When Astraea finally regained her senses, the sun had set, and the sky glittered with uncountable stars. It would have been a beautiful sight to soak in, had it not been for her current situation.
Her head felt warm to the touch, but the pain had subsided. Her throat felt incredibly parched, and her body felt sore. The first thing she noticed was that the ground felt softer and cold, as she sat up gingerly she realized she had been laying on something cool and soft, her head cushioned by a black lump of cloth. Upon closer inspection the gold embroidery made her realize it was Cyrene's dress which they wore in the mansion of the Silver Lion.
The Silver Lion…
Wait, where was she?
"You're awake," a voice says softly.
Astraea flinched violently and attempted to run before a pair hands gripped her shoulders making her face worried red eyes. Something about those eyes made her relax instantly, the tension leaving her body.
"You are safe now," Cyrene shushed her gently, patting her head softly. "We left."
"We…left?" Astraea hated how small her voice sounded yet she couldn't shake off the deep seated fear that had newly settled in her mind. She observed her palms to see they were flawless but streaked with ash. Upon further inspection she realized her clothes had soot stains and frayed edges as if they had ran through fire.
When she finally took a moment to look at Cyrene, she saw that she was in a similar state as her despite the new clothes (she had reworn the clothes Coran had let them pick, somehow that makes her sour a slightly at the thought of him), covered in soot and dress soiled. What the hell happened?
Astraea flexed her arms and fingers, relieved to feel them move without a problem.
"The poison seems to have worn out," she says with satisfaction. She looked around to see miles of sand before them. "Where are we?"
"Outskirts of Yullard in the Dunes."
"Dunes? I've never heard of it, why is everything white like snow?"
Cyrene hums solemnly, "It is because of the damage in the magic here. The snow you see is white ash, magic death. It occurs when there is damaged magic or death by it. This used to be a battlefield during the Civil War.
An awkward pause as Astraea tries to digest the scene before her, miles of white powder with little impurities that hardly disturbed the fair tone. It felt a little unnerving to know this had been caused by death and destruction. Regardless the planes of white were beautiful in a melancholic way.
Astraea squinted at the distance, "It seems empty."
"It's barren and undisturbed except for the wildlife that lives here," Cyrene answered easily.
"Oh? There's life here?"
"Yes. They live underground in catacombs," Cyrene says, "if we are lucky we can find hidden water pits to drink."
The mention of water reminded Astraea that her throat was parched. As she wiggled on the spot trying to get comfortable on the sand she felt a sting on her side and on her feet. Unable to ignore the feeling she looked down to inspect her them. They were an angry shade of red.
She gasped, "What the hell happened? Did I get burned?"
Astraea searched for any more potential scars before looking at Cyrene, "Did we run into a fire? Why are we covered in soot and our clothes so damaged?"
Endless questions filled her mouth only to meet with an unreadable look from the former escapee.
Cyrene did not meet her eyes, "There was a fire."
"A fire?"
"Yes."
An ominous feeling settles in the pit of her stomach. She narrows her eyes at Cyrene, "There is something you are not telling me."
The latter did not meet her eyes, rather locked her stare at her ash streaked dress.
"There was a fight. Paprika tried to kill you after you had lost consciousness. I... I used my gift to fend off her attacks which led to a fire that burned down the entire coven. I used the fire to help us escape," she says honestly.
Astraea falls silent, eyes wide in shock.
"What…happened to the Lords?"
Cyrene falls silent, eyes filled with guilt that told her everything she needed to know.
"You killed them," she says matter-of-factly with a blunt expression that gathers a small wince from the other.
She looked at Astraea. "Do you…find it disturbing?"
"Huh?"
"Do you find it disturbing?" she urges with an odd look in her eyes that made Astraea feel a strange pang in her belly.
"Why–" then Astraea realized that Cyrene was afraid. She was seeking her validation.
Truthfully, Astraea did find it disturbing. Horrifying even. It only made a deep fear settle in her at the realization that Cyrene would truly take away a life if she wanted to. She was an escapee afterall, she had been hunted for a reason; what if she had murdered other people? What if the reason for her imprisonment was because she killed? Was she an assassin hired by those beyond Jericho?
Yet, she did not seem to have a clear loyalty nor goal except for asylum and hidden penance. She had even gone out her way to protect Astraea and was now asking if she found her choices disturbing. It was extremely bizarre and Astraea didn't know what to think of it.
'Of course I find it disturbing!,' she thinks dryly, 'you claim to have killed people and I don't know how many or who, why does my opinion matter to you?'
Cyrene stares at her expectantly, making her realize that she had been quiet for too long. Astraea takes a long searching look at her, trying to read her expression while wrestling the wrangle of emotions tumbling inside her.
"I…it does disturb me," she says slowly in an honest manner. In the corner of her eye, Cyrene flinches softly that it was almost unnoticeable. "You must understand, I'm not used to all of…this," Astraea vaguely gestures all over the place, "I have not seen death nor do I dapple with it and from looking at you, I know you have. I understand your place, I truly do, but you need to understand that I don't. I'm not used to this and I don't think I want to meddle with these affairs; I'm a writer, not a soldier."
She wanted to be polite as possible but she also needed Cyrene to understand that they couldn't hang around together for long. Cyrene comes from a world that is more complicated and filled with darker truths, her eyes alone hold the blank mask of a person who had seen death uncountable times.
Astraea, however, was not a soldier. She lived her life as a simple woman in a remote village who studied in her room all day, how could she possible handle this? It was all too much for her and even though a deep unsettling feeling curled in her at the notion of abandoning Cyrene, she couldn't possibly help with all the mess that has been made. She needed her life back.
Cyrene looks at her for a long moment. "I understand."
Astraea breathed a sigh of relief before giving her a grateful smile, "Thank you. What do you think we should do now?"
"Beyond the Dunes is the border to Coolmook. We might be able seek refuge there temporarily till we come up with a solution."
Currently there wasn't a clear place they could turn to or people they could seek aid from. It was very clear that they were in a rather unorthodox and dangerous situation; they had to seek resources elsewhere.
It was better than dying in the least.
"Alright, when do we head out?"
"At dawn tomorrow. Travelling in daylight is dangerous. We'll came here for now," Cyrene says, "we need to secure a safe place to rest first."
Astraea nods, the weariness in her bones now more present. "What do we need to do?"
Cyrene looks around or a moment before looking at Astraea with a funny expression. She then raised her palm and pressed it towards the white sand and began muttering in a strange tongue, eyes glowing a bright red in the moonlit darkness. Astraea watched her quietly in rapt fascination.
She held her breath and watched as a large pile of bones erupted from the sands causing the ground to tremble slightly, sand spilling like water from the dry bone as they took the form of a great beast. Judging from the alone Astraea couldn't recognize the dead beast.
"You! You can control the dead!" she exclaimed loudly unable to keep the wonder and incredulity out of her voice.
Cyrene merely shrugged, "More or less."
Astraea stared at her, enraptured by the rich blood red color of the other's eyes before looking at the creature that let out a shrill sound.
She almost wanted to stroke it. "I have never seen anyone with a Necrophilic type Gift. But then again I have never seen Gifts in action at all."
Cyrene raised an eyebrow curiously. Astraea stares at the chirping beast. "What is this animal called?"
"A Giant Mole. They're almost extinct now," Cyrene replies. Her eyes were still glowing as she looked at the skeleton and jerked her chin. The beast hummed an octave low and began burrowing into the dune of white sand near them. Its clawed paws, what was left of it, consisted of six long finger bones that parted the sand with ease faster than a normal person could have. Astraea couldn't help but watch in rapt fascination.
She turned to Cyrene, eyes glimmering, "Your Gift is amazing! If you think about it, you could summon and speak to the dead of long ago, how fascinating would that be? You have the history of Brilansis at the tips of your fingers."
The woman blinked slowly, before lowering her head suddenly, eyes avoiding her gaze. It took her a moment to realize it – Cyrene was shy. The innocence and childlike nature of the gesture tugged something deep inside her chest and pulled a smile from her. Astraea wished she could tease her.
And she did. Only a little.
"Oi, where are you looking, hm? My eyes are here lass," she grins in delight as Cyrene merely glanced at her with a blank expression before looking away again, ears a sweet shade of pink.
Soon the beast had dug a snug cavern in the sand before groaning deeply and melting back into the sand. The two set up camp, Astraea had been wrapped in bits of makeshift fabric made from Cyrene's clothes from their time in the Silver Lion Coven to keep away the cold of the night. The former escapee seemed unfazed with the cold.
Cyrene had managed to light a fire with a swirl of her fingers, the heat and light keeping the predators from beneath the sand that lurked at night at bay. They sat in the cave side by side with only the light of the moon shining in the dark, the moment felt strangely nostalgic to Astraea.
"Paprika talked about the 'Black Sun' of Jericho," she says. She had lied down to soothe the weariness in her body. "You seemed to know who it was."
Near her Cyrene stiffened her back from where she was sitting in the lotus position. Her face was still turned away from her so she didn't know what the other was thinking.
A long silence stands. "Yes, I did."
Astraea sat up, "You did?"
"Yes."
"Then you must know that it couldn't be me!" the spark of hope made her relieved. So she wasn't a crazy warlord or anything, how could she if Cyrene had known them? "Who was the Black Sun? Why were they so important to Paprika? I've never heard of them."
Cyrene turned to her, eyes blank, "That is because the Black Sun was supposed to be dead."
Astraea blinked in surprise. "Oh? Then what is Paprika so obsessed with them?"
Cyrene does not answer.
"Cyrene," she says pleadingly, "I need to know who this is. To have a Lord of a Coven tell me I'm some important figure of legend I need to understand what is happening. Please?
Cyrene looks at her, eyes roaming her face making the air feel heavy and almost intimate. The light of the fire made Cyrene's face seem more ethereal yet mature, the tired lines of her face more prominent. Clearly the memory was unpleasant and it seemed to sadden the fighter.
"The Black Sun of Jericho was the King's most prized soldier, they were the Head Chief of the Jaegers and was well known for their conquests in the name of the Monarch," Cyrene says, her face turned to stare at the distance with an expression that seemed almost wistful. "They were the strongest fighter to live but had been feared by many. No doubt Paprika too feared her."
Astraea inhales softly, "But what happened to them?"
"No one knows, they were announced dead to the nation 15 years ago," Cyrene answers.
Astraea falls silent for a moment, her mind running many miles per second trying to understand the information. "I see."
Why was Paprika so sure that she was the Black Sun?
"Then…why did she think I was them?"
Cyrene does not answer, her expression showing a degree of helplessness.
Astraea narrowed her eyes sternly at her, "Cyrene…"
"It may be a possibility that you could be her. You both bear a striking resemblance in face," she says hesitantly. Her eyes flitted point to point constantly, unable to look at Astraea in the eye. This brings up the question that had been churning deep inside her gut since the time they shared a meal at her home.
"Cyrene," Astraea says carefully, "do you know me?"
Cyrene freezes, body rigid as stone.
Astraea plows on further, "You seemed far too relaxed and trusting for someone who had escaped from prison. You saved my life but you were very open in my presence as if you knew me for a long time. Paprika herself seemed to recognize me as she declared I was the Black Sun. Tell me Cyrene, did we know each other? What am I missing?"
A long silence resettles between them with the low breezes of the desert emitting a low hum as it brushed pass and the flames of the fire pit crackling softly.
The woman looks at her, eyes shimmering in the firelight turning them to the color of red clay, "Yes. We once knew each other, a long time ago."
Astraea gasped, eyes widening in shock. "How? Why…"
Why don't I know you?
Cyrene seemed to understand the unspoken question, "I don't know what happened to you," her tone had a more frustrated bite to it, "but you were once a captain of a legion. We worked together until you disappeared. I never found out why." Something in her voice sounded so miserable as if it had been tormenting her for a long time.
A captain…a captain of a legion…
"You mean I was the Black Sun?" Astraea asked dully.
Cyrene winces, "Astraea…"
Astraea laughed high and loudly gathering a look of concern from fighter. She laughed and laughed, it sounded hysterical and mad to her own ears. It was as if something uncanny had bubbled from her gut and now spread throughout her body that unable to handle the stress of the information.
She was a soldier after all. And it wasn't a mere cadet or part of a battalion, she commanded one instead. She was a caption of an entire squad of soldiers. She had killed….she had fought a war that apparently did not exist anymore. She was the Black Sun of Jericho and a wanted person throughout the existing survival Covens outside the walls of Jericho.
Who could have thought?
Perhaps that explained the strange migraines she suffered for the last fifteen years, the flash of voices with the Protochastic sphere and how she was able to perform magic that only mages were capable of. She had been doing this possibly longer than she had imagined. This begged the bigger question – why does she not remember any of it?
The more she thought about it, the more it unnerved her. For a long time Astraea had been sure of herself. She knew who she was and she had a steady life where she lived comfortably without lacking anything. Suddenly, it was all washed away within a single moment and now the lingering questions in her head had finally been yanked out of her leaving her confused and strangely vulnerable.
Who was she? Who was Astraea Ravenwood?
Had her whole life been a lie?
An icy cold feeling trickled down her chest and filled her stomach making her limbs shiver and her breathing unsteady. Cyrene immediately noticed this and placed a firm but gently arm on her shoulder. "Breathe Astraea. Calm down."
Astraea felt the muscle under her eyelid twitch. "Calm?" her voice was dangerously low as she spoke, "Of course I am very calm. Why would I not be?"
Her head had begun to throb and a strange pain and begun to fill her chest and her throat that she couldn't understand. What kind of grief was building within her? She couldn't understand yet she felt her sanity begin to slip from her grasp as her tone grew a little hysterical as she jeered.
"Tell me Cyrene, General, what makes you think I'm not calm?" her tone was louder now, "did you think I was weak? Gullible to stay with out?"
It felt as if the control she had over her own life was spiraling out of control leaving her angry and wounded. Astraea felt out-of-place and so alone and conflicted that everything angered her. It was as if the universe was insulting her. It built a feral emotion inside of her that burnt like magma inside her veins.
"I am calm General. It is not as if my whole life had been pulled from my feet, isn't it? Of course I would be 'calm'."
Cyrene grew more and more worried, she reach out with her other hand before both were promptly shaken off.
"Get your hands off me!"
"Astraea–"
"DON'T!"
She halts, eyes observing Astraea who was breathing heavily. Every muscle in her body trembled, her anger threatening to tear something apart. An anger she had never known before.
"Don't you dare tell me this is all fine! How can you just-"
She felt herself choke on her words, eyes filling with unshed tears.
"Don't tell me that it's all fine and this is all normal, IT'S NOT NORMAL FOR ME! How must I understand all this? What am I to think of myself?! To think I…had killed people before…I'm not…"
I'm not you, the thought remained unsaid.
Cyrene says nothing but quietly watches with an almost aggrieved look as Astraea slump against the cold sand walls of their cave, lifeless and blank faced as the anger evaporate from her leaving a dejected countenance. She reaches her hand out as if she wanted to comfort her before retracting it quickly. A pained silence echoes with the soft hiss of the desert sands.
"What was I to you?" it was soft and hesitant and brimming with a helpless sort of curiosity.
"Someone unforgettable," Cyrene answered, her eyes unreadable as they glowed in the night, the firelight reflecting in them.
Something about her expression terrified Astraea of knowing more.
Neither of them slept the night.
Hunger burned in her belly. Paired with the heat of the sun that had rose to high noon, Astraea felt as if she were dangling on the fine line of delirium. Cyrene and Astraea had woken up with an icy tension between them, mostly from Astraea who couldn't bring herself to look or speak to Cyrene directly just yet. The other took this with grace and had quietly announced she would go hunting for something for them to eat before travelling at night. They had not eaten since they escaped from South Dawnmore.
According to Cyrene, the Dunes were located where the old state kingdom of Thornfrost once stood before the Civil War between the states. The old borders have been long destroyed, buried underneath the sand.
Ever the patient person she was Astraea waited in their little cave that did the minimal in shielding her from the harsh rays of the sun that heated the sand like miniature grains of hot charcoal. Four hours had passed and there was still no sign of Cyrene. Astraea's mind began to wander.
Given the recent events that happened, it was clear that she was not as ordinary as she thought she was. Unfortunately for her, her life is now drastically changed and most of it had been a lie – but was it? A part of her wanted and believed that she did have memories that were missing. It should be the easiest thing to do.
But the daunting reality and the weight of the knowledge felt like a shackle on her, a noose ready to tighten itself around her neck. To realize that a huge part of your life had not been what you had thought it was a horrific thought, the scarier part was that there was a chunk that was missing, and she couldn't wrap her head around it. Maybe it was a mistake, perhaps they mistook her for another person or perhaps she was merely suffering from hallucinations but logically with everything that happened it wouldn't be.
How can she go back to living her life after this? Can she simply return home after the whole affair?
It felt as if a vital part of her identity had been nothing but fool's gold all along. A lie to survive – a lie to her. Suddenly all meaning to her own name had vanished in a single sentence. She could still remember Paprika's enraged countenance as Astraea lay on the ground, poison coursing through her veins.
"Innocent? Innocent my ass, General we all know who she really is. Do you think we have forgotten her crimes against us? The blood she spilt from us?"
"You cannot compensate the damage she has done. She had razed my home to the ground, killed my people and turned me and my sister into orphans!"
"Countless lives fallen into her hands, and she took it without mercy…"
Astraea couldn't help but wonder if she had been a terrible person once in her youth. She cannot have been that old when this all had unfolded. Given Paprika's words, it made her consider that she could have been a tyrant in her lost years; if she and Cyrene knew each other, what kind of person did it make her? Why did she not tell her sooner?
Then there was the other puzzle piece that bothered her: General.
Paprika had called Cyrene 'General' which while Astraea had been too preoccupied with the chaos the moniker stuck to her making her even more confused. Cyrene had been a General? Of fucking what?!
This could mean many things. That Cyrene was a War General in hiding trying to accomplish a mission, that she was a deserter hence leading her to be imprisoned or even that she was a General to the opposing enemy that had been captured by Earnest before escaping into the village of Evergreen. What the hell is Cyrene anyway? Escapee? General? Escaped General?? Clearly a woman of great skill judging from her recent fights and her unusual Gift, no commoner would have that.
A thousand questions whirled in her head yet she didn't seem closer to any satisfactory answer. What else could be done?
Astraea vaguely wanted to scream her lungs out in an attempt to rid of the frustration coiling in her stomach. Or tear something apart, anything to calm her frayed nerves. She almost wished she never knew this information.
Will things ever be back to normal if she went home?
'Can I go home?'
The answer was blaringly obvious, even if she did not want to admit it: nothing will be the same ever again.
A Jaeger was hunting them, they've made enemies of an entire coven, they had no support system to rely on and Astraea herself seemed to be responsible for a mass genocide she had no recollection of. She cannot simply dust her hands and walk away.
'Who was I? I wonder if it's worth remembering…' she thinks, staring at the white powder-like sands that looked deceivingly soft in the sun's heat. Deep down, the burning curiosity of her lost years was still lingering inside her.
Astraea let out a yawn, the heat of the daylight coating her body stickily like a second skin making her feel slightly lightheaded and drowsy. She almost wanted to sleep before her stomach rumbled in hunger.
Where the hell was Cyrene? The five hour mark had passed and the fighter had still not made it back yet, Astraea was beginning to grow worried.
It wasn't that she missed her (she did, terribly) but she was beginning to grow hungrier and didn't like the idea of being abandoned in the middle of a desert (she was worried about Cyrene's safety). She needed the other to survive out this alive after all (she prayed Cyrene was alive and well), not that she cared for her for any sentimental reasons (she cared for very much).
While Astraea was a proud woman, she was not a heartless one. She stared at the dunes for a long moment, pondering what she could do. All she had were the bones of the beast that dug the cave lying neatly in the corner like an open fossil.
"Do you think I should go after her?" she asks bones absently.
The bones don't reply.
"I don't want to die. The heat is oppressive and I don't have any weapons or a good Gift at my arsenal. I don't even know where she went, how can I find her?"
The bones still don't reply.
"Maybe I could…"
She looks around their relatively empty cave. Their old clothes were gone with only Cyrene's leftover dress used as a sleeping rag. Her pieces of paper and pens were all back in Coran's place. She curses the man once more. She stares at the outside once more, anxiety and worry curdling in her chest once more. The feeling of being useless was something she loathed; what if Cyrene was captured? Hurt? Wounded? Or even dead?
The wound on her stomach has yet to heal properly yet the stupid woman kept forgetting that. It made her feel slightly guilty at the strain she put her through. Cyrene had saved her life twice in a row yet she hadn't even thanked her properly.
Minutes slipped away like sand, Astraea was finally done waiting.
It was a stupid idea. Utterly ridiculous but it was better than sitting helplessly.
She approached the skeleton in the corner of the space, resting peacefully and thought for a moment. There were no known spells for reanimation other than those who were gifted with the ability, not even the Great Mages knew how to bring life to the dead. However, there were basic spells for puppeteering.
During her time writing her latest novel Astraea had come across a few books that contained the history of magical evolution. One of the many topics they addressed was spells based on giving life to the unliving. Many old spells used during the year of the Three headed Dragon, which had been three hundred years ago, were reformed according to their time like the Handasiun seals. Similarly where there had been spells that moved mountains and commanded steel to bend at their will, now are being used for more industrial purposes.
The spell today would be a seal with an eight pointed star seal serving as a powerful base and resembling the Compass Rose. This would help locate the living or the dead with a Triquetra stabilizing it. In the past however, the sigil was more complicated written in the old format with the outer rings containing the command in the archaic language long unused by the Mages.
Astraea does not remember the writing but she vaguely remembered the planes of the center symbol that should help her perform the spell. The lines were rather simple and uncomplicated compared to the rest of it so she was confident she could replicate and use it.
She remembered the time where, with a stroke of luck, she was able to use the Handasiun seal back at Evergreen when the Jaeger came to capture Cyrene. The seal had been wonky but it had worked. She recalled the rush of heat that filled her hands and the power that surged in her veins. Perhaps she can try again.
She may not know what exactly her Gift is, but she was perfectly capable of using magic…at least she hoped she could.
Astraea looked at the fire pit from last night and found pits of leftover charred bone that had been used as kindle for the fire. She took one of the burnt pieces as a makeshift charcoal stud and approached the skull of the beast. Using the bone she drew the sigil to her memory onto the center of where the creature's forehead would be and stood back with shaky fingers.
This has to work. She really hoped it did.
She closed her eyes, smearing the residual charcoal as she rubbed her fingertips together and breathed in deeply, trying to concentrate to replicate the sensation she felt the day of the Jaeger attack. She focused on the hum of power that heated her palms and make her blood sing.
At first nothing happens. The heat of the desert as imposing as ever and the bones did not flinch. Undeterred she tried again until finally a sliver of electrifying heat tingled her palms and crept from her chest, slowly spreading within her arms and belly. A foreign sensation that felt almost giddy and exhilarating.
Astraea knew it had to be the magic. It was now growing and curling within the muscles of her arms and fingertips, it enveloped her body in a kind of warm embrace as it surged through her blood. It felt exciting.
Soon when she opened her eyes she found the sigil glowing black, pulsing as if alive. The sigil seemed to come to life causing the pile of bones to rattle and creak before rearranging themselves, each limb and bone seem to connect to her fingertips that hummed with magic. There loomed the skeleton of the Giant Mole, immobile and awaiting for her command.
This is completely different to Cyrene's Gift. She breathes life into the dead, she recalls the lost soul and grants it access to their body under her control meaning the dead already knew what they must do. The sigil on the other hand merely puppeteered inanimate objects to the wielder's command, similarly the skeleton did not regain its life but rather completely inanimate and allows Astraea to have control over it as she pleases.
Astraea's fingers twitched before moving them left. The hulking skeleton obediently turned left, the magic drumming within her chest steadily. It seemed much sturdier than the time she tried to activate the Handasiun seal. She then turned her fingers right, the beast followed the same. With the help of this she should be able to locate Cyrene out in the sands.
Wrapping her head and covering herself well with the rags leftover she mounted the beast's head that was the broadest and safest place to be seated and flicked her fingers to motion the beast to charge. Like an automobile controlled by horse reins the skeleton wobbled with the extra weight while the caster still did not know how to control the damned thing.
Astraea would love to tell that her ride on the dead animal had been suave and steady, unfortunately for her the truth was far from that, but that is a story for another time. Eventually with every thunder of its bony appendages they raced across the sand, not very but not quite slow either.
The heat of the desert with the sand settling in the air made her eyes water and her skin burn yet she maneuvered the beast with her mind and a flick of her wrist as she tried to maintain the steady sensation of the magic pulling and pulsing through her fingertips like living strings.
She tugged the beast to a halt, frantically looking left to right for any sign of the former general.
"CYRENE!" she bellowed loudly, "CYRENE! WHERE ARE YOU?"
There was no response except for the creak of the animal's bones and the soft sound of the wind blowing the dusty white sand. Around her where miles and miles white foggy with the low sunlight despite the heat waves; how the hell was she going to find the damned woman?
Astraea scouted the area for any signs that would tell that another person had walked on the sand only to see there were none. Fear started settling in her chest, heavy and foreboding. All she could think of was whether the other was wounded or dead. A darker part of her wondered whether Cyrene's disappearance was her fault.
She yelled once more, hope dwindling in her chest, "CYRENE!"
No one responded to her.
'Where did you go?'
Just as she was about to turn she heard a strange hissing sound. She glanced to her left to see a soft cloud of white dust bellowing at a distance. A strange hissing noise rang in the air like disturbed sand which unnerved her. Astraea swallowed nervously as she stared at the dunes for a while, eyes narrowed and muscles tense.
Not long after she could see a line draw itself on the ground in pale blue, slithering across the sands like a snake. A cloud of white ash erupted in its wake. Astraea felt her mind and body detach itself in that instant, partly curious as to what was about to happen. It only a few moments later as the projectile was approaching closer when the panic finally settled in.
Her blood ran cold as she realized whatever it was, was heading directly towards her.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fucking FUCK
There was only two things Astraea knew she wanted at that moment: to get out of there as quickly as possible and pretend it was all and dream and most importantly – strangle Cyrene's neck if she ever manages to find her.
'Bloody hell'
Without waiting a second longer, she immediately placed her palms on her skull and directed it the opposite direction, commanding the bones in the beast's legs to move forward as quickly as possible. The white snow-like sand made it extremely difficult, even for the animal that was built for such conditions. Despite its speed, it was still slightly sluggish as it half galloped across the soft ash. Whatever was chasing them was drawing closer and closer.
Astraea felt her heart thud painfully in her chest in fear. Her mind was blank and she couldn't quite figure out what she could do. The problem with being the one to puppeteer a skeleton, unlike a live one, it cannot judge for itself. There is no adrenaline and fight or flight instincts driving neither it nor muscles to power it away from a threat, the control all lied on the puppeteer who currently is, safe to say, is dangerously inexperienced in any kind of combat or magic.
'What do I do, what do I do, what do I do?!?'
She desperately wished Cyrene was with her. The former General(???) could grant her an advantage or at least protect her from whatever was trying to chase her. Unlike her Cyrene was more knowledgeable in such matters as she was more capable in combat. She felt more safe…
Safe…
Where she did go? The dark corner in her mind thought she might have left her for dead, finally done with Astraea and the burden she brought. But a part of her was more worried it wasn't the case.
With a quick prayer and a thrum of energy from her palms she navigated the beast to run as fast as possible back to the cave, hoping it would be a good sanctuary for her. That was until the ground erupted from beneath her.
It was so sudden that she did not have time to think of it except for a litany of swear words that ran rapid within her head as she felt her body go weightless for a moment before crashing into the powder like ground. She could feel rather than hear the thud of the bones that fell apart on impact and the sand in her hair, face and bits of it in her mouth tasting bitter. She wanted to throw up.
Her head was spinning when she heard a piercing shriek in the air. It raised gooseflesh along her arms and legs and her body freeze. She almost did not want to look, yet she couldn't help herself. She turned slowly only for the blood to drain from her face as she turned to face a dark mass looming over her, casting a great shadow across the ground.
It was a serpentine creature. Its body was pure black against the dull white sky and the sands. Its eyes were ametrine and glowed ominously as it stared deep into her soul, nothing but a hulking shadow looming over her frozen form. A strange hiss kept resonating in her ears.
'Sands have been burnt to ash since long ago, who dare step on these open wounds left to rot?' a voice resonated in her skull.
Despite her terror she felt strangely numb, her body immobile as she locked eyes with the great beast. Astraea simply couldn't take her eyes away from the sight, far too intrigued yet so afraid to move.
What was this creature?
Her mouth was glued to the roof of her mouth despite her instincts told her that she should answer, talk to the large animal whose voice echoed in her own mind. Yet the sheer bizarre nature of the whole ordeal rendered her speechless, too frightened to even breathe.
'I have not seen one of your kind in centuries.'
'Who are you?' Astraea asked helplessly within her own mind.
'I am what is and what will always be,' the creature answers suddenly, 'I am born from the broken fragments of what had once been. I am what is left of the magic.'
It can read her mind?!
'There is much I can do that you cannot comprehend,' the creature hisses, clearly read her thought. Astraea felt a strange sort of panic curl within her.
'Then get out! Stop prying in my head!'
'A broken mind is a pitiful thing to see. Shattered glass can only provide a fractured image to the soul.'
'Get out, get out, get out! I don't want you in my head!' Astraea screams in her own mind.
'We will meet again soon, but not under kind circumstance,' the creature says, the black of its scales slowly growing blurry. As it faded a new voice called at a distance.
"Yayboch![1]"
She whipped her head behind her, just in time to see a long spear zip pass her. Figures dressed in black cloth suddenly emerged, ashen sand spilling like water from the fabric as they circled her like vultures.
"Ua khai , dh̤apa yayon![2]" one called out to the other.
Astraea couldn't help but blink in confusion. What kind of language was that?
"Nyok!" another growls and flung his glinting spear that Astraea narrowly avoided, heart thundering like mad in her ribs.
She put her hands up to seem non-threatening, itching to call the beast, "I'm not an enemy! I'm looking for–"
Another spear is chucked at her with deadly intent, this time ripping off the scarf she wore for protection, revealing her whole face in the process. That's when Astraea realized she had had enough.
She had lost her home, she has no memory. She was in the middle of a stupid sand dune with no food or water, hungry beyond measure and skin burning in the heat and stuck with no help and her companion probably dead somewhere. It was like a switch had flipped inside her, the days of frustration and anger boiling over to this moment.
She had enough.
With an angry growl she swiftly flicked her hands, commanding the beast recollect itself from the sand back into its hulking form and twist its body and cause a large eruption of white sand to bloom, veiling the assailants who cried in outrage.
She then turned the beast and tried to make a run for it using the smoke could as a distraction, but she felt her legs suddenly give out from under her causing her to fall, barely saving her face. This made her cry out in frustration as another force wrapped itself around her hands that she tried to bring up to summon the skeleton once more.
Looking down, they were glowing blue chains, just like the ones she had summoned a few days ago when the Jaeger showed up in her house.
Huh?
All thoughts she could have had about it were quickly pushed out of her head when she remembered her predicament, the chains tightening rapidly almost cutting off the blood flow in her limbs.
It simultaneous terrified and angered her.
"Dh̤apa![3]"
The chains began to burn.
Astraea felt her body contort at the searing heat that emanated from the chains. It was almost as if it did not touch the flesh but the very depths of something inside her that made her organ feel like they were live snakes, twisting and suffocating each other.
She loathed it. She could feel a foreign heat grow inside her chest the angrier she grew, a cold sensation pricking in the center of her forehead. Yet she was in too much pain to care.
In a moment's breath, she could feel something explode out from within her with her rage, potent and consuming as it spilled out of her body in icy hot waves. It felt endless like waves churning in the restless ocean during a storm, thundering and pouring spontaneously. Her vision turned black and white for an odd moment, flickering constantly that she couldn't understand.
But all she could truly understand was frustration.
"YOU DARE TOUCH ME?" her voice boomed loudly, halting the assailants who stood frozen as they watched her with a wariness that she couldn't see. "YOU DARE TOUCH MY WITH YOUR HIDEOUS CHAINS? DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!"
A sudden shockwave roared through the air, turning the white sand to charcoal around her form. The pulsing cold never left her head. The wave forced the watchers to their knees as they groaned suddenly in pain.
'Feel my anger,' she thought as her head was suddenly incredibly dizzy and eyelids becoming heavier. The overflowing sensation was quite in the blink of an eye, now feeling nothing more than a memory. With the last of her conscious, she noticed she was standing upright before her eyes rolled back and she fainted.
"This one is strange," Kahlem says, cherry colored eyes glinting as they all collectively stared at the collapsed body of the foreigner in their territory.
The woman dressed in white and black was an anomaly he couldn't understand. She seemed like a helpless lamb, frightened and unsure but determined to run away to safety.
That was until something flipped inside of her mind.
The second the chains around her body began burning, her figure contorted before her eyes began shining an eerie gold. It was tinged with black, like an eclipse rising within them as the glow began emanating from her own body causing the chains to melt. Her words were painted with a fury that seemed almost primal, coming from her very soul.
The imprint of her soul itself was terrifying. It roared out of her form, a vast shadow filled with torment and pure anger that resonated in waves, knocking them to their knees as it poured its rage onto them as if the weight of a hundred mountains where shoved on their shoulders. A strange yet utterly terrible experience.
'Feel my rage,' the air rang, screaming in their skulls and suddenly it all came to a skidding halt.
When Kahlem opens his eyes he realizes that she had fainted, the chains long gone. Rising shakily, he signals one of his companions, Nula, towards the fallen girl.
"Dh̤r̩nej[4]," he tells firmly to which the woman hesitantly nods, shifting her spear and walking ever so slowly, not wanting to elicit any new reactions. What if she was awake? What if she was dead?
"She is not like the other one," Geta, his grandson, points out. Kahelm would rather not take any chances.
"That one was with the bnetha aykkayj[5]. Did you forget, we do not meddle with the surface. Their lives are their own."
"Know[6]–"
"Knaf![7]"
All heads turn towards Nula who seemed to be trembling slightly.
"She is…" Nula trails off, voiced filled with shock and perhaps a bit of reverence as well.
They all huddle closer to where the fighter who was gently cradling the foreigner's head in her heads. They all gasped collectively, unable to believe their eyes.
Getah tugged his robe insistently, "Know."
"She is a chrysí," Kahlem whispered reverently. There stamped upon her forehead was the diamond insignia that spoke of great magic. The symbol of a mage blessed by Elem. No wonder her magic was so potent.
A chrysí[8] blessed by the Waiwhoch Jhʰuyzo[9].
But what was it doing here in the Dunes? They ought to have been dead.
With newfound resolve he signaled the rest of his soldiers and turned to them. "Nula, take the chrysí with you. We must bring her to Shyaîz Rabbhah, he will give his verdict."
The entourage nodded silently before they all collectively sank into the white ash, not a trace to be found again.
Footprints don't last in the desert.
Brief vocabulary
[1] Foreign - stranger
[2] Intercept the danger, destroy the person/adult
[3] Destroy
[4] seek
[5] Threat from the North
[6] Grandpa
[7] Ancestor – people of this culture address elderly as ancestor out of respect/
[8] Translates to 'Golden One' in Greek'. It's the old term for half born seraphs which magic blood in them. Astraea is the first and last of her kind.
[9] Translates to 'Heaven Gate'.