ERR.
The evening was silent. It was always somewhere between dawn and dusk in Átrí Nä’lún, but the chill spreading through the moonlit forest and valley was a warning that none within detected. None would realise until too late that, while the evening was endless, this evening would be the end of them all.
As L’m
Remember me…
ERR. aligning temporal discrepancy.
As Næ’zätæmém strolled the pale gold streets of the upper city, nestled in the valley north where the colony of the noble phoenix rested. Glittering frost already began to form in his wake, and his skin had lost the soft moonlit quality common to his kind, turning instead to a deathly hue between grey and blue.
What Næ’zätæmém’s work had built to, with the rebranded Ákhfräl’ürémír waiting among the dendra for his word, was finally at hand. The unaware Æ’gémínë slept peacefully in their wood and stone homes. Ideally, he would have preferred to wait until the next phoenix cycle, but Äl’khäshæ’s capture and expulsion from Átrí Nä’lún by the Council of Six had been a major setback—one which he, of course, had no choice but to take part in, lest his elite colleagues learn too soon of his revolutionary visions for their people.
One cannot remake worlds without the ability to adapt, Næ’zätæmém consoled himself. In stillness, all is lost.
Only one detail remained for him to personally carry out, before his plan could truly commence.
L’m
Remember me…
Re: ERR. reparation underway.
FIX. discrepancy compensated.
Næ’zätæmém approached a door of dendrawood, hung meticulously in magically carved, golden stone. He tapped gently on the door three times with the tip of his long, even for Æ’gémínë, left index finger.
Märæsälúm and her fondness for her inferiors, always remembering her roots, Næ’zätæmém thought with vague amusement, laughing softly at his pun. The wooden door was the only one of its kind in the valley, with neighbours either constructing theirs of invisible barriers or standing stones.
A dim white light appeared at the bottom of the doorway, but no one answered his call. He knocked three more times, louder this time. Within a few heartbeats, the door opened a handful of centimetres. A female face with eyes like starlight, her silver hair cut near her chin, peered through the narrow opening.
“Næ’zätæmém, you were not expected,” Märæsälúm told her visitor.
He placed a firm hand on the door and offered her a smile as warm as his frosty visage could manage. As he gazed upon her unblinking, her will faltered and the door swung open. Næ’zätæmém entered and observed.
Märæsälúm’s home was a simple, functional place. Carved into the side of one of the mountains, the stone interior was polished to a pale golden shine that reflected the warm light from a single burning candle in all directions, fully illuminating the area. A hallway at the far side of the room led to her resting quarters, Næ’zätæmém was vaguely aware, though he had been rejected from seeing the room himself. In the corner stood a waist-high, cube-shaped device for preparing meals. Furniture was limited to three cushioned red armchairs.
She lives alone, so why has she added more? This place has changed since my last visit, Næ’zätæmém thought. Her twin nä’ghältér blades, once near the entrance, now hang high on the wall. In fact, she has secured all of her Úë’mælïfïcí and seems to have ceased practising her craft altogether. Perhaps her skills will not serve me as well as I had hoped. What a shame.
The dull noise of rapid footsteps down the long hallway caught his attention.
“To what do I owe the sudden pleasure of your company, my friend?” Märæsälúm asked hurriedly, her volume raised slightly to cover the sound. Næ’zätæmém did not answer for a moment, continuing to study his surroundings.
“The great arachniwyrm, Velryd, is coming. The barriers imprisoning us in this forest shall soon fall,” the cold man finally said idly without looking at the woman. If he had, he would have noted the look of horror on her face and the way she delicately shifted toward the wall that held her weapons.
“The Elder Æ’chäbömín? But he sleeps in Däsghäsýl; he has no reason to attack us,” Märæsälúm said. She continued to move away from the man and get close to her defences.
“Äl’khäshæ, his sins run deeper than we were aware.” Næ’zätæmém told her.
“Äl’khäshæ was unanimously found guilty of torturing and enslaving his fellow Æ’gémínë,” Märæsälúm retorted. “What greater crime could he commit? Are you saying his first trial was a deception as well?” She anxiously tapped the fingernails of her right hand against the scarlet metal chain bound to the left wrist.
“It seems he has paid grave injury to Velryd and his ilk whilst allowed outside of our forest, an injury which the great beast feels must be repaid by us all with blood,” Næ’zätæmém explained, his eyes momentarily darting toward Märæsälúm’s fidgeting hands.
The chain was one of six mysterious artefacts brought back from the dark wilderness by Äl’khäshæ and gifted to the Council by the traitor before they learned of his despicable, twisted experiments. The chains had chosen their bearers and thus far refused to be removed from any of their wrists; all they had managed to learn of them since was that the trinkets granted powers of elemental evocation well beyond their already significant capabilities and seemed to communicate with them through subliminal psychic nudges. Until Äl’khäshæ’s second trial, in which he was expelled, there had been no cause to believe the strange devices had been acquired through evil means. Now, however, the notion caused Märæsälúm’s stomach to churn with a mixture of fear and disgust.
Before her questions could be answered, a great noise like thunder blasted through the city beyond, rumbling the ground beneath them. Screams in the distance, from the ghäsýl below, rang out shortly after. Märæsälúm’s skin became numb, though not from the cold emanating from her guest.
Næ’zätæmém turned to look out over the cliffs with a twisted gleam in his eye as he giddily observed as his plans came to fruition. The titanic demon, the object of terror in the hearts of all Æ’gémínë, flew over the frosty dendra forest on leather-membrane wings broad enough to blacken the moon. Velryd’s long-necked, many-spined dragon’s head led the way, exhaling bursts of flame through his extended razor fangs at the shocked forest-dwellers struggling to find a safe route away from their homes, only to have their progress barred by the blinded Ákhfräl’ürémír. The six-eyed black widow’s face upon the horrifying creature’s hairy chest hissed and spat steaming blobs of pale-green, acidic venom that ate through abandoned, onion-shaped wooden houses as well as still-living dendra trees and all that dwelled among them.
“It begins,” Næ’zätæmém breathed. He gazed through the door, still ajar, in ecstasy. Märæsälúm was now backed against the wall, disturbed by the gleam in her visitor’s eye.
“What have you done?” she whispered in horror. The cold man turned to face her now.
“It is a new age for æ’gémínë,” Næ’zätæmém said simply. The ground around his feet was coated with frost. “What we have spoken about, what Úë’sälúm stands in the way of! By the forgotten gods, it comes now.”
In Næ’zätæmém’s excitement, he raised his hands to animate his speech. His sleeves fell back from his hands and for the first time, Märæsälúm saw a deep grey chain bound to his left wrist, similar to the yellow-orange one on hers. While her chain was solid metal, however, his twisted like smoke.
“Was there another chain we did not see?” Märæsälúm asked. Næ’zätæmém began to smirk, but it quickly warped into a bitter scowl.
“Äb,” Næ’zätæmém hissed. “Like Úë’sälúm, I was not made Sílränéx. My new power comes from a much greater source. With it I can change our entire world. Our entire reality. Join me,” he said as he extended his bound hand.
Tendrils of smoke danced in serpentine motions toward Märæsälúm. She merely stared at the man, unable to say a word. As the smoke approached, the woman felt herself become light-headed. The chill emanating from Næ’zätæmém made its way into her lungs, restricting her air.
“Äb!” the voice of a young girl called out from the hallway. The footsteps from before returned, louder and quicker this time. A child about as tall as Næ’zätæmém’s hip and wrapped in a simple white tunic sped into the room, latching onto Märæsälúm.
The girl who had spoken followed swiftly in their wake. She wore a dark blue hooded robe with silver lining around the edges and was gasping gently for breath.
The smaller one’s inquisitive rose-gold eyes seemed familiar to Næ’zätæmém as the cold man stared, his face twisted with uncertainty and revulsion.
“I apologise, Märæsälúm,” Pán’ämírä, the adolescent girl, said. “Úë’lëxä has a strong will, and I could not keep them back. Næ’zätæmém, it is pleasant to see you,” The guest appeared not to notice her. Though Pán’ämírä had known the man as an ally, if not a friend, throughout their previous interactions, his demeanour and the frost growing around his feet triggered in her an instinct to flee.
“Housing strays, Märæsälúm?” Næ’zätæmém asked.
“They are… Úë’lëxä is… my child,” Märæsälúm told him, her voice cracking. “Pán’ämírä has assisted in caring for and understanding them.” She nodded to the younger girl as she spoke. Pán’ämírä inched her way behind Märæsälúm’s back for a sense of safety and grabbed Úë’lëxä’s hand. The child accepted her grip but refused to leave their mother’s embrace.
“But the Æ’lúmélýrä is a lengthy and complex ritual, one which you have shown no signs of performing. How did you accomplish this? Ægö qünävím vös hädæö ä sídvë,” Næ’zätæmém demanded, adding his jinx as an afterthought.
Märæsälúm hugged her child once more and handed them off to Pán’ämírä, despite the child’s protests. She fought the psychic force of Næ’zätæmém’s spell but could speak naught but truth.
“I did not,” Märæsälúm replied.
Næ’zätæmém watched her, not understanding at first. He looked back to Úë’lëxä, still staring up at him with that oddly familiar expression.
A little bastard æ’chäbömín born against the natural order of our world… the visitor thought furiously. His hands began to shake as he realised why he recognised the face of the impossible child standing before him. His jaw clenched, and in the same instant crystals of ice spread across the floor, covering the room in a thin mist.
“Úë’sälúm… Hypocrites!” Næ’zätæmém roared. Ice covered much of the room, and the door slammed shut of its own accord. As Pán’ämírä and Úë’lëxä fled back in the direction from which they came, Næ’zätæmém raised his left hand at the woman in front of him. Any thoughts of admiration or affection he had harboured for her vanished from his mind.
As Næ’zätæmém’s rage escalated, so too did the cold, spreading beyond Märæsälúm’s mountain home to overtake their world. Æ’gémínë attempting to flee Átrí Nä’lún found their movement slowing until they stopped completely, before the combined assault of Velryd and the Ákhfräl’ürémír obliterated them, leaving only dark impressions in the ground and walls where the victims once stood.
In the blink of an eye, Märæsälúm swiped her blades from the wall and entered a defensive stance, the weaponry bursting into scarlet flames as she flicked her chained hand. The tips of each weapon passed through the ends of the smoky tentacles, still writhing a short distance from her face, sending wisps in all directions. Neither combatant saw a friend in front of them any longer.
“You shall both fall with your forest,” Næ’zätæmém said. Before either could move, Märæsälúm’s home blurred until the walls faded into nothingness; the duelling pair followed suit within seconds. Only the silent void remained.
ERR. memories corrupted.
ERR. please find.
ERR. stop him.