The woman dreaming of the Moores, of grasslands, of the boundless skies—
Is gone.
In her place walks the Child of the Void.
The Sovereign Star.
The Radiance of Krystopolis.
Straight spine, Auryn'reh Solah. Do as you are bid. Walk as you are expected to.
Your Sokâr’s face is as empty as the Void, your hands clasped before you in serenity as you walk through chaos and usher the Destroyer’sbreath into the city walls. The Sovereign Horn bellows its welcome from atop the Jade Lattices, its throaty call a catalyst for the worshippers to greet you.
Look at their faces. Listen to them gasping as you emerge into the blazing light of Fire.
The air is sticky, thick, and wet. Feel how your mana recoils from the weight of it. You clasp your hand around that tetherstone you brought from your beloved’s chambers. Keep your eyes on the crowd. Stand ready. If a spell should come your way, the tetherstone will help you counter it.
That is, if it’s a clumsy cast from that snake of a Companion and her ilk.
Don’t startle, Auryn’reh. The sound behind you is merely footsteps. Attendants carrying the heavy red, orange, and white train of your dress. Can you feel their hands shaking in terror? If even an inch touches the ground, their lives will be forfeit. They will beBranded. Nullified. Not Repurposed, but given then ultimate punishment for traitors and blasphemers.
The Godblind’s manafire will sever their souls from the Flaeme and obliterate them from the Nine Rivers for all time.
Heinous, is it not? Yet none would dare to question it. Look at them, throwing flower petals in your path from all sides. Planned, of course. Orchestrated. Still, they are quite beautiful. Bright pink, crimson, and blue. Cultivated for nearly a year. Magically preserved just for this day.
You pity them for having such short lives. Grown, nurtured, perhaps even loved—only to be stepped on now and forgotten in moments. When my Garden was whole, not a single blossom would have been subjected to such futility. Each bloom had a place. Each life had meaning.
But there is no use in lamenting what has faded. Once wilted, a plant will never look to the sky again. That is why you cannot wilt, Auryn’reh. You must rise, even if you bleed. Even if you falter.
Even if you still deny your birthright and your memories.
No. Do not turn from the truth.
You are Numen.
You must take your Silari’s breath and claim your rightful place before this cage tightens any more than it already has. This city is doomed—
The Void is impartial.
The Darkness does not take sides in judgment.
The Void guides our steps.
No, do not fall into that listless chanting. Do not let it break your mind.
The Sovereign Horn rings out again. Ever obedient to spectacle, the People fall to their knees. One by one. Hundreds. Thousands. Their hands and faces touch the ground, fingers reaching out, praying that even a breeze from your passing will brush against them. Their mouths move in silent, hissing prayer.
They are lost. Ever lost.
Where the Reckoning was all drums, and war, and lust, and blood—your Sokâr’s Path of Flame is hush and reverence. In their eyes, you are Kaos, the embodiment of the Void—your body a sacred vessel, your magic divine destruction and deliverance.
It is so. But not for the reasons they were taught to believe.
Each step is harder than the last. The choking heat rises like pressure all around, squeezing in-between the gaps in your royal silks and shoesuntil you sweat uncontrollably. Petals cling to your damp skin, wilting into your cheeks and neck, soft and suffocating like leeches.
Focus on your breaths, Auryn’reh. You can endure this heat.
They still had too much ground to cover to stop now.
