Persepera
The 21<sup>st</sup> of Thargelion
The Year 4631 in the Era of Mortals
Preparations for the sigil were underway. Theodorous directed the placement of tables, chairs, and food as the sun nestled behind the trees at the western edge of the valley. The air was wet and warm as night crawled over the sky. Summer was fast approaching and the days would soon dry out, growing long and hot.
Tensions were high in the village.
Death dogged every shadow and none had escaped its mark entirely. Everyone had lost someone. Hands reached toward cold spots of bed that would never be warm. Jokes waited to be told by lips that would never move. There were too many reminders of what had been lost. Too many tents left abandoned. Too many vacant stares and tear-strewn faces.
Myriatos had become a haunted place.
Lyssa had spent the day with the friends and families of the dead. It would not have been possible without the careful documentation of Theodorous. The three sheets of names had held several tearstains as she poured over them. They held several more by the time she memorized them all.
Names alone were not enough. On a page, they were nothing but ink and plant. Each person’s sacrifice deserved honor, so she grieved with those who had known them best. She spoke with fathers, held mothers, wept with sons, and shared stricken silence with daughters. She learned of each person lost and each person left, and hid her grief from none.
Night fell upon the weary village as Lyssa finished her pilgrimage. Theodorous intercepted her as the villagers gathered. Bonfires had been lit to banish the gloom and the evening meal was laid out, fresh and hardly touched.
“Archousa,” Theo greeted her, handing her a slip of fabric.
“Thank you.”
She wiped her face, then cringed as she handed it back, thinking of the sweat and tears that had accumulated over the day. Theodorous took it without comment and let it disappear into his inventory.
“It’s a dark day.”
“It is a day of remembrance. The people need time to grieve.”
“With luck, they shall have it. I will admit, though, that I fear for our future.”
Lyssa paused and looked at Theodorous more closely. He was biting his lip, refusing to meet her eye.
“What is it?”
“A single attack caught us unprepared and so many died. I find myself asking how much longer will it be until the next attack? Will we see it coming or will it be from another unpredictable direction? I can’t help but think it was an act of greatest folly to settle so far into the wilderness. So far away from the rest of the world. Any one of us could be next.” His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.
“I won’t force anyone to stay here,” Lyssa said softly. “Those who wish to return to your city will be allowed to do so, with escort, as soon as our security allows. That includes you, friend. I only ask that you wait for me to speak to the village before you make up your mind. Can you do that for me?”
Theodorous bowed his head.
“Of course, Archousa. I apologize. I spoke too hastily.”
Lyssa squeezed his shoulder.
“Strength. Even the darkness of a double new moon will give rise to dawn’s sweet light.”
Theodorous nodded, but his eyes remained troubled. He excused himself and slipped into the crowd. Lyssa turned toward the bonfires. Between them, her secret project lay hidden by a large draping of fabric. It had been a tight commission, the carpenters had worked tirelessly to bring her vision into existence. It wasn’t enough, nothing would ever be enough, but she hoped it would help. She approached, setting herself before it as she faced her people. The chatter of quiet conversations quickly gave way to expectant silence as all eyes turned toward her. She took a breath and squeezed her hand behind her back for strength. A sea of faces stared at her, overwhelmingly many and yet not nearly enough.
“Friends, one and all, thank you for gathering. Tonight, we are here to remember those who are not. The goblins stole much from us. Our fathers and mothers, our husbands and wives, our brothers and sisters, and our sons and daughters. Most of these, we were forced to bury. Some lucky few we were able to reclaim. As your archousa, your safety is my responsibility. We all know the dangers of Tartarus, but when surrounded by good friends and family, it is easy to forget the threats we face. We were unprepared and the blame lies with me.”
Lyssa paused to take a breath. The village was deathly quiet, the popping of the fires were the only sounds. She had considered her words all day, there was nothing left except to say them.
“The loss we suffered was unacceptable. But those who cannot be here today will be remembered for as long as Myriatos stands.”
Lyssa reached behind her and removed the fabric in a single, fluid motion. It fell away to reveal a wall of stone and wood, intricately detailed and inscribed with the names of the fallen. Grimmolt had helped with its construction, no doubt. She stood before it, letting everyone get a good look before she continued.
“Aris. Markos. Faidon. Agni. Phoebe.” Lyssa didn’t stop until she had listed every name carved behind her, searching out their families in the crowd. “They will remain with us, always.”
She was about to say more, but paused when someone stepped forward. It was a girl, the same girl that had held her gaze when they left Hyperion’s Tangle. Her name was Kyveli. She walked forward, past Lyssa, until she stood in front of the wall. Her small hand reached out and brushed at a name listed there.
“Páppa.” Her voice broke.
The word carried throughout the village.
Lyssa placed a hand on Kyveli’s shoulder, feeling tears prick her own eyes as the girl’s shoulders heaved. There was a moment of silence, broken only by grieving breaths, then Kyveli knelt in front of the memorial, chest heaving with silent sobs. Lyssa cleared her throat and wiped her eyes. Many of the crowd also watched with glistening eyes and moistened cheeks.
“All of you, I’m sure, have heard scattered details about what happened in the goblin hold. I assure you, the truth is stranger than what you might believe. There is power beyond imagination in the dungeon below the mountain. I have taken some of it and I swear to all of you here that I will use it to protect Myriatos unto my dying breath for as long as I am allowed to serve.”
A notification appeared before all present but Lyssa dismissed hers without reading it. She knew what it said, already. Oaths had consequences. There was still more to say.
“If you will continue to let me serve you, then I will do everything in my power to prevent such a tragedy from happening again. We will never forget what happened. I know many of you are wondering if this is worth it. Why make a home so far out in the wilds?”
Lyssa found Theodorous’s eyes in the crowd and held them.
“Everyone is here for their own reasons, but we are joined by common purpose. A desire to fight for a life that was better than the one we had. A fresh start. A new home. This is my home and I will die to defend it, but I hope to live to better it. To that end…”
Lyssa trailed away and produced the City Stone. She held it aloft, showing it off, and received only curious looks. To everyone else, it was a large, cut gem. Valuable, but irrelevant.
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Would you like to use this City Stone to designate Myriatos as an official city?Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.
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Yes
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No
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The City Stone lit up, shining like a miniature sun in her hands, so bright that the bonfires were dark by comparison. Several people threw up their hands to cover their eyes. The crystal lifted into the air above everyone’s heads and began to spin. It picked up speed, whirling faster and faster until it blinked out of existence.
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Denizens of Tartarus, take heed!
A leyline node has been awakened and a new city has been designated.
Allies of Light and Fire, a new home awaits you:
Myriatos
In the Mycenaean Forest of Peloponnesus.
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“I will do all that I can for you,” Lyssa said. “But no matter how powerful I grow, I cannot protect you alone. What I guarantee you instead is a path to power, if you are willing to take it for yourself. Your safety is ultimately in your own hands.”
A second notification appeared in Lyssa’s vision, more personal than the last.
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Your Titan’s Blood has been activated upon interaction with a Leyline of Light and Fire.
You have brought a Hybrid School of Magic into Tartarus:
Heliomancy — Beginner
You have also gained access to its component schools:
Phosphomancy — Beginner
Pyromancy — Beginner
As a progenitor of a school, you have a choice of spells to learn.
As a progenitor of this school, you can teach Heliomancy and its component schools to students who have met the appropriate requirements.
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The knowledge to unlock affinities flooded into her mind. It was frighteningly simple.
“All who wish for power, step forward. I will share what I can.”
Silence reigned.
Lyssa’s heart sank as no one moved. What she’d done hadn’t been enough. She hadn’t been enough. Lyssa dropped her eyes to the ground so no one would see the tears welling there.
“You’ve led us this far with honor and integrity.”
Lyssa looked up. Theodorous stepped forward.
“If I was not the frail, weak thing that I am, I might have done more. I will not be weak again. I will take whatever power you can spare.”
He stepped in front of her and began to kneel. Lyssa stopped him, her hands on his arms.
“Power is not given to a bent knee, my friend. I would rather you stand beside me than kneel before me.”
Lyssa placed a hand on his head and on his heart and channeled her Mana. The song burned in her as Mana flowed down her arms and into Theodorous, where she felt an answering resonance. His eyes went wide and his mouth went slack as he felt it too. The resonance took hold in him until it sang its own song, similar to hers but unique. It was his song, now, singing back to her. She let go and the song faded.
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You have taught Theodorous Apostolakis the following Schools of Magic:
Phosphomancy — Beginner
Pyromancy — Beginner
To teach Heliomancy, your student must reach the Proficient Rank in Phosphomancy and Pyromancy.
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Lyssa dismissed the notification and turned her attention to Theo. Joy and sorrow met on his face and he stood there, weeping. Lyssa wasn’t sure if she should comfort him or not, when he straightened and held his hand outward, palm towards the sky. A ball of flame danced above his fingers.
The village watched in awe, then others stood and began making their way forward. More rose until the entire village was gathered before her. Wonder painted many of their faces, determination and pain painted many more, but every person came forward to receive what she could give them.
Four in every ten had magic awakened in them. Of those, one in every ten had both schools. The majority had a resonance so low and quiet that nothing happened, some few had no resonance at all. With them, Lyssa’s magic sang its song with no harmony. Their faces were stiff, but their eyes, slick with the tears of too many hurts, betrayed them. Lyssa understood their pain and disappointment. It had been hers for her entire life.
“Take heart,” she told them. “Myriatos has become a leyline for Light and Fire. What cannot be awakened today may still come tomorrow. Have patience.”
It was shallow comfort, but it was all she could provide. The bonfires had burned low by the time she finished, but not a single person held thoughts of sleep. Every adult had been tested and forty new wielders were born that night.
The bitter bite of loss mixed with the joy and jealousy of the evening, creating a stir of emotions. Hushed voices grew louder as each person voiced their opinions on the gravity of the evening, but all quickly quieted as one more figure stepped forward.
Kyveli stood before Lyssa, unblinking and unafraid.
“Where is your mother?” Lyssa asked.
“Dead. I’ve no one left, now.” There was no emotion in the words.
As Lyssa stared into the girl’s eyes, she could feel the pain inside her. The raw hurt that killed any hope of peace, of happiness. Though she was small of stature and young of age, Kyveli was no longer a child. Tartarus had seen to that. Stolen from her any last shred of childish innocence the girl might have possessed. Lyssa could not give her back her parents, but she could give her agency. She lifted her hands toward Kyveli’s head.
“She’s just a child!” someone called out. “You can’t go around giving this kind of magic to a kid. It’s dangerous!”
Kyveli’s nose twitched. Lyssa saw the first hint of fear in her eyes. The fear of being helpless. The fear of inadequacy. The fear of a life spent afraid, worrying who was going to die next.
“The world’s children could stand to be a little more dangerous,” Lyssa said, then more quietly, “Courage despite risk. Wisdom despite fear. Compassion despite pain. Keep these things and you will know a strength that none can steal.”
Kyveli nodded. Her eyes brimmed as her grief boiled close to the surface, combined with hope and guilt and every other ugly emotion the heart keeps trapped away. Lyssa held her hands against Kyveli’s cheeks and wiped away the single mutinous tear that had fought its way through. Lyssa’s Mana sung its song of power and pain, agony and delight. It reached through her arms and found an answering resonance in Kyveli, strong and clear. The resonance grew until they sang in perfect harmony. Lyssa felt the magic unlock in Kyveli, felt her pathways respond, and rescinded the connection. When the song faded, she opened her eyes to find tears had slipped down both their cheeks.
“You are not alone,” Lyssa said.
“No, she is not.” Odelia stepped forward, Abraxios at her side. “If there are none left to care for her, then we will do it.”
A quiet mutter broke through the crowd but Lyssa silenced them with a stare, her yellow eyes glowing with warning. She brought her gaze back toward the girl whose face she still held.
“Kyveli, is this acceptable to you?”
“Yes.” Her voice was quiet, tremulous.
“Then go with my blessing and remember my words.”
“I will.”
Odelia took one hand and Abraxios took the other. The three made an odd pairing as they stepped back into the crowd. The atmosphere was charged and strange. That such a gift could be given on the back of so much blood was too much of a dichotomy. It had to be addressed head on.
“Tonight is a night to remember the departed,” she said loudly, drawing the attention back to her. “Though the hour grows late, what is left of the night is for them. We will drink and remember the lives that were lived, may they be at peace. Tomorrow is a new beginning for all of us.”
Two dwarves produced drums and started slapping and tapping them with their thick hands, their many fingers beating a deep, clever song. Grimmolt personally produced a barrel of the stiff, dwarven drink, felsbier, and poured cups. Wine was tapped and glasses drained as voices filled the air. Stories rose up to the stars as each person brazenly embellished the exploits of the fallen.
It did not mend the wounds left by their passing, but good drink and good fellowship, combined with the memoriam of the fallen, was a hearty first step down the path of recovery. Many more steps were left to be taken and many more tears would be shed, but so long as her people were given a safe place to grieve those they had lost, protected from the dangers of the world, it would be enough for Lyssa.
As she drank and laughed with those around her, adding her own voice to the tales of heroics, her thoughts cast back to her brother, Gregorinandiir, and as she raised her cup to the fallen, she raised it to him as well.