Chapter 68

Lightbringer

“Sever the head of the one who feeds you, to become the one who feeds.”

Proverbs

It watched. Silently. Intently. The green pastures spreading far in front of him, capped with the scar-tipped mountaintops surrounding the extending valley. The blue skies had lost their luster, growing redder, yet the golden ball of fire still persisted. Shining. Glistening. Warming. The same as before, it remembered. At least as much as it could trust the memory inside. The fuzzy, hazy feeling that seemed to vanish and appear at will.

Distant flashes fluctuated, pictures inside of pictures, melting and molding, three cretins becoming one. Then a giant blade cleaving the sky, made of gold and luster unfound. It broke it. The blade. The scars still ached, though having healed a long time ago. It looked out and about, warmed by the sea of fire around, the splinters of ashen-gold and coral flaming out in the perennial glory. The Kindling has forgiven them, once again. What time was this? Forty-eight. It recalled each and every time vividly. The Kindling had forgiven their failures time and again, and had given them new chances. Warm. Loving. Forgiving.

It ached to betray the Kindling, to fall short of the goal each and every time. The humans… the humans always held it – the inferior creatures, the ilk of flesh and bones made for death. But the humans had Illumine, and they had Nubilus, and they had Sanguine. Why were all of them against the Kindling? It didn’t know.

The humans had the gifts so plentiful it was enviable; yet, it did not envy. It had the Kindling. The most giving of them all. They were not creatures of flesh and bones, for the Kindling had given them the bodies immortal – as perennial as the golden star up above it was birthed from. Today was another opportunity. Another chance to face the human creatures and to set their filth ablaze. The Kindling was waning, it knew. The chances will grow fewer and fewer. Just like the rest, the Kindling needed the fire and the fuel, but the vile humans had abandoned it, replaced it by their other Gods and Lords. Unforgivable. The world would burn once again, and remember the days of Fire. Remember the days when the whole of the lands kneeled and bowed to the Kindling, worshiping the trail of the blaze, kissing the feet of the fire.

**

She sat in a simple splendor, on top of the charitable, wooden floor gated by four, hollow walls, holed by a single window shining the light of the day into the inside. Save for her, there was no one and nothing. Kneeling with her eyes closed, she appeared asleep, almost comatose, unwavering, and unmoving in the moment.

Clad in the transparent robe of gold revealing her chiseled figure, the sight that no other soul would ever see was painted, standing lonesome, quaint, and beautiful. The golden, wavy hair fell around her shoulders and over her breasts, shimmering like the candlelight in the dark, illuminating her, giving her an apparent, golden sheen that seemed to stroke around the edges of her figure.

The amber eyes flared open as she lifted her head; the set of bangs fell over her forehead, wavy hair encapsulating the sides of her face, almost framing it as a perfection unmatched. A pair of full, pink lips parted faintly as the amber eyes blinked twice over, seeming confused temporarily. She seemed to sigh then and there as she got up, her body suddenly bursting into a gust of golden shine, the transparent dress transforming into a gold-cast armor, thickly veiling her figure.

She walked up to the window and looked out, down onto the city beneath her, one swarming with anxiety and worry – yet, to her surprise, it was not there. She was certain it would be, as the Bells have rung, signaling the coming of the Fire and the Kindled. She was anxious and she worried – how could not the commonmen and commonwomen feel the same? Yet, they didn’t. Though she still spotted some worried faces, they were a minority amidst the strangely passionate and fiery ones.

The eyes that streaked through the streets showed determination and courage matching even the bravest of the soldiers, even outpacing them. What had changed? She wondered. Wanting to know the answer, she snapped her fingers silently as the gust of wind burst violently behind her for a second, splitting open the membrane of space and sucking through a figure clad in a similarly-golden, yet far less decorated, armor.

“… what is going on, Eydun?” she asked her aide without turning around. Her voice was melodic, bewitching, cruel to the ears of the man kneeling behind her who had to resist the voices in him whispering devilish things.

“Mother Tymelea,” the man said, his body shaking as he continued kneeling. “A group of nearly sixty thousand volunteers departed for the Brightfloods this morning.”

“Volunteers?” Tymelea exclaimed in barely hidden shock, glancing back at the man who didn’t dare look up and meet her gaze. “Are you certain?”

“Very much so, yes,” the man nodded. “I was there, Mother. If anything, there should have been more, but there was no space for them. It is expected that another four batches of sixty thousand will depart over the next two months.”

“… why?” Tymelea asked the simplest, yet the most important question.

“Her Highness, Princess Olivia came forward two days ago,” Eydun explained. Though he was well into his fifties, his appearance was that of a man in his late twenties at best. Clear and smooth skin from top to bottom, golden, short hair, and a pair of dim-dyed amber eyes would make almost any woman who saw him swoon, all but the one he wanted the most. "And held a speech in front of the Royal Grounds, indicating she would be departing for the Brightfloods and the Silent Crossing to engage the Kindled herself. I imagine that her impassioned speech inspired a lot of people, mostly young men with families as well as a lot of soldiers in retirement to come forth.”

“… Olivia? That child?” Tymelea mumbled. “Though I recall her being well-intended as far as those circles go, I would not think of her as someone quite as such. Have you uncovered her intentions?”

“I have listened-in to her conversation with her two brothers,” Eydun said. “And, as far as she would say, she is doing so because the histories always erase the sacrifices of commonmen and commonwomen in lieu of giving the Heroes all the attention. She feels it is unjust, as they all fought the same.”

“… she is a brave one,” Tymelea sighed. “Jovyer didn’t try and stop her?”

“… strangely, no. If anything, he gave it a silent approval. Should I go and ask him?”

“No,” she shook her head. “You will only raise further suspicions. This entire ordeal… is awfully untimely. It has the potential to shake the outcome of the Holy War beyond our measures. You should also go, to the Brightfloods I mean. Keep an eye out on what is happening and what exactly is she doing. For all we know, this might be her last-ditch bid for the throne.”

“It is still insufficient.” Eydun commented.

“That may be so,” Tymelea said. “But what if it is only just the beginning? Just over a year left is more than enough to swing the hearts of the commonmen and commonwomen entirely, and she could build her case for the Crown on that alone. We cannot allow it.”

“… may I say something, Mother?” Eydun spoke out after a momentary, internal struggle over something.

“Speak.” Tymelea said, looking at him.

“It… well, it might bode better for us than our original plans.”

“… what inclines you to say so?” she asked, frowning.

“Olivia had become extremely engaged with the Principality,” he said. “As well as the practicing of the Doctrine. She had come to Endorse the Light thrice a week for over half a year, every week without fault, and she has engaged on multitudes of levels, both with our charity side, as well as the philosophy anchors. She has grown well-liked because of her light and easygoing nature, and, as a lot of Weavers would say, due to her sun-beamed and warm smile."

“…” she was all but convinced, now, that the young Princess had set her eyes on the throne. Why, though? And if she had such aspirations, why wait for so long to begin achieving them? Those were the questions, however, that she did not need to know. “What are her chances, then, by your calculations?”

“As it stands now, none,” Eydun shook his head. “Even with this effort, she had only put herself on the map, reminded the general populace that she even exists. However… I did notice a fairly distinct figure in her entourage.”

“… who?” Tymelea asked with curiosity.

“… Lo’kret, Mother.”

“…” Tymelea’s eyebrows twitched as her lips curled up into an angry smile; that name… that name was vile. Everything about that man was vile. Every inch of that filthy body, especially those devil's lips. The things that creature sang about her… the way he painted her as a decadent woman who bewitched the King and birthed eight children the world did not know of… that vile creature could write a story even the Gods would find themselves flushing over, and believing it. “She will use him to spread a story… probably an exaggerated version of her heroics…”

“I think so, too.” Eydun nodded, rather happy that the Mother had forgone tossing tables, chairs, and ripping holes in the walls whenever she heard the name Lo’kret. Perhaps, he prayed, she had finally begun healing.

“For however clever Olivia may be,” Tymelea said, taking a deep breath, still reeling inwardly. “I cannot imagine her being the instigator of this. Follow them still, and try to uncover what’s behind the curtain, Eydun. Why can’t the Holy Wars ever be as simple as they look to be two years before they begin? Aah…”