“Do you swear it?"
“I do. Now hush. Fall into me. I want to know how many times your soul can call my name before the sun returns.”
63
Epilogue
On the last Day of Void and the First Morning, the Resh’Agar and his Sokâr emerged from the Jade Lattices to walk hand in hand through the People. They did not take the holy path—didn't step on the cobbles inlaid with gold and sacred crystal. Instead, they walked unbound through the crowd. The Dissolution had drained the city’s soul, and now the Void’s Arm and his Consort stepped forth to give the People hope of a more stable future.
Hands reached for them as they passed, but none dared to touch even a piece of the Sokâr’s veils with the Resh’Agar glowering down at her side. Morvane gleamed black, lit with azure runefire. The half mask on his face bared its fangs to any gaze lingering too long. And his eyes—glowing blue and eerie in the pitch of Dark—frightened and thrilled all the worshipers around them.
Behind them walked an army. The newest Kelvasari—the chosen Reskala that would accompany the Arm of the Void to the Surface for his long Campaign. Each perfect, tall, muscled, and rune-carved. Each man a force that could wipe out a battalion of mortal men. Their chins were raised. Proud. Fierce. For being chosen was an honor that would not fade even in death.
As the pair wound through the crowd toward each District border, drums began to chant an all too familiar song.
Beating.
Beating.
Beating.
Their throatyboomsechoed upwards, setting the Polis crystals all around them alight. Buildings roused, waking from their lazy sleep, emerald pulsing through their very veins as the song of the Resh’Agar gave them new life. Above the city, the Shields shook and shuddered. In mourning. In awe. In recognition.
For on this day, the Resh’Agar would leave, departing for war, not to be seen for more than a decade.
In her chest, the Sokâr’s heart bled silver grief, but she walked with grace and poise that bellied all her pain. Her face was set into a mask of serenity, her feet moving so that she appeared to float beside her consort. She wore a gown of ethereal beauty.
White. Pure. Pristine.
The People wept as she passed by them, and soon their voices rose as one.
“Resh…Resh…Resh…Resh…”
"Sokâr…Sovereign…Sokâr…Sovereign…"
The drums continued beating.
Beating.
Beating.
Until the pair of the city’s beloved gods paused on a platform in the Selen District, right on the threshold of the Shields. The Resh’Agar raised his hand, revealing an orb resting in his palm. It lit up, spreading an image high into the air of the Sovereign Flame sitting stone-still upon his mighty Vesper Seat.
“Our beloved Krystopolis,” he spoke. “Today, Our Arm of the Void goes to fight for the Destroyer on the blighted Surface. Much has come to pass in recent months, but do not fear. The Void is with Us. Always.”
As the image flickered and faded, the People did not move. Many stared, as though expecting more. Others looked in awe at the orb in the Resh’Agar’s hand. And still others looked to the Sokâr, some knowing enough truth to suspect that it was she that had invented such a miraculous device.
But the Sokâr was not pleased with their worship. She ignored them all in favor of nursing the agony inside her. When the Resh’Agar turned to face her, she knew.
This was the moment.
The Blessing.
He was meant to kneel, and she to kiss his forehead in a quiet ceremony. But what happened instead was a thing that would be remembered for centuries to come.
The Resh’Agar ripped off his mask and pulled the Sokâr against him. He kissed her deeply for all the city to witness then cupped her face in his hands.
“I will return, my Sovereign Star. I swear it.”
