The atmosphere in the room was no less taut as Zephyrion returned and settled next to his wife, Nyxander, cradled in his arms. Obsidar, before them, rested his hands on his walking stick; the weight of unspoken words fell between them. Their gazes clashed in a silent storm; with every glance, a bolt of tension even baby Nyxander could feel. The little baby looked up at his father, with tiny, determined hands patting on his chest. "Fa.ter," he said in a sweet melody that broke the oppressive silence.
Zephyrion finally bowed his head, his eyes softening as he gazed into the bright seriousness of his son's eyes, trying to decipher the meaning of this gesture. "Hum," he purred, a low, soft murmur that held the promise of being heard by his son only. Nyxander swung his tiny right hand in the direction of his mother. "Ma.ma," he hailed with a clarity of voice as pure as sunlight in a stormy day, dissolving the heavy atmosphere of the room.
The child's actions brought an instant smile to everyone's lips, a warmth blooming in the room like spring's first blossom. Even Obsidar, the stoic sentinel, bent low in a playful bow towards Nyxander, his gruff exterior giving way to a childish eagerness. "What about Grandpa?" he asked, pointing at himself with exaggerated gestures.
"Fa.ter," Nyxander replied with conviction, his small face radiating triumph.
"No, say Grandpa," Obsidar said, even adding a false note of desperation in his voice as he pointed at himself once more. Nyxander shook his head, a giggling sound bursting from him, so bright, like the tinkling of bells. "Ma.ma," he persisted with his tiny voice.
The room then burst into laughter at this, the tension dissipating like gas escaping a cylinder. Nyxander's innocence, clean and untainted, had triggered a certain joy that was deep enough to make their cares weightless, at least for the moment.
Old man Obsidar, why have you come? I hardly believe it is just to inquire about the well-being of Nihara," Zephyrion said, his voice steady, yet gaze as keen as a blade cutting through shrouds of fabrication.
"Hum," Obsidar began, rumbling a deep throat clearing that sounded around the room like the distant rumble of thunder. "That's right. I didn't want to ask when you suddenly left the clan and returned with Nihara bearing a seedling in her belly. Don't you think it's time you explained how this… strange phenomenon happened?" His eyes, sharp and probing, cut into Zephyrion in ways he hoped would dig out truths buried beneath layers of silence.
Zephyrion drew in deep, his exhalation the softest whisper of warm breath over Nyxander's tiny head. "It isn't that I want to hide anything; it's just there is no time for me to explain," he said, his voice weighted with the stories untold. "And when I left the clan 1,500 years ago, I wanted strength through the challenging of prodigies of other clans. And my journey was fruitful, each challenge sharpening me further, till I came to Voltiran, the clan of elemental balance. There, too, I issued a challenge."
Zephyrion's eyes went afar and wistful as a storyteller who would present the threads of times past. "This request was not granted so easily. Months had passed before Nihara, the general of Voltiran herself, stepped forth as their champion. Together, we traveled far from her clan's lands to a place where our sparring would be unrestrained." His voice grew softer, each word tinged with a mixture of awe and melancholy.
"For a week, we clashed, our powers locked in a dance of unyielding wills. But then… it happened. When we unleashed our ultimate moves, a strange cosmic law was triggered. It consumed some of my essentia energy, pulling it from me as though the universe itself had demanded tribute, and it fused into Nihara."
He paused, his arms unconsciously tightening around Nyxander, his head bowing under the weight of memory. "We both fell into a long slumber. When we awoke, there were no answers, only… this lingering sensation. A pull we couldn't deny. It bound us together, not as adversaries but as something… more." His voice shook slightly as he clenched his fists, as if holding onto fragments of his past. "When we returned to her clan, they rejected her. And so, I brought her here, where I hoped we could find peace."
Zephyrion's words clung in the air thick with sorrow and defiance as he concluded, "That is all that happened.
Old man Obsidar placed his right hand on his chin, leaving his left to rest on his gnarled walking stick as he sank into deep thought. His brow furrowed, shadowing his expression with the weight of an ancient storm. "So, that's what happened. You had your essentia energy absorbed by that law, and after awakening, you both fell deeply in love," he said, nodding slowly, as though piecing together fragments of an ancient puzzle.
"Hm. The Law of Unity," Obsidar muttered, his voice low and faint, like a whisper carried by the wind, yet sharp enough to pierce the ears of Zephyrion and Nihara. Husband and wife exchanged sharp glances, their eyes suddenly ablaze with intensity before locking onto Obsidar.
"Wait, but you know this law," Zephyrion said, his words cutting through thick air and pulling the old man from his musings.
"Yeah, there is a legend," Obsidar began, his voice taking on the rhythm of a sage who was unraveling an ancient tale. "When the cosmos itself forged the laws to sustain the universe, these laws were raw, unstable, and at constant odds with one another. Chaos threatened to consume creation whole. To weave these forces in harmony, the cosmos created the Law of Unity."
The moment's tapestry was sutured with the spell of silence, each syllable from Obsidar's lips a golden thread stitching awe into place. "This Law of Unity is split into two," he continued, his voice both lullaby and storm. "Amara, harmony; the soft song of union. The second is Kairon, the never-ceasing force of balance, the blade carving the equilibrium."
"The Amara, the harmony, symbolizes the connection, understanding, and unification of these laws, while Kairon, also known as passion, represents the drive, intensity, and emotional depth that fuels the relationship between these forces," Obsidar began, his voice resonant yet tinged with an ancient ache.
Each word seemed to weave through the room like threads of an eternal tapestry, revealing a cosmic story both beautiful and tragic. "Amara brings all laws together, while Kairon fuels the passion of these laws, an emotional tempest that fosters their growth. These two forces are opposites but cannot exist without each other, and this interplay has birthed countless changes, an endless cascade of Big Bang evolutions across the universe."
Old Man Obsidar paused, his eyes distant, as though gazing into the fabric of time itself. A faint tremor of sorrow colored his voice, a subtle crack in the armor of his wisdom that did not escape Zephyrion and Nihara's keen notice. "Old man, why does your voice sound heavy with sorrow?" Zephyrion inquired, curiosity painting his youthful face like dawn's first light chasing away the shadows.
Obsidar sighed heavily, his breath carrying the weight of centuries, his thin fingers resting on the worn handle of his walking stick. He bowed his head, as though burdened by memories too vast to bear. "This law," he began, his voice a whisper that swelled into a resonant lament, "was intricately tied to our birth after our ancestor was sealed in this independent dimension. It was also the cause of his demise."
Their gazes clung to Obsidar as if he held the secrets of the universe in his weathered hands. The air itself seemed to hush, leaning closer to catch every syllable, every intonation, as if the cosmos itself was a witness to its forgotten tale.