Into the Void II
Posted: Tue Nov 12, 2024 5:55 pm
44th of Ash, 124 AS
It took some time before Lyra crossed into the Void once again. This was in part due to her need to rebuild the reserves of aether in her crystal. It took time to save enough to do anything greater than cast her senses into the surrounding shadows, though she did do that as often as she could. Over the last few weeks she had observed more of the day to day happenings within the lab. The Negationist did not come often, but when he did it grew more difficult to resist the pull on her power. Stefan still came often enough, usually to work on the bones, but he carried out other experiments as well. There were others that visited often, nearly every day in fact. These people would often come near her prison, examen the wards and other parts of her surroundings, and leave quickly once they were done with their work. They were also often present when the active draining was initiated. After some time, Lyra came to the conclusion that they must be semblence mages. The way they moved, and acted when they drew close was reminiscent of how other such mages behaved with Lyra in the past. They would look closely at seemingly nothing, or listen to a sound no one else could hear. What was frustrating was that, unlike most mages in Zaichaer, they were exceptional at their work. Whenever they were present Lyra had to work much harder to avoid suspicion, lest she risk more interference.
Out of curiosity Lyra had attempted to disrupt the wards while the inspectors were present. They had noticed almost immediately, and an active drain was quickly imposed. It ran longer than normal as well. It was educational for certain, but the loss of aether left Lyra bitter and annoyed. Thus she did what she could to avoid their scrutiny. There was also little rhyme or reason to their visits. Sometimes they would come in the morning, other times in the afternoon or evening. Sometimes they would visit multiple times in a week, and then other times they would not come by for several days. Perhaps they were specialists and thus needed elsewhere, as Lyra had noticed that it was usually the same mages that came each time. The other option was that there were not many members of the so called Order that could use semblence. That seemed more likely, given the relation these zealots had to magic in general. Whatever the case was, Lyra could do little else but avoid attention when they were near. Eventually they would need to be dealt with, much like the Negation mage.
While it was true it took time to gather enough aether to pass into the void, there was another reason which Lyra was avoiding what came next. Despite her best efforts, Lyra could not shake off the distress she felt at her current physical form. It was grotesque, and she did what she could to avoid thinking about it. What would HE think of her if he saw her now... Yet she knew these thoughts were pointless, both because she could not imagine her love abandoning her, and because she had to venture there again if she were to ever find a means of escape.
From what she knew of the Void, she felt certain there were valuable resources there that she would need. Items of power, possibly creatures of flesh and blood she could to replenish her strength. It was possible that, given enough time, she would be able to affect the outside world through the Void, even if her soul was trapped within the demonstone. There was simply too much opportunity there for her to continue to avoid it, so it was that she finally drew upon her collected power and, with a mental sigh, crossed the barrier into the mirror realm once again.
Lyra's form flowed out like black smoke once she had passed through the shadows of the prison into the Mirror realm. At first she simply allowed herself to hover, flowing about free and enjoying the chill of the world. She felt HIM everywhere. He was in the air, in the stones of the earth, in the darkness that shrouded everything. It felt like coming home, an odd thing to feel when stepping into what could be considered a nightmarish mockery of the prime material world. Yet here Lyra felt more at peace than even in her own demesne, though it was likely that place had been completely defiled by now.
Slowly, and somewhat reluctantly, she condensed herself, black smoke waving itself into her gaunt and withered form. This time, however, Lyra was prepared. As her hands shaped before her eyes she did not look away. Instead she traced the black veins which laced up her forearm, eyed each elongated black nail that looked more like claws. One hand raised to touch the dry skin that stretched taunt over her skull. Closing her eyes Lyra forcefully pushed down on the despair that threatened to overwhelm her. Taking a few breaths to calm herself she finally opened her eyes to look around.
The lab was of a decent size. The equipment, though tarnished in the void, still looked new, and the walls were sturdy and mostly whole though here there were large cracks that ran up from the corner of doorways or where wood met stone. Looking back over her shoulder she examined the pedestal where she knew her prison sat in the Prime Material World. She floated over to it, leaning close to examine the markings on its surface. They were worn and faded, but she could faintly make out the outlines of what were likely glyphs. Her eyes wandered up the walls, tracing a path of pictographs that she could recognize as well.
“A child’s scribbles pretending at wards… how quaint.” she muttered softly to herself.
It was difficult to make out, but as her eyes traveled she began to piece together designs. As her gaze traced the patterns, she detected irregularities in the spacing, an asymmetry that disrupted the flow from one pictograph to the next. These glyphs did not sing together as they should, failing to resonate in harmony as true scrivening would. Instead, they sat isolated and inert, their energy trapped in rigid cages. Whoever had created this ward seemed to understand only the brute mechanics of binding, but not the subtleties of coaxing power from the aether with a light, deft touch.
To Lyra, the pictographs felt like an insult to the art she had spent centuries mastering. Yet, as much as they repulsed her, she couldn’t deny their crude effectiveness. They’d taken every precaution they could, layering defenses and redundancies in a messy web that, though lacking elegance, was daunting in its density. It was like encountering a wall built of rough-hewn stones, jagged and misshapen, stacked high enough that even the cracks between them became treacherous obstacles. Whoever laid these scripts were competent enough to be dangerous—dangerous to her, at least, trapped and weakened as she was.
A sound made Lyra pause and turn toward a shadowed doorway which lead outside the lab. Beyond that portal was utter darkness, blacker than the space between stars. All had become still, Lyra realized as she glanced around herself. She had not noticed before, but there had been faint noises of things shuffling about beyond these four walls. She had paid them little mind as they were of no immediate threat, but now their absence rang louder than any bell. Her eyes focused on the doorway once more, attempting to pierce that veil of shadows... Then the shadows looked back at her.
Two large eyes flared into existence. The eyes were like twin amethysts, gleaming with a deep, unnatural light that cut through the darkness. They narrowed, intense and unblinking, and as they fixed on her, Lyra felt a prickling chill ripple down her spine. It was not fear—no, it was something far stranger, something primal and electric. Recognition.
The shadows around the doorway shifted, coalescing into a massive, sinewy form that moved with a predator’s grace. A low, rumbling growl filled the silence, vibrating through the very air as the creature stepped forward, emerging from the blackness like a nightmare slipping through the veil of reality.
A tiger, its coat darker than night, with stripes like cuts in shadow and violet flames trailing from its paws and eyes. Each step it took was silent yet seemed to ripple through the Void itself, distorting the air around it. The creature’s gaze held hers, ancient and knowing, carrying an intelligence that spoke of purpose. Of patience. Of power.
Lyra’s breath caught in her chest, her instincts torn between readiness to fight and the strange, magnetic pull of that gaze. She knew, somehow, that this being was connected to him. She could feel his presence here, woven into the tiger’s every move, every deliberate shift of muscle under shadowed fur. The tiger tilted its head slightly, watching her with what she could only interpret as curiosity—and perhaps, the faintest glimmer of approval.
“Em'bra…” she whispered, half a prayer, half an invocation, her voice barely audible. The tiger’s ears twitched, as if hearing the name echoed across the realms, and in that moment, Lyra knew this was no mere Void beast. This was a part of him—a fragment of her beloved’s will, here in the form of a silent guardian.
The tiger’s gaze softened, just for a heartbeat, before it dipped its head, gesturing for her to follow.
It took some time before Lyra crossed into the Void once again. This was in part due to her need to rebuild the reserves of aether in her crystal. It took time to save enough to do anything greater than cast her senses into the surrounding shadows, though she did do that as often as she could. Over the last few weeks she had observed more of the day to day happenings within the lab. The Negationist did not come often, but when he did it grew more difficult to resist the pull on her power. Stefan still came often enough, usually to work on the bones, but he carried out other experiments as well. There were others that visited often, nearly every day in fact. These people would often come near her prison, examen the wards and other parts of her surroundings, and leave quickly once they were done with their work. They were also often present when the active draining was initiated. After some time, Lyra came to the conclusion that they must be semblence mages. The way they moved, and acted when they drew close was reminiscent of how other such mages behaved with Lyra in the past. They would look closely at seemingly nothing, or listen to a sound no one else could hear. What was frustrating was that, unlike most mages in Zaichaer, they were exceptional at their work. Whenever they were present Lyra had to work much harder to avoid suspicion, lest she risk more interference.
Out of curiosity Lyra had attempted to disrupt the wards while the inspectors were present. They had noticed almost immediately, and an active drain was quickly imposed. It ran longer than normal as well. It was educational for certain, but the loss of aether left Lyra bitter and annoyed. Thus she did what she could to avoid their scrutiny. There was also little rhyme or reason to their visits. Sometimes they would come in the morning, other times in the afternoon or evening. Sometimes they would visit multiple times in a week, and then other times they would not come by for several days. Perhaps they were specialists and thus needed elsewhere, as Lyra had noticed that it was usually the same mages that came each time. The other option was that there were not many members of the so called Order that could use semblence. That seemed more likely, given the relation these zealots had to magic in general. Whatever the case was, Lyra could do little else but avoid attention when they were near. Eventually they would need to be dealt with, much like the Negation mage.
While it was true it took time to gather enough aether to pass into the void, there was another reason which Lyra was avoiding what came next. Despite her best efforts, Lyra could not shake off the distress she felt at her current physical form. It was grotesque, and she did what she could to avoid thinking about it. What would HE think of her if he saw her now... Yet she knew these thoughts were pointless, both because she could not imagine her love abandoning her, and because she had to venture there again if she were to ever find a means of escape.
From what she knew of the Void, she felt certain there were valuable resources there that she would need. Items of power, possibly creatures of flesh and blood she could to replenish her strength. It was possible that, given enough time, she would be able to affect the outside world through the Void, even if her soul was trapped within the demonstone. There was simply too much opportunity there for her to continue to avoid it, so it was that she finally drew upon her collected power and, with a mental sigh, crossed the barrier into the mirror realm once again.
In the Nyxus...
Lyra's form flowed out like black smoke once she had passed through the shadows of the prison into the Mirror realm. At first she simply allowed herself to hover, flowing about free and enjoying the chill of the world. She felt HIM everywhere. He was in the air, in the stones of the earth, in the darkness that shrouded everything. It felt like coming home, an odd thing to feel when stepping into what could be considered a nightmarish mockery of the prime material world. Yet here Lyra felt more at peace than even in her own demesne, though it was likely that place had been completely defiled by now.
Slowly, and somewhat reluctantly, she condensed herself, black smoke waving itself into her gaunt and withered form. This time, however, Lyra was prepared. As her hands shaped before her eyes she did not look away. Instead she traced the black veins which laced up her forearm, eyed each elongated black nail that looked more like claws. One hand raised to touch the dry skin that stretched taunt over her skull. Closing her eyes Lyra forcefully pushed down on the despair that threatened to overwhelm her. Taking a few breaths to calm herself she finally opened her eyes to look around.
The lab was of a decent size. The equipment, though tarnished in the void, still looked new, and the walls were sturdy and mostly whole though here there were large cracks that ran up from the corner of doorways or where wood met stone. Looking back over her shoulder she examined the pedestal where she knew her prison sat in the Prime Material World. She floated over to it, leaning close to examine the markings on its surface. They were worn and faded, but she could faintly make out the outlines of what were likely glyphs. Her eyes wandered up the walls, tracing a path of pictographs that she could recognize as well.
“A child’s scribbles pretending at wards… how quaint.” she muttered softly to herself.
It was difficult to make out, but as her eyes traveled she began to piece together designs. As her gaze traced the patterns, she detected irregularities in the spacing, an asymmetry that disrupted the flow from one pictograph to the next. These glyphs did not sing together as they should, failing to resonate in harmony as true scrivening would. Instead, they sat isolated and inert, their energy trapped in rigid cages. Whoever had created this ward seemed to understand only the brute mechanics of binding, but not the subtleties of coaxing power from the aether with a light, deft touch.
To Lyra, the pictographs felt like an insult to the art she had spent centuries mastering. Yet, as much as they repulsed her, she couldn’t deny their crude effectiveness. They’d taken every precaution they could, layering defenses and redundancies in a messy web that, though lacking elegance, was daunting in its density. It was like encountering a wall built of rough-hewn stones, jagged and misshapen, stacked high enough that even the cracks between them became treacherous obstacles. Whoever laid these scripts were competent enough to be dangerous—dangerous to her, at least, trapped and weakened as she was.
A sound made Lyra pause and turn toward a shadowed doorway which lead outside the lab. Beyond that portal was utter darkness, blacker than the space between stars. All had become still, Lyra realized as she glanced around herself. She had not noticed before, but there had been faint noises of things shuffling about beyond these four walls. She had paid them little mind as they were of no immediate threat, but now their absence rang louder than any bell. Her eyes focused on the doorway once more, attempting to pierce that veil of shadows... Then the shadows looked back at her.
Two large eyes flared into existence. The eyes were like twin amethysts, gleaming with a deep, unnatural light that cut through the darkness. They narrowed, intense and unblinking, and as they fixed on her, Lyra felt a prickling chill ripple down her spine. It was not fear—no, it was something far stranger, something primal and electric. Recognition.
The shadows around the doorway shifted, coalescing into a massive, sinewy form that moved with a predator’s grace. A low, rumbling growl filled the silence, vibrating through the very air as the creature stepped forward, emerging from the blackness like a nightmare slipping through the veil of reality.
A tiger, its coat darker than night, with stripes like cuts in shadow and violet flames trailing from its paws and eyes. Each step it took was silent yet seemed to ripple through the Void itself, distorting the air around it. The creature’s gaze held hers, ancient and knowing, carrying an intelligence that spoke of purpose. Of patience. Of power.
Lyra’s breath caught in her chest, her instincts torn between readiness to fight and the strange, magnetic pull of that gaze. She knew, somehow, that this being was connected to him. She could feel his presence here, woven into the tiger’s every move, every deliberate shift of muscle under shadowed fur. The tiger tilted its head slightly, watching her with what she could only interpret as curiosity—and perhaps, the faintest glimmer of approval.
“Em'bra…” she whispered, half a prayer, half an invocation, her voice barely audible. The tiger’s ears twitched, as if hearing the name echoed across the realms, and in that moment, Lyra knew this was no mere Void beast. This was a part of him—a fragment of her beloved’s will, here in the form of a silent guardian.
The tiger’s gaze softened, just for a heartbeat, before it dipped its head, gesturing for her to follow.