The Back of Beyond

[Finn]

Octavian was smiling. His people were joking and it wasn't quite the harsh gallows humor anymore. He found himself smiling at Arvælyn, bemusedly wondering what it would have been like to have him in the Studium Ilara. It had been a while since he had daydreamed about the Luxian throne, but now he wondered what it would be like to work in tandem with him as Zalkyriax's regent, ruling Solunarium between them.

As they ate, though, and listened to the prince's new intelligence and his extrapolations, he wondered aloud, "If this is true, though, would they respond favorably to you, dominus?"

If Sentinel Finn enraged them bearing grace from Streleon's new self, perhaps Prince Arvælyn with Ugrimal's...

Finn frowned thoughtfully. He did not like the idea of putting his maritus front and center with a known thread, even to save lives. Any assault would put those lives they had recovered at risk, as well. He wished the light of Aværys that he could invoke would allow his team to access the æther as it had during the Eclipse.

After most had broken their fast, "Very well. After all due preparations are made, I will approach the Castra Messor—carefully—flanked by the Sentinels—at a safe distance. I will offer parlay. If I find any of those bound as Lysander was, I will release them with Aværys' help. If I only meet the more compromised discipuli, then I will parlay as long as I might and only channel divinity if necessary to distract them. Meanwhile, Arvælyn will fly above, masked, and see whether he can find a safer ingress or look for an opportunity to use his own divine gifts to neutralize the triumvirate. Raithen, you will fly with your brother and keep him safe. If he can mask you, excellent. If not, you will have to fly higher so as not to be seen."

Then he turned toward Octavian.

"You will bide here until enough time has passed for us to reach the Castra Messor, and then you will lead the other students to the last waypoint. We will update your maps lest the way have altered since first you walked it. There is enough æther there for you to hunker down, and your Semblers will be able to verify whether anyone who follows is under the fell influence or not. If they are students freed, take them under your protection. If it is us, then all is well. If it is one of them, then Tiseus will open a portal to the next waypoint and you will begin your journey home with as many of you as we can free."

Octavian wanted to protest, but he nodded grimly. The Sentinels' mission outweighed that of the students. It was tactically sound to have them hold an exit ready for whomever could be saved, even for whomever might come running if the Castra Messor sent them running. And as much as he wanted to lead the charge to save the others, they were without magic, without knowledge of where and how the traps had been laid, and despite the bolstering of hopes and a good night's rest, they were exhausted.

If they charged, they would be cannon fodder. Sentinel Finn would have been in the wrong to use them in a battle of attrition, spending student lives in order to possibly save other students.

"Ita, Dominus."

Then Finn removed his black cloak and put it in the prince's hands.

"Use this as a shroud for Kenofer's body and bring it back for his family. Should the worst occur, you must report to Sentinel Phocion what happened down here." But then he offered a confident smile. "But I don't intend to let the worst occur, but rather to put a righteous fear of the Gods in the hearts of whatever has taken your colleagues."

It was a layer of protection he was losing, but he didn't know that the wards in his uniform blacks were working, if their enchantments held without ambient æther to support them, or if the æther of whatever spells were flung at him would be enough to activate them. In any case, similar protections were woven into the rest of his clothes as well, possibly even his smallclothes for all he knew.

Finn nodded to Octavian, then looked to the rest. He would later, more privately tell Octavian and perhaps shrewd Aneurin to keep an eye on Lysander, lest something hidden in him reignite when his former masters were challenged. He didn't want to sow suspicion, but he didn't want them so close to safety and have all the work and sacrifice undone by an eventuality Finn could plan for.

"Understood?"

[Raithen]

Raithen's stomach growled as his Divinely blessed brother was served a portion of what was in the pot. Noticing the jovial mood that accompanied the simple, makeshift meal, he allowed it to be infectious. Some of his best meals, or at least the ones he had been more grateful for, had been under similarly primitive circumstances. He flashed a grin at Arvælyn, lifting a piece of the pale meat in a sort of salute, as one might raise a glass from across a room. When the flavor filled his mouth, his saliva glands swelled to pain, but he didn't care. It was a struggle not to gobble the limited portion, and more of one not to ask for more when there were too many mouths to feed.

Having had lessons in history in his youth, Raithen was able to follow the suggested reasoning behind what was happening there below. It made sense, put the puzzle together neatly, even as it was decidedly unsettling. There was a saying in Vastian that translated to something like 'Are the dead ever truly dead?'. It was mostly used to imply that someone was reminding others of one of their ancestors, but it seemed apt, even when applied to the gods, it seemed.

Finn's plan was as good as could be, under the circumstances. The tactics were good, there was a contingency for if they failed in the students, though he suggested that one of the Sentinels be sent with them in case something was waiting for them, either of natural or unnatural origin. It would mean one less fighter in the conflict to come, but it seemed obvious that the outcome would not be decided by spears or swords.

There was no objection to flying with his brother. He was best in the air and, hidden or not, he could pull attention away from the more important efforts as required.

When Aneurin heard what was intended for the students, he stood without waiting for his portion of the meal and began gathering things that he had stowed in various parts of the encampment. They had been sent on a mission, and while they had been delayed, starved of both food and aether, they had not, in his opinion, failed. Not entirely. He had learned much, gathered artifacts that were priceless, or at least worth a great deal to others of his profession, and taken rubbings of every bit of carved writing he had come across. Beginnings of translations filled the book he had brought to document their mission, along with descriptions of what had been too large, or too unknown, to bring along. Every member of his camp would depart with some artifact or other slipped into their bags, in case any of them were forced to drop their packs or died and could not be retrieved. It was grim logic, but one Aneurin had learned well. When there was no 'safe' the saying became 'Better prepared than sorry'.

[Arvælyn]

“It is possible, Starlit Highness.” Arvælyn acknowledged with a glance to the jnquirsitibe starborn scion of the Unbroken Line.

“They may respond well to Supremacy… May even be familiar with it, if it existed in their time, but we have no way of knowing without an attempt.” He glanced to Finn,

“I leave it up to you as to whether we should try that, Sentinel Finn.” He offered with a deferential nod to his current captain and perennial beloved.

Tiseus cringed, loath to speak up with bad news to one of Finn’s stature and in front of so many other magnati, but at least he’d learnt to push through the discomfort when necessary.

“Apologies, Sentinel Finn, but I won’t be able to Traverse outside of the æther circle. Perhaps you will have noted in your journey here that the Zonam’s fell effect limits the paths available. To me it felt as though the streams of the slipspace were… truncated? Aneurin was able to fashion those beacons that extend its reach farther for some legs of the journey, but I suspect you had to travel on foot for long stretches between as we did? It is helpful to a point, but if we might have used Traversion to escape Albion’s reach, we’d have long since circumvented the labyrinth and avoided the guards at its ingress. I’m sure you find this as vexing as we, but unfortunately there is no quick and easy way back from here that we’ve been able to ascertain. If your wiser minds have an alternative we failed to consider, I would be happy to oblige, of course.” He bowed lower than usual, as he was feeling apologetic.

“I believe the Sentinel was referring to the beacon point in the other side of the labyrinth, Tiseus, not the æther points Aneurin mapped for us.” Arvælyn explained,

“It looked as though all hands were on deck at Castra Messor and I didn’t observe any spies or sentries in the vicinity of the maze entrance when I flew over it this morning. You should be able to abscond through the labyrinth whilst we distract the full force at Castra Messor with our parlay.” Arvælyn could sense Finn’s frustration with the obstacles to the use of magic in this area. It brought out a Solunarian side in him, Arry thought, though the Mesmer himself found an odd sense of peace without the undercurrent of so many Symphonies ever roiling in the background of his mind. It was an odd feeling and there was plenty of irritation mixed in with it, but in a way he felt more clear minded than he had in years.

“Ah! Of course, Exalted Highness! Apologies for my presumption. If we reach a beacon point I should be able to get us closer to the Umbrium proper and out of reach of the compromised.”

With that cleared up, Arvælyn nodded firmly to Finn.

“Tis a capital plan, Sentinel.” There was an enthusiasm in his voice that bespoke how pleased and impressed he was with the acumen of his maritus as a leader. This was far from an ideal situation, but he was proving remarkably capable and able to bend with the ever-evolving intelligence as it was presented. He looked to Raithen and smiled with a nod to his half-brother who, at last, felt like family in fact rather than solely as a matter of trivia. This time away from the civilised world battling for their lives day in and day out made him feel true, filial kinship with the Avialæ.

“I should be able to Mask us both, as long as you keep close.” Raithen was the superior flier of them twain, so Arry had little doubt he could manage keeping pace with him.

Ixiondus slowly lifted his head and ran a pale hand through sea foam hair grunting as he sat up on his bed roll.

“Oh shit! Did I miss brekkie?”

“I will fix you a plate!” Tiseus was quick to answer, as he moved to do so.

[Finn]

Finn didn't believe he had misspoken, but was happy the point was clarified and that Tiseus' concern could be dismissed. He made a quick calculation in his mind to determine which of his Sentinels would be least valuable confronting the unknowns of the Castra Messor and most valuable to the beleaguered students who would be making a break for it; he ordered that one to accompany them.

"If she gives an order, dominus," he said to Octavian, "let it be as the word of the Gods to you. But as you have become the natural leader of your camp, she will defer to your leadership until and unless the situation merits Sentinel interference." The Sentinel saluted him, nodded to Octavian. The prince nodded gravely.

"Discipuli, rejoice! Though a darkness not of our Mother was cast over your mission, your suffering has not been in vain. Your duty now is to return with what you have learned, and our duty is to recover the rest of your colleagues."

When Ixondus woke up, dismayed, Finn could only laugh.

Later...

As they approached the Castra Messor, he couldn't help but glance up as if he would see his beloved husband and brother-in-law, but was more pleased that he couldn't discern their presence. He had faith in them, faith that they were watching out for him and his team from on high, and if he couldn't see them, hopefully, neither could the compromised students.

His team on the ground had adapted to one fewer of them. None had complained or shown any sign that they wished they were the one accompanying the other students to the traversion beacon at the waypoint, nor had he expected they would. He was proud of them, too, proud to be their leader. It was an honor he sought to be worthy of.

He made several quick hand gestures. Of the Sentinels, only his veil was down, his identity possibly a tool in the upcoming confrontation. He held onto the faint thread of hope that this could be handled without violence, but he was steeled to the expected necessity of it, as well. His orders were accepted with curt nods of understanding, subtle gestures of 'heard' though he hadn't spoken.

His voice was a weapon now. He didn't know if it was a byproduct of magic or the relentless and varied training of his voice, but he had learned to shatter glass. It was likely he could shatter eardrums, or at least stun people if he was close enough and loud enough. Even without his magic, he was dangerous now. He was not the naive minstrel whose life and livelihood had been so easily threatened by Zaichæri thugs in a Kalzasern alley.

The Ambition to be the preeminent musician in the world was still quietly paramount in his heart, but he had learned to fight to protect himself and, more importantly, Arvælyn. His husband needed that less now that he had settled into his power. It felt right to use what he had learned and trained for to protect other people. He was cognizant of the fact that the more success his team had on this mission, the more ties between Luxium and Umbrium, capital and provinces there would be, the bright lights of the next generation put through the crucible together and saved by the Dragon Prince, his Radiant husband, and Phocion's Goldfinch.

"I am one with Aværys, and Aværys is with me," he murmured. Though he wasn't singing, it was a song, the percussive elements of speech a pattern that ordered his thoughts. He prepared himself to channel the God's grace, but would speak without magical enhancement first, arcane or divine.

By now, his airborne support was silent, invisible above. The students would be leaving the safety of their camp to journey toward the safety of home.

The greatest risk now was his, just short of where he knew there was a trap he likely couldn't disarm.

"Salve, discipuli!" he called, voice filling the area. In other circumstances, he might have appreciated the acoustics. For now, he could only hope it would reach the ears of those who could most easily be saved, those who might flock to the black banner of the Vigilia Argenti and increase their odds of success with those students who had been more deeply compromised.

[Raithen]

Raithen was relieved to hear that he, too, might be covered in the grace of Varvara as he flew with his brother. When their eyes connected, he smiled and nodded back, winking a little cheekily when it was suggested that he must keep close. It felt easier now, between him and his younger brother. It was difficult to think of Arvælyn that way for a multitude of reasons, but maybe they would get there, after all. Now that he knew better than to flirt with any sort of intention with either his newest sibling or said sibling's husband, it was less likely that his progress would be continually erased.

He laughed when Ixiondus woke with his question, but was sobered by the way the surrounding stones seemed to absorb the sound more quickly than was natural. Joy was not welcome in that place, at least, not the sort that Raithen brought.

When the students were packed to go, the moonborn making several circuits to check that everything they wanted was packed and with them, Raithen bade them farewell in a similar tone to how he had spent time with them the night before. Ixiondus he slung his arms around tightly if briefly, hoping to shore up the Neptori's resolve enough to make it out.

The time for departing had arrived, for all of them. Stepping close to Arvælyn,

"Fly as you will, I'll be close." Instructing anyone to fly in a specific formation when they had not practiced together would be foolish, but the Avialae was confident that he could keep up if he let the dragonborn lead. They took off together, Raithen watching, matching their breath, the beat of their wings. It was time to find an ending to this story, however it went.

[Arvælyn]

The bulk of the party sent back toward the labyrinth was pleased to do so. The most reluctant seemed to be Ixiondus and, though one might suspect some lingering effect of his apparent brainwashing to be the culprit, the lingering glances cast over his shoulder toward Raithen were signs of an alternative motivation. Whatever the case, they set off on their route as the winged pair mounted the air and Finn's force made for the opposing headquarters.

As Arvælyn led the way to Castra Messor to scope out the environs with Raithen, he found a much quieter, stiller landscape in the foreground of the ancient structure carved into the wall of the cavern. Where it had been a flurry of activity prior, it was now lifeless and unmoving save for their own party approaching from the West.

It was only when Finn and company drew closer to the steps of the ostensible temple that movement could be viewed and all parties watched as Albion Princeps stepped through the main entry point and strode to the top of the steps to look down at the approaching interlopers.

"I know why you are here, Herald of Hubris, but ere you dare to take another step toward this holy place, know you this: We are greater in number than you realise and armed with power these walls deny you. I speak not as a prince of elves, but as emissary to a lost people new revived. My duty to them is greater than any edict you may have been commanded to execute. They are vulnerable now, but not weak, and it is my bounden duty to see that they flourish. I bid you leave this place to our keeping. Allow us the time and privacy to rebuild and, when the time is right and these depths repeopled, we will return your compatriots to you changed, but unharmed. I do not wish to waste precious resources destroying you, when mine is a mission of creation. We ask for nothing more of you than time."

As he spoke, Arvælyn could see the tethers of Albion's power reaching backward toward the temple, but there were other chains that seemed to jut out to either side of him and disappear out of view. With greater focus, he was able to make out shapes... two large figures flanked the sunborn elf, looming over him but casting no shadow.

"Can you see them, brother?" Arvælyn whispered, and tried to use the tether of their common blood to impart a modicum of his emblem's power to Raithen. Much like when Phocion used the Mark of Midnight's Mother to share visions to Raithen, this allowed the avialæ to make out the insectoid shapes that Arvælyn was seeing, which remained concealed through magic or some other means from the view of ther others.

[Finn]

Far away now, Octavian was wondering whether this was the correct choice. He knew that leaders had to make the mortal calculus with regard to people's lives, and he knew it was his duty to follow the orders of the Sentinel tasked with recovering his colleagues and him. It felt wrong to retreat, though, leaving others, especially Perseus, behind.

Whatever the burden on his heart, the burden in his arms was the hastily shrouded corpse of Kenofer—mortal calculus, indeed. Somewhat desiccated already, the remains thankfully didn't stink. He almost wish they did, though, that his burden be more of a punishment.

Kenofer had not been a part of his studium, but that hardly mattered. His father expected him to always have his eye on the bigger picture, even if his part in it wasn't quite so outsized.

They would reach the marker unimpeded, it seemed, and they would stand guard for those who remained, or prepare to depart with news for the powers that be.

Meanwhile, in front of the Castra Messor, Finn stood, not wreathed in his God's grace. Not yet.

"You know me," he said. "Or you imagine you do. I am at a disadvantage. I come from farther away than these others, but I am aware that even the Umbrium is built upon the bones of more ancient nations. If anyone imagined there were survivors down here, they did not share those imaginings with me. You judge me for a Moritasi Who spent over a millennium incarcerated, reevaluating His views along with His Divine Sister. There is much you don't know about the world above.

"I was sent to rescue our young luminaries from their trials, not to make war on unknown neighbors. This realm is inhospitable to us, but not to you. Please, as a show of good faith, release them from your chains that I may know there is a possibility where they are, in fact, returned to us unharmed and not changed beyond all recognition.

"Perhaps we can aid you rather than you earn the ire of Gods and Greatwyrms, who might delve this deep for their children."

[Raithen]

The Avialea had been accustomed to accepting the insertion of the will and magic of his bloodline since before he had memories. Arvælyn's touch was new, but not unwelcome, and Raithen opened to the intrusion. Shadows fluttered over his sight as his own vision was augmented by the magic of sibling and Deity.

What appeared on either side of Albion was doubly difficult for him to concentrate on, since if he tried too hard, his natural vision tried to fully reassert itself. But he could find a balance, let himself process the aetheric information, if he was careful.

"I do." He answered, hovering like a shadow himself, so close above his brother that they could speak to each other. Raithen could have reached out and wrapped his hands around the dragonborn's waist without disrupting their flight, at least, not for his own part. Their wings moved in perfect time, such that, even if something had been able to see them, they would have seemed one creature.

"They are cursed of Their Divinities." It was all he needed to know. Had the creatures not defied the Twins, Raithen might have been willing to listen to their plea for the right to live. But they must now be crushed as the insects they resembled.

Finn's voice carried in the silent, empty space. It was a fair attempt. If the beings were willing to release the discipli then their fate could be left to wiser heads at a later time. It was like the human to give them a moment in which their fate was in their own control, however fleetingly.

[Arvælyn]

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"I know only what my comrades told me of your encounter. That you are likely a Bishop in service to the Strelathi. Were we stronger, we would now be speaking the fatal tongue, but I cannot risk losing what we have accomplished and so I condescend to parley with one I believe to be my mortal foe. My ancestors shriek in protest even as this elf in whom I am vested pleads for me to listen and learn, but I cannot learn without time... We cannot change without the growth of a greater mind than any one may possess.

"I am not ignorant of your claims, but I remain unconvinced. Generations of war are written in my blood and, though those wars be ancient, they are the sum of the thoughts with which I hatched into your brave new world. We have been deceived before. The Strelathi deceived us before we even had a concept of deception..." Albion trailed off.

"Good faith?" In Arvælyn's eyes and Raithen's, the mantis-like heads of Albion's ostensible guards sharply tilted to one side in concert with the Luxian Prince's own identical gesture. "We are severed from the sensation of our Creator, whose trail scent guided our lives when we were many and varied. Perhaps if we were not fumbling with hampered senses we might have 'good faith' to offer, but we must first secure our survival. First we must thrive..."

In the air above, Raithen would suddenly lose the ability to see the creatures and the tethers that connected them to Albion. It was abrupt enough to be startling, and if he looked to Arvælyn in confusion, he would find his brother's bronze skin going pale as Phocion's. His golden hair darkened to a shadowy black and his eyes of fire turned to cold silvery white. A shocked look was frozen on Arvælyn's face as he folded his wings in mid-air and began hurdling to the ground to land in front of Albion with a force that looked as though it might kill him. Somehow, he landed in a crouch coccooned by his own, now jet black wings. As they slowly unfolded, they seemed to melt into shadow as not Arvælyn, but Varvara Herself, seemed to emerge from that shadowy chrysalis.

As She spoke, the words were in that same strange language Perseus had used, but somehow all present understood them.

"ܐܢܫܐ ܟܬܒܐ ܐܝܬܘܗܝ. ܪܒܐ ܫܘܦܪܢܐ ܐܬܚܕܬ. ܐܠܐ ܗܫܐ ܚܘܒ̈ܝܢ ܕܐܦܩܘ ܐܚܪܢܐ ܐܝܟ ܢܬܪܦܘܢ" (The human is correct. Much has changed, but now severed chains may, at last, be mended.)

As Albion replied in that same obscure tongue untranslated by Her Divinity, Varvara glanced over Her shoulder to look at Finn. In his mind, he alone would hear Her sentiments for him:

"I recognise that Deus Ex Machina is a tired cliche in Solunarium and so anticlimactic a resolution to so hard-wrought a saga as this one, but know thou this: Thou didst well t'invoke My Brother's Mark. He brought My attention to this matter and, with thy Maritus as My bridge, I have pierced the obscuring veil to look upon My lost children once more. This matter will be resolved and thou shalt be rewarded handsomely for thy troubles. I need but borrow this boy's body a spell, but he shall be returned to thee in due course with all the answers you'll doubtless be wanting for."

All of that imparted in the blink of an eye, Varvara returned Her full attention to Albion as the pair exchanged words in their ancient tongue and he stepped aside to allow her to saunter past him into the temple.

[Finn]

Finn was still processing these words from Albion's lips when everything started to move quite quickly. His guts lurched when he realized Arvælyn was falling, then Arvælyn stopped falling—not with fatal violence, Twins be praised—and he went from vessel of Varvara to Her avatar in the blink of an eye.

She spoke in their language, but this time, perhaps with Aværys' gift of tongues augmented by the presence of His Sister, he could understand. And his heart could stop hammering against his ribs; his own maritus was safe in Her hands, even if he misliked being left outside to wait. He didn't have to like what his Gods required; he had merely to obey.

A hand signal was all that was required for his Sentinels to stand down, to carefully collect closer to him. There were still hidden traps they did not want to trigger, but combat, at least, seemed to have been averted.

"Raithen," he called. "Ad me!"

Reconnaissance was no longer necessary. They had merely to wait upon Varvara's time and return. If She deemed it necessary the students abide a while, he could return with that and consider his mission a success but for Kenofer and those still missing. Perhaps they were within, or their locations were known to Albion. He only knew what Octavian's lot had reported.

Decius pulled his veil down as he approached. The man's eyes were usually the eyes of a man who had seen too much; they were not jaded now, but wondering at the apparition of Domina Varvara. The Twins granted him power by association as much as anything else.

"We await Her pleasure," Finn announced, and then fell into reverie.

Whatever shadowy creatures had dominated the students, who could cull usable aether from this environment, it seemed perhaps they worshipped dead Ugrimal, saw him as a cleric of Streleon. He would have to consider the linguistics more in depth with an expert at a later time. Streleon to Strelathi...

While he didn't allow himself to relax just yet, he supposed success was now in sight.