Forged in the crucible of gods

Lynne hesitated at the threshold to the Cathedral of Fire. All was silent and still inside, cloaked in a night peaceful and heavy, speckled with stars and replete with dreamers.

“Goddess…?” whispered one of her priestesses. “Do we enter?”

They waited on her word. That trust weighed heavy; easier when she was the Stormmother. When she did not know their names.

Aaliyah. Malala. Sophia. Esmerelda. Belle. I carry them in my wake.

The square rattled at another blow between her daughter and the dragon.

“Goddess?”

“We enter,” Lynne said. “Follow me.”

She led her children into the misty Cathedral. Past the crowded pews where families slumped together; past the huddled stairwells where strangers snored against each other. She led them to the first row, where the mist was so thick she could barely breathe, and then invited them to sit on the pew.

“Stormmother…” muttered Aaliyah. “I find myself…so very sleepy.”

“Yes, child,” the angel of oceans agreed, “so you do.”

Lynne steered Belle to the pew as well. The young woman did not respond, her face ravaged and tear-stained.

“Sleep now until morning comes,” the angel of ocean bade the mourning wife.

Belle slumped. With a whimper, she whispered, “Louise…”

Then she and her priestesses all fell to slumber, and Lynne turned to the demons upon the altar.

Mirielle and Thea knelt atop the altar, their skirts mingled and hands intertwined. Heads bowed, they prayed.

A day I would never have thought to see…

“This is all I can offer them,” Mirielle admitted, avoiding her gaze.

“You are a comfort to them on this final day,” Lynne praised gently. An admission of guilt lingered beneath her words – an offer that should have been given years ago.

Mirielle twitched, squeezing her eyes shut. “Now is not the time for reunions, Lynne.”

Thea gasped softly. “The Cathedral…resists us…”

As well it should, my dear, a bulwark against dominion in all its forms.

All three felt the Cathedral burning against their flesh, seeking to dislodge the invaders.

“The Cathedral seeks to protect them,” Lynne said aloud.

“And what do you think we are doing?!” Mirielle growled. Her lullaby lashed out, notes hot as a forge.

Lynne stumbled back in surprise. She cares. For all her mad schemes, she cares for this city and these people.

Swallowing, Lynne raised her hands. “I…am sorry. I should know love obvious before me.”

Alisandra called me mother; Wave’s Lament speaks my name anew; demons pray. I have been blind, but now I must learn to see.

“If you’re so sorry, then help!”

Despite everything, the angel of oceans laughed. “Fair.”

Lynne mounted the steps and kneeled on the altar. Her skirts mingled amongst the demons, and she offered her hands. “Let the war end, Mirielle. The need is too great now.”

“Do you think I hunger to join your swelling family too?!” the demon quipped.

“I ask not for myself.”

Mirielle swore softly, shook her head, and pressed her palm to Lynne’s. Three hearts; three anchors amongst the world; three fools to grasp for power.

They shared more than they would have wished as the Cathedral redoubled its assault against the parasites in its blood.

It burns! Why must it burn? Why must Malkuth suffer endlessly?

We must hold, Mirielle, or the program was for naught.

Don’t you think I know that?!

Lynne hesitated. One thing to accept gifts from the Mishkan family, generous beyond sense. Another entirely to impose herself between these two who shared something tender and quiet…

Then the Wyrm slammed into the Cathedral, claws scrabbling at the windows like a hungry predator, and there was no room for such worries.

Lynne the Maiden threw her mind to the young woman who sashayed into House Mishkan from the deepest gutter, adopted a new name, and began beguiling half the Conclave – and that before she Bloomed! Those memories she cast like a net upon the sea, and she called for the Mirielle she once shared a House with.

Is that all you can remember of me? A teenager in silk? I was a foolish child – I believed Mishkan lies!

I should have listened to your woes, Mirielle, but all I heard were my own.

The foul presence of the Wyrm roared against them, shadow scraping at the doors. What little magic is this, huddled and fearful? The crunchy shell around a treat!

Cracks spread across the parapets, and the sleeping refugees felt nightmare approach.

You were merely running from your Tempest! I was Comfort, and you were eager to partake. Everyone was always so eager to partake, a river of need beyond any ability to sate… And yet Gabriel refuses to lift a single holy finger to stay the flow! He squats upon the wealth of Eden and watches them die!

Because he wants this to be a world of men!

Mirielle snarled, equal parts grief and anger. And yet here we arrive!

Jörmungandr laughed; windows shattered inwards, spraying into the mist. I hear your desperate voices. Am I interrupting?

Thea emerged, an army in one, to raise her hands and reinforce the wards. Her skin and the air both glowed with circuitry of Light, and she endured the lashing shadow without a sound.

Yet Thea was also in Lynne’s mind, a part of this trio. Strange that the demon doll could give so much of herself and yet reveal so little.

I was alone so long, Thea admitted, an unusual bashfulness in her thoughts. I no longer remember how to sing. It all becomes noise, chaos and confusion. Let me walk beside you…just a little bit longer…

The Illuminated attempted to draw them apart – to pull the Cathedral into that quiet solitude which emanated from the angel beneath the multitudes.

But the dragon wrapped his teeth around the parapets and yanked, keeping them firmly moored.

Come now, little angels. I know you too grow tired of this play…

Alisandra’s furious Light crashed into Jörmungandr, flinging the dragon out to sea, and bought them precious seconds.

Long enough for Thea to knit a few more windows together before the Wyrm collided with the walls once more.

Mirielle grit her teeth. How could you tear down a Foundation, Lynne?! How could you bring this doom?!

For the same reason you would embrace a demon’s name, Lynne whispered. Because I love them. I love you.

The demon of indulgence screamed in frustration, and the raw force of her lullaby smashed the Wyrm away from the Cathedral a moment.

Then why did you let him take me?!

There it was: the wound lay bare. An angel, young and soft, taken to bear witness to her final fate: dead and undying in the cold grey stars.

To taste eternity when she barely knew two decades.

Lynne flicked through a ream of excuses, but she knew them to be false by how easily they would slide off the tongue. No, the answer was petty and trite.

Because I thought surely the Archangel was the wisest of us.

She slipped her fingers between Mirielle’s own and squeezed.

Your anger is right and true.

Jörmungandr appeared once more in the sky, regarded the obstinate lump of gold and faith, and inhaled.

But we must hold this line.

Through Mirielle, Lynne heard the nightmares churning. The shadow of the dragon that spread across Ruhum, echoing…

We buy their dreams with our blood.

That truth they shared.

Jörmungandr spat hellfire like the sun.

The fire and fury crashed into the Cathedral – into them. Worse than birth, worse than death, it seared to the marrow and gnawed at the mind. It made sure they knew what the monster planned for them.

Lynne grasped the demons tighter.

It sought the cracks of exhaustion that clouded the night. It burned all the hotter in the crevices of despair.

Thea the Illuminated gave a sharp gasp and silently evaporated – her multitudes burning to unrecognizable husks with blackened eyes and tongues.

It sought the old wounds and doubts that haunted quiet moments.

Mirielle whimpered, clutching Lynne’s hand tightly.

Lynne…why…why does it always have to hurt so much?

Mirielle! You can—

Why can’t I ever stop it?!

And the angel of comfort fell away.

The full force of Jörmungandr’s fire roared into Lynne alone. It melted the cobblestones in the square; tore apart the components of the air, consumed the atoms, and scoured the electrons; burned the memory of trees and reminders of a peaceful Harvest fair.

Savored all this and looked to the angel of oceans for the next morsel.

Yet Lynne heard Alisandra, brave and young, the daughter who would stand alone against the dragon.

Felt the sleeping people who would never wake if she yielded.

And this fire will not stop with me. With anything.

The hunger would crack this planet like an egg, slurp the yolk, and emerge still voracious….

Even Aure cannot build a house to stand against this monster, Lynne thought in despair.

One of the towers melted, metal running like water down the side.

I am sorry…that I could not give more.

The great doors warped, and the golden inlay melted into long streaks.

Even the dreamers fell silent, braced for the inevitable.

We give all that we can. I’m sorry.

In that moment, Lynne noticed something odd.

The altar no longer burned beneath her, and an azure stain spread in a circle around her.

“You would have me?” she whispered softly to the stones.

What answered was an echo of a man she thought had long abandoned this star.

Dominion is but a word. All who hold peace in their hearts are welcome here.

Her azure-blessed colors were welcomed into the stone as kin, and the Cathedral of Fire whispered words that had been hammered into its foundation centuries ago just for her.

Harken to this truth, angel.

Great Works are not built. They are lived.

The raging fire revealed metal beneath the roads of Lumia. Great, golden pipes that ran the length and breadth of the city – and far beyond.

Why calm a single island when you can remake the world? chuckled the echo. We share a dream. We hoped for Lynne to return from the mists…and here she stands.

Ready.

Hylas. Verdandi. Aure. They left matters to her.

Lynne’s Great Work began here.

I can hold this line.

She let her colors run. The frescos shifted to tell new stories, and the runes upon the mantle wrote themselves anew. Fire gave way to healing water, rushing through the pipes. In the Conclave, the glass dome stained itself with a new scene: a Maiden goddess with a blessed daughter at each hand.

Lynne spread herself through stone and rock, near and far, the deepest bowels and the highest reaches, and she held.

***

Golden light suffused Lumia. It rippled in the sea. It rang through the air.

Jörmungandr bit off the hellfire, fell to the ruin of Visage Tower, and regarded the work of Aure coiled through the very marrow of the world.

“This is what I hate about fighting angels. They just never know when to quit.”

Alisandra landed at the ruined Cathedral square and marveled at the glow in the air.

It rang to her, a Song like one she used to know…a love that grew and grew…

“How about you, angelsdotter? Not all that long til morning – or it would be if your sun still existed. Shall we spar across the plains next or try something different? Chess, perhaps?”

As if in answer to the singing Cathedral, the sky opened.

A Power and a Principality split the heavens with its passage, roaring in Light and purpose.

The Archangel returned.