The Back of Beyond

[Finn]

Finn nodded, taking in all the reports. This didn't change his plan: Castra Confinium, Castra Messor, Castra Argenti. If they had to evict anything before claiming their camp, then so be it. From there, they could decide if, through their combined minds and talents, they could form a secure portal back to safety or if they would have to travel on foot and retrace their steps. From there, he would know whether he would have to finesse the young royals and their followers.

He hadn't brought a pipe or colored clothes to play pied piper, but even without his Rune of Command, he could be persuasive. He would invoke Aværys if necessary.

Down here, he had the imperium conferred by both thrones, as well as both Gods of the Dual Realm, considering he also had Varvara's grace in the person of his maritus.

"In any case," Finn decided as they continued to walk through the Grand Concourse, "we will treat with Prince Octavian and Prince Albion before we establish our own camp. In a perfect world, they will each follow us directly per the command we carry from His Exalted Majesty and the Luxian regent. But this is no perfect world and we are surrounded by veins of a corrupting magic."

Their careful journey continued until they apparently reached the perimeter that Tiseus' camp was keeping.

"Tiseus," called a voice from above, "are you under duress?"

Finn looked up to find a young platinum elf standing on a balcony. He was pretty, softer than Arkænyn, but had a similar carriage, a nobility of spirit some called it. There was something about the true platinum elves that made one want to believe their were the vanguard of a greater race, no doubt due to the influence the dragonflight that oversaw Solunarium. What he wore had been fine once. It was clear he was doing his best to maintain his gear, though they had been far from civilization for a long time.

In fact, these were, according to Tiseus' account, the ones attempting to maintain a semblance of just civilization in the void-warped depths.

He let the ex-servus answer, but added, "Salve, Your Serene Highness. We have come at the behest of the Dual Thrones to evacuate you safely to Solunarium. Let us go to your camp and speak to your colleagues."

Octavian's face was impassive, as if he had been tempered into some alloy of platinum and steel down here. Perhaps the pressure had made a diamond out of him; Finn couldn't know yet. After a moment's thought, he came down to their level with a bit of parkour. He must have learned that down here; his file hadn't mentioned him having a cat burglar's training.

His hand didn't err toward his weapon, but he came first to Tiseus, put his hands on the slender magus' shoulders, and looked piercingly into his eyes as if to sense the veracity of his statements. To Finn, it read as a commendable care of those he considered his people. After a beat, he squeezed those shoulders, offered a ghost of a smile, and turned toward the Sentinels.

Octavian bowed to Arvælyn; the heir was dressed as a Sentinel, but his famous face was unveiled and nothing was going to veil those wings.

"Your Exalted Highness," he said respectfully. "You honor us." To Finn, who was clearly speaking for the Sentinels, he nodded gravely. "If you will follow me."

[Raithen]

Raithen listened to his brother's report first, finding it accurate and sufficient, until it was finished. Once the slave's information had been given, he added in a few details he had noticed.

"There is a large building a few deep into the Grand Concourse." Grey eyes shifted to Arvælyn in acknowledgement of his choice of names, "The lower floor is filled with rubble, so it's unlikely anything has moved in there. The second floor and third seem to be clear, though it would be a climb for most of us to get there."

Raithen preferred to roost as high up as he could, and it would be easier to defend than a place with 'ground' entrances. Under normal circumstances, he could have lifted anyone unable to make their own way with his Kinetics, or Finn could have opened a portal for them all. As it was, his wings alone weren't strong enough to carry another adult in flight. There were handholds that would make climbing possible, but not easy. If he and Arvælyn flew up together, they could secure a rope and help the others up, at least.

Such choices would wait until they knew more of what was happening, however.

The question called down had a ritual sound to it, a call and response designed to alert those within the camp if one of their own was being coerced, most likely. It spoke well of the students that they would think to do such. Raithen eyed the exchange from the back, keeping most of his vigilant watch on their rear. The tingle at the back of his neck hadn't gone away since entering the strange new space. Having seen it from above, it reminded him of some ancient version of the Umbrium. An underground city, dedicated to powerful gods that knew him not, nor he them. A simulacrum of that which he knew that was just different enough to make him feel like he'd fallen through some forgotten portal to an alien plane.

[Arvælyn]

“Hale, well and uncompromised!” Tiseus called up in his bell-clear tenor timbre. He was generally so soft-spoken and breathy, that he almost sounded like a different person when he raised his voice to pierce a greater distance.

The smile he wore for Octavian was, like his mind, uncompromised. He nodded a greeting as his shoulder was clapped, and gestured to the hallowed guests.

“I live to serve.” Arvælyn offered in answer to Octavian’s public reverence. It was not a sentiment any here had heard him express before, but one which had come to tinge his worldview now that he knew that being a prince was not all banquets and balls in Solunarium. Sacrifice was more a part of his everyday life and this jaunt was one such instance in which he prioritised something over other matters. The realm was concerned for the luminaries of this generation, and he served them in seeking their salvation. Finn’s captaincy had, of course, played its role in his personal involvement, but one couldn’t survive on sacrifice alone.

As Arvælyn observed Octavian and Tiseus, he noted the comfort the latter seemed to take in the presence of the former. Having been alone with his social betters he must have felt out to sea, whereas now he had a Platinum bridge to traverse the awkwardness of that gap. He would follow after Finn where Octavian led them, though his guard remained up and his ignis gland churned actively, which sent smoke from his nostrils that tinged the air with an aroma akin to hearthfire.

Something seemed to move in his peripheral vision and he snapped his face toward it, though his fiery eyes saw nothing of note. Still, he couldn’t help but feel as though they were being watched.

[Finn]

Octavian reported, terse yet thorough. What he said supported what Tiseus had told them, and elaborated upon it. His voice was pitched so the heir could hear him as well as the Sentinel in charge. Finn noted this, but was unbothered. He was leaner than he had been when they went into the Zonam Mysterium, the flush of youth tempered by hardship and horror.

"I regret," he said, "that I have failed to persuade Albion that caution is the better part of valor in this situation and that we should retreat—should have retreated—long ago. They will not let us leave." The way he said it, though, implied that this too was his failing, the burden of command. Finn could commiserate. If Arvælyn were to perish on this mission, he wouldn't even have the luxury of taking his own life. He was certain it would be taken from him by a mourning mother, a vengeful dragon, or Varvara Herself.

"We will sort it," Finn promised. "And we will recover the bodies of the fallen."

"We—" But the young princeps paused, steeled himself, nodded. "Salvete, custodes!"

"Salve, Octavius!" someone called. Yes, Octavian's little band was watchful.

"Welcome to our humble camp." He said it to Finn, but his gaze cut back to the prince. Octavian was, perforce, sworn to the Luxian throne. Nevertheless, it was the heir to the Umbrian throne who had come to save him and his colleagues.

"Salvete, discupuli!"

They were an impressive sight, it would seem, the black-clad defenders of the pax draconis—cleaner, better rested, adult. And Finn moved to secure their obedience, as well as improve morale. He channeled what he had faith the voidrillium veins in the rock couldn't block—gratia dei. He reached for Aværys; let them be warmed by the power of their solar deity even down here in the endless night, dark and full of terrors.

He knew they were being watched by the gathering students. Perhaps they were being watched by spies from the other camp or whatever else lived down here. He didn't know what was watching it, but he could sense something even without magic, an atavistic thrill up the spine, the hairs on the nape of his neck rising in reaction. No, they needed to get the mists out of this place.

[Raithen]

Watching the smoke spill from his brother's nose and between his lips comforted Raithen, his wariness bordering on jumpiness, no less so. They were both alert for dangers, and Arvælyn was not without the ability to protect himself, even in that evil-feeling place. The Avialae would have felt significantly better if something had attacked them to be roasted by his sibling and attacked by the Sentinels, rather than endure the creeping feeling of the whole atmosphere any longer.

The group moved deeper into the fortified camp, Raithen making note of a guard watching them from a higher perch, as he himself would have in the same situation. The report was not given loudly enough that he could hear it from where he was, and he was unwilling to open even so small a portal as would only carry the sound to him. After several minutes, calls of greeting were made and returned and then...

Raithen's eyes fluttered shut, and he had to fight with himself not to relax as the feel of Aværys' light pooled out from Finn. He had rarely been in any place where he could not feel at least some modicum of his God's presence. With a growing horror, he realized that it being missing was one of the main components that made him so uncomfortable in that place. Teeth clenching, he murmured a prayer of thanks even though he was, for the first time in his life, unsure if he would be heard.

From the shadows stepped another student, dark of hair and eye, and darker for the bruises under his eyes that showed his fatigue even more starkly than the examples Tiseus and Octavian provided. In other company and circumstances he would have been considered handsome, but when compared with the stark beauty of both the Vastian and the Platinum Elf his slightly irregular features were rendered plain, even ugly.

"Salvete, custodes." He repeated, tired voice respectful. "Forgive my haste, but there are things you should know. There are artifacts here, all throughout the... city? Such ancient devices were the focus of my studies, and I have discovered the use of a few of what we have found. Or..."

He made a deprecating gesture, frowning at some inward thought, "I have discovered uses for some, whether these were their original purpose, I know not. One of them is a set of stones that cast a field around an area when they are activated, walking through the field kills all that which lives. We have been using it as a way to protect ourselves. I wish to reactivate the stones, but with no wish that any of you will walk through the field by accident, nor feel trapped within. I will show whoever you choose how to use the stones, so you may come and go as you please."

The newcomer bowed toward Finn and then Arvælyn, so precise in his movement that it showed his exact degree below both of them, separately.

[Arvælyn]

Though not the tallest of their group, Arvælyn’s wings added stature that required him to duck beneath certain passageways. It had been a learning process, to be sure, and in the early days of his more Draconic presentation, he’d bumped many a doorframe with folded wings.

As they came upon other members of Tiseus and Octavian’s party, Arvælyn inclined his head in acknowledgment of the dark-eyed Moonborn and any of the others who made themselves known.

“You should not blame yourself, Starlit Highness…” Tiseus had not called Octavian by that honorific in some time, but present company seemed to call for a return to half-forgotten formalities.

“Prince Albion is changed. Harder.” Tiseus added. Not that Albion Princeps had ever been the warmest of waifs, but the erstwhile slave spoke true. Albion, Primus and Perseus all seemed starkly different since shortly after arriving on this side of the Labyrinth. Albion has been first to change, with the others shifting shortly thereafter to similarly icy versions of themselves. This had been most striking to the members of Studium Ilara in Perseus, with whom they’d had a closer relationship prior to his hardening. He’d always been a tough nut to crack, but he’d been a friend despite his peccadilloes. Now, he was an ardent minion of Albion. More concerning, perhaps, than the alterations to their behaviour was the fact that these three were the ones who’d been able to pierce through the nullifying field that surrounded this area to access their Runes, albeit at a weaker potency than their schoolmates knew them to have.

Arvælyn felt Finn opening himself to Aværys even before the outward signs were clear to the others. His own Emblem answered, unbidden, though it did not glow to life or light as did Finn’s. His maritus would be alone in resplendence as the others regarded him in some semblance of the awe Arvælyn yet felt when regarding his beloved. With all other eyes drawn to Finn, Arvælyn was the first to note that a small host of those little scarabs emerged from the cracks and corners of the camp and began to flee the Radiant Light in all directions, their chittering and the click of thousands of chitinous appendages in rapid motion underscored Finn’s majestic moment.

[Finn]

Octavian's pale eyes glittered with traitorous tears. The warm light pouring off the Sentinel eased a cold ache that had hurt too long within him, a separation from the light of the Luxium and the connection to his Gods. It wasn't the yoke of leadership that brought him to his knees, but rather the sudden lightness. Tiseus called him starlit, and he hungered for the stars and their distant, flirtatious twinkle. The dragonborn heir to the Umbrian throne was here, his winged brother, his God-touched amatus.

"Empyreus," he whispered, voice choked.

Perhaps it was because he was closer to their guests than the other students; it hit him harder. There was a flicker of hunger in Finn's eyes, but only for a moment did he consider enthralling the Luxian princeps. Instead, he rested his hand on the rough-cut waves of platinum hair and uttered a benediction. It spread out to the others there present.

The glow dimmed, but did not subside entirely. He helped the prince back to his feet.

Finn himself was pleased that his connection remained intact, and he figured it would be vital to play pied piper with the other students and lead them out of here. And it gave him some hope that Arvælyn would be able to drag them out in silver chains if they struggled too hard against his Power.

He and the young prince nodded to each other and the moment passed. Finn turned to Aneurin, ticking another one off his list.

"Luminarus Val'Vetusanguis Aneurin." Finn nodded. "Come, I've become something of a cartographer. Let us align our maps of this place before I go to treat with Albion and the others."

Octavian nodded to Aneurin as well, approving the order out of habit even if his own status was subsumed by the presence of heirs and Sentinels. He was relieved, but they weren't out yet, and he was not abrogating his responsibilities as a scion of the Divine Twins.

Finn motioned for Raithen to help them with the maps as he had scouted from on high.

Octavian's eyes darted around until he had laid them upon each of his people, then he turned them on Arvælyn. They had met socially, but hadn't spoken in depth. Arvælyn had been new, probably overwhelmed, and Octavian had been a child, though every child of Drævyn Princeps was a political animal.

"Is there aught in the way of humble hospitality we can offer you, Dominus?"

[Raithen]

Raithen felt a kinship to the princeps on his knees before Finn. Even after so short a time cut off from both aether and the Holy, the urge to kneel was no small thing when bathed in the Light of God. But he was there to relieve burdens, not have his own relieved.

He was already moving forward to add his knowledge to the mapping before Finn called to him, along with another Sentinel. The moonborn led them to a makeshift table where he spread out a large parchment covered in a drawing of the area and handwritten notations in a tight, precise script. This proved to by Val'Vetusanguis' own, as he pulled out an elaborately carved pen and used the back end to point out the main features of the cavern. Raithen added a few current details, which the student inked in, making specific note of the building he had suggested they use as a camp of their own if needed.

The Availae and the Sentinel both stayed to listened to the explanation of how to use the warding stones to ensure their group had access in and out of the smaller student camp before retreating back to the entrance.

Aneurin had hesitated, waiting for Octavian's fractal nod before moving to obey the orders from the Sentinel leader. One hand lingered as he moved past the leader he had chosen, brushing the Platinum elf's arm with a slight squeeze, whether seeking comfort or offering it, only they two knew.

When they were back within conversational distance of the rest of their team, the dux explained in brief the direction and distance to the other student camp from the bird's eye perspective before looking to Finn for orders.

[Arvælyn]

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Arvælyn regarded Octavian, curiously as he bent the knee before Finn's Majesty. He remembered this one better than the others he'd met at the Academia banquet that had congregated to celebrate their advancement to this final phase of their formal arcane training. Platinum Elves tended to be memorable and this one being a prince royal was of particular note, given the ongoing power vacuum in the Luxium. At least he assumed it remained ongoing, unless the months long Conclave of Electors had finally seen fit to end Everyl's regency and name a successor to Thalya Derelicta. Such seemed doubtful, based on his mother's reports to the Consilium Draconum.

He raised his head from observing the skittering of fleeing arthropods as Octavian inquired after his comfort and some hybrid of a friendly smile and a wry smirk painting his lips.

"I am hale, well and uncompromised, but thank you." He offered, borrowing a now-blushing Tiseus' quotation. "Despite of my rank in the Umbrium, Sentinel Finn stands as captain of our little band. He has known more of adventure, while I have been anchored to the political stage for much of my princely career." He noted, with a nod to the twice-marked human who was, by this point, conferring with the Moonborn he'd recognised as Aneurin, over matters of geography.

His attention turned from Octavian to Aneurin as the life-or-death matter of the latter's deadly warding stones was addressed and explanation for bypassing their fatal effects was related. As notes were compared between the encamped youths and the Sentinels, both career and deputised, he took note and offered his own insight where appropriate and when requested. By and by, a voice called down from above. Momentarily startled, his head snapped up to see the face of another, handsome Vastian who it seemed had been standing sentry from some lookout point with a better vantage than the ground.

"Torchlight in the distance!" Tertius Akhenkaure Thæros reported, with urgency in his baritone. Thæros was the youngest of three Vastian brothers who had entered the Zonam Mysterium as members of Studium Vrynn of the Tertian campus of the Academia Arcanum. The older two, per Tiseus' report, had gone missing. "Multiple torches approaching from the East." Which all would note, with the maps directly before them, was the direction of Castra Messor.

Kasha, a female Moratallen who had come from the same studium as Thæros snarled and straightened to her full, imposing stature at this news. If Arvælyn needed to duck for his wings, Kasha surely needed to take care with her head. The female Moonborn of the group, Appia Val’Prævynn Galatæa, who had come to represent the Luxium, remained silently alert and looked to Octavian with uncertainty. Despite the higher ranking visitors, Octavian had more context with which to inform how the members of Castra Confinium should react to this news.

"It would appear our presence has not gone unmarked." Arvælyn noted with a grimace.

[Finn]

Octavian nodded, then offered a weary, but faintly boyish smile.

"Of course, dominus," he replied, "and when you pull up your veil, I will ignore you like a good Solunarian."

While Aneurin helped Sentinel Finn build his clearer picture of the area, Octavian completed the small mission he had been on when he encountered their party. There weren't so many mushrooms in his pouch as he would like, but perhaps their meager stores wouldn't matter much soon. He divested himself of what he had scrounged up. Decius had gone to observe the maps, but other Sentinels certainly observed him.

Octavian hadn't shirked any duty he required of the others, and he had practically had to pull rank on Tiseus in order to get him to eat his fair share. Their youthful metabolisms were winning out over their supplies, all of them more gaunt than they had been, but none of them were starving or ill from malnutrition yet, thank the Gods.

At the alarum, Finn glanced up. Perhaps he caught enough of the lad's symphony despite the environment that he was able to tick off another name from his list. "Tertius Akhenkaure Thæros," he murmured to himself. So young and he might have lost his two elder brothers; Finn couldn't imagine losing Morgaine or Ciarán. But this was not the time for empathy.

"Sequimine me, Custodes," he commanded.

With a final glance at the map, he moved to catch sight of those approaching torches, and then led his team to meet the other camp.

Octavian gathered his people for a quiet, "We will follow, but at a distance. I don't want to antagonize Albion, but I want to be on hand in case the Radiant requires aught of us."

A part of him feared battle—rather, he didn't fear battle, but he dreaded the possibility that the arrival of their saviors might incite a worse reaction in Albion than Octavian himself did, and that might lead to unnecessary battle—but he had to put his trust in the Pyramid.