowded, ballroom. Where a chandelier might have hung in another realm, a galaxy of platinum star systems levitated blindingly above. Whether Kala took this as acknowledgement of her own celestial associations or not was ambiguous for the nonce, but whatever the case it made it difficult to make out the details of what and whom waited at the bottom of the steps.

A nomenclator raised his vox to announce:

“His Serene Highness, Octavian Phocion Princeps of the Gens Phædryn-Sol’Aværys First Elven House of the Umbrium…”

He would continue to announce each guest by the appropriate titles provided in advance of the visit as they reached the top of the stairs.

"Lady Kala Mizal of House Leukos," the herald called on the heels of Phocion's title.

"Lord Kaus Siv of House Leukos. Sers Ceran and Indric of the Silver Wings. Master Asallon of the Silver Wings."

The last was the eldest of them, but only by a few years. They were all of them powerful enough sorcerers to garner some respect among the Solunarians, even if not a one of them were citizens and only two of them of noble blood. In any case, they were guests of a princely house and that was all that mattered here. Asallon had been curious how he would be received as a Siltori, but so far, nothing had been said against him.

It would have been impossible to tell which one spotted him first, but four heads turned to look at Raithen at the same time. The stiff-lipped sers were curious, but the twins offered faint smiles. Even though he was clearly Re'hyæan, it was comforting to see another Avialæ among the guests. Phocion had warned them, and Kala was a bit peeved she couldn't enjoy a night out on the town if the boys managed to persuade Prince Raithen that he ought to show them around.

A moment later, though, they were continuing whither Phocion led them.

As this wasn't an official visit, they had left off with her Kalzasern office.

"Will you be protecting me from the sharks in these waters, Your Serene Highness?" she asked so quietly only he could hear. At least, she hoped only he could hear. With so much magic abundantly used, she didn't want to have to bend the air to guard her secrets or ward against sound when she had to hear what else was going on in the room.

“Worry not. This is the friendliest company you’re like to find in all of Atraxia…” As Phocion led Kala’s procession down the steps, the view ahead became clearer. The ballroom was sparsely occupied for its breadth, but the gathering was not so small as to be considered intimate. Veiled Sentinels flowered the walls, and well-dressed and well-heeled Umbrian magnati occupied the foreground. As the Silver Prince of House Phædryn stepped toward the crowd, they parted to reveal a dais at the far end of the chamber. A lone, imposing throne stood empty at its summit carved of a smooth, black stone throughout which red-orange veins spread, pulsing with the fiery glow of a volcanic core. To the right of the throne stood a golden figure with golden wings folded, their points looming above the twin horns that protruded from his blonde locks. A platinum diadem rounded his brow. To the left of the throne stood another golden figure blessed with wings, those his were feathered rather than scaled and his face was warmer and more open than that of his Draconic counterpart. Between and below them at the base of the daïs stood their mother. A diminutive golden elf in a platinum gown, who somehow looked unassuming even in her lustrous finery. It was a few paces in front of her that Phocion would pause their progress. Detaching himself from Kala’s arm, he would bow to Arvælyn and Cithæra, then nod to Raithen. He would pause until a nod was given by Arvælyn, at which point he turned to face their guests.

“It is my unmitigated honour to introduce His Exalted Highness Phædryn Sol’Zalkyrion Arvælyn Princeps Draconum: Crown Prince of the Umbrium, Her Serene Highness Camilla Phædryn-Sol’Aværys Cithæra Princeps Sibylla and His Resplendence Gaius Val’Aværyan Raithen Dux.” Kala, at the least, was primed enough to know that this was the better part of Phocion’s nuclear family without being reminded.

“Gratias, Frater.” Arvælyn would incline his head in a respectful nod of acknowledgement to Kala. “And welcome to the Palatium Umbrarum.” He lifted his fiery gaze and raised his voice to fill the stately chamber,

“Now that our guests of honour have arrived, let us dispense with formality and make merry. Strike up!” At his cue, musicians with enchanted instruments began to play in timbres unknown outside the blanket of Aværys’ Sceptre. Intrigued onlookers would do their best to play at revelry that seemed less interested in what would proceed before the daïs than they undoubtedly were.

Arvælyn would descend the steps of the daïs and extend his hand to take that of a pale skinned, blue-eyed human who’d been standing by not far from the royal platform. With Finn on his arm, he would approach Kala.

“Allow me to introduce my betrothed, Finn Farstrider… a bard I met in your part of the world in another life. What news do you bring from our quondam home?”

“Lord Kaus…” Phocion began, gesturing to his other brother. “May I introduce His Resplendence the Duke Raithen?” He glanced amused to the wings hanging over each blonde head, “I suspect you have a thing or two in common. If you’ll excuse me.” Phocion nodded, slipping away and disappearing into the crowd.

If Phocion's assurances didn't entirely assuage her anxieties, they were some comfort. She was a proud daughter of the Mountain, and she was accustomed to the Kalzasern court, at least. It had been a foreign court too when she had first arrived, barely an adult. Now she was here, barely a goddess, but that was all right. She was learning. The bows she offered the Sol'Zalkyriax heir and the Phædryn-Sol'Aværys royals were correct for a foreign dignatary of her middling stature.

When the dragonborn prince descended to meet her, amatus on his arm, she bowed once more. Her smile was suddenly radiant.

"The boards of the Golden Peacock haven't been the same since you left us, Your Exalted Highness," she said. "I suppose your Deus Aværys was prophetic." And she nodded to the bard, who beamed openly at her compliments toward his beloved. His dress was a happy marriage between Kalzasern and Solunarian fashion; she hoped their relationship remained so happy, though of course she wouldn't broach that. "And Master Bard, I heard the performance you conducted at the Academy. I do hope it shan't be the last of your work I hear."

Finn colored slightly and demurred at that.

She got the vague sense that they were touched by divinity, but everyone was so swathed in protective enchantments that she couldn't be sure without attempting to break through them, which would be bad form. If they had been touched by the Divine Twins, she wondered if her own secrets had been shared with them as they had been with Phocion.

"Perhaps I will bring my vox to the Citadel, my Lady," Finn replied. "I have occasion to work with Phocion Vigilia there."

"That would be lovely," she declared decisively.

Meanwhile, Phocion Princeps had pulled a fast one and put Kaus into the capable hands of his brother before disappearing. The Silver Wings were attempting to mingle, as well, though with people closer to their rank.

But Kaus lit up with his guileless delight.

"Your Resplendence," he said. "Your... disappearing brother said you might be willing to show us how Solunarians party..."

The vestments of the Princeps Coronam sparkled beneath the celestial simulacra overhead, and his eyes, too, seemed to light up like a furnace freshly fed fuel at Kala's implication.

"Your Ladyship attended 'Aværys Eternal'?!" Arvælyn's unabashed surprise suggested this notion beggared belief, though his broad grin and sharp glance to Finn would make it abundantly clear that this was a very pleasant surprise indeed. His gaze lingered on Finn's to see whether he was as taken aback as Arry himself. When her compliments extended to Finn as well, his gaze returned to meet hers. It was softer, now. Disarmed of the flat austerity that was worn by Phocion and most of the other princely folk the envoy had met up to this point.

"It seems we have both been called to perform on a different sort of stage." Arvælyn quipped as he glanced about the ballroom, his eyes pausing upon a servant with a tray of drinks who was compelled to turn and head in their direction by unseen tethers. Platinum, jewel-encrusted goblets of a rich red wine were offered with a bow.

"I do apologise for the... quarantine period, I suppose we can call it. A certain countryman of yours caused something of a political dilemma by appearing here as the first divine visitor in living memory... at least for all outside my paternal family. The realm adapts and your visit takes place during something of an awkward phase of our transition. I do hope you won't mistake our caution for inhospitality..."

Cithæra tarried momentarily between her two winged sons, eyes darting from the reptilian to the avian. As Kaus approached Raithen, she smiled to herself and stepped away from the dais and quickly found Phocion, where he was leaning in the shadow of a column sipping a cordial. Wordlessly, she communed with him through their Re'hyæan blood.

Vrædyn's absence represents a missed opportunity. You are too quick to let your discomfort cloud your wits.

Phocion coughed, slightly, nearly choking on his wine as the unwelcome words pierced his peace.

He is yet a Luxian. The more time he spends in our midst the greater the threat of Her Divine Radiance's intervention.

You overestimate Thalya's investment in this timeline. Her thoughts are firmly planted in a more redeemable pocket of timespace than the one in which she finds herself here.

If I am ignorant of her status, it is due to your reticence, Mater. I am sorry you feel that the event is wanting for lack of Vrædyn, though I might note that we are, perhaps, at a greater loss in the absence of His Exalted Majesty...

Cithæra pursed her lips, pivoted and stepped away from her eldest son without another word in mind or upon tongue.

Kala's laugh was light and sincere in its delight.

"I don't see every production, but it behooved me to learn more of Solunarian culture when I heard a delegation was imminent. Of course, you will believe it flattery, but I had discussed the possibility of House Leukos becoming your patron. Fortunately, I suppose, you went on what I imagine was a journey of self-discovery and found something better: a family." Her smile turned wry. "You might not be surprised to know how much more Lord Yserloo extolled your virtues once word of your true identity reached Kalzasi. He does better in the arts than in high society, I think, because his machinations are so transparent.

"As for the quarantine, I understand that it is necessary. Phocion Princeps invited us to see Solunarium before my life... grew infinitely more complicated. Then the Divine Twins - well, they intimated that they would not begrudge me a visit if I didn't seek to draw worship from them. But that would be the height of impolitesse." She paused. "That said, if a member of the Custodes Deorum were also a bard, his company would be well appreciated. And if necessity circumscribes my movement within the realm, I certainly wouldn't decline a royal visit either. Or events like these when I might fly the coop."

There was a hint of humor at the end, perhaps a play on her wings. She gave Arvaelyn's a respectful, admiring look.

"Perhaps we might fly together? We are both new to our wings."

Kaus' answering smile was like daybreak. He grasped Raithen by the forearm, his other hand coming to firmly grip his elbow.

"'Tis a welcome miracle to see a winged cousin so far from home. We would all eagerly accept your invitations, as well as visits should you happen to find yourself at the Citadel. Kala, perforce, has less freedom to move around, but would certainly make any appointment Phocion Vigilia would allow. I believe Kala would have no trouble returning the Palatium Umbarum, but any other place..." He smiled and shrugged and finally released Raithen's hand.

"But, of course, you must visit us as well. The eyes of the Citadel are circumspect. Sers Ceran and Indric are your Synnekar cousins as well." He indicated the Silver Wings as if with pride; they had shared a Warren March together, and the orphans were family now. Kaus paused again, serious for a moment. "It is a boon to see you here. We always fear for our wayward kin... lest they fall under the yoke of the Imperium."