《Eden: Memories of a Realm》 Supreme Truth In the gardens of mortals, one truth rang supreme before all others. Long before they bled ink to paper and began the chronicles of their kind...an act of divine kindness seeded all they would come to walk upon, fight upon, and bury their dead upon. Across all thirty-six of their spoken tongues, this act held the same name. Creation. And in its very center, a bud. A bud from which life sprang to become a garden in the apex of creation. Primordial. Foolish. But pure. From the astral sea that caressed it, to the asteroid isles that ringed it...through the stratus plains and cumulus highlands of the aether which cloaked it...the verdant coils of its surface and the oceans who were sibling to the dry...and the smoldering crags, the weeping chasms and echoing caverns of its stony bones; this garden of mortals.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. A realm all to them, their own, and lived upon from generation to generation. But I? I shall call this Eden...mine. Ha. Ha. Ha. Chapter One: Zudan In the depths of the garden, where run the veins of the world...and the air burns the lungs of the weak; orcs make their domain. One among many, Zudan strode through his village--eyes sweeping every earthen-fleshed soul he passed. And everywhere he looked...he beheld a soul at labor. Wicked fibers of dunegrass had to be tamed by careful fingers--their stiff tongues for cutting forth from the seeds to carve their way into the rocky and harsh world above them; each fiber like a razor wire. But loomed carefully, they became a mighty fabric--as good as iron. Under the tutelage of their mothers, girls learned this trade--not few of them suffering the loss of a finger in the process¡­ Builders congregated ahead of him--clustered around a felled pyreoak. Each strike of their axes against the scaley trunk caused it to spit sparks into the air, their ashen flesh aglow with sweat by the movements of honed muscle and still air of the yawning chasm the village had been built within. Near enough them, another group labored to shave reddened stone into brick--bone of the land hewn to purpose. Scarce further, a family together--hoisting a slaughtered dragox by its rear legs: an eyeless and powerful creature of decidedly bovine shape. The father observed, his sons hoisted, and the mother--alongside the daughter--sharpened cleaving knives. Its bone, blood, meat, and hide--all--would soon serve the tribe well. That oblong, broad headplate--near as tall as a man--had to come free first...and would be cultivated into a shield to bear the family¡¯s crest. As Zudan strode--sooty ground and gravel crunching underfoot--he regarded his sarong. Dragox leather, same as all others wore, wrapped about his waist and held in place by tied belts. Terribly worn, at its hem. And some might say...ill-fitting. Unlike the proud and strong of the tribe, Zudan possessed a more...wiry form. He needed it replaced, but could do nothing about that right now. Every orcish soul he passed...they all shared something. Something he lacked and longed for, fierce as starvation. It nagged at him with every passing moment, and standing there--like a lost fool--gazing longingly at his sarong...it hissed into his skull that he¡¯d be trapped and desolate forever. No, now wasn¡¯t the time to think of that. His eyes shut and his arms tensed. He snapped his attention forward again, and resumed his stride--now with more purpose thrown into every step--if he held none for himself yet so far...then one must be forced with his determination. Onward...to the very end of the village--where stood tall and strong, the largest structure. A veritable palace in comparison to all else he passed--built of the same blood-hued stone, between ribs of pyreoak and crenellated by dragox bone. Yet unlike the rows of mismatched and mound-like structures along the way--the palace had uniform. Tall, squared, and majestic. Each wall reinforced with buttresses, and their bases angled outward. Great flames roared atop each tower, casting illumination as far as possible--enough even to illuminate the peaks of the cavern. Red glows shone in its narrow windows, stark contrast to the rounded ¡°holes¡± in the walls of homes along the road. And unlike them, dragox bone barbed the rims--top and below. His approach didn¡¯t go unnoticed at all. A pair of guards leered at him by the entrance. Compared to him...they weren¡¯t unlike giants. Beasts of muscle who earned their place above all others through a supremacy of power--proven earned by innumerable scars. To mark their station, they adorned great plates of dragox bone on their limbs and torsos--each holding a shield marked by their family crests...and a weapon that bore all the pride of their bloodlines. ¡°Runt¡¯s here for his last day in Agaath, eh?¡± one of them mocked--a grin carving across his brown-hued features. The other, darker skinned like charred dirt, cocked his head. ¡°A finger like you has no place aspiring to be a warrior, let alone challenging the baal.¡± Zudan bore their mockery in silence. He stepped right past. All the baal¡¯s warriors lounged in the courtyard and warhall--having their fill of drink, meat, and playthings. His brows furrowed and he threw aside the cords of bead hanging from the hall''s entrance--each one dangling from a carved point in a set of massive tusks. No eyes bothered turning toward him. Why cast attention upon the unworthy and the weak? Such disrespect was getting to be...infuriatingly normal to the youth. His eyes bore straight ahead--to the hide and bone throne of the baal. Eight wives lounged about the tribe''s lord, each one more beautiful than the last--heads bowed in submission. One drew Zudan¡¯s stare greater than the others. His jaw tightened. He threw himself forward again. ¡°Baal Jaalag,¡± he hissed, ¡°I--¡± ¡°WHO gave you leave to speak, before me, and before I have spoken to you?¡± Jaalag bellowed in answer--cutting him short. He all but threw one of his tending wives off his lap, standing. Even amongst their kind, he looked like a monster. Rippling muscle, hundreds of scars and marks, and a beard laden with so many claimed warrior-rings--ornaments of slain challengers¡¯ weapons melted down to wear as trophies, the utterest and most ultimate of shames--that it no longer even moved when he did. His fiery eyes grew wide, and his nostrils pulled tight as he drew an enraged breath. Silence seized supreme over the hall. And all eyes were on their lord and leader. ¡°I DID NOT!¡± the baal spat, beating his chest with a palm. Before another pause, he lifted his chin then went on--his words thundering through every heart. ¡°DO YOU THINK, THAT BEING BORN WITH MY BLOOD MAKES YOU WORTHY? SEEDS YOU WITH VALUE? THAT YOU CAN COME HERE AND SPEAK AS YOU PLEASE?¡± ¡°I have come--¡± ¡°STILL YOU SPEAK!¡± Jaalag roared, ¡°HAVE I GIVEN YOU BREATH YET TO USE?¡± Lips curling back to a snarl, Zudan challenged further. Daring--in his ever more frustrated fury--to utter something that sickened him to his core to use. ¡°Father--¡± ¡°YOU ARE NOT MY SON!¡± Jaalag bellowed louder than any words before, beating his chest again. ¡°MY SON IS NOT A FINGER! MY SON DOES NOT AROUSE TO MEATLESS BONE! MY SON IS NOT STANDING HERE!¡± A step forward, and he thrust two fingers at his refused blood, ¡°YOU ARE NOT WORTHY OF THE CRIMSON IN YOUR VEINS! AND YOU WILL NOT LEAVE MY HALL WITH YOUR LIFE!¡± He threw arn arm to his side--hand open. His wives rushed to bring him his weapon--a swordstaff with a curved blade and twin spikes pointed the same direction, just beneath the blade. Zudan reached behind himself, lowering his stance. His fingers curled around the handles of two curved knives. He growled under his breath, ¡°You are right¡­¡± His eyes bore harshly into the form of his father--who now gripped swordstaff in one hand and shield in other. A shield lined with even more warrior-rings, and crowned with a trio of skulls. The sight of those skulls made Zudan¡¯s jaw tighten again. Watch me, ancestors...he besought, I¡¯ll change our people and write our story in a brighter place. The warriors in the hall began to chant. ¡°Baal! BAAL! BAAL!¡± They drummed their feet and beat their tables. Jaalag wore no armor. He bore every wound and every scar with unshakeable pride. His flesh screamed to all who beheld it: I...am...UNKILLABLE! Presuming the first strike to mean everything, Zudan darted. He dashed up the steps and sprang into the air--drawing the twin daggers at his back. His quickness surprised many of the warriors. But not Jaalag. ¡°HHGK!¡± Zudan grunted. The calloused sole of his father smashed into his torso, buckling his ribs before launching him backwards--behind a trail of blood from his mouth. He crashed down onto the table and slid to its far end. Raucous laughter filled the hall. ¡°Pa...THETIC!¡± Jaalag bellowed--silencing the hall again. He set his treetrunk-like leg down anew and began to walk. ¡°You¡¯re not even worthy of being killed!¡± Still holding onto his daggers, Zudan rolled--groaning. Pain shot through his form, a serpent of blades coiling swift from chest to throat. A pitiable noise escaped his lips, and blood oozed to the floor.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Geeeet uuuup! He snarled at himself. He¡¯s coming. And he¡¯s going to kill you. Like vermin! The steps sounded ever closer. And soon, he could feel the thurm of every impact--through the ground. Zudan twisted, fighting against the pain and throwing a dagger at the baal¡¯s face. A scowl and widened eyes, the most reaction to get from him, Jaalag slapped aside the knife with a backhand. Using that same hand, he speared his swordstaff¡¯s shaft into Zudan¡¯s gut. ¡°UAAAHT!¡± Jaalag hefted him up, raising his arm and curling it back. He raised his chin. ¡°This...parasite...is what spilled out of your mother¡¯s womb? To give me so piteous an offspring...must be punished.¡± ¡°NNoo--¡± Zudan tried to yell in protest, but instead found himself flying. Flung through the hall and into a pillar. His back rammed a torch and knocked it free, along with the brace holding it there. Warriors stood aside to let their baal approach once more. ¡°You are BEYOND WEEEAAK!¡± Jaalag declared. His strides stilled by Zudan¡¯s side, and he glowered at the lean-bodied orc curled up and coughing at his feet. His tongue curled between his tusks, and he dipped his head sharp. Spitting. The fat wad of saliva struck the side of Zudan¡¯s face. ¡°To challenge me and fall without so much as a SCRATCH, and you are meant to be of MY FLESH?!¡± He growled. ¡°Baaah.¡± Turning away, he started back toward his throne. ¡°Dump this gangrene in the dune. My line will be cleaner for it!¡± A few of his warriors started forward for the task--but stopped. Several more than that expressed, in guttural breath, a sound of disbelief. It garnered back the baal¡¯s attention, who turned to behold Zudan standing. Hand against his chest, and the other still clutching a dagger. ¡°Aah, so you can stand?¡± Jaalag fully turned about. ¡°But can you move?¡± Some of the warriors chuckled. His breath came and went with such weight, and so ragged, that the first words he uttered...emerged little different from rasps. ¡°Yees¡­¡± Zudan growled. ¡°I will not be leaving...your hall...with my life¡­¡± He inhaled, and the agonies within his body amplified. They spread to every inch of his flesh. It wailed within his mind. Screamed for release. And to cease...altogether. ¡°But it will be...WITH YOURRRS!¡± he roared, flinging himself again. ¡°MAGGOT!¡± Jaalag answered, spearing his foot forward again. And for the second time, it found Zudan¡¯s torso. The already broken ribs were crushed. With them, the lungs behind. Zudan¡¯s eyes had gone white even before his body was launched from the end of his father¡¯s leg. Cannoned, straight into a wall. This time¡­ When Zudan¡¯s body thudded flat, his dagger joined him with a clatter. ¡°Egh,¡± the baal scowled. ¡°Bury him. A life so unworthy is a death of even less worth. Let his flesh feed no beast.¡± While followers moved to obey him, he turned toward his throne. Scowling at one of his wives. Her blank expression and empty eyes declared to all the world how little life lingered within her. He lowered his swordstaff. And with a single thrust, spilled the remnants of that life on the steps to his throne. Like a banner, he carried her on his weapon--through the village and followed by his ¡°arms,¡± the capable and the worthy--strong enough to wield weapons for his name and bask in his pride. Those in the village observed, ceasing their work and standing. Heads held high. Respect shown for one who owned them by right of his strength. And to whom they all owed what his son lacked in their eyes. And in his own eyes. Out of the chasm, into the yawning dunes of the ashen cavern. He picked a spot within eyesight of the tribal canyon, and pointed his chin at it. Without a wasted instant, his warriors began digging. They tossed Zudan in--casting his daggers in with him. Weapons owned by a warrior so weak didn¡¯t deserve to be passed onward. And so...would be lost forever. Not even acknowledged in their strength by being melted down to become new rings. I looked on as they filled the hole. I grinned as Jaalag cast the corpse of Zudan¡¯s mother upon his grave, to mark it with the so-perceived...source of worthlessness. On that eve under skyless heights, he thought Zudan¡¯s story...had ended. What he didn¡¯t know...would soon enough come back to hurt him. The baal stiffened. Twisted about. Eyes cast everywhere. This ice in my breath¡­ he pondered, a rare and lonely shiver slithered through his bones. His men watched him, and seeing his wary expression--themselves turned away and searched their horizon. No, only the failed father felt my gaze. His spine cowered. His mind reeled, laid out to me as ink upon pages. Exposed beyond all effort and measure of strength he¡¯d have even the capacity to imagine possessing. ¡°Return,¡± he commanded, ¡°I must go and see the wise one.¡± Jaalag¡¯s warriors obeyed. He spat on the grave and left it behind. In the aftermath of his departure, the meager light of Eden¡¯s depths peeled back. Coiling away from a taloned hand. Tendrils of a darkness older and deeper--than the very dawn of light itself--spilled out around it, gripping the rim of reality to fold aside. Forth emerged a lithe and towering being, with a form toned immaculate--yet in defiant paradox equally lanky. Vantablack limbs rolled at the being¡¯s sides--flexing, and vulture-like feet grasped into the ash dune. So near to this presence, the darkness within the stilled veins of Zudan¡¯s mother began to boil and writhe. Her corpse seized, eyes thrown open and the grasp of death itself beginning to trickle free--straight upward--from her flesh. Ribbons of qhai--the life-force energy of which all things formed, woven out of that divine kindness that began them. No sound came of the being¡¯s mouth, but uttered words carved meaning into the mind it was meant for--all the same. A bloodied hand pierced from the ashes, grasping at naught and soon frantically clawing around itself. The being plunged its hand in beside the arm, clutched tight, and fished Zudan from below with but a lone yank. He wheezed. And the being caught him by his jaw, holding him at its waist--on his knees. In his state, swallowed by agony and the denial of death, he could but look--yet not see. His mind reeled, but his thoughts and the feelings of all else reverently bowed away to acquiesce for new meanings. Etch, by etch, his mind filled. I told him only what I needed for him to know. Desired...for him to know. And when I released my grip of his limb and jaw, he collapsed by his dead mother. Soul and mind exhausted, body starved and broken. To lie and heal, under care and cruel caress of time. His mother¡¯s corpse peeled itself from the ground, face eaten away by writhing tendrils--each oozing a divine hue; argued by mortals to be as either an ocean of blue, tinged violet...or an abyss of violet, tinged blue. It ate the light around itself to be fueled and strengthened. I set a praising hand atop the unliving orc¡¯s head. And as I smiled wide, my playground smiled with me. To you, my dear...curious onlooker...it is no less than a second--but to me, littler than an iota of the time wasted in blinking...to return my attention to the baal and cast myself back to the Void. Jaalag¡¯s steps ceased a moment. The warlord twisted about, tensing his grip on shield and swordstaff. Again, my spine reels. His eyes thinned, and he hastened along the winding path. Deeper into the chasm than the village sat. Deeper, even, than the spearhead made by his palace hall. Where even ash didn¡¯t build up, and the distant...evanescent glows of Eden¡¯s fiery veins cast no light. The would-be wise fool might ask why he brought no light of his own there, but it wouldn¡¯t have helped. In this thin crevice, a darker element reigned. All the while, it threatened to burrow into his skull--antagonizing everything he feared and everything he loathed. A place where dreams withered and twisted to something else. But ahead, his destination awaited--like a candle in a moonless night, showing him the way. He knelt outside it. Then called: ¡°Elder Shaman!¡± Jaalag waited. ¡°I require your...insight.¡± Tension prompted his gaze to wander, and he peered over his shoulder at the nightmare rift behind. Imagination, or perhaps something more primal, teased him with formless shapes and ill-intent with no origin. Surprise, first, greeted him as he looked back at the shaman¡¯s cottage. And it turned to anger. ¡°Shaman! Emerge and speak to me!¡± Fool. His impatience and fear boiled greater, in every passing second. He clenched his jaw, tusks shining against the low light of the shaman¡¯s domicile. ¡°Shaman!¡± Knowing it unwise, at least, not to antagonize a maji--when he himself could only wield weapons of hand...he took a breath. And then calmed himself, best his boorish skull allowed. ¡°Why do you not come out to answer me?¡± The shaman¡¯s cracked and ancient voice returned. ¡°I know why you have come Jaalag...Baal of Agaath--chieftain of the tribe of the Stoneskulls¡­¡± Within, the withered and old orc stiffened--seated on his chair and surrounded by hanging sconces of bone and incense. In front of him, a great hearthfire which dared not burn brightly--so close to my gaze--furtively warmed him. He shut his eyes, silvered mane and great beard a wild sea upon his bony form. He drew a labored breath. ¡°And...I cannot help you. In this hour, you have the gaze of something greater...than anything you could imagine. And immeasurably more powerful, yet. Your...story...is in the hands of Fate and Destiny, now...and I will dare not tread brazen before the power of those things which lie far and beyond our reckoning...or our knowing.¡± Then you are useless to me! Baal Jaalag scarcely stopped himself from saying aloud. He stood up. Tempted, now, more than ever to spill that old...bastard¡¯s blood. And why not? If some sort of curse has come upon him for purifying his bloodline and his tribe of crippling weakness...what is the killing of a shaman to compare? No. Calm yourself, Jaalag. He exhaled through his nostrils. Reopened eyes regarded the trio of skulls on his shield. Ancestors...I will show you that even curses are of no challenge against the Stoneskulls. Or¡­ he twisted around, boldly facing the nightmare rift. And starting onward again. Me. Chapter Two: Leone Head down, eyes cast away, and silence maintained; all the proper etiquette of a...pet. Frail of form, delicate, and pleasing to the eyes in all those ways...skin of olive with a golden hue--Leone wore nothing. She kept her palms on her knees, and her knees together--the apex of attempts to maintain her dignity and modesty best permitted by her circumstance. At the feet of her owner. Seven others, like him, sat comfortably on wicker-vine seats--rounded backs to form artistic stylizations depicting the trees they were magically grown from. Each one, fit to perfection. Chiseled forms long-tested by the passage of time and the grasps of many hardships. Not unlike the simian, black-haired pet¡¯s own skin--each had a deep and bronzed skin, covered in qhai-rich inkings. Each whirl and mark mimicked plants. Thorned trees, for some. Gangly and sprawling tendrils for others. Ivies and roses, on a few. To crest their heads, they wore living-wood masks; likewise marked as their flesh was. Clothing woven of foliage, from the same domain as they owed so much else, clung to their muscular bodies--tight-corded bands or knotted belts to keep them there. Though those masks covered much, they left room for the defining feature of their kind. The ears. Long, pointed, and almost blade-like in shape. Far from the first, and presumably--for her--far from the last such gathering she¡¯d ever be...decorative to, Leone seldom paid attention to their discussed topics. But she paid attention, now, as soon as it dawned on her. A tense, uncomfortable silence. They were alert, keening their kesem-honed senses. The arts whispered to them by the trees and spirits of their ancestors, druidry, offered them all higher awareness. Leone tried to backtrack to what they were discussing just before the quiet hijacked their discussion. Her brows--dark, oval things; thick as they were small upon her face; drew together in concentration. A glade moot--one such as this occasion now--wasn¡¯t a particularly serious affair. There, miles above the ground, and deep within the greatwood canopy...seated openly on a colossal branch...their gatherings often reflected no more than an exchange of recent events across the corners of their society. And try as she might...she couldn¡¯t think of any special subject that could...give them such pause. But of course it wasn¡¯t a pet¡¯s place to ask. Her owner spoke to break the silence, lavender voice tinged by an elvish smoothness only they possessed. ¡°There can be no stronger omen than this,¡± he declared. The others agreed by posture. ¡°Let us make our preparations and hone our spears. The moment the Hyloss invade our territories, they will be met by singing arrow and howling point.¡± As he rose, so did the others. They began their departure, but he lingered a moment to put a few fingers on his pet¡¯s head. ¡°Come, little one.¡± She stood, keeping her eyes closed until fully arisen to her feet. Taking the knotted cord leash--which hung center in the shallow vale of her breasts--then looping his palm once, and along a second time around two fingers; he led her onward. He needn¡¯t¡¯ve awaited the pressure on her golden collar, before she began following--catlike in grace and equally silent--behind him, just after his first step. His thoughts kept him quiet along the lampfly path. And Leone, subserviently meek, didn¡¯t dare disturb them. Her own thoughts wandered to her mother. Concern given birth by the mention of the Hyloss. Her earliest and the most stubborn of her memories involved both. Under a night sky, bathed orange and drowning in smoke, that memory retold its tale. If, perhaps...just a little bit pushed. She could recall her mother¡¯s panicked breathing. The rush and screams in every direction, knowing the people of their village were all fleeing in the same direction. Through the palmy brush and toward the ocean. Their pursuers hounded them like hunting dogs. Hungry and jubilant, red-glowing eyes near indistinguishable from the flames of their razed homes. Their numbers thinned as they struggled to reach safety--taken down by spear or arrow to provide an ever-constant...incentive...to keep moving. Safety...and the boats. When they arrived, though, they stopped. Stunned. Some wailed, the full weight of realization pulling them down to their knees. The boats and docks, all, stood ablaze too. And those of their kind waiting aboard the reed-woven boats, slaughtered. Arrayed in bone, fur, and feather--Hyloss hunters waited near the docks. Maleficent silhouettes against the flames and water. They moved in for the kill, their bloodthirsty glee somehow undeniably present even with the feathered bone-masks they wore over their faces. But before they could pounce, the ground parted. Roots erupt. Some impaling their targets. Some only scattering others--those keener than their pierced brethren. Chasers in the brush were snatched by vine and branch, and a distant cry filled the air--drowning out the deafening tension and terror. A thornhawk¡¯s shrill call. Soroly--those elves who professed to the faith of plant and herb--arrived to engage their most hated foes. And in doing so¡­ Surely, you can guess, dear onlooker. It came with a price, but so did all things. That...was just the nature of alpha and omega. Leone...had been all that her mother could offer. And the leader of those saviors of theirs...the phytodruid Lavass of Orenvlu, accepted it. Raised her like a pet. Something warm, soft, and...female...to drape his lap and hold against his side. She played the part well. But I wasn¡¯t satisfied with this story. And I could see in her soul...a dormant and proud creature. Waiting...for the right inspiration. Seized by her distraction as she was, Leone walked right into her owner¡¯s back--completely unaware he¡¯d stopped. And startled herself back to the present. He turned, looming, to regard her. ¡°Yes¡­¡± he mused to himself. She stiffened, meeting his obfuscated gaze with her own--orange--eyes. Quick to remember her place, she bowed her head apologetically and cast her eyes back to his feet. Mimikry of where she belonged. Lavass turned his head. Leone dared relax. At first. ¡°Gear and arm her,¡± he commanded--the many orange braids of his hair swinging behind him, and knotted jewelry within them glinting against the rare splinters of sunlight to reach so far to them. Servants of his household moved quickly--bringing armorvine and ironsilk; materials which drank of metal and bloomed into strength. Leone kept her composure--shutting her eyes and letting herself be manipulated into place. Arms were lifted at her sides, and the twin--low--tails of her black hair raised out of the way so they could begin wrapping her in silk and armor. ¡°Ready a zephyreme as well,¡± Lavass ordered--holding his chin in thought while he watched Leone become arrayed like a hunter. With a bowed head, his servant asked him ¡°Blades and fangs to crew it, elder?¡± ¡°Only a few. We hunt.¡± ¡°At once.¡± The servant bowed lower and hurried away. By force of will alone, Leone managed to keep herself from grunting as two elves on either side of her violently tightened the vines over her chest. The completed ensemble best resembled tight-wound, fibrous green bone over her lithe form. Inspiration--as had come all things, for the elves--drawn from the natural world ¡°gifted¡± to them. What other purpose could bone serve, but to protect? No weapons were given to her. Just yet. But they all left the grown manor to head for the skydocks. A long climb, up branch-woven paths. After so many years living there, Leone drank in none of her surroundings. Could she say she was anywhere, but home, if she didn¡¯t even see what surrounded her so? By way of their kesem arts, the elves had infused will with plant and bowed nature to their needs. The trees, themselves, grew to form their homes--hollowing to form roads through their trunks...and spawning branches to coil about in formation of structures. Bowl-like plateaus to be their farms, nets of branch and leaf to join together overhead as domes. In this...the druids were supreme within their society--and all others existed to serve them, as the trees served them. At the apex of the particular tree they climbed; a flat, sprawling platform stretched outward in multiple directions. Nestled between branches, on firm cradles, the oblong forms of numerous ships. Twin rows of elven soldiers waited on the pier leading to one of them. Across from them, a group of young druids--under the tutelage of an elder--channeled their qhai into a gargantuan seed.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. The elder bowed in acknowledgment of Lavass, wearing no mask--only a thin-branched circlet. His students, bare circlets. Green light flashed into Lavass¡¯ eyes--availing to him the kesem patterning infused into the seed. Within, he could behold its future: to grow well and strong, into the shape of another zephyreme. He waved them on with approval, and continued past his assembled guards. Each guard adorned an ankle-length white robe, concealing solely the waist down--fastened in place with the aid of an armorvine belt and green loincloth. Their torsos, shins, and forearms were grasped in the same armoring as Leone wore--but unlike her...their skulls were gripped by leaf-plumed helmets; solid things except for the downward L-shaped slits availed for their eyes. As Lavass and his entourage passed them by, they uniformly stepped in. Turned. And followed in behind, with a sharp and exact manner. As they moved, their shields and spears remained taut and undisturbed--consisting of ironbark and woven armorvine. Those shields stood as tall as them, and knowing well the height of elves...intimidated more than a few would-be barbarians. Scarlet thorns lined the front--daring an enemy to clash with it. Leone had been cargo on plenty of ships. Her owner seldom went airborne without her at his feet. She followed him to his usual place--a rooted throne underneath a canopy formed of twin rows of leafy branches spidered together overhead. Once all came aboard, Lavass began to channel. The throne drank of his power, and the cradle adjusted--ebbing the ship forward. As green energy wound its way through the vines and branches of the ship, a second--far greater--canopy unfolded. Sibling branches spread out--flexing their webbed fingers. Spiraling circles of runes materialized brightly between them, and the zephyreme took to the sky. Its wings pushed through the air, driving them onward. ¡°Prepare a space,¡± Lavass ordered--holding a hand out in command. His guards and servants cleared away from the front. Keeping his hand forward, and shutting his eyes--he directed his power to the area. The ship¡¯s bow unraveled and spread out, becoming a circular platform before sinking to assume bowl-like shape. Runes thrummed to life along the ship¡¯s underside, and the wingbranches gently swung forward. They braced over the bowl, and the ship stilled. Only then did Lavass lower his hand and reopen his eyes--casting his gaze to Leone. ¡°Go and wait, pet..¡± Drifting to waiting servants, he commanded spear and shield to be brought to her. In the midst of her stride to the bowl, Leone took them. Nerves invisibly coiled along her bones, and clutched at her throat. She knew what that bowl meant. Dignity alone stopped her from scanning the skies. Instead, always continuing forward. Lavass remained seated. Tense. Aware. Though he trained his eyes forward and on his prized plaything, he wanted to search the skies. More than that, he wanted to look around himself. Hunt, from the rim of desperation and a sense of fear he¡¯d never known before, for the source. Somehow, he couldn¡¯t make himself shut his eyes and meditate it away. That made his flesh crawl even more. His thoughts began to run away from him, painted across the crevices of his skullmeat for me to read aloud. What¡¯s going on? This isn¡¯t like a premonition before attack. Have the Hyloss found their way to a darker art? Leone waited at the bowl¡¯s edge, shaded from the glowering sun. It warmed her skin, and she welcomed that. And so high from the ground, at the mercy of every draft and whip of air, a good comfort. ¡°Lay meat,¡± Lavass commanded his servants. Two sets of them retrieved tall baskets and carried them to the bowl. They tossed the containers to its center, letting the tops spill off and their contents topple out. Rich crimson and pink, fresh hunting. Free. Leone¡¯s nerves jumped. She wanted the servants to stay, but it was no human¡¯s place to speak to elves such a way. So she stayed quiet. Enduring the sense of abandonment that came with their departure. Back to safety. Her grip on the knotted spearshaft tightened. It impressed me, that she wasn¡¯t letting her thoughts run rampant in panic. Only those so conceited and self-important as Jaalag and Lavass lay so awake at night with the company of their thoughts. Fearing the fall. And now, at last, came what they all clenched their bellies for. A shape amongst the blue eternal. Bright and majestic. When Leone saw it, she could no longer hold back her nerves. They didn¡¯t scatter and scream beneath her skin as they did for the others. But spread and smothered over her, gentle and powerful. A mirror to the grandeur of what landed in the bowl. Her breath stilled and crawled. Her eyes widened. Grip softened. In awe. There. Here. Now. Majesty wore alabaster fur. A cloud-like mane. Regal, proud frame. Muscle like they were hewn of the oldest mountains. Paws, which though clawed sable and seeming for all the world like they could tear apart the zephyreme...looked plush. And warm. Snow-pale feathered wings, at once spread like twin banners to threaten the sky...slackened and folded at its sides. It drew a quiet gale into its nostrils, lifting its head to behold the crew. Lavass and Leone, in its gaze--equal as sand and water. Glassy, great orbs--flanked black to crest a flat, rounded snout. The beast strode forward. Every footfall deliberate as they were casual. Soundless as they landed. It gently exhaled while bringing its face to the meat. Cooled and comfortable under the offered shade, it let itself thump onto its side. The ship shifted, briefly, under its settling. Paws curled forward, and flexed-forth claws pulled the meat closer. All the while, it held its head aloft as though its station in nature stood supreme. And absolute. Not for all the realm and all the void, beyond, the merest...iota...of even a memory of concern. It lowered its head, cocking it aside and availing great teeth. A forest of bone, neat and immaculate, forth from blackest soil. And it began to eat. Leone¡¯s mind went somewhere else, transfixed as the rest of her was by the sight. To her mother, again. A warmer...softer memory. Being held tight. Rocked and hummed to, near the warmth of a hearth. Safe and beloved, on the ground--not miles above it where all things swayed and creaked. She remembered there, her mother¡¯s warm words. Telling her¡­ ¡°Your father is gone, my sweet child. But through you...I¡¯ll never forget him. I named you for him, who was named for¡­¡± she lifted her head and wore a distant, fond smile before she continued, ¡°The very spirit of majesty itself. King of sky and land, made flesh.¡± That warm gaze returned to her. And that smile grew wider. ¡°Some day, I hope you¡¯ll see one. And maybe you¡¯ll remember this, and through this, remember him. Remember my Leo...the day you see a solion, the emperor of cats.¡± ¡°Kill it, child,¡± Lavass ordered--tearing her out of the gentle arms of her past. Leone stiffened, a startled breath escaping her. The solion didn¡¯t even care. Its rounded ears didn¡¯t move in the slightest of acknowledgment, while it ate. Lavass furrowed his eyes. Concentrating. Waiting for the omen he wanted to see. He had long decided that if the...foul cold coiling his soul meant fangs over his throat, then his pet would just die there. But if, by remaining near her, he felt this by proximity...then surely, she would display it by victory--spared the ire of the sky¡¯s sovereign. But something unexpected happened, instead. Something...decidedly worse. Leone steeled herself and turned. Away from solion. Kill this creature? Attack something that came here of its own will? She cast her orange eyes straight onto him, and held her chin high. ¡°No.¡± The druid¡¯s thoughts and concerns of omens evaporated in an instant. His heart leapt to his throat and he stiffened his back, straightening. It took a moment to sink in. ¡°What?¡± he demanded, deliberate and stern. Disbelief propped him to his feet. Out of his throne. ¡°You...you of all lowly, simian, mudcrawling¡­¡± he couldn¡¯t find what words best satisfied him, and impatience took over. His eyes grew, and his fury kindled itself hot. ¡°Are you daring defy me? Your owner, your master...your...savior? Your GOD?¡± Rage coiled and roared in his skull, every ember and tongue of irous flame fanned greater--fueled by the unwavering stare of his...belonging! ¡°Obey me!¡± ¡°I will not,¡± she answered--the same dignity which she once carried on delicate shoulders for his behalf...now reared before him. ¡°I¡¯ll die before I point my spear at something as awesome and great, and before it¡¯s ever born ill against me.¡± The drafts and whirls of the wind, which she thought first to have held her within their mercy...now became her. ¡°Yes...you will,¡± Lavass agreed--thinning his eyes at the spear pointed in his direction. His soldiers banded together, pressing shield-to-shield and lowering their spears at her. He scowled. ¡°Your defiance will be paid in the only price fitting. And your people, with you. I won¡¯t have...monkeys showing teeth at ME!¡± RRRH! I grinned. Even fools know the law that goes unspoken. The solion rose behind Leone, its eyes filling with sunlight and its mane spreading. Gently flailing, glorious, around its body as tendrils of light infused with even fiber. Its wings spread. Its talons flashed bright--thrumming with power. Cold bled into the faces of the warriors before it. Terror painted their eyes, and their stances faltered. Heads, on instinct, trying to turn--but on will, trying to remain; so quivering atop their necks. Lavass realized his mistake--drifting his eyes to the beast. I curled my talons about his jaw...and I leaned my lips to his ear. I carved meaning along his skull. Reminding him his folly. One does not...disturb...the meals of kings. Leone shut her eyes. Lavass¡¯s drew wide as his skull allowed, and his breath shuddered. The solion reared its head and roared. Streaks of light, all around the ship, instantaneously leapt. They straightened, sharp and angular, right through the zephyreme--searing through it at once. The solion¡¯s light seared flesh, bone, and vine all as easily as lifting one¡¯s hand through air. Everything touched--directly--by the light, erupt flame. Lavass shrieked and leapt back, channeling his kesem. The carved-up carcasses of his servants spilled in the same instant the diced ship began to sink from the air. ¡°O-o-oo-ooh-- NOOO!¡± The solion sprang off the ship--stirring howling winds with a singular beat of its wings, throwing the already falling zephyreme aside. Leone reopened her eyes as she was falling. Untouched by the rays. She smiled as she saw the solion flying away, and let go of the shield and spear. Knowing with every fiber of her being that the drop was not going to be survivable...her smile refused to part from her. ¡°Mom¡­¡± she mumbled--unable to hear herself over the roaring winds around her, ¡°You were right. I remember. And it¡¯s...beautiful.¡± She shut them again. Not expecting they¡¯d ever open again. And becoming ignorant to the shape that descended after her.