Is any creature a truer mirror of life than the moth? We all begin helpless—whether as egg or child—driven only by the hunger to grow. It is only when the child gathers empathy, experience, and the nourishment of wisdom that they are ready to shed their larval form and transform. For the children of the Sul Empire, is there any greater pupa than Alsavain? The great cocoon of empire, where larvae become majestic beings bound to serve, drawn toward greatness like moths to flame. To never enter Alsavain is to remain forever larval.
– Mustva Marsellius, Kiel Scholar
Aslavain: One Day after the Summer Solstice
As Sylva entered the Room of Threefold Oaths, she took a moment to compose herself. The room was unchanged since her conversation with the Queen of Silk, except for two men seated at the table, looking startled by their sudden appearance.
The larger of the two, with shoulders like the rolling hills of his homeland and a thick mane of curly brown hair framing a face chiseled by the elements, wore a fur cloak that made him seem out of place in the civilized empire. His skin was like the warm, sun-kissed earth, and his piercing blue eyes were like shards of the clearest summer sky, contrasting sharply with the earthy tones of his attire.
The other, with delicate features and alabaster skin, had hair the color of spun gold that glinted in the room’s light. His gray eyes, cool and watchful, resembled polished silver, matching the gray silk robe he wore, which seemed to shimmer with a life of its own.
Sylva’s shoulders were squared, her back straight as she took in the room, a slight tremor in her fingers the only betrayal of her racing heart. She was from the Sect of Silken Grace and it would simply not do to allow someone else to begin the negotiations.
The first man was seated in the stone seat reluctantly, as though uncertain what his place was at the table. Even seated she could tell that he was tall, at least a head taller than herself, likely more. His thick fur cloak was the same color as his brown, curly hair, as though the two were related. Maybe they were if the stories Elder Valinsa had shared were true. The elder had always claimed that the Bal were part beast.
The other man was less noticeable at first glance. His pale golden hair and silken robe let her know that he was Kiel, from the Bridgelands if her gut was right. She examined his robe in more detail after she realized that the gray silk was a shade she wasn’t familiar with. She almost shifted her focus back to the Bal when she realized how absurd that idea was. A silk that she wasn’t familiar with? Impossible.
She focused on his robe and then froze. No. It couldn’t be.
Sylva leaned in, her eyes widening as the light caught the fabric. “Is that woven from Fog Silk?” she blurted out. How could a village gift something so rare? What other secrets does he hold? She felt a pang of envy.
“Yes, it is,” He replied, with a flicker of hesitation. “It was a gift from my village yesterday, before…”
He averted his eyes, a bit wary as he met her intense gaze.
“A real fog robe? And freely given to you?” Disbelief tinged with envy colored Sylva’s tone as she watched him, her dark eyes widening in amazement. “In the entire Sect of Silken Grace, perhaps only a few of the most reclusive elders possess such treasures. It’s unimaginable that a village would relinquish one so freely…”
She couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the way the robe shimmered in the faint white light of the ceiling’s glowstones. The fabric seemed almost alive, casting a glittering aura around him that held her captive.
Sylva’s heart ached with an unfamiliar yearning; the robe was more than mere fabric—it was a symbol of status and power. Even the elders of the Sect couldn’t afford Fog Silk for their bodies. This wealth on display… He must be from one of the wealthiest sects; who else would risk such a treasure? Luminaries Grace? The Sect of Eight Stands? The Guild of the Weavers?
Realizing she had been staring too long, Sylva coughed to hide her embarrassment as the owner of that miraculous silk looked taken aback. This was not how she had imagined their introduction going. Trying to regain control, Sylva shifted the conversation.
“Sylva Strenath of the Sect of Silken Grace.” She inclined her head to each man in turn, her black hair cascading over her emerald robes, hoping her breach of decorum hadn’t offended them. The Bal man raised an eyebrow, his dark eyes curious.
“Silken Grace? An unexpected surprise. Well met, Sylva.” He grinned and she felt a surge of relief at the realization that at least one of her potential teammates was friendly. “My clan, the Zherenkhan, gave me the name Lotem Jarval.”
Jarval? Sylva could have sworn that she had heard the name before. She tried to remember why the name sounded familiar, searching her memory for everything she knew about the ThurBal. She knew that the ThurBal were more peaceful than their cousins to the south, the UlaanBal. Not the most helpful piece of knowledge considering that any peasant in the empire would know that the Human and Numen tribes of the northern plains were more peaceful than the Greenskin tribes to the south.
The Orc and Goblin tribes were… rougher against the sensibilities of the empire. She was glad that if she was to work with one of the Bal it would be the civilized type. Still, why did she know that name?
The other man introduced himself, his jaw clenched and voice tight, barely concealing his annoyance. “I am Hadrian, son of Maximus and Suelin, raised by the village of Cutra.” He looked to her with a hint of challenge in his gaze, his sharp gray eyes the shade of the robe. “Is it truly impossible that my village would gift me a fog robe?”
She decided that defending her earlier words would not get her any closer to her real goals and, kicking herself for her earlier outburst, she said, “I spoke out of excitement earlier, I hope that you can forgive my prior words. I do not doubt your word and the fog robe is truth enough of your claims. I was… shocked is all. I have never heard of someone entering Aslavain with a fog robe.”
“Burning string,” she swore. “I don’t know if anyone has ever left Aslavain with a fog robe. There must only be a few dozen of the robes in the entire empire. You wear a great honor Hadrian, and I sincerely apologize for my earlier offense. You must be destined for greatness if your village would trust you with such a treasure.”
She thought she may be laying her apology on a little bit too thick. The Kiel from the Southern Fologian Reaches and the Bridgelands were notoriously suspicious of false praise, but Hadrian seemed to brighten at her words.
“We cannot hold a Silkborn responsible for her fascination with silk, can we Hadrian?” Lotem paused for just a second before continuing, “not like we can swap out our own skin for something better, much as magical skin would be an improvement.”
“Oh, yeah. Silkborn. Of course.” Hadrian said quickly. Sylva almost thought that he wasn’t familiar with the Silkborn before dismissing the idea. No child of the forests would be unfamiliar with the Silkborn, regardless of how reclusive the sects were. He was clearly from the Bridgelands, though she hadn’t heard of Cutra specifically.
“You are both beyond gracious,” she said, hoping that the sincerity was noticeable in her voice. “Now, we do have several items that need to be discussed. I propose we start by determining if we shall form a triumvirate.”
“Is there any reason we would not form a triumvirate? I wasn’t under the impression that there was much of a decision to be made.” Hadrian’s brows furrowed, and his eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at them both, his concern clear. “You don’t want to go into Aslavain alone do you?”
“I have no interest in going alone.” Lotem said without hesitation. “My choice would be to form a triumvirate, simple enough. Sylva?”
“We can’t make this decision without proper discussion and review. Neither of you have even read the contract. It is simply not done!” She gestured at the walls all around, covered with text in the three imperial scripts. This isn’t just about formality, she thought, it’s about trust. How can I trust them to have my back if they don’t understand the commitment they’re making? I need them to see the gravity of this pact.
Hadrian and Lotem exchanged a glance before Lotem cleared his throat. “Well, we can discuss the terms if you need us to Sylva, but I for one don’t worry much about the standard terms of the contract. The empire has formed triumvirates since before the Beast Wars, before my people had found residence in the great plains. Surely the contract is fairly enforced.”
“That is quite simply not the point, Lotem. Sure, the contract is the same. Sure, we are all going to agree to the contract. But we have to at least talk about it first! This is important!”
She knew that she may be coming across a tad too intense for her first meeting, but the very idea of signing a contract without reading the terms first was just unacceptable.
“If it’s important to you, I am not opposed to hearing about the terms of the contract,” Hadrian offered in an attempt at a peace offering. “Are you willing to explain the terms of the contract to us? It would likely be faster than us trying to read the thing ourselves.”
“We only have three hours to decide not just if we want to work together, which it seems we do, but also where in Aslavain we want to arrive,” Lotem said. “Sylva, we can discuss the terms of the contract if you would like, but I think that planning for our arrival would be a better use of our time.”
Sylva nodded as Lotem spoke. He made a fair point. They were on a time limit and she knew that they likely couldn’t read nearly as quickly as she could. And, at the end of the day, she had already memorized the terms of the contract. They could always discuss it once they were in Aslavain. It wasn’t like she wanted them to split up and enter on their own, simply that she wanted to make sure the process was handled with the gravity that it demanded.
“A fair point Lotem, if we are in agreement we want to work together, even without any real discussion or the gravitas it deserves, we can proceed to more pressing matters.” Both men looked relieved at her words and she realized belatedly that she should be grateful to find a team with such a focus on their time constraints. Following the schedule was essential for a successful team. “Moving on to the second piece of business then. We need to determine our destination.”
“What options would you recommend?”
“Why Hadrian, I am so glad that you asked.” Sylva smiled as she pulled out the string tied in the intricate method of the scholars script, her quipu, and spread her full notes on the table in front of them and began to prepare to take notes of their conversation for any future review. They were going to be heroes after all, it simply would not do to fail in her recordkeeping duties. “Here are my top twenty-four choices ranked in order, and we should have plenty of time to get through the full list if we are moving quickly. But first, we need to discuss what each of us can actually do.”
Hadrian had been excited when he returned to the Room of Threefold Oaths and met his new companions. This is it, he thought, finally a chance to prove myself. But what if they don’t trust me? He glanced at Sylva, noting her intense focus on his robe. She looks at me like I’m a thief, he thought, still uncomfortable with the idea.
The Bal man, Lotem, fascinated Hadrian. He wore a cloak covered in thick brown fur that Hadrian could smell even from across the table. He found himself captivated by the sight. What kind of beast had the hide come from? Was it friendly? The very idea of meeting such a beast thrilled the young man.
He couldn’t wait to learn about the beast and the man who wore its hide. Hadrian didn’t know much about the Bal, but if they were all as heavyset as Lotem, he wasn’t surprised they didn’t take well to high canopies.
He was still staring at the fur cloak, imagining the monster it came from, when Sylva drew attention to herself. Sylva he was… less sure about. He approved of her emerald robes; green was practical for blending into foliage and second only to gray for purposes of stealth.
Hadrian leaned forward, eyes wide with curiosity, ready to ask more about the ‘Silkborn,’ until he noticed her staring at his robe, envy darkening her features. He knew his Fog Silk robe would draw attention, but her reaction was stronger than he expected. She looked half ready to jump him and steal the cloth right off him, modesty be damned.
And that had all been before she called it ‘unimaginable’ that his village would give him the robe, as though he was some thief who had taken it. He was determined to watch the woman and make sure that his robe never left his sight. It was all that he had left from home, and the idea of losing it was more than he thought he could bear.
Despite his newfound concerns for the theft of his robe, he was grateful that at least one of them seemed to know what was going on. His parents had been excellent teachers in the areas they specialized in and completely useless for everything else. By the time the ritual had claimed him he could handle a blade or shoot a bow better than anyone else in Cutra, while being entirely clueless about the grander state of the empire.
Sure, it wasn’t all his parents fault. The empire had strict rules and guidelines about explaining how the magic of the empire and Aslavain really worked. He had been sternly told that it was unbecoming of him to ask for information about those topics and that knowledge could be dangerous. He didn’t really understand why knowing what was coming was taboo, but it wasn’t his place to understand. As his Pa had liked to say, “Knowledge may be power, but so is the ability to perform great acts of violence.”
The memory reminded him that as much as today may feel like the start of an adventure, it was also the end of his past life. He may never see his parents again, had sworn to stay away until he was powerful enough to make Cutra’s dream come true. It could be decades before he reached that point.
He returned his focus to the meeting at hand, chastising himself for his distraction as Sylva began her interrogation of Lotem about his abilities.
“You said you’re part of the ThurBal, Lotem. Which clan?” Sylva’s fingers danced between a series of differently colored threads on the table with a speed Hadrian struggled to follow.
“The Zherenkhan of the Brown Hoof Lake, if you are familiar.”
“And what did you do for the Zherenkhan? Any particular training or expertise?” Sylva inquired.
“I worked primarily with the herds.” He shrugged nonchalantly, his muscular frame barely shifting under the weight of his thick fur cloak, as though herds of beasts larger than men wasn’t a big deal.
Hadrian couldn’t help but interrupt. “What type of herds?”
“Bison, primarily. We also had several ground sloths to protect the herds from local wildlife.”
“Bison.” Hadrian drew the word out, treasuring the sound of something new and trying to imagine the type of creature a ‘bison’ would be. “Is that what your cloak is made from?”
Lotem gave him an odd look. “Yes, this is a bison cloak.”
“What do bison look like?” Hadrian leaned forward, his gaze intense as he tried to imagine these creatures.
“Um, well…” Lotem began.
Sylva coughed gently, interjecting with a smile. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to learn about the herds, Hadrian, but we’re on a time limit. Lotem can describe the bison and ground sloths later.”
“Understood,” Hadrian said, looking eager to know more.
“Someday we’ll visit the great herds, and I’d be honored to introduce you to my beast friends. Wilson and Warma will love to meet you,” Lotem promised.
Hadrian opened his mouth to ask more questions, but Sylva redirected the conversation. “So, Lotem, it’s fair to say your skillset is in the natural sciences?”
Hadrian was about to ask what that included when Sylva added, “Herding, plants, and all things outdoors.”
“Yes. That is fair.””
“And your boon and skill Lotem?”
“That’s personal. I’d prefer not to say,” Lotem replied.
Now that, Hadrian found interesting. Should he also keep his abilities a secret from Sylva? He didn’t think there were any advantages of keeping his teammates in the dark, but maybe Lotem knew something he did not. Sylva raised a single eyebrow as though to say, ‘fine, keep your secrets’ but she didn’t press further.
“Hadrian, what’s your skillset like? Cutra is in the Bridgelands right?”
“Yes, and I’ve been trained as a warrior since I could walk.” Hadrian grinned confidently. “I’ve fought Simians, shot Slinkai out of the sky, and hunted great birds above the canopies.”
“Simians and Slinkai?” Sylva’s eyes took in more than just his robe this time.
“Slinkai?” Lotem asked. He had heard of Simians of course, the bards loved to tell tales of the modern conflict with the worst of the remenants from the Beast Wars. Slinkai though? Those were new to him.
“Nasty little things,” Hadrian explained. “Never trust something that wants to steal your teeth.”
Sylva tried to steer the conversation back on track. “Are you willing to share your boon and skill, Hadrian?”
Hadrian considered. What harm could it do? “Rovan Khal named me a [Squire of Carven Bone]. I have the skills [Lesser Armory of Bone] and [Legacy of Luminaries Fire].”
Sylva didn’t seem to know what to make of that, she seemed confused as she looked to Lotem and then back to him. “You’re the Squire? And with a class already, and two skills… that’s impressive.”
“And what of you Sylva? Clearly you are a capable secretary,” Lotem gestured at her continued tying of the various strands with a hint of amusement as he continued, “but I have a sense that you have more skills than simple rope work. The Sect of Silken Grace has a reputation for quality and you don’t strike me as an exception to that rule.”
“I intend to learn how to tap into and shape the Sulphen directly. My training has prepared me for spellwork.”
“But you’ve not actually cast a spell before?”
“It is only a matter of time.” She replied in a bit of a huff. “We were forbidden from touching the Sulphen directly until we became citizens. The elders have strict rules to prevent premature access to knowledge or magical ability.”
“Are you willing to share your boon and skill?” Hadrian asked.
“I received the boon [Sympathetic Intuition] and the skill [Lesser Dexterity] with the assurance from Nyxol herself that they would guide my path.”
Hadrian relaxed, recognizing the boon. “That is so cool. Do you think you’ll get [Enhanced Dexterity] or [Greater Dexterity] someday?”
Sylva seemed taken aback by his enthusiasm but smiled. “Thanks.”
She seemed to ponder for a moment before turning back to Lotem. “If your skills are too personal to share, can you give us an idea of what aid they might provide? It could influence our choice of shrine.”
Lotem thought about the question, taking his time before responding to the Silkborn woman. “I do not believe either will be of great aid at the start of our journey. Make your decision regardless of my abilities.”
“Okay, so first on the list of possible cities is Kaelen, the City of Arrows…”
After nearly two hours of discussing which shrine to choose in Aslavain, Lotem felt they were finally nearing an agreement. He had hoped to convince them to go to UlaanThur, The City of Crossroads, to meet the other Bal entering Aslavain this year, but Sylva had quickly shot down the idea. She had ranked UlaanThur as her eighteenth choice, which Lotem found a bit insulting.
UlaanThur was at the very heart of the empire and the center of trade and travel. More than that, it was one of the Eternal Cities and hosted one of the great contests in Aslavain each and every year. He thought that it should have at least been in the top ten for the group. He understood that UlaanThur lacked the grandeur of the other Eternal Cities and that selecting it would force them to undergo a long journey to reach the lands of the Dion that Hadrian, the [Squire of Carven Bone], would need to reach to fully access his potential. But still, eighteenth? Sylva hadn’t even known they would be working with a squire when she put the list together.
Sylva had seemed insistent at first that they go to a city either near Eisentor, the City of Woven Word, or one which specialized in travel like Darvoon, the City of Couriers, and that could help them reach distant shrines like the one in Eisentor. Lotem would not agree to anything that had to do with trees of all things; trees were just bad luck, everyone knew that.
Hadrian was insistent that they should be able to reach the Cairn of Titans within a reasonable time frame and as a result sided with Lotem for most of the conversation. Sylva was certain that the Cairn was a mountain west of Ylfenhold, the City of the Veil. Ylfenhold was itself one of the Eternal Cities and was ranked fourth on Sylva’s list. Lotem thought that would make the choice easy.
“Are we all able to agree that Ylfenhold seems to suit our needs?”
“Before we decide I would like to move to consider an additional option not previously discussed.”
“Sylva, we have already discussed far too many cities and we just came to what seemed to be a great option, do we really need another one?”
“Well, those were the twenty-four options I prepared in advance of meeting the Queen of Silk. Now I have new information. Nyxol told me that she had prepared a trainer, one of the [Venerate] no less, at Dornogor, the City of Beasts to undertake our triumvirate’s training personally.”
“And you failed to mention this highly relevant detail for the past several hours of discussion why?”
“We didn’t fully discuss the contract. I thought it would be a tragedy to skip over our options before entering Aslavain.”
Lotem took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and felt the cold air enter his lungs before he tried to move the conversation forwards. He knew that the Malan, and especially the Sects, had a reputation for bogging down even the simplest choices with a need for thorough review. The Malan had invented bureaucracy at the founding of the empire and the Sects maintained the illustrious tradition.
He felt Sabel shifting under his cloak as the deep breath disturbed her rest. He had decided after careful consideration not to mention his small companion until after they were within Aslavain. He didn’t expect his new team would make it into an issue but Sabel was sleeping and he didn’t think it was worth the risk.
He needed this team to accept him, especially if there was a [Venerate] waiting to train them. He almost regretted refusing to share his skills with the pair earlier but he wanted, needed really, to be sure they would work with him before sharing that both of his skills were useless. He needed to learn how to fight Tul, not rodents. The dragon had lied when she told him he would get something worthwhile, he should have known better.
“A [Venerate]?” Hadrian asked, his tone betraying none of the frustration that Lotem felt. “That must be someone important. Dornogor it is then!”
“Well, it’s not quite that simple.” Sylva interjected, “Dornogor is… tricky. Are you familiar with the unstable zones?”
Hadrian looked to Lotem, clearly in the dark. Lotem had heard the term before but he wasn’t sure why Sylva was bringing it up. He knew that the Eldar could create unstable zones if too many of the walking shrines were in a region. It was why they had strict rules that no more than three of the Eldar could attend any single gathering of the tribes. He was less sure about what an unstable zone actually did, but he knew it wasn’t good.
“That happens when shrines are too close, right?” He said after it became clear that Hadrian was in the dark.
Sylva looked surprised at his answer as she responded, “Well, yes actually. You see it all goes back to the Radius of Silver and Stone–”
“And Dornogor is in one of these unstable zones?” Lotem interrupted Sylva. He had realized that if someone didn’t interrupt Sylva she would talk for minutes at a time about details that he barely followed and that he was confident Hadrian did not at all understand. The man had seemed fascinated by the stone ceiling for minutes at a time while Sylva had spoken earlier, and Lotem hoped he could save him from a similar fascination with the floor.
“Exactly!” Sylva seemed more excited to have participation in the discussion than she was annoyed about the interruption. “Dornogor is in the most famous of the unstable zones, its demesne–”
Hadrian interrupted quietly as he turned to Lotem as though hoping Sylva wouldn’t notice, “How can cities dismay be too close?”
“Demesne not dismay.” Sylva said with a sigh. “Let me adjust my lexicon and use smaller words. The area of control around the shrines in Aslavain is overlapping with two other cities. She tossed down three circles of woven string and overlapped them to demonstrate her point. “Each of the circles is the demesne that surrounds a shrine, you see these areas that overlap? Those are the unstable zones. I will teach you the real terms eventually Hadrian; we have words for a reason. It’s just efficient.”
“And that overlapping area is a bad thing?” Hadrian looked at them with a confident look, as though proud that he had figured it out.
“Yes, Hadrian, that is a bad thing.”
“Why?”
“Well…” Sylva hesitated. “I don’t know the exact mechanics of the disturbance, but the elders assured us that it was not something to take lightly.”
And now they were both watching him as though he should know the answer. He would have loved to impress them with his detailed knowledge of the mechanics of inner shrine confluences if he had any. He decided that the best course of action would be to look like he was pondering the question deeply until Sylva gave as much of the real answer as she was able. After a silence thicker than Warma’s coat, it was clear that they were all at a loss.
Sylva cleared her throat. “Dornogor is connected to two other shrines, Tir Na Nog, the City of Rage, and Bonehold, the City of Moving Bone. Just using simple inference, the City of Beasts would be influenced by rage and moving bone. The beasts in the demesne are likely more violent and they may even be reanimated by the aura of the place.”
“I vote Dornogor,” Hadrian said immediately, a hint of excitement in his voice.
Sylva and Lotem both looked at Hadrian with surprise. Lotem wasn’t sure why skeletons and feral beasts would be a selling point for the city no matter how much the idea seemed to excite his new companion.
“Because of the mentor waiting for us there?” Sylva asked.
“Well… sure, yeah. The mentor waiting for us is a great reason to go to Dornogor.”
“Is that why you voted for Dornogor?”
“Not entirely…” Hadrian seemed to have decided that the writing on the wall over Sylva’s shoulder was supremely interesting. “I just remembered some of the advice my parents gave me before leaving.”
“Which was?”
“My Pa always liked to say that the only way to get stronger was to kill things that were stronger than yourself. Feral beasts and skeletons sure sound like a good way to kill things stronger than myself.”
“But we don’t know anything about the risks involved. Aside from Nyxol advising me that we should go to Dornogor, we don’t even know if there are additional effects of an unstable zone. Shouldn’t we go to a city near Dornogor and just travel there. It would be far safer and we lack the knowledge to make the gamble worth it.”
Lotem couldn’t help but agree with Sylva. He had heard stories about unstable zones pulling people into themselves before trying their best to kill them. Even the Balar only allowed a few of the Eldar shrines in an area at a time, so the consequences must be dire indeed to scare that man. He was about to interject when Hadrian responded with a certainty in his tone.
“As my Pa and Ma always said, ‘Knowledge may be power, but so is the ability to perform great acts of violence.’ Do we really need to understand everything about the choice? One of the immortals set us on this path, another named me his [Squire] and we all seem more qualified than most. Surely this is what Aslavain is all about!”
Lotem wondered what type of village Hadrian had been raised in. Was he a part of a combat sect of some sort?
“Your parents seem… lovely Hadrian.” Sylva said. “And what exactly did you say your personal training has been which would lead to such a… charming phrase.”
“My village taught me how to fight. I am primarily an archer, although that isn’t the most helpful without a bow. I have trained in knives, swords and practiced perfecting an axe strike. I almost got through my entire tree trunk before today. I was so close.” Hadrian looked wistfully past them, seeming to imagine this mostly chopped down tree.
“One of the mighty folog trees?” Sylva asked incredulously. “Those are wide enough for a large family to live within, not speaking of the height.”
“What else?” He looked to her with confusion. “The Fologian Forest only has Folog trees; nothing else grows nearly tall enough. Between the fog and the canopies, its all we’ve got. I’ve been chopping that tree as long as I can remember.”
Lotem raised his hand and they both looked to him. “I also vote Dornogor. I’m not sure if we will encounter any of the issues you are worried about Sylva or if we are drawn off course like the stories say is possible. Regardless, Hadrian is right. Nyxol tasked us with this and the worst that comes is the chance to prove ourselves. I think I will put my trust in Hadrian to safeguard us with ‘great acts of violence.’ We were chosen by the Immortals, how bad could it be?”
Hadrian beamed at him and Sylva looked ready to argue before she seemed to arrive at a decision.
“I vote to go to Dornogor then,” Sylva said. “It seems we are in agreement.”
“So, do we just loudly announce our intention?” Hadrian asked. “What do we do from here?”
“Are we in agreement then?” Sylva waited for both of their nods of acknowledgement before speaking the formal words in a deeper, more intentional voice. “Under the gaze of empire we have chosen to form a triumvirate. We demand entrance to the demesne of Dornogor.”
At her words three of the ivory needles rose from the table, one in front of each of them. Sylva quickly pricked her finger and Lotem watched with fascination as the skin on her arm seemed to lose some of its color, as though something had been stolen from the silk. Lotem weathered the prick and draw of blood with a stoney face. He watched Hadrian hesitate before following suit.
The needles withdrew into the table a moment later and then he heard the same monotone voice speak from inside his mind.
[Triumvirate of the Sul Empire formed]
Lotem felt a tangible resistance, a pressure as if the air itself compressed, squeezing him in an unfamiliar way as the shift took him and they began to travel to the City of Beasts. Soon they would be at the shrine within Dornogor and able to begin their journey. Maybe the [Venerate] was already waiting for them. I hope we made the right choice, he thought. If Dornogor is as dangerous as Sylva fears, we’ll need every bit of strength and cunning to survive. Sabel, stay close. We can’t afford to let our guard down for a second.
He sensed Sabel pressing her small form against his chest, seeking comfort from within his cloak as the journey that was supposed to take a few seconds stretched longer and longer. It was as though time itself had slowed and stilled in this place that was neither Creation nor Aslavain. Lotem began to suspect that something was wrong.
A pulse of red light cut the air, shapes shifting within it, overpowering the golden hues and filling his vision with the color of fresh blood. Sabel stirred against him as the air filled with the sharp tang of iron. Lotem barely noticed. The crimson tide spoke to the primal core within him, tugging at instincts humanity had never fully shed.
His breathing became ragged as the red light overwhelmed his senses and shapes began to resolve in the red mist into a vision that he knew was a mere illusion. The vision solidified as war horns blared in his ears; he could see, almost feel, towering forms charging from the hills, teeth bared in savage grins. He watched a swarm of rats emerge, covering the hillside, overtaking the Tul. What is this? he wondered before the realization arrived. The Tul. He was seeing the Tul. Even knowing it was an illusion, that it wasn’t real, his heart began to pound in his ears, the beat of a steady drum heralding the arrival of the Tul.
The Kiel describe rage as a burning ember, ready to ignite into a blaze as natural as fire itself. The Dion see it as a force that animates the flesh, turning one’s body into a vessel beyond the soul’s control. The Malan consider rage a tool to be harnessed, akin to joy or sorrow. In that moment, Lotem was convinced that rage was a righteous fury, a natural and correct response.
The call of rage stirred within him, igniting a desire to confront the Tul. His muscles tensed, ready to spring at the nearest shadowy figure and eliminate the threat. He felt Sabel shaking against his chest, her claws digging into his skin as she tried to escape from within his cloak. He took a deep breath, urging the calm to come. This has to be a vision. It couldn’t be real. He had to calm down.
He steadied his breath, looking wide eyed for his companions as the light began to fade and the anger that he suspected was far from natural began to dissipate. As his rage faded so did the scene that had filled his vision and the sounds of scurrying feet and warhorns faded to nothingness. And then, he was no longer alone. They had all arrived somewhere, but they were not in Dornogor.
Sylva’s voice came from just behind him as he began to take in the scene. All around them were trees formed from bone, the branches forming a network of pale ivory overhead. Visible through the canopy was an obelisk carved from black stone which loomed over them. Beneath his bare feet was a soil darker than any Lotem had seen before.
What is this place? Lotem wondered, his heart pounding in his chest. This isn’t Dornogor, it can’t be. He clenched his fists, ready to face whatever came next.
“This must be the the demesne of Tir Na Nog. Formally named in imperial records the City of Rage. Informally known as the City of Revenge… we are not ready to be here.”
Well shit, Lotem thought, did I cause this?