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Tension is often defined as a heightened discomfort between two opposing forces. Most seek to dispel it the moment its hollow claws scrape against the fragile veneer of peace.
Vaelithar and Adonis did not dispel tension. They cultivated it.
They sat at opposite ends of a long marbled table in a chamber reserved for the highest Houses of Silvermoon... where silk-gloved disputes were settled with courteous smiles as alliances and unions were forged over crystal decanters and candlelight.
No such civility waited here.
Documents lay scattered in deliberate disorder. Trade manifests. Cargo inventories. Each parchment bore the sigil of House Duskryn pressed in crimson wax.
Adonis Bβandtherion reviewed them with methodical precision, armored finger tracing each line as if the ink might betray its master under sufficient scrutiny.
Across from him, Vaelithar Duskryn reclined, one ankle resting upon his knee, watching the Patriarch with open amusement. His eyes were narrow, reptilian in their focus.
This was not their first private audience.
House Bβandtherion had never ceased its watch over House Duskryn. Vaelitharβs past associations had beenβ¦ unsavory. He had corrected that perception, of course. Shaken proper hands. Spoke proper apologies. Wore humility like a borrowed cloak until the Magistrate dismissed him as a nuisance rather than a threat.
Adonis had not.
Anything bearing Duskrynβs seal that crossed the borders of Quelβthalas passed beneath the Patriarchβs gaze.
This shipment was no exception.
βHow long,β Vaelithar asked lightly into the silence, βdo you imagine we shall continue this dance?β
He gestured vaguely toward the paperwork.
βMy ships arrive. They endure βrandomβ inspections. I am summoned with immaculate documentation. And you, my dear Lord Bβandtherion, dig with tireless devotion... searching for the single crumb that justifies your suspicion.β
Adonis did not look up.
The only sound was the whisper of parchment and the faint tap of Vaelitharβs fingers against the marbled surface.
βSeveral shipments,β Adonis said at last, voice low and even, βhave borne illegal contraband.β
The response came swift.
βNone bearing my mark. I charter public vessels. I cannot account for every crate a smuggler conceals aboard them. Perhaps your talents are better spent pursuing those actually responsible.β
A faint smile curved Vaelitharβs mouth. He was prepared. He always was.
βYou should know,β he continued, settling deeper into his chair, preparing the timely boast, βmy affairs have prospered. Trade routes restored. Alliances renewed. Reputationβ¦ rehabilitated.β
A quiet chuckle.
βThey call me the βLord of the peopleβ in the streets. Thus, while you have remained here... steadfast and unmoving... I have adapted.β
He leaned forward slightly.
βI wanted you to know that. I want you to have every piece of the puzzle. I find it amusing to know that you will still be unable to assemble it.β
His tongue passed slowly over his teeth.
βMy latest vintage now sells within a prominent brothel in Pandaria. One who's Madam is most delicious and an able partner in business and pleasure..." he grinned, letting the words linger a moment. "Horde and Alliance alike whisper of the potency of my bottles. It isβ¦ memorable.β A subtle gesture, indicating that the potency of the mix had something more than just grapes and alcohol. "They clean their pockets for it. Beg for it.... do you know what I've decided to call it?β
A pause.
βAlleriaβs Kiss.β
Adonisβ finger stopped for a moment as the echo of his deceased wife lingered in his mind.
His gaze lifted slowly as Vaelitharβs smile widened. There was anger now, rumbling like an approaching thunderstorm.
βI found it fitting. We did compete for her affection, after all... I offered her stability, and yet she chose the unstable soldier. Still, she came crawling to me when you could not satisfy her." Vaelithar shuddered in his arousal, "gods... her kiss was like fire. Her touch was like poetry with a memorable apex in its rhyme... gentle at first but then ravenous with hunger and need as my teeth sank into her supple flesh." He hummed, "I always recall such memories when I pour myself a glass... now I will share those memories with the world."
The insult lingered, heavy and deliberate.
βYou coin her as a whoreβ Adonis replied, voice calm as carved stone. βBut a memory of my own lingers with those words, a memory of laying her to rest. My grief was evident but not overwhelming enough to see the infamous Lord Duskryn...on his knees, sobbing like an infant child who lost a toy he could not hold onto.β
His eyes dropped briefly to the plain gold band on Vaelitharβs finger.
βShe offered you a lesson in modesty in her weakness. I see the lesson is still on you, but not heeded."
Vaelithar laughed softly and lowered his hand from sight. His eyes narrowed in a reptilian manner.
βI am not finished," he hissed, his voice losing its lightness.
βYour House decays. One son is dead. One son is assumed dead. Your daughter is a broken husk of herself. Your courtyard grows more weeds than flowers. Your walls crumble and crack in disrepair." He tsked and shook his head, "It's a sad stateβ¦ but worry not. I'll be there when the last coin is spent from your pocket. I'll collect your deed. I'll raze your home to the ground. I'll dig up your dead wife and piss on her bonesβ¦" he paused, a dark, unsettling grin etching on his face, "I'll claim your daughter as mine. I'll sire offspring with her so that the B'andtherion name dies with my seed in her bellyβ¦"
He tilted his head, letting the words hang in the brief silence. Slowly, he leaned back and folded his fingers together on his chest. "I tell you this because I know, even with this information, you won't do anything. Or hardly anything. You are a rock, B'andtherion, sturdy and strong but unmoving, unwaveringβ¦"
He then gestured to himself with some flourish in his fingers, "I move with the tides of social expectation. I become what the people want me to become. When other Houses desire nothing more than to rebuild their glory, I give them station to do so⦠then I take from them...and I take⦠and take⦠and take⦠and then I consume when there is nothing left."
He hitched a breath, his eyes glinting in the light like a madman.
Then a growl rumbled from his throat, like a beast recalling the taste of fresh meat.
"And there's your Lionessβ¦" he whispered, closing his eyes and digging through the dark caverns of his memory. "Your kittenβ¦ the one who actually managed to scale your wall and dig her claws into your unused flesh."
He sucked in his breath and turned his head away with a slightly dramatic sigh, "I'm going to take her as well. I've seen her in a way that your honor makes you avert your eyes. You may know "Lady Emberdawn," but you don't know "The Lioness" and just how wild she isβ¦." he shuddered in delight. "Watching her depart the city with men that aren't you brings such aβ¦" he paused, thinking of the word, "release to my loins...knowing that you cannot please herβ¦ knowing that she aches between her thighs every night but seeks out the comfort of others, knowing full well that her "Bull" likely still laments the loss of his wifeβ¦" he tilted his head, "Do you call out Alleria's name when you two share a bed? I wonder what Alleria would think seeing brave, honourable Adonis B'andtherion, who believes in tradition and simplicity, going against his belief of marital courtship just so he could feel the touch of flesh once more."
Adonis did not move.
"I'm going to take that flesh from you..." Vaelithar continued, incensed like a shark tasting blood in the water. "I'm going to make her purr for me, and I'm going to break that woman a thousand times over so that her whimpering and heated cries will be loud enough to haunt your nightmares." he rose slightly to his feet so that his words were heard clearly before he continued.
"And when she stumbles from my bed, bow-legged and lost, she won't even remember your name⦠no one will remember your name. It will be dust in the wind. A dead story of a broken, failure of a man." He writhed then, his form shifting and twitching in euphoria as if imagining his words as a reality.
As Vaelithar finally settled somewhat, Adonis carefully placed the sheet of paper atop the rest of the pile. He organized them as if they weren't touched and rose from his seat. He didn't say a word, nor did he act as if Vaelithar was in the room as he pushed his chair in and slowly made his way around the table.
Vaelithar settled back, threading his hands together once more and smirking as he watched Adonis come closer. It was clear that the papers were indeed true and that Lord Duskryn's cargo was indeed sound.
Thus, the performance was done. However, Vaelithar shifted as if expecting something else. His expectation was verified when Adonis stopped by his side.
The Paladinβs hand shot out, seizing a fistful of dark hair and driving Vaelitharβs face into the table.
Bone cracked. Blood splattered in arced waves across the marble.
Vaelithar felt the cartilage in his nose turn into liquid. He felt warm blood spill down his cheeks from his eyes and dribble down his jaw. His mouth hung, broken from just the first blow. His eyes began to swell shut as Adonis slammed him again... and again... and again, like a bear smashing the skull of a rat. There was no grunt of rage from the Patriarch with each blow. Just focus. Unrelenting, unyielding focus.
When Adonis finally lifted him, Light spilled from his fingertips. Flesh reknit. Bone reset. Blood evaporated.
Vaelitharβs lips curved in a fractured grin.
The next blow erased it.
Each cycle of blood and cracked bone lingered longer before Adonis' merciful light came and healed the damage that was done. Pain allowed to bloom longer and longer, thus Vaelithar suffered longer and longer with each cycle before being undone again.
At last, Adonis restored him only enough to appear intact. The exterior appeared unmarred. Vaelithar's jaw, however, hung slack and useless.
He forced Vaelitharβs gaze upward.
βThe only thing that gives me pause,β Adonis said evenly, βis your ego. You, with your forked tongue, mistake stillness for weakness.β
His grip tightened.
βI gladly take the moniker of a rock. A rock does not chase a serpent. It simply crushes it.β
He released him with a shove that sent the noble sprawling to the floor.
βHow will you savor your triumph,β Adonis continued, βwhen my hammer finally bludgeons you from existence. When you rot beneath my feet? Forgotten. Clutching a ring and a lie. You are alone, Duskryn. Coin cannot be purchased otherwise.β
The door opened and then closed, leaving Vaelithar in silence.
He lay staring at the ceiling, blood beginning at the corner of his mouth, eyes bright despite it.
A ragged whisper escaped him.
βI do enjoyβ¦ how we dance.β
He smiled and reached for the ring on his finger.
@daily-writing-challenge
mentions of @themadamelioness @susan-gampre @kelzthalasbandtherion
Adonis stood at the tall window of his study, his gaze fixed upon the vast courtyard below. Quelβthalas had greeted the morning beneath clear skies, but now dark clouds pressed in, throttling the sun as its fading light stretched like desperate fingers across the land before being snuffed out entirely.
That same desperation took root in the Patriarchβs chest.
Months had passed since he last heard his eldest sonβs voice. Now even its echo was gone, swallowed by shadow. Couriers arrived and departed in steady rotation, their reports delivered by different hands, inked in different scripts, yet always burdened with the same merciless refrain:
The heir has not been found.
His eyes drifted to the desk behind him, to the disordered stacks of parchment strewn across its surface. Once, there had been reports of troop movements, correspondence between houses, ledgers of war and strategy documents that gave an aging man purpose. Now there were assurances. Promises. Missives declaring that searches continued, that efforts were ongoing, that hope yet remained for the missing heir of House Bβandtherion.
Hope.
Well-wishers came as well. They offered practiced condolences and hollow comfort, which Adonis met with narrowed eyes and clipped replies. He had no patience for such performances. He did not want wishes. He did not want promises.
Adonis wanted results. Adonis wanted his son.
And yet... even that want began to erode beneath the weight of passing days.
Still, he endured. Each morning he rose, reviewed the reports, coordinated efforts with his Majordomo. He sent members of his elite guard across Azeroth itself, each sworn to return with answers.
Each returned with none.
He had known despair like this only once before: when the Matriarch fell. Then, too, his steel had been no match for the hellfire of grief. Now those embers stirred again, licking at his resolve, threatening to consume what discipline remained.
Unbidden, memories of his son crept into his thoughts. Recollections long buried, for affection had no place in a life ruled by efficiency and duty. Yet one memory rose above the rest: a small, innocent hand reaching for his own. It was in that moment, long ago, that Adonis had knownβwithout questionβthat he would burn the world to ash should harm ever come to his child.
In the morning, for the first time, he summoned no one.
Yet Haldir, his Majordomo, stood within the study regardless. He spoke no word, only watched as the storm gathered over his lord, his carefully maintained neutrality faltering as understanding took hold.
Slowly, Adonis turned to face him. His expression was composed, his features set and unreadable. But Haldir had served him too long not to recognize the truth.
Acceptance had finally taken root.
Adonis glanced down at his hand before he spoke. Haldir lifted a hand in quiet protest, but the words came all the same.
βMy son is dead.β
Outside, the clouds swallowed the last of the light.
Adonis sat alone in his study, a steady frown carved deep into his face, one that had darkened over the past few days until new creases etched themselves into his skin.
The quiet sound of Haldirβs footfalls did not escape him, though he made no effort to acknowledge his Majordomo until the man spoke.
βI walkedβ¦β His voice carried the weight of resignation and frustration in equal measure. βI walked the streets of our city. Noβ¦β He paused, brow furrowing further. βI did not walk. I wandered. I wandered lost through streets I have known since my youth.β
The Paladin turned then, facing Haldir fully.
The Majordomo stood with his hands clasped neatly behind his back, expression unreadable. He knew his Lord both wished to be heard and wished not to be, so he simply listened, gathering what he could from the fragments offered.
βI sought to lose myself,β Adonis went on, his voice slurring faintly.
Haldirβs eyes flicked briefly to the empty glass sitting just beyond his Lordβs reach.
βYet even as I tried to drown my mind, I could not blind my eyes or deafen my ears to the state of our people.β Adonis shook his head with a derisive snort. βThere was no honour. No duty. Only vanity.β He gestured vaguely between them. βI am no stranger to our raceβs appetitesβIβve accepted themβbut once they were tempered with grace. With restraint.β
He rose then, his movements steady despite the fire of ale burning in his gut, and crossed to the window. Below, the courtyard stretched in quiet order: gardeners pruning the flowerbeds with meticulous care, guards pacing in well-worn patterns.
The sight brought him a bitter calm, as though he cradled the roots of his house with gentle hands even as its thorns tore his flesh.
βI saw a drunkard wearing Silvermoonβs seal, attempting poorly to court two women at once. And that sort of recklessness repeated itself in one form or another all throughout my wandering.β
He trailed off, eyes tracking a passing patrol before turning back to Haldir. βWhat hope is there, when the darkness closes its fist around our capital and those who should stand against it are distracted by trivial indulgences?β
Haldirβs expression softened into thought. Since the Lionessβs awakening, the Patriarch had seemed momentarily steadied, but the void left by his missing son and broken daughter had only deepened. Adonis looked older now. Slower. The weight of years pressed upon his shoulders as he sank back into his chair.
Haldir stepped forward, standing beside the same window his Lord had stared through moments earlier.
βMy Lord,β he began, his tone measured but sincere, βyou and I are of another time... another life. Yet Silvermoonβs people have ever balanced beauty with duty. Were it not so, the spires would have fallen long ago. There are still those who strive to meet your standard, even if you no longer see them.β
A rough sound escaped Adonis: half laugh, half grunt. The Majordomo allowed himself the faintest smile and moved around to the far side of the desk.
βMy standard,β Adonis muttered, βwas once the norm. Do you know why I despise social gatherings?β
Haldir knew, but wisely kept silent.
βBecause the conversation turns from the betterment of our people to which noble is bedding which or who will next stab another in the back. Every word wears a mask and yet I must cast my offspring into that same theatre.β
His words faltered, his breath catching.
His children were broken or gone. The truth struck him anew each time. Haldir had tried before to speak of it, but it always brought more pain than peace. So he remained silent, letting his Lordβs grief settle where it must.
Then, in a rare motion, Adonis reached into a drawer and drew out a crystal bottle of dark ale. He produced another glass and extended it to Haldir.
βMy Lordβ¦β Haldirβs voice held gentle protest.
Adonis met his eyes with a look that silenced him utterly. The Majordomo approached. The Patriarch poured, then leaned back in his chair and gestured for Haldir to sit.
And so they drank. And they spoke... not as master and servant, but as old friends.
And for a few fleeting hours, Adonis allowed himself to be lost.
((Brief @themadamelioness and @kelzthalasbandtherion mentions))
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As the final memory faded away, she found herself standing in the hedge maze yet again.Β Before her was the Bronze Lioness, frozen in time with her head bowed in silent submission.Β After experiencing the other womanβs memories, Naralinthe threw her arms around the statueβs neck and began bawling uncontrollably.Β βYouβ¦ have enduredβ¦ so much pain,β she choked between sobs.Β They both had, really.Β βIβ¦ I am so sorry.β
Her second soul not only lost everyone she ever loved, but sacrificed everything to ensure this version of herself returned to life. Β A truly selfless individual, the Bronze Lioness spent her dying breath imbuing Naralinthe with the last vestiges of her power in a final act of altruism.Β βWhyβ¦?β She probed while pressing her tear-stained cheek to the otherβs cold metal shoulder. Β βWhy do all of this for me?β
Overcome with survivorβs guilt, Naralinthe tried to return the Lionessβs power to her.Β βYou should be the one who lives,β she declared while fighting back tears.Β βNot me.βΒ Summoning the lightβs grace to her fingertips, Naralinthe laid her glowing hands upon the statue and closed her eyesβ¦
When she opened them, the Bronze Lioness was nowhere to be found, and instead Naralinthe was holding a baby girl in her arms.Β Three words echoed within her thoughts, laced with the concern of a protective mother, βHelp her soar.β
Once again Naralinthe began to sob, her heart now overcome with sadness and remorse.Β βI will,β she cried.Β A promise whispered into downy curls as she held the baby close and kissed the top of her head.
The sky darkened overhead, and the telltale pitter-patter of rain signaled a storm looming on the horizon. Only it was not water falling from the heavens, it was⦠sand?!!?! Placing her back to the storm, Naralinthe sheltered the child from the biting wind to the best of her ability. A vortex of sand spiraled up and all around them, burning her lungs with every abrasive breath. There was nowhere to run, no shelter to house them as they waited out the storm, only her body to shield the baby swaddled in a thin blanket. Then, without warning, a massive dump of sand knocked the child from her arms.
βNO!β She screamed while falling to her knees and started digging frantically to retrieve the baby.Β Her eyes burned, her skin was pelted red and raw from the sandstorm, but Naralinthe would not relent.Β She would rather die here than leave Giida to succumb to such an awful fate.Β βNo, no, nononono!β She panicked while scooping away handfuls of sand, but no matter how much she removed, she could not seem to gain any ground.Β Sand poured over her back, a ceaseless waterfall forcing her to brace herself against the crushing weight, and she cried out in desperation, βGiida!!!β
In the dead of night, Naralinthe stirred in her bed. Fingers twitching at first, followed by frantic eye movements behind fluttering eyelids as she struggled within the confines of her dream⦠or was it a nightmare?
A hand clasped firmly around hers, assuring her she was not alone.Β She needed to understand she was loved, she was safe, and it was time to come home.Β βDonβt you give up on me,β whispered a voice from her bedside.Β βKeep trying.β
The weight of the sand was unbearable as it steadily gained momentum, but she would not yield.Β Naralinthe dug endlessly in search of the girl despite the inherent danger they were both in.Β She needed to find her, and after promising to protect the child, was willing to sacrifice herself if it meant the girl would live.Β βDonβt you give up on me!β Β She called into the sand pit.
When her hand brushed against something warm, she plunged both arms into the sand to retrieve it.Β Confusion set in as her fingers closed around the hand of a grown elf instead of an infantβs, but it did little to dissuade her effort.Β Whomever was down there needed her help, so she pulled with all of her might.
Keep trying.
How she managed to combat the crushing wave of falling sand was a mystery to her.Β Yet here she was, making headway despite the burden of it all.Β The other clung desperately to her fingers as Naralinthe, with tremendous effort, hauled them out of the pit.Β She opened her eyes, squinting through the oppressive cyclone to behold a feminine silhouette climbing out of the dune.Β When fully exposed, the young adult spread her arms wide, casting off the sand to form the illusion of wings at her back, and the instant she was freed, the storm miraculously ceased.
Exhausted from the struggle, Naralinthe fell backwards, all of her energy now completely spent.Β Her eyes were bloodshot and she blinked through sandpaper tears in an attempt to discover the identity of the elven woman she had just saved.
Where was the child she promised to protect?
Naralinthe opened her eyes, slowly at first, and was greeted with the familiarity of her bedchamber.Β Her golden gaze drifted lazily around the room, seeking confirmation this was not another memory fabricated within the confines of her mindscape, but after all she endured it was impossible to discern between fact and fiction.
βBeepβ¦ beepβ¦ beepβ¦β chirped a heart monitor rhythmically, a blatant and annoying indication this was not a dream.Β She was attached to several machines, each serving a different curative purpose, most of which she recognized due to her chosen profession as a combat medic.
The light from a lone candle burning on a nearby end table shot pins and needles through her eyes, and she closed them immediately to blot out the searing illumination.Β Her lips were cracked and dry, her tongue parched, and she croaked out a groan expressing her discomfort.Β βHnnng.βΒ This was real.Β It felt real, and the pain she felt confirmed it was indeed real.
A reassuring squeeze on her hand revealed someone was with there with her.Β Once again she opened her eyes, allowing them a moment to adjust, and was met with the oddly familiar face of the strange young woman at her bedside. The same woman she had rescued in her dream.
Staring back at her was a pair of clear blue eyes with liminal rings of gold embedded within.Β Unforgettable eyesβ eyes that dazzled like sunlight dancing on calm waterβ eyes misplaced in the body of a woman instead of a small child.
βGiidaβ¦?β She whispered hoarsely, and Naralinthe was obviously confused.Β How had the girl managed to age so rapidly?Β More importantly, how long had she been unresponsive? There would be plenty of time for both questions and answers as Naralinthe started down the long road to recovery.
Naralintheβs heart skipped a beat as she watched the memory unfold.Β Trapped in the past, there was nothing she could do to alter the timeways, and so she was forced to bear witness to something that had already transpired.Β Terror-stricken, she thrashed against her mental confines, screaming internally.
βDONβT JUST STAND THERE! FOR THE LOVE OF BELORE, DO SOMETHING!!!β
Much to her frustration, her body would not comply.Β Instinct told her this tale only ended in tragedy, but something deeper understood it could only ever end in tragedy, regardless of which timeline she visited.Β Lukel and his twin sister Elenria were never meant to exist simultaneously.Β One was fated to die in order to redeem the other.
Sadness flooded Naralinthe, an overwhelming tidal wave of sorrow to douse her rage.Β It rushed in, uprooting everything she knew about her own strength, forcing her to question her initial reaction.Β Knowing the outcome and choosing to refrain from intervening must have taken an immeasurable amount of mental fortitude.Β Was there really nothing that could be done to save him?Β Was this deep-rooted understanding of fateβs grand design the reason why her other self chose not to intervene?
Before it could play out, time spiralled yet again, propelling her into another painful memory.
Naralinthe stood with a baby on her hip, basking in the sunβs radiance in a field of wildflowers.Β Dressed in black, the Widow Sha'auvrea was known to wander barefoot in nature, talking to the wind.Β Some claimed she βlost itβ after the death of her husband but she believed he could hear herβ¦ no matter where he was.Β βYou once called her your βguiding light,ββ she heard herself say.Β βHer name is Giida Liu.Β A fitting name, donβt you agree?β
She felt her face pinch involuntarily as a wave of mixed emotion crashed over her.Β Her heart ached, and her ribs pulled inward as she took a ragged breath through trembling lips.Β βI pray one day she will guide you home to me.βΒ Hot tears blazed a trail down her cheeks, and she hugged the child tightly to comfort herself with the last piece of him she had left.Β βI miss you so much it hurts to breathe, darling.β
He promised he would always find herβ in this life and the nextβ and she believed him.Β Was this how he felt every time she died?Β Unbearable grief in the form of emotional attacks that came and went without warning?Β One moment she would be smiling, happy even, and the next she would erupt into a fit of wracking sobs.Β βI wish you could have met her, Lukel.Β She is so beautiful, and she has your unforgettable eyes.β
The world spun violently, yanking her backward through time, where she was forced to endure another memory.
Naralinthe found herself kneeling before a child-knight whose ill-fitting armor was obviously too big for him.Β While she did not recognize him immediately, a quiet voice within her assured her this was the Warden Astheo, her dearest friend and ally.
βOn behalf of the Bronze Flight, I wish grant you a token of our gratitude for your life of servitude... and with it, our boon.βΒ He wrapped his arms around her neck to close the clasp on a gold necklace in the shape of an infinity symbol before taking a step backwards.Β βRise Dragonsworn and step into the hourglass sand, so that you may discover your gift.βΒ He announced with a regality and commanding authority that exceeded his years.
Blissful ignorance was not her veil to wear, at least, not in this lifetime.Β Naralinthe was chosen to become a Bronze Dragonsworn, an honor and a privilege that granted her an understanding of the shifting sands of time.Β Not the full extent a dragon would possess, but more than any mere mortal could ever hope to comprehend.
When she emerged from the sand, she could see a web of golden threads shimmering around her in all directions.Β Much in the same manner a ley-speaker could read and influence the ley lines of the land, so too could she grasp and tug on these ethereal strings.Β She had been granted the gift of βweaving,β allowing her the ability to assist wayward souls tangled in the web toward a fated outcome.
βAs you have sworn fealty to the Bronze, Iβ Astheo Arβnarethβ swear to protect you in return, Lady Sha'auvrea. Until the end...β
Time heaved, the strings pulled taut, and this time she found herself standing before her daughter.
βGiida, this is Minnβdaβs friend, Abby.Β She is here to guide you to your Annβda.Β Are you ready to finally join him?β
βOooooh yes, yes, yes!!! I have always wanted to meet a dragon!!!βΒ The four-year-old squealed enthusiastically while bounding toward Abby.Β βCan I touch your horns?! Where do you keep your wings?!β
The Bronze Warden chuckled and bent down to grant Giidaβs simple wish.Β βShe is so full of love and light,β Abby remarked with a smile.
βI know you miss him. Β I think he misses you too!Β Are you coming with us?!βΒ Giida asked innocently.
Naralinthe felt herself force a smile in return to mask the anguish welling within her.Β βNo darling, Minnβda has a very important task to carry out first, but I will be joining you both later.Β I promise.β
βIs that why you look so sad?βΒ The liminal gold rings embedded in her bright blue eyes flickered with a hint of concern as she probed her mother further.Β Not only was she perceptive, but a remarkable empath as well.Β βWill it be a long time?β
βNot at all.βΒ At least, not for Giida.Β For her, the trip through the caverns of time would take less than a day.Β For Naralinthe it would be a lifetime without her baby, but she told herself she was technically not lying to the child.Β She hugged her daughter tightly, reluctant to let go, but eventually the Lioness relinquished the girlβs care and custody to her Warden.Β βKeep her safe,β she breathed softly, just enough for a dragonβs keen ears to hear.
With a silent nod, Abby gave her solemn vow to protect the child with her life, lest her motherβs sacrifice be in vain.
βI love you in this lifeβ¦β called the Bronze Lioness.
ββ¦and the next!β Echoed the Golden Sparrow before she stepped through the timeways, hand in hand with a dragon.
When the sands shifted, Naralinthe found herself in a familiar place and time.Β She recognized this as one of the memories from her own timeline.
Standing in the shining streets of Silvermoon, the Golden Lioness watched as the Good Doctor walked toward her with a little blonde girl clinging to his arm.Β She and Lukel had become entangled enough for him to finally introduce her to his daughter, Giida.
βYou look just like Minnda!βΒ A declaration blurted out from the mouth of an enthusiastic four-year-old.
At the time, Naralinthe dismissed it with a chuckle, assuming the girl's mother was another blonde elf, but suddenly the words took on a whole different meaning. You... look... just like... Minn'da.
The unseen hand that guides our fate is ever-present⦠and it is our own.
It was not the darkness Naralinthe found unsettling, but the silence.Β The labyrinth was completely devoid of any kind of nighttime ambience.Β No cricketβs song, no croaking frogs, not even the rustle of leaves in a whispered breeze to punctuate the moonless midnight encapsulating her.Β The rhythmic crunch of gravel underfoot being the only sound to grace her ears was starting to grate on her nerves.
What was the point of all of this?Β Surely there must be a purpose?Β If not, was this what insanity felt like?Β Was she trapped here?Β Would she ever be allowed to leave?
The disturbing aroma of smoke pinched her nostrils, interrupting her thoughts and causing her to choke.Β It hung heavily in the air, hindering her ability to breathe, and she squinted in an unavailing attempt to pierce the shadows.Β If she died here, would it mean the end of the dreamβ¦ or worse, the end of herself?Β More desperate than ever, Naralinthe clung to the ethereal thread guiding her path, its presence a balm to soothe the crippling self-doubt welling within her.Β If not for fateβs guidance, she would have turned back at the first sign of danger.Β
Fire roared in the distance, and only when she ventured closer did she realize this was no ordinary flame. It did not seek to spread and consume all in its path. Rather, it took the shape of a Lioness burning brighter than the blazing sun, banishing the darkness around her. The majestic feline stood, elegantly poised at the furthest end of the hedge maze, a luminescent beacon that evoked a sense of awe and reverence within Naralinthe. She was beautiful⦠fierce⦠brave⦠and somewhat intimidating if she was being honest with herself.
Was this how others perceived her?
Compelled, both by the ethereal string and the felineβs commanding presence, Naralinthe approached the Lioness cautiously with a hand outstretched and humility in her heart.Β βWho are you?β She questioned while remembering the lesson taught by the phoenix earlier.Β Surely she did not wish to be burned a second time.Β βAre youβ¦ me?β
Her inquiry was met with comfortable silence as the Lioness held her gaze, Naralintheβs reflection dancing within those fiery orbs.Β She bowed her head, extending toward Naralinthe with the intention of pressing her nose into the elven womanβs outstretched hand.Β Neither one was in any sort of danger despite the presence of fire and smoke.
The instant Naralinthe touched her muzzle, the flames were quenched, casting the Lioness in tempered bronze.Β The luminescent feline was reduced to nothing more than a lifeless statue in the hedge maze, and Naralinthe could not help but feel responsible for her fate.
Fire licked at her hand, rapidly climbing the length of her arm until she was completely engulfed in flames from head to toe.Β There was no pain, only a soothing warmth accompanied by a blinding light.
She closed her eyes⦠the world spun backwards, and when she opened them⦠everything was different.
Naralinthe stood on a balcony, watching, waiting for⦠someone? She could not help but feel a sense of joy knowing He would arrive soon. As though on cue, a knight in shining golden armor entered on horseback through the gates of her estate.
Was it Zathalt?
He came straight into the manor, and upon seeing her, removed his helmet.Β Crimson hair spilled about his shoulders, a neatly trimmed beard on his face, but it was not her Guardian who greeted her.Β It was another.
βLukel, darling,β she heard herself croon with adoration.Β He looked and felt soβ¦ unbelievably different, but in her heart of hearts she knew it was him.Β His blue eyes lacked their familiar amethyst hue, but retained an unmistakable, oceanic depth to them.
This must have been an alternate timeline.Β Lukel once mentioned knowing her before they ever met, perhaps this was a time where they were together?
βLady Sha'auvrea, my belovedβ¦β he lulled while descending to one knee, ββ¦and my guiding light.βΒ He added before pressing a kiss to her swollen belly.
She was pregnant?!?!!
βYou force me to wait, little one, but I am patient.Β The doctor says you are past due, but I know you will arrive precisely when you are ready and not a moment before.β
She heard herself chuckle, weaved her fingers affectionately through his long hair, and smiled.Β βShe is an old soul.Β Her patience will rival that of your own.β
βShe?βΒ His eyes lifted to meet hers, and the golden halos around his pupils shimmered like sunlight on clear blue water.Β βYou believe the baby is a girl?β
A girl?!Β Naralinthe never bore a daughter, only a son.Β How incredibly different things were turning out to be in this iteration.
βI know so.Β She came to me in a dream.β
βA daughterβ¦β he hummed in consideration before jumping to his feet.Β βA DAUGHTER!βΒ He cupped her face in his gauntleted hands and kissed her passionately.Β βOh Naralinthe how wonderful it will be to raise a child in the warmth of your love!Β A golden sparrow who will never be afraid to spread her wings and fly because she is protected by the ferocity of a Lioness.β
βOur love,β she heard herself correct him.
With Lukel in place of the Lord Magister as her spouse, there was no need for a guardian.Β Wherever Zathalt was in this timeline, it was not with her.
βAwwwww, how nauseatingly sweet.Β One big, happy family.Β What a pity it is knowing I will have to kill your wife and take your child from you.βΒ A cloying, feminine voice oozed over Lukelβs shoulder.
Naralinthe watched as his expression contorted from mirth to enmity as he turned to face their antagonist.Β βElenria,β he snarled, βor should I speak your True Name?βΒ Lukel hissed with disgust, βMisery.β
βButcheress, Demon, call me βSissyβ if you are feeling nostalgic, brother-dear, but make no mistake... that baby is mine.Β The child is destined to bear the Mantle and I will not be denied my heir.β
βOver my dead body.β Β He growled while unsheathing his sword and shielding his wife and unborn child from his corrupted twin sister.
How long had she been walking?Β Hours?Β Days?Β It was difficult to distinguish time when every twist and turn appeared the same.Β She never seemed to tire, and despite wearing high heels, her feet did not hurtβ a strong indication that none of this was based in reality.
A glint in the distance caught her eye.Β It was the first deviation she had encountered since waking up inside the labyrinth, and naturally she hurried toward it.Β On the ground before her was a hand mirror, the kind that typically came with a matching brush and comb for oneβs vanity table.Β Naralintheβs fingers curled around the polished silver handle and she examined the exquisite exterior before slowly turning it over.
Then she screamed.
When she beheld her own reflection, the mirror slipped from her trembling hands, shattering the glass into a thousand splinters at her feet. She recognized her face, only her skin was deathly pale. Her eyes were a piercing cobalt blue and she bore His signature. Instinctively, her hands reached toward her cheeks to feel for the telltale scars of a Glasgow smile. When none could be found, Naralinthe breathed a shuddered sigh of relief. It was only an illusion⦠but what did it mean?
Had she been cursed?Β Was this mind maze a prison to hold her captive with the intention of subduing her in the waking world while her enemies ran rampant and unchecked?Β Or was this something else entirely?
Naralinthe slumped to the ground, her gown forming a golden pool around her, and bit her lip to stop it from quivering. Tears stung her eyes, blurring her vision, and for the briefest moment she thought she could make out a symbol in the glass. A silver sun glittering in the daylight, and it caused her heart to ache. If only he were here. She wiped the tears from her face, dried her eyes, and when she managed to collect herself, the mirror and any evidence it ever existed had vanished entirely. Naralinthe made a promise to him long ago she would rather die than break, and this was no exception. She knew she needed to keep moving forward⦠always.
Rising to her feet, she heard the pained cry of a dove in distress.Β Turning to examine the source of the sound, she discovered a thorny bush had appeared behind her, seemingly out of nowhere.Β Ensnared by brambles, the birdβs struggle against the thorns only managed to tear its wings and scratch its skin to the point of bleeding.Β βYou poor thing,β she whispered while trying to free it, but when Naralinthe touched the dove, it transformed into a magnificent phoenix.
Her hands retracted defensively, but it was too late, her palms were already scorched and starting to blister from the contact.Β She inhaled sharply, hissing through clenched teeth, fighting down the pain while watching the phoenix soar overhead.Β Blue skies burned with crimson and gold, transitioning the midday into a radiant sunset that stole her breath, briefly distracting her from the pain.
A single, fiery plume floated down from the sky and she reached out to receive it.Β The instant the feather touched her hands it healed her skinβ a parting gift from the majestic creatureβ reborn and free to spread its wings and fly.Β Deep down, Naralinthe understood the phoenix would return to her when touching it would no longer cause her harm.Β It needed time to burn away the brambles.Β
Until now, every turn in the hedge maze was the same, the skies were always blue, and nightfall never came.Β For better or worse, something had changed.Β With her chin held high and gaze transfixed on the setting sun, Naralinthe stood mesmerized by the colors shifting overhead until twilight settled in, blanketing the hedge maze in a veil of shadows.
A swarm of fireflies surrounded her, flickering like tiny motes of magic, gently coaxing her forward while softly illuminating her path.Β Their presence was constant, reassuring, and never intrusive as they hovered around her, perpetually out of reach.Β They danced playfully, and every time she tried to touch one, it winked out of existence, only to appear elsewhere.Β It was foolish, to think she could hold one in her hand, and each one she tried to grasp would always become βthe one that got away.βΒ The moment she paused, however, the fireflies coalesced to form a spotlight overhead.Β βYou are a comet among the stars,β they seemed to say.Β βBe still, Oβ restless heart, and peace will find you.βΒ So she acquiesced and stood motionless.
A large, black moth fluttered into the light, circling her head like a halo before landing unexpectedly on her shoulder.Β For the first time since she could remember, Naralinthe felt a semblance of peace.Β Initially, she was compelled to shoo it away, to warn it of the holy fire that would easily sear its umbral wings, but instead she held her breath.Β Her lungs burned, begging for air, but she would not comply.Β She wanted to savor this moment, as a small part of her understood the mothβs stay would be fleeting.Β It was made vulnerable in the light, and would eventually be forced to retreat into familiarity of the shadowsβ veil.
Naralinthe studied its wings, taking note of the crimson veins detailing one segment, before her body betrayed her and she was forced to exhale.Β That was enough to startle it, and the moth fluttered away in search of a safer perch.
She knew better than to give chase.
Her chest heaved, overwhelmed by emotion, and Naralintheβs frustrated cry scattered the lampyridae like dandelion seeds in the wind.Β Here, in absolute darkness, she felt completely and utterly alone.Β βI am lost!β She confessed to no one in particular as she buried her face in her hands and shamefully wept.
That was when she felt a gentle tug on her pinky finger.
Blinking back tears, Naralinthe felt blindly for the fated βstringβ tied to her finger and immediately understand it would show her the way.Β She knew this thread, trusted its source with every fiber of her being, and she began following it deeper into the labyrinth.
Faith was something that did not require seeing to believe.
Zathalt woke early to carry out the routine of repositioning Naralinthe in her bed.Β He stumbled, half awake, into her room and spotted a young boy seated at her bedside, holding her hand.
βHello Commander,β he said calmly. βI have been waiting for you.β
βWhoβ¦ are you?β He questioned while rubbing his eyes, ββ¦and how did you get in here without alerting the guards?!βΒ He marched assertively toward the bed where he came face to face with an elven boy, approximately ten years old, clad in ill-fitting armor that was obviously too big for him.
βI am the Warden Astheo,β the child-knight explained without flinching despite Zathalt looming over him menacingly.Β Each eye was its own golden vortex, constantly shifting like sand in a desert breezeβ yet miraculously independent of the other as he kept watch over the past, present, and future, all at once.
βAccording to my Ladyβs account, you are supposed to be a fully-grown elf, not a child.βΒ He paused to study the boy, clearly confused.Β βFurthermore, arenβt you dead?!Β What assurance do I have to prove you are not some malignant entity looking for a body to inhabit?!β
Astheo patted Zathaltβs shoulder reassuringly, the gauntlet bouncing loosely on his adolescent arm, while chuckling dismissively.Β Like a parent banishing the irrational fear of a child, he crooned softly to the hulking Guardsman.Β βYou have nothing to fear, βUncle Zee.βΒ She is safely under my charge and will be until the day she dies, regardless of my physical state.βΒ The use of his nickname, combined with the Wardenβs youthful exterior disarmed the Commander almost immediately.Β βTo answer your question, yes, that iteration of me is dead, and believe it or not, he was my younger, more naive self.βΒ He gestured to both Zathalt and the comatose Naralinthe lying motionless in her bed.Β βHere, in this room, the two of you are children by comparison.Β Do not be fooled by this body, as it can never age, but I have existed for several millennia.β
Zathalt stroked his beard and let out an exasperated sigh.Β βI am going to need some strong coffee before we dive deep into this conversation, arenβt I?βΒ It was eerie to see such wisdom and calm misplaced in a child's body, but he would not deny the Bronze Warden an audience if it meant getting some much needed answers.
The blonde-haired boy smiled.Β βWe have nothing but time, and fortunately it is on our sideβ¦ for now.β
Naralinthe opened her eyes to behold a clear, blue sky overhead.Β She blinked slowly, letting her eyes adjust to the light, and realized she was lying on a cold, marble bench.Β She sat up cautiously, and discovered she was in the center of what appeared to be the keyhole of a circular hedge maze.
Where⦠am I? The last thing she remembered was falling asleep in her own bed. How did I get here? Rising from the garden bench, she studied her surroundings. Meticulously groomed shrubbery encircled her on all sides, stretching on forever in the form of an immense, verdant labyrinth.
What is this place? The distinct aroma of moistened earth and lush greenery was unmistakable, yet something about the hedge maze felt⦠off.
Naralinthe was surrounded by nature, but it felt entirely unnatural to her. The soil was perfectly level. Every hedge was identical. There were no flowers, mushrooms, exposed roots, or stubborn weeds, to provide distinction between pathways. All avenues appeared the same, save for their length and winding direction. Is this a dream⦠or a nightmare?
There was only one thing to do.Β One thing she could do, so she started walking.
βI still donβt understand,β Zathalt declared while raking his fingers through his hair.Β He was clutching a mug of coffee far too tightly as he studied Naralintheβs face, his brows knit together in an expression of concern.Β βShe is doing thisβ¦ to herself?β
βYes, and also no.Β It is much more complicated than that,β the Warden explained.Β βWhen she died over a decade ago, it sent a shockwave through this timeline.Β In order to right the wrongs that were committed, the Bronze Flight had no choice but to bring her back, as she had not yet fulfilled her intended purpose.β
βYes, I remember the story,β Zathalt interrupted, βBut they never mentioned any risks.Β Especially nothing as serious as this.β
βThe complication arose when two souls were forced to inhabit one body.βΒ Astheo sighed, and despite the levity of his child-like voice, he was burdened by wisdom born from hindsight.Β βThere was no way of knowing the second soul would awaken, let alone try to seize control.β
βIs that what is happening?Β This other iteration of her is trying to take over?β
βNot quite.βΒ He pressed a contemplative finger to his chin before offering a metaphor to help explain.Β βImagine a caterpillar in its chrysalis stage.Β In order for a significant transformation to take place, its body must first be reduced to a liquefied state before it can be formed into a butterfly.Β She must shed her spiritual βskinβ in order to reshape it into a hardened exterior that will better suit her purpose.Β Our hope is that the two iterations of the Lioness will combine to form one soul.β
βYour HOPE?!βΒ Zathalt roared, shattering the mug in his grasp.Β Coffee rained down his elbow while broken porcelain hammered the floor like over-sized hail.Β βYou mean to tell me you donβt know?!β He snarled between clenched teeth.
βYour anger serves no purpose here, Commander,β the boy chided while pointing to the mess Zathalt made.Β βYou would do well to exercise the patience she has cultivated within you, lest your actions cause more disarray than what is already taking place.β
βWhat good are those damnable time-keeping lizards if they canβt influence the situation?!β He loosed an exasperated sigh before taking a deep, cleansing breath.Β His eyes slipped closed, and the Commander focused his attention inward, trying to find a singular drop of βcalmβ within himself as he drowned in an ocean of crippling doubt.
βThis is beyond our control, and it is still too early to predict the outcome.Β Please believe me when I say I have tried.Β Unexpected changes often create deviations from original goals, as we have witnessed here today.Β Time is not linear, but cyclical.Β Patterns are influenced by the decisions we make, with the added element of chronological development to carry it forward.Β What this means is one thing must happen before a βroutineβ can begin.Β The introduction of complexities is what shapes our experiences from one parallel timeline to the next.β
βWhat ifβ¦β Zathaltβs hands balled into fists to mask the trembling as he choked on the whispered words.Β βWhat if she never wakes?β
The child-knight frowned before casting a sorrowful glance toward the Lioness.Β βThe only person who knows the answer to that question is Naralinthe herselfβ her and her second soul.β
@talonoa @lukel-sunshadow @grumpyoldfker
(Special thanks to @revarik for proof-reading and allowing me the pleasure of writing for Astheo even after all these years.)
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((This is in response to this event))
Haldir drew a slow breath as he stood before the main doors to the Patriarchβs study. The estate had suffered under the strain of recent weeks. The staff moved with hushed restraint, the guards stood more like sentinels than men, grim silhouettes keeping watch over a home that had begun to feel more tomb than sanctuary.
Whispers of the Heiressβs grievous injuries in battle had unsettled the halls. Her injuries, coupled with the Heirβs prolonged absence, cast a pall that even the seasoned Majordomo could not shrug. And now, with word that the Lioness had slipped into an unwaking sleep, that foreboding had curdled into dread. Its source lay just beyond the doors before him.
He gave a nod to one of the guards. The door creaked open.
Haldir stepped inside.
At the far end of the room, behind a desk littered with neglected papers, sat the Patriarch. Adonis did not look up. He was hunched, still, a man eroded at the edges. His brow was furrowed into something that had forgotten how to relax, and his aura carried the weight of someone quietly unravelling beneath the burden of grief.
When his gaze did lift, it found Haldir's without need for greeting.
Something passed between them: a flicker of acknowledgment, worn and wordless. The Patriarch straightened slightly, readying himself.
βKal'ren watches over your daughter,β Haldir offered, his tone soft but resolute. It was true. The Hunter had not left her side, nor would he. Still, Adonis made a silent note of it... he would see to her himself, as a father must.
βYour sonβ¦β The words trailed off, unfinished. No news. None needed to complete the silence.
Adonis waited. Haldir did not disappoint.
βHouse Emberdawn has opened its doors,β he said slowly. βVisitors may see her now... briefly.β
The Patriarch's expression dimmed, shadowed by a fresh pang.
βThey say she is in a coma,β Haldir continued, voice low. βThe cause remainsβ¦ undetermined.β
Not an hour passed before Adonis rode hard for the Emberdawn estate.
He moved with steady purpose through the marble halls, exchanging only a few words with the vigilant Zathalt before being allowed entry into her chamber.
And there she lay.
Naralinthe, the Lioness, adrift in a sleep that felt too deep to be named. Her body was kept alive by tubes and whispered magic, but he saw none of it; his focus was on her face. Calm. Whole. Agonizingly still. At any moment, he half-expected her eyes to open and skewer him with one of her sharp remarks.
But they didnβt.
He knelt beside her and brushed his knuckles against her cheek, summoning the Light in a quiet prayer. Its warmth moved through her, but did not reach whatever part of her was lost. It soothed bruises, healed small hurts, but did not wake the soul.
Closing his eyes, he pressed his lips to her brow.
Thatβs when he heard it.
[music]
A harp. Distant, gentle. A phantom melody nestled in the folds of his mind. He welcomed it... not for comfort, but because it numbed the jagged edges of despair. Still, a thread of unease ran through him. Was this peace⦠or madness?
He said nothing. There was nothing he could say that wouldnβt betray the quiet lie he was trying to live: that she would wake.
To speak aloud was to concede otherwise. That was a wound he would not open.
So he sat beside her, silent, watchful.
When a knock broke the hush, it came like thunder. Haldir entered, Zathalt remaining just beyond the doorframe.
It was time.
Adonis stood and gave her hand one last, gentle squeeze.
As he walked away, the harpβs song faded, each step dulling the memory of its warmth. But it never vanished.
He clung to it.
Buried somewhere within its notes was hope. Fragile, flickering, but real.
( A piece co-written by @grumpyoldfker with mentions of @allasticus )
[ Cue the Music ]
As Naralinthe strolled along the streets of Silvermoon, the walkways alternated between long shadows cast by shimmering spires, and blades of light from the evening sun as it crawled steadily toward the horizon. Dressed in her usual gold, she was a glittering star winking in and out of existenceβ blinding one moment and muted in the next. White marble blushed in the setting sunβs rays while cotton-candy-clouds hung lazily overhead, lending an ethereal quality to an otherwise ordinary evening.
Until she spotted the Patriarch standing in the Royal Exchange, looking oddly out of place.
He stared ominously forward, brow dippedβ not in his customary frown, but one that would merit concernβ with his gaze flickering from side to side as if searching for someone. His eyes finally settled on Naralinthe as she sauntered toward him. "Lady Emberdawn" he exhaled, sounding almost relieved while squaring himself toward her, indicating she was the one he sought.Β βI pray your evening is not full enough to warrant a word or two?β
She would recognise that armor, and that frown, anywhere.Β βLord Bβandtherion,β she echoed back, but upon seeing his pinched expression, paused to examine him more closely.Β Β βIs everything alright?βΒ Golden irises scanned the old soldier from top to toeβ¦ and back again, searching for anything that might offer insight into his addled state. Had she done something to provoke his ire again?
He scanned their surroundings before taking a purposeful step forward, and it was obvious the following words were intended for her ears only. "Were it so, I would greet you with deserved formality, but," he shook his head, "given the nature of this conversation, I find my aim for decorum misaligned. I realize I should have called on you instead of plucking you from an evening stroll, but time is my enemy.β His voice lowered while retaining its edge, and he took a breath to calm his nerves. "My son, Allasticus, have you seen him? He has not graced his home in weeks.β Another breath, followed by a long pause as he considered the best way to deliver the news. βIt is not unusual for him to wander for any length of time, as young men tend to do, but..." His face flickered, the concern of a Father undermining the discipline of a Patriarch, "β¦this is too long."
Naralinthe immediately frowned, the expression aging her both dramatically and instantaneously.Β βI...β and the words caught in her throat with the weight of more than just curiosity, βI have not seen him.β She hated where this conversation was headed, and in such short notice, so she sought to comfort him. Long strides delivered her to his side, where she took his armored gauntlet into her delicate hands.Β βWhen did you see him last, and where was he headed?β
Adonis expected her to respond empathetically but his expression darkened when he heard her reply. He nodded slightly, but was obviously distractedβ his mind now trying to piece together a timeline of what happened in the days leading up to Allasticusβ disappearance. He did not resist her touch, though it was clear even as he stood confidently his grip lacked its usual firmness, betraying the tumultious storm now brewing in his mind. "He departed for Silithus with the intention of addressing a matter of concern. I spoke to him before he left less than three weeks ago. Yesterday I sent a group of Elites to search the location he provided but there was no trace of himβ¦ nothing whatsoever." His nostrils flared. "Yet even as I push for answers I am met with more questions. No one seems to know where he went."
Naralinthe βs gaze dipped toward his inattentive hand, and remembering the Patriarchβs distaste for public attention, she released her hold on him.Β Both palms pressed to her skirt, idly smoothing the fabric of her gown as her gaze sought solace anywhere but in his eyes. The nature of their unplanned meeting and his addled state reminded her they were in a place where eyes and ears were always watching and listening. She took a step back, granting him space but also to avoid drawing attention to their conversation.Β The last thing Adonis wanted was to give the rumor mill something to churn. βSilithus?β She whispered, βWhy would he go there?β
His frown deepened with displeasure as she withdrew. The absence of her comfort made the space between them feel vacant, and Adonis rectified the issue by snaring her by the wrist before continuing with his explanation. "There was something causing issues with the archaelogical circles in that area. Explorers would go into the depths and return mad or not return at all. Somethingβ or someoneβ was causing trouble, thus Allasticus went to neutralize the issue." He narrowed his eyes, "I question why they would send one into such peril alone, but the result speaks volumes. The madness has ended but my son is now missing."
Naralinthe felt the iron-clad clasp of plate cuffing her wrist, yet he treated her as though she were made of glass.Β He did not squeeze, nor did he demand.Β Instead his gesture pleaded with her to stay close.Β Her eyes sought his, not out of pity, but out of a deep-seated desire to understand the turmoil roiling within him.Β She had never witnessed the stoic Patriarch in such a vulnerable state, despite allowing him to see her that way.Β βSomething that speaks of causation as opposed to correlation,β she remarked with a frown.Β They were both too old and far too experienced to believe in coincidences.
On the outside, the Patriarch maintained his stoicism, and to the untrained eye appeared as he always did, statuesque and unreadable. Yet beneath the glowing embers of his eyes was an unyielding tide of distress he battled to rise above. "I agree," he said with a grim undertone, "the only comfort I cling to is that he is missing and not gone. I have expended all my resources and no trace has turned up. Whispers... rumors at best, all leading to dead ends." He locked his stare on her, "If you see him, tell him to come home."
Naralinthe watched the storm clouds gather in his eyes, and she wondered how long it would be before the lightning struck.Β Here was a man whose footfalls echoed like thunder, and his words summoned the rain.Β To see him this way was unsettling to say the least, and a portend for the devastation he would unleash if he did not find his son.Β βI absolutely will,β she assured him to the best of her ability, but she would not delude him with an empty smile.Β βIn the meantime, is there anything I can do to assist?β
Β
He managed to keep his temper at bay for the time being, but one nudge in the wrong direction was all it would take for the raging Bull to run rampant and unchecked. His eyes lingered on the Lioness, and he tethered himself to the eye of calm her presence brought to his hurricane. "Yes. You are connected by social means that I am not. I would ask you to spread the word. Have others keep their eyes open and come to me if any new information arises." He nodded in her direction, "I understand you are a woman being pulled by many hands in several directions, but this hand begs for your aid. I ask as a father who cannot bear the thought of losing another son. Help me find him and bring him home."
Β
Naralinthe was touched by his words, not because he pleaded with her, but by the authenticity that backed his plea.Β It was a rare glimpse into the manβs vulnerability, something he shielded away from the rest of the worldβ something she was only starting to see for herself.Β βI will start inquiring immediately, and I will have my Guardians do the same.βΒ Gingerly, she overturned his gauntlet to reveal the supple leather that housed its plate and pressed her fingers into the soft spaces between his.Β βStay with me tonight.βΒ It was hardly a request, yet she knew she could not make the stubborn Patriarch do anything he did not already wish to. βYou should not be alone at a time like this.β
Weariness settled in as Adonis felt his eyes grow heavy, uncharacteristically so, and he blinked several times. Her request was met with a pause, but the usual resistanceβ whether from decorum or stubbornnessβ was absent. He felt strangely numb, devoid of all feeling, and that was reason enough for concern. His fingers curled into hers, and he opened his mouth with the intention of stating he should be out there looking, but days of searching without rest left him feeling exhausted. Fatigue took hold, and he acquiesced with a nod. "Very well," he sighed while guiding her hand to the crook of his arm. Anything was better than the numbness threatening to overtake him, so the old soldier grounded himself in the first thing he had felt in daysβ a sense of duty to walk her home.
βI want to pick your brain apart. Your heart. Your soul. Shine the good pieces, and gently mend the broken ones. Even the strongest shield, the most powerful weapon needs time to rest and be repaired.β
A brow dipped lowβdeeper still, if such a thing were possible on a face carved from iron and shadow. His expression tightened, subtle yet unmistakable, a habitual defense whenever someoneβno matter how well-meaningβdared probe too near the locked gates of his mind.
βThe strongest shield ceases to be strong if it must rely on anotherβs hand to restore it,β he said, voice calm, slow, but lined with the unmistakable edge of iron resolve. βYou would peel back the layers of my soul? For what purpose?β
A shake of the head. A wave of a hand, dismissing the notion like smoke in the windβpointless and presumptuous.
βIntent does not sanctify intrusion. Even acts born of kindness turn hollow when offered to those who cannotβwill notβreceive them. I am not yours to mend. I do not ask for solace, nor do I require it. Direct your mercy toward a soul that has not already chosen the weight of solitude.β
He leaned back, gauntleted fingers entwining, still and silent like the grave. His eyes hardened as he looked outward, betraying the scars of battle and time.
βMy rest will come when the earth no longer remembers my name.β
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