French Toast Bagel

“Chanaranach’Elin. If I may, I could request one last addendum to your tour,” one of the ardent stood. He was an older man. In his late 40s perhaps. The man was dark skinned, but his brows were long and white like a Thaylen. He used some kind of paste to glue his loose hair to his skin. They were shaped to curl and swirl on his scalp like leaves loose in the wind. The other ardents around looked unsettled by the outspokenness of their peer. Such boldness. Now this was interesting.

“What is your name, friend?”

“Zesnnum,” he answered.

“Zesnnum, what addendum are you suggesting?” Chana asked

“I sculpted a tribute to you. I had hoped for you to see it before you go.”

Head Ardent, Taannuk, looked ready to cut down the idea, but Chana jumped in first. “Sure, I see no harm in the sharing of art. Lead the way,” Chana smiled. The other ardents squirmed in their spots, but Zesnnum looked ecstatic.

The ardent guided her back down some familiar halls. Soon they took a turn into a room Chana hadn’t seen before. It was atelier. Shelves full of tools and smaller sculptures lined the marble wall. It was a modest room with a single skylight for light. In the center of the room was what Chana presumed was the statue in question, though it was covered by a protective sheet. The statue wasn’t very tall. It barely reached Chana’s shoulders. But it was very… wide? It spanned a large square of land at the very least. Zesnnum dragged away the cover.

Oh? Well Chana could most certainly see why the other Ardents didn’t like the figure.

The piece before her was etched in bold defiance of how past tributes had depicted her. At its center, a statue of herself sat in a modest chair wearing full plated armor except for her helm and wrist guards. Her hair was carved to be free, and it rolled loosely down her shoulder. The statue had a relaxed posture with her leaning on her right arm. Her left hand was held high with a goblet of wine as though she was holding it in celebration.

Chana stepped closer to the figure. The softest smile was etched onto her face. Her eyes lacked the usual sternest most other depictions carried. She looked so warm. Approachable, even. This figure did not sit like they were a god high above men. She looked like a regular soldier enjoying a good drink.

As much as this was a tribute to her, Chana’s four children were all here too. They were child versions of themselves. Though their age differences weren’t quite right. They all looked to be around 10 years of age. Curiously, her children all wore Veden attire. The boys had little shoulder capes and Shallan wore a gown. Chana was used to seeing artists adapting her to look from the artist’s background. Here Chana and her children all looked strikingly Veden.

Chana slowly wandered around the statue. To her statue’s left, Balat and Jushu sparred. Jushu’s figure kept his plumpness while Balat’s figure was far more square. The swords her sons carried were dull and small. Toys most likely. Her eldest son wore her missing helm. The adult helm was far too large on the boy as it rested on his shoulders rather than his head. The visor was up, and the boy had a stern expression on his face. Balat stood with a proper defensive vinestance towards his little brother. Jushu, on the other hand, had her wrist guards. As like his elder brother, her guards scarcely fit the boy. They looked to be more of hindrance than protective. Her youngest son stood posed to jab at Balat with flamestance. The boy held the sword in one hand with the other gently hovering along the flat of the blade. There was a mischievous glent in Jushu’s gaze. It was adorable.

On her statue’s right, Wikim built a tower of blocks. The tower was no plain stack of blocks. It was an art of balance and shapes. The tower widened and narrowed in peculiar ways. There was an adroitness to the pattern he had set the blocks. Had it been real it would have been a wonder to understand how it still stood. Though Wikim looked quite confident as he added his next piece. His tower had grown so tall, the boy had to stand to add more to it. Chana chuckled at the detail of logic books being strewn around her son’s feet. Finally, her only daughter sat against the front right leg of Chana’s chair. Shallan’s hair was carved to be wild as it spilled down her head and tumbled off her shoulders. Her cheek carried indents to mark freckles. The girl held her sketch book in her lap and had the butt of her pen pressed against her lips. Her daughter looked to be in deep thought. Everything about Shallan fitted a stereotypical depiction of a young Veden girl except for the wooden sword holstered on her left side and the shield resting beneath her right arm. With the way Shallan sat, her sword was prominently visible to the eyes of viewers. Interestingly enough, the sword was the same shape as her shardblade. Just smaller. Chana looked to the shield. It too was a toy version of Shallan’s shardshield. The lightweaver glyph was etched on the front.

Huh… Chana looked back to Balat’s toy sword. It hit her. His sword too was a smaller version of his shardblade. When she looked to Wikim again, she realized he too had a toy version of his shard at his waist. Chana just hadn’t noticed it. Everyone had a toy shard except Jushu. His sword looked closer to the ornamental sword Chana gifted her generals. Jushu, her only child without a spren bond. Chana hadn’t thought much about that before, but now she wondered…

“So what do you think?” Zesnnum asked.

“I think this is wonderful. In fact, this might now be my favorite statue. I like the little details you add for my children. I especially appreciate you not letting Jushu get overshadowed by his radiant siblings,” Chana smiled. The other ardents relaxed.

“I am honored by your praise,” Zesnnum bowed.

Chana walked to Zesnnum’s side and placed a hand on his shoulder. When he looked up at her, he did not grow timid by her nearness nor look uncomfortable by her overly familiar gesture. Yes, she liked this one.

“I’m honestly more surprised you are in my devotary and not one more closely tied to art. It is I who is truly honored. We should put this piece in the front entrance hall,” Chana added.

Zesnnum’s jaw dropped in a quiet gasps. The head ardents sputtered.

“My lord, if I may, I don’t think this statue would be befitting in the entrance hall,” Taannuk cautioned.

“Why not? It is quite welcoming. It is as though I am welcoming onlookers into my home. My devotaries are a home of sorts. I would hope that all who wished to visit, human or listener, feel a sense of belonging and community here,” Chana pushed back.

Though looking over the piece again, what it depicted was far from the reality of her children’s childhoods. Chana’s heart squeezed just thinking of it. “Though perhaps I should first consult my children before any statue of them is showcased.”

Especially since it continues to propagate the idea Chana was the perfect mother to them in the first place.

No matter how much her children, or herself for that matter, reported on the true ugliness of their past, the vorin church altered their history to fit a more sanitized narrative. One that tries to allow for devotees of Chanaranach’Elin to worship her without guilt. And to think Ishar finds it odd that she pays so much attention to her devotaries. Chana could not help but fear what kind of narratives power hungry figures heads would push without her consent.