Kereske turned his head off to his right, pushing passed the one body in front of him. His light brown eyes sailing over that black clothed mountain, finding sanctuary in the scene bound to happen. He knew it deep within himself, seeing the way Libitina acted and just presented herself. That wasn't her, a far different type of aura flourished from her.
She drew in ever closer to the young man, a person who was withdrawing inwards. He felt exposed, unsafe, uncertain, his body held itself in a stiff, defensive position. She came closer and closer, and the confrontation was on the horizon. Daevarro didn't know what to do, what to say... His mind helter-skelter like there was a panic at a library, books and pages containing his thoughts laid all over the place.
It was then that her footsteps would cease, her body standing just off to Daevarro's left. The woman in black was just at the table's side, her harsh, conquering gaze beating down upon the dark-robed young man. She towered over him, casting down a powerful beam upon him. Such a intimidating feeling she radiated, although her stance just simply standing straight and tall.
Daevarro nervously looked away from her, not wanting any part in looking at her. Feeling the sting of her glare digging into his skin, he kept his distance. He felt as his chair inched ever so slowly to his right, feeling his desire to run and escape cause him to push the chair away. "W-who are you?" he asked with an unsettled voice, taking the first shot into the conversation. "...Wh-what do you want from me?"
"Listen to me,
Palaemmir,
" her voice finally spoke after causing Daevarro's body to take a rather solid stance, seeing as his limbs tighten up. Her breath as she spoke popped out vividly from her lips, a frosty push. "Look not upon this face, upon this person, focus only upon my words. You've come to possess my pendant, and you've done well to guard it. However, 'twas not meant to stay with you eternally."
Daevarro's ears caught her words, but more especially, that fact that she mentioned that it's
her
pendant. At this moment, the young man recalled words spoken to him the last time he came here, a time that felt like years ago given the amount that the situation had changed since then.
"It ain't just some ordinary pendant,"
Calvin's words being resent to the stage and spotlight of Daevarro's mind.
"That pendant used ta belong ta our drág Essa Lamiaquil'a... or 'least, it's part-a what used ta belong ta her..."
But it wasn't just that, Daevarro remembered that time just days ago. The moment he stared death in the face with resentment, staring at the beautiful queen of the Imperial Kingdom of Governanti. Though her mind was clearly made up, her sword Eshenel ready to kill him, something... changed. She suddenly acted and sounded like a completely different person, sparing his life rather than taking it as she planned.
And moreso above all else, Daevarro recollected as he spoke with her. He recalled the brief life of their exchange, and she sounded... just like this person in front of him.
Once he fully realized all of this, his eyes flipped over to her. His hazel gaze met with her gelid, stern eyes, and despite its terrible harshness, there was a bright, tender kindness deeply burrowed within. "You..." Daevarro mumbled, then bursting out from his chair. His hands clenched with ire, bolting his eyes upon her. "Who are you!?"
"You know my name," she returned to him, unfazed by his rage. He saw the rather peculiar mist coming out with each of her breaths, felt its chilly push brush briskly by his skin. So odd, the young man thought, despite the warm desert air pushing into this place, he could see this woman's breath as if the ground were covered in snow and not sand. "You've grown more familiar with me than perhaps any other, felt as my feelings became yours. You've all the pieces to complete this puzzle, you need only assemble them. Go on,
Palaemmir
... Speak it, speak my name."
"...Lamia," the young man then uttered her name, one which she confirmed to be correct with her silence. Daevarro's body still was not put at ease, despite knowing now who it was that stood before him. Pages of those books he had read offered him information, information regarding the phantom before him. "I thought you were killed."
"Not entirely," she replied. "but 'tis not the time for such discussion."
"What do you want?" Daevarro quickly questioned.
"I come seeking my pendant," Lamia told him. "Or rather, I seek what is held within it."
The young man's face grew with a perplexed expression, raising with an eyebrow. "Within it?" the dark-robed young man repeated, looking down at the pendant he knew only as his sister's.
"Yes," the goddess answered him.
"I don't understand..." he mumbled, then looking back at the goddess who wore a mortal's face. "What do you mean, "within it"?"
"'Tis a vessel," she explained. "a body which houses much of my lost power, power I must have restored."
Daevarro's hand quickly reached up for his sister's pendant, fastened his fingers around its blackened, metallic body. "Restored for what purpose?" he asked.
"Irrelevant," Lamia swiftly dismissed him, denying him an answer. She then watched as Daevarro's distrust became ever more clearer, the look in his eyes full of suspicion and doubt. "I am eternally grateful to you, your sister, and your family all for safeguarding it. But what is borrowed must be returned, I ask only of you to fulfill that pact."
Daevarro paused there, his near-closed eyes shifting away in thought. He brewed, pondered, growing waist deep in his own mind. He became as silent as a stunned crowd, his face turned away from the Neheztelian goddess. Lamia could see as he stewed in this question, his hand slowly reaching up for her pendant.
As Daevarro took his time to think about, time was very rapidly descending for his allies. Lamia could feel it, feel as those who pledged themselves to her were beaten and battered. She could feel their anxiety, their agony... It caused her to grow impatient with Daevarro, though as she felt this, he quickly turned his head back to her.
He had recounted all that she had said to him, noticing as she snaked around and dodged almost all question he had. The jury's decision was overwhelmingly one-sided, none of it for her cause. His entire hand wrapped around the pendant, his pale-skinned hand acting like a shield to her eyes. "No," he denied her, shaking his head. "I'm not just going to give this to you, I don't even—"
"—Your friends are going to die if nothing is done!" the goddess then shouted strongly and angrily, interrupting him in the midst of his rejection.
Daevarro's face reacted to her sudden outburst, his eyes widening and his mouth dangling open. He was taken back, his foot stepping back as though her power of her voice blew him back. "Wh-wha...?" he stuttered in his bemusement. "I-I don't... What?"
"Cease your tongue and listen well," Lamia spoke to him in a very demanding tone. "The lives of your friends wears thin, I can sense it... I feel their pain, feel as imminent death comes for them. If nothing is done, and promptly, they will die."
"Wait, wait, wait..." Daevarro pleaded for her to slow down her rather swift pace, being overcome. "H-how? What? I don't understand... What happened!?"
"We've not the time for explanations," she informed him. "At the present time, as I am, I am incapable of doing anything for them. I am impuissant, unable even to migrate to their location. However, there is a way to save them, to deliver them from that fate..."
Daevarro stared there in shock, unable to band together an army of letters to form a sentence. His mind trying its best to process this information, but there was still this flicker of doubt burning brightly in his heart. Lamia could read this like an open book, seeing his face baffled by this situation suddenly washed over him. "Have you grasp upon my words,
Palaemmir?
" the goddess questioned him. "The only way to save them is if I retrieve my power from the pendant."
Hearing her words as she attempted to convince him with great earnest, the dark robed young man had quite the decision upon his shoulders. He heard the sincerity in her voice, she truly seemed like she wanted to save their lives. His hand loosening from the pendant, holding it with care up before his face in the palm of his hand.
Was his mind ready to let this go, one the few things he has left of his sister? Could he trust Lamia? Did he? His hand felt avid in giving the pendant to her, but his mind kept them paralyzed. Why didn't she just tell him about the situation about his allies right from the start? The goddess was put under the microscope of his qualms, of his uneasiness and skepticism.
Daevarro held a key, a key to the door that laid before him. He knew not what laid behind that door, it could mean anything for him and the world. Was he willing to accept what he knew and has been told as the absolute truth? Could he open that door, unleashing what could be either a savior or an impossible evil?
Moreso, he knew what his heart felt, knowing his family was a group who lived and worshiped her. Despite having the ability to save him, she chose only to save
him.
Why didn't she save his family, stop their deaths from happening? "No," the young man denied once more, his qualms getting the leading role. "You had the power to stop Lucia from killing me, you saved me. But what about my family, what about my sister? Why didn't you do anything for them, for her!? You let them die!"
He knew what he read in those books, she was like a siren with a voice that could easily influence anyone to do anything for her. That was just one of many things that he knew from those books, the words inscribed upon those aging papers flowing back into his mind. They inspired distrust, angst in Daevarro's heart, knowing exactly what she was. "I've read about you, read what you've taught to these people," his assault with words dragged on. "You want to end the Barn bloodline, kill the entire Solasúian race! Raphael is a member of the Barn bloodline, and a few of the members of the Resistance are Solasúian."
As Daevarro was talking, his hand which protected his pendant slowly fell down. Very slowly, and Lamia watched it as it did. "I don't know you, and I don't trust you," Daevarro continued, shaking his head. "How can I be sure what you're telling me is the truth? How do I even know they're actually in danger? And if they were in danger, why didn't you just tell me from the start? I'm not--"
His hand loosened, letting its guard down, pulling back down to his side. The moment his hand reached his hip once more, the opportunity arose. Lamia smelt it like blood in the water, her eyes aglare for her pendant. She had been poised for that moment, a moment she had waited for for what felt like an eternity. Ignoring his comments that spoke his doubt and concerns, her left hand dashed with quickness for that tiny, glistering body which hung from Daevarro's neck.
She latched onto that pendant, wrapping around it in a tightly-knit fist. Just behind her left hand was her right, a deathly pale skinned bull charging towards Daevarro's chest. Her right hand slammed into his chest, its impact backed by Solasúian strength. As her hand sent a shockwave of force across Daevarro's hand, her fingers that secured the all-important object began to pull towards her.
The frail gray cloth which held the meager, elegantly detailed chuck of ebony metal was no match, severing in half at Lamia's whim. The dark robed young man's face spoke his shock, his jaw left dangling as his hazel irises watched helplessly as the woman in black's hand clenched freely upon his sister's pendant. His body forced backwards, he began to feel as he tumbled off of his feet.
Flying back, his back now heading for the stone floor, his right shoulder rammed into the chair he stood up from. That old, wooden chair got tackled with ease, coming down with the young man. Daevarro then felt the shock of the impact throughout his back, a pain augmented by the fact that it was unexpected, unprepared for.
The chair falling down hard on its right side beside Daevarro, causing everyone to look over in wonder and concern. Coming to grips with what just happened, Daevarro's hazel eyes gazed up at the woman who just stole his sister's pendant from him. She stood there over him, glaring harshly down upon him, clenching the severed and more important half.
Their eyes meet there for just a split second, a split second that seemed to freeze. Daevarro had another peek into Lamia's stoic eyes, but this time there were no other distractions. He got a taste, a glimpse into the ferocious, intense being, into her very soul. In that brief time, he could just see the history, the things she had painfully experienced just by looking into her eyes.
Piercing through that spiteful veil, the young man did see something else. Bypassing that hatred, that anger, that bitterness and cold-heartedness, there was sorrow, regret, grief, anguish... Was that hand that shoved him one that was forced?
Once he found himself within that frame, within the moment Daevarro reached that thought, those eyes faded away. She eroded into a flash, a blink, a breath of light. It left behind a glowing, pale crimson light that was in the shape of her body. That shape then disappeared quickly after her disappearance from this place, disbursing into very small strands of light that spewed out like thousands of fireflies tossed freely.
And all Daevarro could do was watch, watch with a front row view as those small specks of light began to flow upstairs like an army of little air bubbles. He thought on in horror, angry with himself for not anticipating that swift, violent action she made. His anger quickly transformed to fear, angst, worried over the kismet of his allies. After all, to what would happen if she truly were just lying to him?
It was a thought that trapped him, wounded him the more he pondered about. Would Raphael be killed, would all others perish with him? What would happen? The bombardment of questions was like a slow, merciless, meticulous torture. His nails dug into the stone and sand beneath him, feeling as his teeth clenched together in his frustration. Daevarro's face mirroring his embattlement, because now he knew all he could do was blame himself.
Leaving behind a startled, stunned young man, the Lamia-possessed Libitina had teleported from that place. Her vision from staring down upon Daevarro to seeing something else, something she hadn't stared upon in a very long time. Though its appearance was far different than she recalled, the city succumbing to the caustic effects of age.
She appeared in the throne room, floating just off of the ground. The air sweeping fast away from her like it were fleeing for safety, scared by her appearance. Libitina's cassock's waving around in the rush of wind caused by her teleportation, but all ceased the moment her right foot touched down. Landing gently upon the once glorious, tattered carpet, her eyes cast outward like the beam of a lighthouse.
The moon-like orb in the sky cast a soft, meek light down upon her head, revealing every strand of Libitina's long, ebony locks. There was no time to waste, Lamia knew without uncertain. Her imposing, grand haste paced on with speed, her mission taking utmost prominence. She headed for that door, the door marked with the symbol, the door that Soter led those from Gielinor through.
Walking by the ruins of this throne room she had seen far more times than she could imagine, the goddess kept her thoughts focused. Too long had it been since she was last here, and too many terrible memories did resurface. The grievous, incomprehensible amount of agony that lingered in her heart, the void, emptiness, and nothingness that her life had become. She felt it thunderously beat her down all at once, but it wasn't enough to falter her step.
Standing before that part of the wall that she knew was the door, her eyes stare upon a ugly symbol that scarred this wall. Her hand reached out for the wall, planting it firmly just above the symbol. Reacting to her very touch, the wall submitted. A pulse of power rushed across the door, revealing hexagon shapes hidden all throughout its body.
The door then bowed, falling to the ground. The small, door-sized part began to pull into the floor, revealing a familiar hexagon-tiled floor to the Neheztelian goddess. Its hexagon-patterned cortex throbbing, humming with energy, the sensation of electricity running down her skin. Without delay, she fearlessly took her first step into the hallway, an endless march of other steps would follow just behind.
She was able to hear the echoes of a brawl from the other side of the hallway, hearing Telvern's voice grunting and whimpering under an horrendous beating. Standing before Raphael, trying his best to defend himself, he was absolutely no equal. His face covered in blood, a terrible cut above his brow let crimson run, as even more blood trickled down his lips.
His bruised body hunched over, his arms dangling downwards limp as though they had been deflated. Raphael raised his left hand towards Telvern, his tensed-up gaze cast soulless upon the uncle he seemed not to remember. His palm towards the genius, and he just helplessly stared. His exhausted, defeated body weakened, barely able to manage keeping itself up.
A burst of energy then shot out from Raphael's palm, a force that pushed into the agony-filled genius. It catapulted him off of his feet, casting him out like a pebble into the air. But eventually that stone smashed into a wall, this room too small to make for a proper place for a fight. Telvern's back crashed into the wall rather hard, a torturous shock rush down him like a cold shiver of static.
His face painfully squirming around, dropping down upon the ground front-first. He hid his face in the floor, clenching his hands so tightly into fists that his nails could puncture his skin. His back having cracked the adamas wall as he hit it, he felt just like that wall. Broken, battered did he feel, incapable of moving even a finger.
