Legend of Ransera

The Prædium Sorokys, Luxium
2nd of Glade, 124 Annus Ferro

The wrestlers grunted, straining against one another for advantage. Sweat-slick and gleaming in the noontide sunlight, man and winged elf strove to master the other without weapon, without magic, without any tricks but those of muscle and bone, momentum and leverage. Neither was frightened of injury, nor of injuring the other. They were both strong, hardy, and had some of the best healers on call should anything go awry.

Finn was the larger of the two, but Raithen had the strength granted him by his wings. That was, perhaps, a magical advantage, but not one to quibble over.

Several artists sat in the shade, watching, sketching furiously with keen and critical gazes. A dux and the consort of a prince were, he supposed, the sort of subjects sculptors and painters might seek, the better to flatter their betters. Finn himself had dedicated music to the highest of Kalzasi while attempting to make his way by song and string.

Ciarán too had paused, mostly to gape for a moment at the barely clad men going at it, but he had quickly closed his mouth and walked on. Solunarium was strange to him still, and his brother had risen so high that sometimes he wasn't sure he knew him at all for all the things Finn remembered from their unlucky hamlet on the shores of Lake Udori.

"Fucker," Finn spat as he twisted out of a grapple, though the escape hurt.

His shoulder took Raithen in the gut, knocking the wind out of him but, more importantly, wiping the smirk off of his face.

They continued like this, both reveling in the competition. Finn had never really been competitive. This had been a detriment to his career in some ways, though he had eventually found his path, and now he had a new one at Arvælyn's side and under Aværys' gaze.

Finn miscalculated, and Raithen took advantage of the over-extension, hooking his hand behind Finn's knee and pulling him off balance, then down, and then he was pinned under the winged menace. His own breath whooshed out of his lungs when his back hit the marble flagstones. There was a flare of anger, but it passed. He calmed himself, relaxing so his body could recover his breath sooner rather than later. Once he had breath, he managed to laugh shakily along with the victor, who offered him a hand up.

Once up, they stretched, causing a new flurry of activity from the watching artists. But Finn paid them no mind. Servi ran up, offering cool water and hand towels to blot their brows.

It was only a day after New Year, so they were recovering from all the pageantry with something grounded in blood and dirt. They had intimated earlier that they would discuss their blood feuds—his with Thalya, Raithen's with Æros. Given the time to investigate the matter and observe the dead dancer make a mockery of Luxian politics, he was inclined to give his full support and help to Raithen in his endeavors. He felt a flicker of Khyan's hunger across their soul-bond; he sent soothing thoughts. Soon. It were best they didn't discuss in front of their audience. The servi could be trusted, and none but they would be present if...

"Bath?" he inquired.

Finn would want to linger in the heated water later, and the servi would anoint their skin in oil and massage the tension and strain out of their muscles. But, for now, the chill of the pool was bracing, refreshing, and would keep his mind sharp. He was mildly surprised at how quickly Raithen got down to business, but he was generally so gregarious it was easy to forget that Raithen was still a prince of Arvælyn's family. If he didn't have draconic blood, he still had divine blood.

His erstwhile opponent offered a small smile.

"I know your complaint and, as time has passed, I have come to align with it. Our friend shall have his vengeance. As for my own, well, you were at the masquerade. I have sworn to bring justice to Thalya for her attempt upon my husband's life. I have waited to ensure my vengeance, not certain of my place on the Pyramid. Her imperium has been revoked and even Aværys has not protested my desire.

"I will attempt to bring her to the courts, but barring that possibility, I will kill her. I think that I will face no consequences. If my Power outstrips hers, then... well, it would be my right to seek redress."

He paused.

"As soon as I am able, I will travel to Auris to seek leads as to her whereabouts." He sighed. "I'm not sure if Phocion is trying to delay me for some reason or whether there needs to be a proper diplomatic reason why I would be the Vigil to go. I'm considering just... traveling as a private citizen rather than as a diplomat, if only to speed up the process."

After a moment of thought, he shook his head.

"But what of you...? What are your next steps and how can I help?"

"Ut dicis," he allowed with a laugh. But his smile turned thoughtful at what Raithen said. It was true, his vengeance would be cleaner, more humane than Zalkyrion's. He wanted her dead, which was a new feeling for him, but he wanted her quickly and cleanly dead—knowing the fruits of her betrayals were death, perhaps, but not drawn out in torture or more creative punishments. He wanted to eliminate the threat to Arvælyn. Mists, he would grab the Luxian throne if he could, if only to unite the thrones via his marriage.

Sometimes he wondered if such intrusive thoughts were his or Aværys'.

When they were on the massage tables, blinking blearily at each other as tension was worked out of them, he managed, "Arkænyn was his most strategic ally, but his power has waned, too."

Finn didn't ask after plans whose opportunities had passed. That would be a waste of time and mental function.

"Poetic justice, I think, would be seizing their assets and gifting them to gens Nykara after granting them manumission. Of course, Khyan wants Æros' soul shredded in the bargain, too. And I would give him that."

The prince's consort would also consider transferring those assets to his own family—not for himself, as both he and Raithen were never likely to want for anything, but for those relatives people called Viatori here, giving them a name due to their association with him. Mists, if they owned gens Nykara, they would surely grant manumission as soon as possible, not wanting to keep servi, but rather, wanting to pay servants wages and treat them like people.

"We should ask Phocion's opinion, I think, whether we should go as diplomats or with me playing the role of your slave." He laughed, thinking Arvælyn, at least, would not approve that circumstance. Phocion, of course, was more pragmatic.

Finn had read the laws pertaining to the fall of gens Nykara, but would still lay claim to them should the assets of Aeros' family ever fall to him. He would, at least, assure that they were well treated and, if there was any way for any of them to earn back their freedom legally, he would aid them in that. Of course, he could always travel with them and then "lose" them somewhere, setting them up away from the slaving culture of Solunarium. Or perhaps he would just give them the best they could hope for; he didn't rightly know whether Khyan's father was guilty of the crimes he paid for. Still and all, it didn't seem right the entire family should suffer.

Ah, well...

"Ahhh." Finn had begun to truly feel as though he were entitled to being treated as he was treated in Solunarium, which occasionally gave him pause, but rarely made him feel guilty. He enjoyed his physical pursuits all the more knowing that there would always be waters available at the correct temperature, hands ready to soothe or pummel the tension out his muscles.

"It's too bad Phocion never wants to spar and relax afterward," he noted idly. They seemed to be of the same mind as to how they ought to proceed.


Finn did see more of Phocion than Raithen did, but as they both wanted their moonborn brother's opinion on their vengeance and because they had agreed to help each other, it seemed only right to come to him together. In any case, Phocion was so regularly busy that Finn felt compelled to set up an appointment for this rather than leverage his marriage to Phocion's brother for attention on his terms.

Once they were both seated in Phocion's office, however, he cut to the chase.

"As you know, I have sworn vengeance upon Thalya, and Raithen on Aeros. We think the time to act is approaching. We also need your help as you are better informed than we are."

They had considered going to Cithæra, but thought that, if Phocion said they should go to her, he would also have ideas how they might best get her full cooperation. She had a penchant for surprising them, after all.

Finn smiled faintly. He supposed they were being industrious as there was some overlap between their goals and they worked well together. Raithen was like one of his pact weapons, always there when he needed it. That, he felt, was invaluable.

Phocion, the born and bred political animal, had his undivided attention, though he did glance at Raithen to see how he felt about the Sælyan downfall. There could still be stabbing, he would assure him later, but ruining the gens would require steps such as these and it seemed they would have the political backing of the family, which would make it possible. He wondered how Aværys would respond when it was all said and done. Executing Thalya and trampling the Sælyans underfoot might not push them any higher upon the Pyramid, and yet... well, it would be a show of Power, for certes. And it might put Khyan's soul to rest or, if he was to remain a spirit of vengeance, at least his own would have been accomplished.

Finn couldn't help but perk up when Phocion turned to his own particular person of interest. He didn't know how he felt about this burning desire to kill a person, but when his conscience made him doubt, he had but to remember that burning spike of fear that had pierced his heart when he thought she was about to take Arvælyn away from him and then the fire came back, either a smolder or a conflagration. Neither boded well for the tricksome and false crown-broken queen.

Between his first and his last statements, Finn's mind was already racing toward possible avenues for his vengeance. He could already leap to the Aetherium, to divine realms—at least, to those he had been granted access—and could possibly track her through other dimensions. Of course, he might need to ask Deus Aværys and Varvara Domina for more tools, unless the Custodes Deorum had others he might utilize.

He blinked once.

"An ally?" he asked. "Go on."

This was fortunate indeed. He had been prepared to risk life and limb going to Sol'Valen to seek chronomancy. After all, it was said their king held command of men's dreams. What was time next to dreams...?