After her words, she took on motion once more. One-by-one, Raphael's feet stepped down upon the hexagon-shaped earth, pounding upon its face. The way she spoke those words resembled the harshest, most tyrannical winter conceivable. So hollow, lifeless, and bone-chilling did those words sing, pulsing with a soundwave that sent shivers down the backs of men. Telvern felt like he needed to thrust himself before a fire for a moment there, so frigid did his body run.
But one point of her sentence did cycle endlessly in his head, he was stuck upon it as that familiar back moved further from him.
To me,
Telvern recollected the last portion of her words. So strongly did this harden his already strong distrust for this woman, but now... It was a surplus of suspicion, a significant emphasis on his doubt and concerns that clouded his view of her.
While Calvin and Shinon chased behind the Lamia-possessed Raphael, the genius stood back. Telvern's eyes slowly strayed from his back, landing downwards upon the helpless Soter. He could see the absolute despair that appeared vividly upon the messenger's face like a red wine stain upon a white carpet, it clung to his face with such desolation. He appeared like a grave, sorrowful, lifeless. His left hand stretched outwards, attempting to reach what could not be touched.
Soter laid there deadly silent, coming to grips with his death, with his failures. All was lost in Soter's eyes, his masters were gone, and the enemy of all had escaped him, had claimed victory. The only fitting punishment for him now... was death, forcing himself into feeling as his life disintegrated piece by painful piece.
Telvern's brown eyes then drew like daggers to Raphael's back, meticulously deconstructing the actions Lamia had made up to this point. Quickly, he realized that it would be something his mind would have to spent a long time to pick apart. So, his legs became animated, clenching onto the side of his torso did his left hand.
They had all fled into the darkness, that rather long hallway that was the bridge between this room and the throne room. Its path spanned what felt like miles of steps, but that was only because of the air which was so incredibly oppressive. They left behind the hexagon-shaped room that was now crippled with battle scars, they left behind the envoy of the usurpers who claimed themselves superior beings.
He just laid there, wallowing in his loss, in his defeat, feeling as his skin and armour burned away in those stunning golden and white magical embers. But Death was not unkind, was not meant to make one be tormented. Soter's mind, which usually and loyally sat on one thought and one thought only, seemed to take an uncharacteristic twist.
He seemed to think of others, more specifically, of that which he loved even as he was reborn into this. No, he was never
the
Soter the Savior of legend, but his reincarnation, a reproduction merely given Soter's name, title, form, and memories. But with these memories, although not truly his, he found some comfort in this time of loss and grief.
His vision saw it as though he were standing there, not dying here upon the floor, but alive and healthy. He could feel the warm, Spring wind gently skirting across his skin, the cool, crisp smell of the fresh lake water invigorating him, seeing as the sun's light waltz in a dazzling display upon the water. There, he remembered sitting by a young boy at the edge of a pier, sitting beside him, looking to him with a proud smile upon his face.
Although the man he felt himself become in those memories was not him, although the son he held closely to him with such love was not his, Soter found solace in them. He made peace with his departure, the pain from his injuries fading away just like he was. Was this the end, the end of everything he knew? Perhaps it was time for him to go, so that something else may come and take his place. May his death be a flower, a flower which would go on to bloom, bloom and bring something into nothing.
Leaving the now contented messenger at their backs, the group entered the gullet of blackened metal shaped in hexagons. This hallway was far darker than it was before, a tunnel full of shadow and blindness. Yes, that light was no longer there, their vision blackened like walking around while their eyes were closed.
The place was eerily quiet despite their echoing, hollow footsteps slamming down upon the metal floor. Shinon, holding together the lazy assassin Calvin, followed just behind the feet of the recognizable young man Raphael. Wrapped in his arms, he carried a sleeping woman who seemed to blend well in this environment.
Telvern hung out in the far back, thinking through a mind that swam in bleak thoughts and thick, hopeless uncertainty. This long pathway was just as his thoughts, as black and as pale as the night sky. This ground his feet tread upon, both in reality and within the confines of his own mental plane, was soft, easily able to pull him in, to suck him down.
But before his oblivious foot stepped upon loose soil, the long, narrow path dissipated. It was like a tall, old oak had been sliced in half, this once long, ancient pathway had all but passed. Its lightless bark all but a bad memory, revealing to the ground the dim light of the seemingly night sky. From the hole in the ceiling did a faint, but brisk light pour into the throne room, being as a compass to guide them through this place.
But this place hurt far more than it healed, than it revealed. Stepping in the pale blue light, basking in its subtle touch, the group bathed. They stood off beside the carcass of the statue that made the throne chair as well as the debris from the partially collapsed ceiling, awaiting Lamia. But to the others, they see as the head of the one she possessed lifted skyward, the beautiful, surreal sky engraved into his corneas.
Raphael's puppeteer knew well of this place, her heart filled beyond its banks with all the many things that occurred, all the countless times she looked to this simply awe-inspiring celestial dome. But she knew that this wasn't the time for such a cruel tease, she had other, more important things to do than painfully reminiscing the long lost past.
She only stole but a few seconds of time, but it was such time that would never be acquired again. So, she quickly turned Raphael's head back towards the people behind him. She looked to them, all of them awaiting her words, for surely she was to speak to them. "Grab hold of me," the Neheztelian goddess told to the others. "I require contact from you all in order to guide you back to Gielinor. Once I've safely returned you to your world, I shall bring clarity to this situation."
"Sounds good ta me," Calvin remarked, raising his right thumb. Pulling that assassin alongside him, Shinon walked on towards the young man with the face he knew, but not the presence. Now just off to his right, Shinon stood along with Calvin as they looked towards the one who was not so enthusiastic to trust or so much as even approach Lamia.
And the goddess could detect it, sense the aura of distrust radiating off of the genius. His steely gaze pushing ever onward upon her, his legs as still as a post hammered into the ground. But he had to force himself, obviously she was the only way he was going to get back to the unforgiving world. His legs bending to his will, slowly making his way towards her and the others.
As they notice his motion pointing towards him, Calvin grabbed upon Raphael's shoulder and Shinon grabbed upon his arm. Standing just off to his left, Telvern's eyes met the eyes of one he held with great esteem. But they were not entirely the same, and so that was why he lunged a heavyhanded glare into them.
He peered dauntlessly and sharply into the soul of the one inside, the pitch-black rancor that made the omnipotent goddess. After a moment or two as the two stared harshly through the windows into their souls, Telvern's pale skinned hand finally reached for and grasped upon Raphael's left shoulder, but only because he knew that this was his only ticket out of this place, this Solasúila.
The moment she felt his hand upon her, Lamia closed her eyes real quick. The group then suddenly dispersed just as quickly, appearing a mere glint, a mesmerizing flash of light. The three could have easily blinked their eyes and missed it, seeing as their bodies evaporate like a liquid to a gas. They became nothing more than particles of pale crimson light, watching as their consciousness ascended beyond that throne room.
The chilling, shrilling wind that surrounded the aging ruins of the throne room and the entire city back in Solasúila had all but faded away. Their vision went from that place to another in a split second, appearing in a swift bath of pale crimson light. They felt in that millisecond as though their hearts did not pound in their chests, that their lungs did not take on air.
They floated just over the sand and stone brick for but a moment, hovering off of the ground. Their feet touched down, drawing the eyes of all in the room. They found themselves back in the safety of the Desert Assassins' headquarters, in that familiar entrance room. Their eyes scanned across the ruins and bookshelves, seeing as they brought in a crowd.
Lamians from all corners of the room rushed over in a hasteful pace, seeing as the group had returned. Before the group realized it, they were up to their necks to black cloth. The very light around them was swallowed by the black, people of all shapes, sizes, and colors encircling them. Also another took notice of this flocking, and that was Daevarro, who traversed the place to get to them.
Those Lamians in black, loose cloth took notice of the one locked in Raphael's arms, making all flock around the group. They grew with the utmost concern, gasps and mutters painfully murmured across the air. "...Queen!" cried one voice from the crowd, a recognizable voice. Bursting to the front of the crowd was that Lamian Shakir, looking sorrowfully upon Libitina.
His face reflected his sorrow, wearing such a heavy heart. His jaw flapped agape, his eyes widened and even a little cloudy with water. He would not be the only one who looked over the queen and suspect her life was gone from this world, many others shared in this. Feeling as this sorrow hit her like a ton of bricks, Lamia turned to bring comfort to her faithful. "Be at peace, children," she told them all. "Libitina is not in death, but in respite."
Shakir and all others who had begun to mourn looked up at Raphael like their breath had been put back into their lungs, like they were allowed to breathe again. Their watery eyes enlarged, gazing up upon the young man. This look about him was not the same as they knew from Raphael, not at all in fact. This presence, this feeling, the compassion and worry in his voice, the way he spoke...
The look in his eyes was kindred to the eyes of their queen Libitina, possessing a certain rough but loving appearance. The warmth in his voice was that of a mother's, unconditionally affectionate and caring. The group faced an utterly paralyzed congregation, they were all struck dumb by just the words spoken to them.
Calvin looked to all of his brothers and sisters, seeing as all of their faces mimicked Shakir's. "
Dimris áljin a Lazolu,
" he said to his family as though addressing them, a elated smirk clenching his face. "I'd like y'all ta meet Lamiaquil'a,
Jeen quilu Lami, Jeen drág Essa.
Our mother's returned ta us, returned ta dis world."
Almost all in the black-robed crowd muttered in disbelief, their eyelids pushing apart, revealing their pupils as shrunken dots. They could feel as their legs became like liquid to the sheer will and power of her, her just simply standing there. They knew it was her, they didn't even mistake her for Raphael for even a second. They just knew, so absolutely blessed to be staring upon their goddess for the first time.
Her presence alone was like a woodcutter's axe, hacking at the legs of everyone in black. Calvin's confirmation wasn't even necessary, but it was like icing upon the cake; sweet, heavenly icing. Her divine gaze graced them, delivering a swift boot to their kneecaps. It was a blow they were willing and overjoyed to take, the entire crowd just fell to the ground with a look of utter awe.
They all looked up at her, their lungs completely exhausted of all air, for it had all been stolen. They were absolutely and unfathomably astonished, speechless. Their arms and jaws dangling around limp at their every motion, so spellbound. Even their backs fell to this glorious infection, faltering in beauty. Their fronts hit the ground humbly, their faces hid in shame for daring to look up upon her.
The forest of black-cloaked bodies was cut down to nothing, their surroundings were finally clear to see the entire room again. One was left standing amongst the crowd, but he probably wouldn't consider himself apart of that following. His hazel eyes upon the group, being on the outside as he looked in. He saw then the woman who Lamia had possessed in order to take his sister's pendant from him laying in Raphael's arms, and the words spoke outwards.
So, she wasn't lying at all, Daevarro found. He saw the battered group that he had grown to care very much about, he was just happy to see them again. That time between the loss of his pendant and to now lasted far longer than it actually did, a short time that left him dangling off of the edge. A look of earnest relief gripped his face, his angst vanishing just like a breath from yesterday.
Daevarro's eyes then watched as the one he knew as Raphael dropped down upon his knees, still carrying the woman in black in his arms. His purple eyes laid gently upon the head of the one before him, the Lamian named Shakir. Feeling as the vision of the one was upon him, Shakir felt himself quiver. "Your name is Shakir, correct?" Lamia asked.
"Y-yes," he replied with a nervous, unsettled voice.
"Look upon me, child," she then requested of him, causing Shakir to very slowly start pulling his head. Its motion was very hesitant, as though he felt completely unworthy. His breathless face held up to her, his brown eyes gazing upon the one possessed by his loving mother. "You feel yourself neglected by me, I sense it within your heart. I ask of you to believe not such a terrible thing, to believe that I look to you and all of my children as equal in measure."
"Please forgive me, drág Essa," he sorrowfully pleaded, his face cowering.
"Fret not, child," she responded to his words, his anxious begging for her forgiveness. "Doubt in belief is but a stage in life, one of sculpting and shaping."
"Thank you very much for your words and mercy, drág Essa,"
"I require you to take her from me," the goddess told him. "Lay her down in a place of sanctuary."
"Only as you desire, Palaquilulami," Shakir humbly accepted her task, then holding his arms up to take Libitina from Lamia. The goddess then ripped Libitina away from Raphael's body, very gently and carefully laying her in Shakir's awaiting arms. Passing the sleeping woman from one to another, the Lamian secured his queen safely.
Rising very slowly to his feet, keeping his head respectfully bowed down to Lamia. Now standing tall and straight, Shakir turned to face what was behind him. Gazing upon that which was at his back, he found a clear path before him. His legs began to take on motion, stepping one foot in front of the other. He moved away from this place, doing as he was asked to do without hesitation.
As Shakir departed from their presence, passing by Daevarro as he did, Lamia began to ascend from the ground. The dark-robed young man saw as Raphael stood up to his feet, fixating a profound, divine gaze upon him. Daevarro could see as a thin, gray strap of cloth dangled from in between Raphael's fingers, belonging to the pendant that was stolen from him.
Lamia's vision had a firm grip upon the dark gray garb that cloaked Daevarro's fragile, thinly-built body. She began to push Raphael's legs towards the young man, moving in Daevarro's direction. He began to take notice of this action, his stomach couldn't help but to get knotted up. But after the events of their last encounter, Daevarro was more alert and defensive than ever before.
In the background, Shinon had towed Calvin's body towards a chair sitting beside a table. He hauled the lazy assassin away from his body, the two gripping their teeth as they were forced to move the injured parts of their bodies. Shinon then began the process of sluggishly lowering Calvin down upon the weathered wood of the chair, not wanting to hurt neither Calvin nor himself.
It was a delicate act, but Shinon had successfully put Calvin down upon the chair. In a exchange of grunts and pain, Calvin pushed and held his injured right leg outwards. The bloodied genius then stepped over to the two, leaving behind the crowd of bowing bodies who still did not move out of position.
On his way there, his right hand reached underneath his coat and into the pouch he carried which held all of his summoning pouches. After a moment of digging around, Telvern pulled out one of his many summoning pouches. The head of a unicorn adorned this one, one which Telvern would torn asunder just moments after his hand retrieved it.
His thumb tearing across the pouch's rough yet extremely frail skin, its inside was a bright, glowing light that shined like it came from the end of a long tunnel. Standing idle at Calvin's left, Telvern looked down upon his pouch as a figure began to take shape to his right. Blueish-white flames rose from the sand and stone, taking on the shape of what appeared to be a horse.
The foundation was laid, a mythic being was given birth to. Or rather, if one had any basic knowledge in the arts of summoning, a being was conjured onto this world. Steadily did that foundation grow, the construction of a four-legged creature grew from its blueish-white roots.
