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and I am a writer, writer of fictions.
I am the heart that you call home.
and I've written pages upon pages
Trying to rid you from my bones.
I am the heart that you call home.
and I've written pages upon pages
Trying to rid you from my bones.
Kala awoke that day feeling more human than most. The day previous had been full; New Year festivities in Kalzasi, in Starfall, and in Stardew Valley. She was glad that the last of them had been with Torin and his simple farmers. What made her feel human today, she felt, was that simple celebration and all the food Timon had prepared.
She had half a mind to fund a restaurant for him if he ever decided he wanted to diversify or make a different choice than his work with Torin and Sivan.
The young woman stretched languidly in her bed, then rose. A young girl from Starfall knocked, then came in. Sensing Avialae blood in her, which would make the work easier, she had taken the girl under her figurative wing. After Akshara and Marda, there would be other women who needed wings. That one of her tasks was to help groom Kala's wings would put her at a major advantage over some, she supposed.
Some early experimentation since the momentous and not human at all events from a couple of days previous, her latest ascension, made her feel as though she might not need to worry much about grooming in the future when she could sculpt her mortal seeming. Still, it kept her grounded for the time being. Her power had grown again, and she felt like she hadn't caught up with the first blessings of Mother Naori.
Sovereignty.
"P-pardon, my Lady," stuttered the girl.
Blue eyes met dazed dark eyes in the vanity mirror. Kala's face softened.
"No, I beg your pardon, Tilly. I was lost in my thoughts."
She took the last pearl-adorned pin from the girl's shaking hands and set it carefully into her hair.
"There, perfect. Thank you. Why don't you go see if anyone's playing. Squeeze a little more joy into the New Year. We will be leaving for Kalzasi tomorrow morning."
"Yes, my Lady. Thank you, my Lady." She curtsied and ran. Kala had bid her call her 'Lady' as her divinity was not yet common knowledge beyond Starfall. It was her hope to announce herself once she had achieved her first true miracle, unlocking the potential of Garel's grimoire.
Kala had always groomed and dressed herself, thinking only decadent, useless ladies required help—or those with handicaps like her mother. Her opinions had matured, she thought. Some of the art that she had worn in Sol'Valen had required help, and the Princess Akantha was both art and artist, neither useless nor handicapped, although perhaps a bit decadent. And the help her mother required did not make her useless, but brave enough to ask for help when she needed it, the better to lead their people.
Now it served another purpose: an anchor to provide drag as she ascended, allowing her climb to be controlled rather than chaotic, even if she was a Daughter of Chaos.
Looking in the mirror, she seemed frightfully small even though she knew what multitudes she contained. She was slowly starting to look like a woman rather than a girl wearing her mother's clothes, although anyone she had admitted that to had told her she was being silly—a silly goddess, just what Ransera needed.
Simple coiffure secured, clothes on, and wings groomed, she rose to share a simple breakfast with her family. She played with her little nephew as they lingered around their tea or coffee, and then went out to see and speak to her people. Her mother ruled them, but she was their locative deity. They appreciated being able to pray directly to her face, to receive blessings from her hands, and see and believe.
It took a lot out of her, though, and she spent the afternoon in her study working out a solution to a problem.
She had promised to aid Talon in the problem afflicting his realm, and might afflict hers once she claimed it. She wasn't sure if Nazam's realm remained for her to claim or if she would have to start from scratch. As much as she was enamored of her strange tower, she rather hoped she could create something for herself. But she felt no rush. Better she learn how to steward a realm from Talon before she tried to create her own.
Now, she was capable of archmagic. Being capable of it and knowing how to enact it were two different things, of course. She had begun to do things beyond what ought to be possible, but she was going to have to start being more cognizant, more self-aware.
"Challenge:" she said to herself, "binding a letter to a specific person, only readable by their eyes."
That said, she wrote the letter itself:
2nd of Glade, 125 Age of Steel
My dear Stefan—
I hope I may still consider you a friend and call you 'my dear Stefan,' and I hope your New Year was a joyous occasion, for you and for all your people. This should arrive to you obscured by sigaldry, posing no danger but being visible only to you. One must do one's best to maintain secrecy, you know?
That said, I am writing to you about a problem that requires secrecy as well as diligence.
I know my existence is anathema to your beliefs, and you know that my existence has saved the life of your son. I do not say this to imply a debt owed, but to prepare you for my ask.
Despite how you feel about the Gods and their influence upon mortal lives, they do keep existence existing. Currently, holes are forming in the realm of Light, from which fell creatures emerge to wreak havoc. The appropriate draegir is handling it to the best of his abilities, and I am trying to help. Finding the root of the problem will allow for a more permanent solution, though I am asking you to bend your mind to any solutions, temporary or permanent, as the current temporary fixes might not prove universally utile.
If you touch the below sigil, my impressions of the things will be passed on to you as if via Semblance or, if it makes you more comfortable, via the highest quality of aura glass with plenty of time to study it. Whether you choose to tackle this problem on your own or share it with the Order, I leave up to you. This is an opportunity for you to show what human progress is capable of.
Do not despair! I am only relating this to you because I believe you can help, not to prepare you for some inescapable doom. Great powers are arrayed against this challenge. I just wanted to deal you a hand if you choose to play.
I hope your family is well. Please send pictures of the little ones. I would like your permission to visit soon. I miss our conversations and I would like to check my work to ensure your son remains safe. I would also like to make this a more regular occurrence. I think I might be the least unpalatable of my kind to your tastes, and I demand neither temporal power over you or spiritual worship. But I want you to be aware of how things beyond your ken might affect you and your people so your minds and your might can prepare you for future threats that have nothing to do with the Imperium or Kalzasi.
Your friend,
Kala
After signing and affixing her seal, she set about making sigil to contain all her impressions of what she had seen eating away at the realm of light. Then, she poured those impressions into the lines of ink. They glowed, absorbing the magic, and then merely flickered as if there were something metallic in the ink that was not in everything else she had written.
From there, she put it in an envelope, sealed it with wax once more, and then considered the challenge she had set herself before she began to write. As often happened, she found the idea had sparked in the back of her mind and grown to some level of fruition. Now, she could harvest that seedling and grow it into a full-fledged idea with her conscious mind.
And so she spun lines and sigils over the envelope with bespelled ink, twining Semblance for recognition, Negation for protection, and even elemental Fire should someone other than Stefan attempt to force it open. It would open like a flower to the sun for Stefan Dornkirk. For anyone else, the fine paper would be impenetrable as fine armor. For any tampering mages, their best efforts would only serve to set it on a quick-consuming fire that would leave her words unshared.
As the ink dried, it disappeared. The sigaldry remained to her mind's eye.
She smiled and tucked it away into her portfolio to send in the post when she returned to Kalzasi.
