She didn't step forward.
She did not reach.
She watched.
The air between Inari and Aurelius trembled with reunion—space folding into warmth, grief softened by shared breath, foreheads meeting in a gesture so intimate it felt intrusive to witness. The glow of Akasha swelled in response, as if the realm itself approved of their union. As if it fed on it.
Her jaw tightened.
Perhaps with jealousy.
What felt like Naten thickened around them, golden and primordial, humming with inherited mastery. The voices of tribes long turned to myth whispered through the lattice of light. A thousand bloodlines woven into one radiant archive.
It was confusing.
Inari. The same creature who had bathed battlefields in crimson. Who had once spoken of vengeance as if it were oxygen. Who, unknowingly had taught her that mercy was a currency the powerful could not afford.
Now he leaned into Aurelius as though the universe had narrowed to a single heartbeat.
She exhaled through her nose, slow and sharp.
“I dont… I dont understand any of this.”
Emotion, to her, was a tool. A spark to ignite action. A lever to move another. It was not something to drown in. Not something to cradle. Yet, there it was. Emotion, awe inspiring and Tangible. A radiant dawn emanating from them. One could take. The glow for naten, perhaps mana, or maybe even a source of energy yet seen. However, she was sure…this was the presence of something else, something raw and unfiltered. Not like naten or its spiritual counterpart, mana
Akasha felt it. She could see it….
The golden lattice flickered—not in warmth, but in reflection and she did not linger in memory. She did not revisit warmth. That path led to weakness, right? To longing. To the fragile ache she had spent years carving out of herself.
But Akasha did not release her, not when she was so close to ‘seeing,’ for the first time.
It showed her the moment she thought she'd chosen power over vulnerability, so she thought. The day she decided invincibility was worth any cost. The slow erosion of laughter from her own voice.
Azazel’s silhouette fading into the distance.
Her warmth dissolving into cold ambition.
The glow dimmed.
Nagase blinked.
She had not moved—but something inside her had.
Aurelius turned toward her fully
He watched her.
Not the sharpness in her eyes. Not the impatience in her stance. But the fracture beneath it—the quiet misalignment she herself could not name.
Nagase stood firm, arms loose at her sides, chin slightly raised. Defiant. Practical. Grounded in a philosophy that had never failed her: Power is what wins.
And yet—
She had seen something.
That moment between Aurelius’s and Inari had not been subtle. It had weight. Presence. A field that pressed against the senses without force. Gentle, but undeniable.
She could recognize energy. Mana. Naten.
This was not that….and she was certain of it.
Naten and Mana, they burned, grazed, scratched. In higher concentration they destroyed, obliterated, erased. This presence…It did not dominate. It did not consume.
It was frighteningly simple, pure and indivisible.
Her brow furrowed slightly.
“Love…?”
The word felt… inefficient.
Aurelius stepped toward her—not closing distance to intimidate, but to meet her where she stood.
“You struggle with this awareness,” he said, voice calm, grounded, “because you measure power by force.”
Nagase didn’t flinch.
“I struggle with irrelevance.” She replied.
Aurelius was patient. As if the young Vesta were his own daughter. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, picking his words with surgical precision.
“Corruption. Coercion. Destruction, Dominance. ” he continued. “You’ve built your understanding on outcomes. The pattern you saw, yea…it was there;but, it wasnt truth. Who wins. Who remains. Who bends the world to their will. This is a shadow of power, a pale imitation of strength. The result of a confused and lost god.”
A faint tilt of her head.
“You assume a king is strong because he conquers. Because he rules for a long time. Because no option—no matter how cruel—is off the table if it preserves his position. Thus. He is powerful”
Nagase’s gaze narrowed slightly.
Aurelius continued.
“But you’ve seen something else,” he said. “You just didn’t measure it.”
The air around them softened—not weakening, but focusing.
“The grieving mother,” Aurelius said quietly. She shelters her children from the cruel kings policies. “The tired father.” He, despite the futility, rises every morning to protect the mother and child from the famine and sick design of the cruel king policy. When they fail. They are weak. When they endure….you consider weak. Only if they can break themselves of the king's force, do you recognize their strength?
Nagase’s breath hitched—almost imperceptibly.
“Power,” he continued, “Cant be measured simply by how well it disfigures, binds or what it destroys. It is what protects. What creates. And most of all… what it is willing to sacrifice.”
Nagase scoffed—a reflex, not conviction.
“You and my father would get along just fine. Your wisdom doesnt reflect reality. This sounds like a story,” she said.
Aurelius met her gaze evenly.
“This is not some idealized perfect world veiw.,” he replied. “It is the oldest truth there is.”
His voice deepened—not louder, but heavier.
“A rabbit, armed with nothing but instinct and fragility, will stand before a predator to protect its Family.”
The image pressed into the air between them—small, trembling, yet unmoving.
“Would the tiger show the same courage,” Aurelius asked, “if size and brutality were taken from it?”
Nagase didn’t answer.
“Or would it feel the same helplessness as the gazelle,” he continued, “watching its newborn taken?”
The question lingered.
“Is the duck who remains with her eggs as the forest burns a fool?” Aurelius asked softly. “Or is she the purest expression of conviction? Of power that chooses meaning over survival?”
Silence.
“Have you ever known a king,” he finished, “to give up his life for something other than his selfish ambitions.”
The words landed.
Not on her mind.
On something deeper.
Nagase didn’t move—but inside, something shifted violently.
Her father.
Not the legend. Not the force. Not the architect of power.
*once…
The man who never restrained her. Never doubted her. Never once chose the world over her existence.
Even knowing. knowing what she would become. knowing she would be the one to end him.
He had seen it. Understood it. Accepted it.
And still—
He loved her.
Unconditionally.
He would let the world burn before raising his hand against her.
Nagase’s jaw tightened.
Her brother surfaced next—Azazel. Warmth. Laughter. The version of herself that once existed in proximity to something she could no longer fully access.
Aurelius watched the realization unfold.
He did not interrupt it.
Because this… this was not something he could teach.
Only something she could recognize.
“You believed emotion was a weakness,” Aurelius said quietly. “A liability to be removed.”
Nagase’s voice came out lower now.
“Oh, I removed it,” she said.
“No....you tried.” Aurelius replied.
Not accusing.
Just true.
“And in doing so… you severed yourself from one of the oldest forces in existence.”
The golden light around him pulsed—not brighter, but deeper. The same presence she had felt between him and Inari—steady, unwavering, impossible to ignore.
“Love is not the absence of strength,” Aurelius said. “It is the reason strength exists at all.”
Nagase’s eyes flicked—just briefly—to Inari.
Then back.
“What you felt between us,” Aurelius continued, “was not mana. Not naten.”
A pause.
“It was alignment. Alignment with something ancient, something capable of traversing every known, unknown and unknowable realms.”
He stepped closer—just enough that his presence could be felt without overwhelming her.
“Love… is not a weakness or a game for children,” he said. “It is not passive. It is not naive. It is beyond description. It can't perfectly be surmised.”
His voice dropped.
The words settled into her like weight.
“You have seen power as the ability to take,” Aurelius said.
Another step.
“But true power… has the ability to give when there is nothing left to offer.”
Nagase didn’t respond.
But for the first time—
She didn’t reject it either.
Akasha pulsed gently around them, as if acknowledging the shift.
Another step.
“You’ve seen it claim lives, nations, worlds…..whole galaxies.
The golden light around him did not flare—it deepened,like a horizon revealing more of itself the longer you stared.
“But there is a power…” he continued, voice quieter now, yet impossibly heavier,
“It does not stop searching. It does not abandon. And when you find it—truly find it—no weapon, no spell, no king can ever break it.”
Nagase’s eyes held his.
Unmoving.
“Love,” Aurelius said.
The word did not echo.
It settled.
“A power so absolute it crosses every known and unknown realm. It will descend into the deepest abyss… with no plan of escape that does not include you.”
The air between them stilled.
Nagase didn’t respond.
That alone showed her interest.
Akasha pulsed gently around them, as if acknowledging the shift—not celebrating, not confirming… simply witnessing.
And somewhere deep within her, something long buried did not return—
…but it moved.
Not enough to break her.
Not enough to change her.
But enough…
to remind her it was still there.
“Youve made your point. I will concede that your ideology isn't held up by sentiment alon3;but,….youve yet to explain how any of this will help. I came here to find an answer to the coming war and im sure….its not a feeling in my heart. I mean. You said the quiet part out loud, love is powerful. Sure. Its strong enough to override logic, thats what its designed to do. The drip down your spine, that pulse in your chest. Its very convincing. It's certainly the reason a man will stand against the horsemen, but….how will love, kill anything?
Aurelius motioned to speak
“Oh and spare me the rhetoric of the swan dying of heart ache.”
Inariel laughed and Aurelius grimmanced at them both before cutting a slight smile himself.
“You see… if you want to find anything here,” Aurelius said, his voice settling into something almost conversational, “you have to know where to look.”
A small pause.
“And the answer is always… within. Your heart.”
Nagase scoffed.
It wasn’t loud—but it was sharp enough to cut the moment clean in half.
Aurelius laughed.
Just a little.
“Pleaseeeee….more feelings in my heart?!”
Nagase shouted.
“I know. I know,” he said, raising a hand slightly in surrender. “This isn’t the way you wanted the truth to sound. Or better said… explained.” His smile softened. “But give me a chance.”
Nagase’s expression flattened—unimpressed, already drifting toward boredom.
“You don’t see it,” Aurelius continued. “Mostly because you’re overwhelmed with options. I recall you saying you can view time so freely… you can see where the poet gained his inspiration.”
Nagase didn’t deny it.
“I imagine that has made many things easier for you,” he went on, “but understanding yourself… and others?”
A pause.
“More difficult.”
Nagase tilted her head, eyes half-lidded.
“Ohhh… a lecture?”
“Indeed,” Aurelius replied calmly. “Class is still in session.”
A faint smile tugged at her lips—but she said nothing.
Aurelius turned slightly, gesturing to the golden lattice of Akasha, to the currents of mana, memory, and spirit flowing as one.
“Let me return to the heart,” he said. “You understand matter. You understand spirit. You need that to even access what you call the Unseen.”
He looked back at her.
“But they are not separate.”
Nagase’s brow creased slightly.
“You believe the heart’s function is to pump blood,” Aurelius continued, “and that the body serves a mechanical purpose. That is… incomplete.”
The air around them vibrated faintly.
“All is vibration. Frequency. Living energy. The matter is alive.”
Nagase crossed her arms.
“…Meaning.”
“The energy in your heart,” Aurelius said, “responds to magnetism. It attracts. It aligns. It draws in what you feel… what you desire… what you believe and it connects us to everything..”
Nagase’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“...Which means?”
Aurelius’s gaze sharpened—not aggressively, but precisely.
“If you want to find the Horsemen,” he said, “you don’t begin with their location.”
A beat.
“You begin with what connects you”
That landed.
“The way you view power,” he continued, “is not random. Nor is it simply the product of your upbringing.”
Inari, who had been quiet—amused even—stilled.
Aurelius’s voice lowered.
“It is an influence.”
Nagase’s arms loosened slightly.
“…A spell?” she asked.
“Yes,” Aurelius replied. “But not the kind that requires sigils or lunar alignment.”
He gestured outward—toward the city, the world, the unseen currents threading everything together.
“An idea. A belief. A story.”
He looked directly at her.
“Those are spells too.”
Silence.
“I believe the Horsemen are responsible,” Aurelius said, “for this discordant, perverted view of power… trust… and connection.”
Nagase shrugged slightly.
“Sure. Corruption. Propaganda. Effective tools.”
Aurelius nodded.
“Yes… but the Horsemen rarely act directly.”
Inari’s gaze sharpened.
“How can you be sure?”
Aurelius didn’t hesitate.
“It’s documented,” he said. “In the scrolls Zeik acquired.”
Nagase’s eyes flicked up at that.
“The Horsemen find willing participants,” Aurelius continued. “They offer power—raw, unrefined, without guidance. In exchange, those individuals enact subterfuge, distortion…influence.”
He paused.
“The temple is not a place.”
A beat.
“It is the mind.”
The golden lattice dimmed slightly in certain threads—dark veins pulsing through light.
“The slaughter,” Aurelius said quietly, “the decay… the abuse…”
His gaze hardened—not in anger, but in clarity.
“…is done by the people themselves. And their heralds.”
Nagase scoffed again.
“So they’re lazy. Let us kill ourselves. What of it?”
Aurelius didn’t react to the dismissal.
“It appears inefficient,” he agreed. “Their power is near peerless. Challenged only by the strongest among us and never….evenly. They resemble human shape… yet are immune to naten. And their spellcraft is foreign to anything in this system.”
He let that settle.
“Which means…”
Nagase finished it, quieter now.
“They aren’t from here.”
Aurelius inclined his head.
“Then why not end it quickly?” he asked. “Why not erase us in a single night?”
Nagase didn’t answer.
“And how,” Aurelius added, “was one defeated during the last Turn?”
Silence.
Nagase’s eyes snapped to him.
“…How do you know that?”
Aurelius met her gaze evenly.
“I know where to look.”
Nagase exhaled sharply. Eyes rolling around in her head
“Whatever. Wrap it up. What’s your point?”
Aurelius didn’t rush the answer.
“If their goal was extinction,” he said, “they would have achieved it.”
A beat.
“But I don’t believe they’re here to destroy the body.”
The golden light dimmed in places—shadows forming shapes not yet fully realized.
“I believe they are here to bury something else.”
Nagase’s voice lowered.
“…What.”
Aurelius looked between them.
“Freedom,” he said.
Another beat.
“Love.”
The word lingered.
Nagase frowned.
“You think… the Horsemen are here to make us into slaves and to hate ourselves? Hardly sounds any different than 90 percent of the warlords on the Bingo Books.”
She said softly. Her eyes rolling in her head. Looking to Inariel for help.
“They arent here to inscribe their will into our flesh.” Aurelius said. “No,that isnt the fabric they wish to stain.”
His voice deepened.
Nagase went quiet.
Thinking.
“Why?”
Aurelius exhaled slowly.
“I…,” he admitted.
A pause.
“They fear.”
“Fear… what?!” she asked.
Aurelius’s gaze softened slightly.
“Of something they cannot control.”
The golden resonance around them pulsed—echoing the earlier moment between him and Inari.
“Pure emotion,” he said. “Uncorrupted. Unconditioned.” “Free Will.”
His voice lowered.
“The kind that makes a frightened creature stand against something stronger… and win.”
Nagase looked away—just briefly.
Then back to inariel.
She had been listening.
Really listening.
“You went looking for them,” she said. “And you saw something. Something you can't quite explain.
“I did.” Aurelius replied
A beat. A smile crossed her face. She could feel the energy, the fear rising, the type that slowly erodes even the pure light of Aurelius’s Aura. At that moment. That flicker. She found interest and truth in his words.
“What did you find, Aurelius?”
Her eyes locked onto his. Her mischievous smile betraying her inner thoughts.
“Answer me?”
“Before I answer what I saw,” Aurelius said, voice lowering into something more deliberate, “let me explain why I emphasized that they don’t do the work themselves.”
He looked at Nagase—not past her, not through her. *At* her.
“Remember what I said about spirit and matter being the same?”
Nagase didn’t hesitate.
“No,” she said flatly. “I forgot after two minutes of talking.”
Aurelius’ eyes narrowed—not sharply, not with anger. Just a flicker of something tighter. Frustration, maybe.
Then he exhaled, glanced at Inari—who, to his credit, was barely containing a grin—and let out a quiet laugh.
“Of course you did.”
He stepped closer, tone shifting back into focus.
“If the body is energy…” he began.
Nagase’s eyes sharpened.
Something clicked.
“Our actions are spellcraft,” she said—this time not dismissive, but engaged. The words came faster, brighter. “Every movement, every decision—we’re imprinting onto the worlds Vein, The Astral Vein..”
Aurelius nodded once.
“Yes. That is exactly my point.”
Nagase took a step forward now, the irritation gone—replaced by calculation.
“So when you said they were forging temples, you were talking about the choices and actions…” she continued, thinking aloud, “and letting their heralds ravage the lands… they’re not just causing destruction.”
Her eyes widened slightly.
“They’re carving into the planet’s etheric veins.”
Aurelius’s expression shifted—approval, quiet but real.
“Altering the Astral Veins, their frequency,” he added.
Nagase nodded, the idea unfolding rapidly now.
“That would influence everything,” she said. “Culture. Behavior. Belief systems. Generations shaped by a distorted baseline.”
A pause.
“…I see.”
The realization settled.
This wasn’t random chaos.
It was engineering.
Nagase looked back up at him, fully present now.
“So,” she said, voice steady, “...What did you see when you went looking for them ?”
Aurelius didn’t answer.
Not immediately.
He opened his mouth—
Stopped.
Something in his expression changed. Not fear. Not quite. But the weight of knowing something that resisted being spoken.
He tried again.
Nothing.
Aurelius didn’t answer her question.
Not because he couldn’t.
Because he shouldn’t
For the first time since they had entered Akasha, the golden one hesitated—not in thought, but in consequence. His gaze drifted, not unfocused, but calculating futures. Possibilities. Fractures. Outcomes that branched endlessly from a single truth spoken too soon.
Nagase saw it.
And that alone unsettled her.
“…What are you not saying?” she pressed.
Aurelius looked at her then—solemn, weighted. There was no warmth in his expression now, only responsibility.
“…If I show you,” he said quietly, “you will not be able to unsee it.”
Nagase didn’t blink.
“I'm nit the type to run from truth, golden boy..”
A brief silence passed between them.
Inari felt it too—the shift. This was no longer philosophy. No longer theory. Aurelius exhaled once… then lifted his hand.
The light of Akasha responded—not fluid this time, but reluctant. Threads of gold coiled slower, heavier, as if the realm itself resisted what he was about to reveal.
Still—
It obeyed.
A window unfolded before them.
Not radiant.
Not beautiful.
Honest. Simple.
The surface rippled… then stabilized.
Nagase stepped forward—
And froze.
Her eyes widened.
“…What… is this.”
The words came out smaller than she intended.
Because the sight staring back at her—
Was familiar.
In structure.
In presence.
In something so deeply ingrained it bypassed memory entirely and struck instinct.
The vision expanded.
What she saw was not a single shape, or face or world—
It was a system.
Architecture beyond comprehension. Not buildings, but frameworks—vast, interlocking geometries stretching across void and light alike. Pathways of energy, luminous threads that webbed outward… not across a planet, but across countless star systems
A cosmic lattice.
Alive.
Breathing.
Hungry.
Nagase’s breath hitched.
Every thread connected to something—someone.
Worlds.
Civilizations.
Generations.
She could see them—not individually, but collectively. Lives unfolding, struggling, loving, warring… all of it feeding into the same invisible current.
And at the center—
Something.
Something so vast it refused definition.
Her vision strained to hold it.
Failed.
“…What am I looking at” she whispered, but her voice faltered.
Because what she felt—
Was worse.
The threads weren’t passive.
They were binding.
Piercing.
Draining.
In a way…she felt like she could feel the threads touching her—like phantom hooks embedded into her own being. A pull. Constant. Unrelenting.
violent.
Organized
Systematic.
Her hands clenched slightly.
“I cant make out what I'm looking at but i can feel…its intent, clearly.” she said slowly, the realization forming against her will.
Her voice dropped.
“Its like a roshak ink blot, there isnt a clear image, but every perceivable guess is the work of evil…”
Aurelius didn’t look at the vision. He couldn't. He couldnt stand to see the nightmare another time.
He looked at her.
And nodded.
Solemnly.
Nagase’s eyes didn’t move.
“Where is that?” she asked. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
A pause.
Aurelius finally spoke.
“…It’s beneath us,” he said.
Not metaphor.
Not entirely literal.
“In a sense.”
Nagase’s brow furrowed.
“…Define that.”
Aurelius stepped closer to the projection, his golden light dimming slightly as it interacted with the image—as if recognizing something older than itself.
“This war.” he said, “is not isolated.”
His hand moved through the threads—not touching, but tracing their flow.
The image shifted—zooming, peeling back layers.
Planets became nodes.
Stars became conduits.
Reality itself—
Looked less like space…
And more like veins.
“This,” Aurelius continued, “is not a place you can travel to with distance.”
He turned to her.
“It is a layer of existence that your world is already inside of, built on top of.”
Nagase’s expression hardened.
“…A system we’re trapped in.”
Aurelius didn’t correct her.
But he didn’t agree either.
“It is a system we are participating in,” he said.
That landed differently.
Nagase’s eyes flicked back to the web.
“To what end,” she asked quietly.
Aurelius hesitated again.
Then answered.
“…To sustain something.”
The center of the web pulsed.
Once.
The entire lattice responded.
Nagase felt it—
Not visually.
Viscerally.
Like something had noticed the observation.
Her breath caught.
“…Is this their domain? The home of the Horsemen?” she asked.
Aurelius’s voice lowered.
“…I cant be certain,” he said finally, “Yet…i would say, a system like this… does not sustain itself on force alone.”
Nagase turned to him.
“It requires participation.”
The word lingered.
Poisoned.
Understanding crept in—not fully formed, but enough to disturb the foundation she stood on.
“You said they don’t act directly,” she muttered.
Aurelius nodded.
“Nor…do they act without an influence”
Nagase’s gaze darkened.
“…There are more horsemen?”
Aurelius said nothing.
He didn’t need to.
The truth had already landed.
Liminal Reliquary :Crossing The Great Divide
-
Inariel Myotis
- Drifter
- Posts: 173
- Joined: Mon Jan 21, 2019 7:57 pm
Re: Liminal Reliquary :Crossing The Great Divide
Inari remained still—unnervingly so—his silhouette cast long by the ethereal luminescence of Aurelius’s presence. He was a vessel currently being filled, listening with a focus so total it felt as though his very heartbeat had synchronized with the cadence of the former crown's voice.
Every word Aurelius uttered settled into Inari’s chest like a cooling ember, thrumming against his ribs. It was a strange, haunting sensation. It felt as though he were hearing his own thoughts reflected to him through the prism of a more realized soul. These were not merely observations; they were nuggets of aligned will, pieces of a cosmic puzzle that felt both unique to this moment and as ancient as the first spark of sentient life.
Nagase stood nearby, her confusion a palpable, jagged energy in the room. Inari empathized with her. He, too, was still measuring the depth of this alignment. What he shared with Aurelius felt sacred—a resonance so delicate he feared that by defining it, he might desecrate it. And yet, it was the only thing that provided rhyme or reason to the chaotic tapestry of his existence.
His mind, unbidden, drifted back into the abyss of his past lives. He felt the phantom ache of the Moon Scar—that literal spiritual wound he had carved into the astral vein of the world. He remembered the sickening snap of his connection to his plant magic being severed, a price paid for Vescrutia’s scorn. He recalled the suffocating weight of Xora’s Dogma, a silence that had suppressed his mana at his most dire hour, as his lifeblood cascaded onto the scarred earth that seemed to stab at his very feet.
In those moments of darkness, it hadn't been the reach for more power that saved him. It hadn't been the desperate clawing for more mana or the sharpening of a blade.
It had been a memory
For centuries, across the span of countless incarnations, Inari had seen the truth behind Aurelius’s current proclamation. He had watched kingdoms rise on the back of power, only to be ground into dust by its misinterpretation. He had seen families curated like fine gardens, then burned to ash by the desire for strength. He himself had fallen many times to that crude, callous cut. There was a time when he was arrogant enough to believe he was the arbiter of worth, the one to decide who deserved the vitality of the world.
But the Red Eyes curse hadn't been stayed by his naten. The spell Allen had used to sever his ties to the Dark Divine hadn't been powered by a callous heart or brute force.
It was a sacrifice, Inari thought, the realization settling deep.
It was willingly given life. It was love, freely spilled, that had acted as his shield time and time again. He thought of his mother and father—the sheer endurance they displayed to care for him when he was a sickly child. The lengths his father went through to give Inari a chance at life. He thought of the residents of Moon Fang, who had poured faith into him when he was Allen, as if filling a broken cup until it finally held water. He thought of the favor of Minratha and Sophia, whose grace had allowed him to resist the curse for hundreds of years.
And then there was Hyomyn. His best friend. A man whose faith was a north star in a perpetual night. Hyomyn had never forsook him, placing his own life upon the altar of their bond simply to affirm that Inari existed, that Inari mattered.
Each of these instances was a flicker of hope, a budding ember cradled within the crucible of his soul. As Inari stood there, these memories began to coalesce, emboldened by his acceptance.
Thump.
The realization became a warm, nestled spark. It felt heavy in his chest, yet it wasn't the familiar ebb of Akasha—that primordial essence of the Makaian ancestors. This was something else. It felt as though the words Aurelius spoke had been whispered to Inari once before, in a life so distant the face of the speaker was a blurred smear of light and shadow. His muscles tensed, and he folded his arms tightly across his chest, trying to anchor himself as the realm began to feel less anchored for him.
Nagase and Aurelius continued their discourse. Aurelius was detailing the "normal" ways of a King, and as he spoke, Inari’s mind slipped toward his own burden. The Crimson Crown. For months, he had worn the title like a shroud, struggling with the validity of his right to lead the Myotis. Pondering whether he has the right to command a family born of such blood and shadow?
He recalled the moment he had taken the mantle. When he entered the Crown Jewel games. It wasn't a desire for dominion that moved him. That was not what prompted him to chase victory, to desire the crown.
What he longed for...what he was reaching out towards, was connection, was root.
Yet when he found his peopel, tattered, abandoned, clinging to the afterthought of life. What came up for him was not what he originally thought he would feel. It wasn't something as demonizing as that pity. It was the feeling an elder sibling has watching a younger one struggle with a task they cannot master. It was the instinct of a mother encouraging her young to plunge from the nest and trust the air. When faced with the choice to slay the remaining Myotis or lead them, he chose to do what Nagase had done for him when she found him lost, starving, and bloodthirsty, albeit done out of her own morbid curiosity.
He chose to encourage. To support. To let them decide for themselves what they wished to become. To grant them the chance to tap into their potential...free will.
That was the genesis of the Guardians of Twilight. He wanted to give those whose hatred of the "family" prevented them from moving forward a chance to navigate the lattice of existence. To let them decide what was worth protecting and what was worth separating. Whether they still desired to fight for this world that had abandoned them, or choose to raze it in flames instead.
He glanced at Nagase. She was joking with Aurelius now, her voice light, but the chuckle Inari released in response was far more weighted than she could have guessed. He was watching the "force" of love Aurelius described—its reach, its inspiration, its ability to transform.
Even now, even within her.
He had killed for it. He had betrayed so many in the pursuit of its embrace. His desires had, at times, shaped him into a monster that devoured the very things he wished to protect. But love was also the catalyst that helped him distinguish between genuine affection and the jagged, parasitic edge of obsession.
The feeling in his chest began to travel upward, crawling toward his mind. The pressure building behind his eyes thickened. The air of the room seemed to shimmer with the golden light of Akasha, the "ossuary of ancestral remains," beginning to resonate with his internal turmoil. .
The vision unraveled with violent speed. He saw the golden architecture of the Akasha twisting, the resonant voices of the ancestors turning into a roar of overlapping lives. He saw himself—not as he was, but as a thousand versions of a man trying to hold onto a handful of sand in a hurricane.
The weight was too much. This version of Inari, the Crimson Crown, felt as though it were protesting against its own right to exist in the face of such ancient, overwhelming truth. His vision blurred, the right side of his field of vision erupting in a searing, white-hot agony that felt like the Moon Scar opening all over again.
A low, guttural groan escaped his throat. Inari’s hand flew up, his fingers digging into his temple, gripping the right side of his face as if he were trying to hold his very skull together against the tide of the Unseen..
The gilded towers of Akasha dissolved into a memory of shimmering dust. The familiar, sun-warmed stones beneath Inari’s feet were replaced by the living, breathing wood of an unfathomably vast chamber. He was no longer himself, not entirely. He was a passenger in a memory not his own, a witness to a history carved from starlight and verdant vines.
This was a throne room, but one that pulsed with life, nestled in the heart of a colossal arboreal cradle. At its center, upon a massive, pulsating lotus, sat a man whose presence was a paradox of fire and life. His hair was a burning cascade of scarlet silk, and his eyes held the piercing, luminous green of a forest at dawn.
Across from him, the air itself curdled, coalescing into a smoky, indistinct entity. Its form was impossible to define, a shifting nebula of shadow, yet it carried an astral weight that made the very fabric of reality groan in protest. Within the smoke, two points of light ignited like distant, malevolent crimson suns.
“You put up quite the fight...” The entity’s voice was the sound of continents grinding together, a sound that promised only endings. “The power that a Makaido Fae possesses indeed is not something to underestimate.”
The fae's posture was rigid, his pride a tangible force. "Not merely I, but the combined force of the Aiku and Orun. We will not fall to you, War, no matter your cunning, no matter how you scheme, the Trinity will stand against you. In this life, and the next.”
A ripple of what might have been amusement passed through the smoky form. “Hmp, yes, you’ve all really outdone yourselves, truly. But...are you truly content with this? You know, once the Rite is complete, you will no longer exist.”
The words hung in the air, laced with a passive indifference that was more venomous than any overt threat. Inari felt the seed of doubt take root in his heart, a cold tremor that was not his own.
“It will be your son who subsumes you, and his son who subsumes him,” War continued, its burning gaze narrowing, cultivating the hesitation. “If this spiritual cannibalism is truly all there is to your legacy...Alwyn.”
“I...” Alwyn’s luminous eyes flickered, and War pressed its advantage, an archer sighting a faltering target.
“Soon all the power you’ve accumulated... all the care...will be nothing more than an heirloom. And while you slumber and wait to be devoured, I will unleash everything I have at my disposal to destroy that wretched tree of yours. Nothing...and I do mean nothing will stop them this time. Your son...he is still too immature to perform the rite as needed.”
With a sharp, violent motion of a hand wreathed in protective magic, Alwyn severed the connection. The smoky visage dissipated. Alone, the crimson-haired Fae stood at the edge of his world, staring out at a horizon he had sworn to protect. His expression was a maelstrom of determination, longing, and a terrifying, nascent fear—not just for his world, but for himself.
The vision blurred, shifted, and reformed. The same chamber, but now filled with the innocent laughter of five children playing in a garden of ethereal blue flowers. A man with short, neat blue hair approached, bowing with deep respect.
“My Lord Alwyn....”
Alwyn turned, his gaze still sharp, his tone stern, the weight of his conversation with War still clinging to him. “What is it, Marius...”
“You have a guest, sir. They...they say they have a means of defeating the Horsemen...for good.”
A spark, frantic and desperate, ignited behind Alwyn’s lime-green eyes. “Bring them in at once.”
The guest was a man shrouded in layers of shimmering fabric, his hood embroidered with threads of gold and silver. His bow was theatrical, his tone strangely jovial for the grim audience. “Lord Alwyn Aymara, he who greets the sun, he who sets the moon. Your legend has long preceded you.”
“Is that so?” Alwyn’s casual wave summoned roots from the living floor, weaving them into chairs.
“But of course! There is nary a square in all of the world of Carna, perhaps the universe itself, that does not know of the Great Makaedo Fae and how your powerful magics keep even the greatest cosmic terrors at bay. Lo’Kaleer, and its many sealed terrors, remain under lock and key thanks to your dutiful watch.”
“Your words are like the nectar of a Xia Blossom. Sweet-smelling, inviting even...”Alwyn’s voice was a silken thing, melodic, invoking, and inspiring with each utterance.
"My Lord, you honor-"
Alywn raised his hand, barring him from speaking further. Gracefully, yet definitively.
"Though those who rely on them for succor find little more than an early grave...."
His voice shaprned like a blade.
"I suppose there is a point to this...saturation? "
“Of course...as potent as the tales are...the forces of War have become most unrelenting. Legions of forces are mobilized, albeit thwarted thus far, against the barriers in place. The Ebbs from the great World Tree Yangdrasil, capable of barring the most heinous enemies...dwindle under the strain.”
“...And you have a salve for this affliction...Who...even are you to know this?”
Alwyn leaned forward, his hand folded under his chin.
“I do, my Lord. As for who I am, I am but a humble prophet."
The hooded man smiled, as if scar tissue on Inari's mind resurfaced as he witnessed an emblem engraved on the man's right arm. One he had seen before.
"Tell me. Have you ever heard of the Red Word?”
As the stranger moved to lower his hood, the vision shattered.
Inari gasped, his consciousness slamming back into his body in the sunlit halls of Akasha. His breath came in ragged heaps. Aurelius was there instantly, one hand steadying his shoulder, the other cupping his face, an anchor in the turbulent sea of inherited memory. Nagase watched, her concern a silent vigil.
“The Horsemen don’t just eradicate us...” Inari breathed, the horrifying puzzle settling into place. “Because it is not how the system they’ve created works...”
“It’s like a game almost...” he continued, the truth dawning cold and sharp. "A form of cat and mouse, but far more insidious.”
“What chance does a mouse have of fighting against a cat? Unless...” Nagase murmured, her analytical mind engaging, pushing past her worry.
“The cat, instead of just pouncing, first turned the mice's desire to escape inert...” Aurelius finished, his own spectral form seeming to pale, “the things that gave it the very will to fight back, instead into its greatest despairs...”
Inari remembered the indoctrinating pull of the Scarlet Moon, how it had twisted his own power, his will, into a tool for violence.
“Just like the entity that has been chasing me... it... they... need more than just wholesale destruction. They need the dissolution of order itself to enact their own cosmic ordinance upon the world they visit... then... and only then...”
The three stood in silence, the golden light of Akasha suddenly feeling thin and fragile.
“Does destruction come... it seems almost as if...” Inari whispered.
Nagase finished the thought, her voice barely audible, yet it carried the weight of a tombstone sealing shut.
“It’s a ritual.”
The word hung in the air, final and absolute. They were not just fighting an invasion. They were trapped inside the altar of a slow, meticulous, and universe-spanning sacrifice, one designed to bury not just their bodies, but their very freedom, their love, their will—to make them willing participants in their own eternal entombment. Could what Inari had witnessed... have been the moments that led to the destruction of another world? Could...it have been the place from which the Seed of Creation arrived? If so, then his tethers to the Horsemen...to this war were far deeper than even he ever imagined.
Every word Aurelius uttered settled into Inari’s chest like a cooling ember, thrumming against his ribs. It was a strange, haunting sensation. It felt as though he were hearing his own thoughts reflected to him through the prism of a more realized soul. These were not merely observations; they were nuggets of aligned will, pieces of a cosmic puzzle that felt both unique to this moment and as ancient as the first spark of sentient life.
Nagase stood nearby, her confusion a palpable, jagged energy in the room. Inari empathized with her. He, too, was still measuring the depth of this alignment. What he shared with Aurelius felt sacred—a resonance so delicate he feared that by defining it, he might desecrate it. And yet, it was the only thing that provided rhyme or reason to the chaotic tapestry of his existence.
His mind, unbidden, drifted back into the abyss of his past lives. He felt the phantom ache of the Moon Scar—that literal spiritual wound he had carved into the astral vein of the world. He remembered the sickening snap of his connection to his plant magic being severed, a price paid for Vescrutia’s scorn. He recalled the suffocating weight of Xora’s Dogma, a silence that had suppressed his mana at his most dire hour, as his lifeblood cascaded onto the scarred earth that seemed to stab at his very feet.
In those moments of darkness, it hadn't been the reach for more power that saved him. It hadn't been the desperate clawing for more mana or the sharpening of a blade.
It had been a memory
Spoiler
Show
Inariel Myotis wrote: Sat Jan 04, 2025 10:21 pm Usually, Inari would not need such an archaic form of manifestation; however, with the odds stacked against him, he had to weave far more intention and purpose into his arbitor than usual. It was a humbling experience, to be sure. Where he could once string together a continuous stream of relentless mystic barrages, he now needed to slow down and focus to unleash powerful arts. However, with his bloody incarnation of Amrit keeping the demon's attention, he had the precious moment he needed to knit the needed naten together to perform the sonnet he needed. The one that came to mind was the very one his twin moon sang as he gave his life to save him. No, Aurelius's Serenade saved not just Inari but the whole of Acrix. What he achieved single-handedly opened the door for Zeik, Nagase, and Inari himself to join hands. To experience It was an old, ancient ballade sung on the day the nine families were established. It was a refrain that inspired hope and solidified their bond as relatives. Nine heritages joined under the single banner of Hellgate. The cadence of Aurelius' burning spirit brought the fresh winds needed to inspire more change in the Astral.
"That is it...that's my anchor..."
As Inari settled on the emotions Aurelius' song brought up, his hands swayed almost as if he was dancing. His mind locked onto the dance he shared with Aurelius, who took him by the hand, and in perfect unity, they survived an ordeal that should have been impossible.
In truth, Aurelus had become more to him than a simple puppet for him to string along at his leisure. In such a short time, he had become possibly the most crucial figure in Inari's life, for he had never witnessed someone staring at him with such a fervent sense of faith, absolute concrete belief that his path would bring an age of prosperity. It was still tricky for Inari to foresee, but like Hyomyn, who held an imperishable belief in his friend Allen, so did Aurelius in his crown. As his ava thummed, Inari began to recreate the song, each note giving his arbitor purpose, shaping the image of the spell needed to place victory in his hand.The bewildered, glazed-over look in Aurelius’s eyes filled with blind devotion, how they drew him closer to his moon, how he epitomized Inari’s every thought, even daring to challenge him at times A confidant, a helpful tool, and a spare canvas, all wrapped in one.
"His...was a song of anguish, notes of pain and the sorrow of defeat...."
Inari's notes became low, deep, woeful expressions that caused the earth beneath him to tremble and the air around him to vibrate. His naten meshed with the molecules, causing them to dance in rhythm with his moment. In his mind's eye, Aurelius was back in his arms. The only creature alive that ever sought to understand him, to learn him...to know him. Each step he took was an ode to his loss, each movement and sway of his hand a beckoning of Aurelius's memory.
Inari's eyes swelled with tears, remembering how his heart thumped as Aurelis said his parting words. Before Aurelius, Inari was a book forced open; under the security of his gaze, nothing could be hidden. It... freighted Inari, who enjoyed being the enigma, catching the world constantly unawares. But not Aurelius; he witnessed Inari's curse, his tether to the moon, and his innermost hardships and still chose to stand beside him. A warmth began to settle in him, relaxing his vocal cords as they became engorged with naten. As much as it unnerved him to be so...visible, so seen, it was... comforting to know that he did not bear the weight of his crown, his loss alone. Aside from Amrit, one other person on this planet understood him. He...could hold no shame in his heart when he had a consort like the Golden Fur."You worry that darkness awaits where you tread; that pain is your only keepsake. That your is a path leading only to death and destruction...But..Inari...to me..."
MMMMMRRRAAAOAOAOAAAARRR!!!!
Meanwhile, the two titans waged a bloody war against each other to serve a greater being who sought the other's destruction. The Desire unleashed a furious onslaught of attacks, its bloody howl conjuring a spire of fitted cursed earth aiming to skewer Amrit. However, the nimble conjuration used the spire instead to close the gap between them, taking to the skies and landing a fearsome bite on the nape of the demon's neck, burying its long, sharp fangs and claws into the demon's back. It's wails of pain screeching through the air. There were many spires, yet Inari, recreating his last dance with Aurelius, found his senses heightened to an uncanny state. Even without the boon from the physical moon, The Red canopy cast by the eye prevented the midnight glow from showering him with lunar vigor, yet within him churned a spectral influence of his personal moon. Aurelius, who likened Inari to that of a crimson sun, so perfectly reflected his rays as if they were his own. Drawing on that inspiration, his passing words resonated within him again.
"Aurelius, you spoke as if..you were, but a desolate rock devoid of its light...but in truth.""Do you know the secret of the moon? On its own, the Moon has no light. It only shines...because the sun is so brilliant. Together, they sing a song of cosmic accordance. When the sun needed to rest, the moon continued its work. It is a primordial performance that will continue to dance and sing long after you and I are but after thoughts of fables lost in the winds. Though your body might have been cursed by darkness... your soul...that seed. Is the life-giving rays of the sun itself."
The demon forced its wings to morph, becoming blade-like branches that plunged deep into Amrit's sides, causing the fox beast to let up, lifted in the air by the Demon's incredible strength. The fox writhed in agony, snapping its jaws vengefully at the Desire, taunting it to come just an inch closer so that it might have it not torn from its face. Yet the beast slowly sunk its appendages deeper into the fox, moving around inside, causing Amrit as much pain as possible, tormenting him. Though Inari knew this was a mock creation of amrit devoid of its essence, it was merely a conjured shape, hearing him wail still pulled at his heartstrings. But he could not cease his invocation now and consisted to weave his naten together.
"If I am the sun, then you were the very concept of light itself."
Then, Inar's ballade went from a low vocal fry to a gradually escalating vibrato that twisted into grandiose falsetto. This expression brought up so much for Inari that he could scarcely contain the fearsome energy it created; the very air corresponded to his movements, the horrid winds wailing in defense of this purity; he...was grieving, releasing the energy of that feeling of loss and embracing the warmth of celebration, for all that Aurelius was, his flaws, his failing, his triumphs, his valor. Whisking together to create a font of arcana, the likes of which even Xora's cardinal blasphemy could not overshadow. His profound crimson aura began to shift its hue, its crackling golden bolts of energy sparking to life like lightning. Amrit, though tired from its extreme loss of blood, its life nearly at its end, caught a glorious second wind of inspiration comprised of Inari's liquid crimson, which was conjoined in the mixing of his scores.
"Can you...hear me, My moon?"
Invigorating by the mystic affluence of Inari's aria, Amrit's soaked fur began to glow with the same furious claret hue. 's eyes began burning with a searing golden gleam as its bloody aura burning-like light, and flame cleaved through the winged tendrils. The Demon swiped at Amrit with its tall sending. It crashed into the bridge, shattering it to pieces. Amrit gripped the side of the cliff, hanging on for dear life.
"This...is for you..."
For centuries, across the span of countless incarnations, Inari had seen the truth behind Aurelius’s current proclamation. He had watched kingdoms rise on the back of power, only to be ground into dust by its misinterpretation. He had seen families curated like fine gardens, then burned to ash by the desire for strength. He himself had fallen many times to that crude, callous cut. There was a time when he was arrogant enough to believe he was the arbiter of worth, the one to decide who deserved the vitality of the world.
But the Red Eyes curse hadn't been stayed by his naten. The spell Allen had used to sever his ties to the Dark Divine hadn't been powered by a callous heart or brute force.
It was a sacrifice, Inari thought, the realization settling deep.
It was willingly given life. It was love, freely spilled, that had acted as his shield time and time again. He thought of his mother and father—the sheer endurance they displayed to care for him when he was a sickly child. The lengths his father went through to give Inari a chance at life. He thought of the residents of Moon Fang, who had poured faith into him when he was Allen, as if filling a broken cup until it finally held water. He thought of the favor of Minratha and Sophia, whose grace had allowed him to resist the curse for hundreds of years.
And then there was Hyomyn. His best friend. A man whose faith was a north star in a perpetual night. Hyomyn had never forsook him, placing his own life upon the altar of their bond simply to affirm that Inari existed, that Inari mattered.
Each of these instances was a flicker of hope, a budding ember cradled within the crucible of his soul. As Inari stood there, these memories began to coalesce, emboldened by his acceptance.
Thump.
The realization became a warm, nestled spark. It felt heavy in his chest, yet it wasn't the familiar ebb of Akasha—that primordial essence of the Makaian ancestors. This was something else. It felt as though the words Aurelius spoke had been whispered to Inari once before, in a life so distant the face of the speaker was a blurred smear of light and shadow. His muscles tensed, and he folded his arms tightly across his chest, trying to anchor himself as the realm began to feel less anchored for him.
Nagase and Aurelius continued their discourse. Aurelius was detailing the "normal" ways of a King, and as he spoke, Inari’s mind slipped toward his own burden. The Crimson Crown. For months, he had worn the title like a shroud, struggling with the validity of his right to lead the Myotis. Pondering whether he has the right to command a family born of such blood and shadow?
He recalled the moment he had taken the mantle. When he entered the Crown Jewel games. It wasn't a desire for dominion that moved him. That was not what prompted him to chase victory, to desire the crown.
What he longed for...what he was reaching out towards, was connection, was root.
Yet when he found his peopel, tattered, abandoned, clinging to the afterthought of life. What came up for him was not what he originally thought he would feel. It wasn't something as demonizing as that pity. It was the feeling an elder sibling has watching a younger one struggle with a task they cannot master. It was the instinct of a mother encouraging her young to plunge from the nest and trust the air. When faced with the choice to slay the remaining Myotis or lead them, he chose to do what Nagase had done for him when she found him lost, starving, and bloodthirsty, albeit done out of her own morbid curiosity.
He chose to encourage. To support. To let them decide for themselves what they wished to become. To grant them the chance to tap into their potential...free will.
That was the genesis of the Guardians of Twilight. He wanted to give those whose hatred of the "family" prevented them from moving forward a chance to navigate the lattice of existence. To let them decide what was worth protecting and what was worth separating. Whether they still desired to fight for this world that had abandoned them, or choose to raze it in flames instead.
He glanced at Nagase. She was joking with Aurelius now, her voice light, but the chuckle Inari released in response was far more weighted than she could have guessed. He was watching the "force" of love Aurelius described—its reach, its inspiration, its ability to transform.
Even now, even within her.
He had killed for it. He had betrayed so many in the pursuit of its embrace. His desires had, at times, shaped him into a monster that devoured the very things he wished to protect. But love was also the catalyst that helped him distinguish between genuine affection and the jagged, parasitic edge of obsession.
The feeling in his chest began to travel upward, crawling toward his mind. The pressure building behind his eyes thickened. The air of the room seemed to shimmer with the golden light of Akasha, the "ossuary of ancestral remains," beginning to resonate with his internal turmoil. .
In that instant, the dam broke. As Aurelius spoke of the Horsemen’s aims—of the spells cast by ideology and the corruption of belief—the pressure behind Inari’s eyes bloomed into a blinding, fractured light.“The way you view power,” he continued, “is not random. Nor is it simply the product of your upbringing.”
Inari, who had been quiet—amused even—stilled.
Aurelius’s voice lowered.
“It is an influence.”
Nagase’s arms loosened slightly.
“…A spell?” she asked.
“Yes,” Aurelius replied. “But not the kind that requires sigils or lunar alignment.”
He gestured outward—toward the city, the world, the unseen currents threading everything together.
“An idea. A belief. A story.”
He looked directly at her.
“Those are spells too.”
The vision unraveled with violent speed. He saw the golden architecture of the Akasha twisting, the resonant voices of the ancestors turning into a roar of overlapping lives. He saw himself—not as he was, but as a thousand versions of a man trying to hold onto a handful of sand in a hurricane.
The weight was too much. This version of Inari, the Crimson Crown, felt as though it were protesting against its own right to exist in the face of such ancient, overwhelming truth. His vision blurred, the right side of his field of vision erupting in a searing, white-hot agony that felt like the Moon Scar opening all over again.
A low, guttural groan escaped his throat. Inari’s hand flew up, his fingers digging into his temple, gripping the right side of his face as if he were trying to hold his very skull together against the tide of the Unseen..
The gilded towers of Akasha dissolved into a memory of shimmering dust. The familiar, sun-warmed stones beneath Inari’s feet were replaced by the living, breathing wood of an unfathomably vast chamber. He was no longer himself, not entirely. He was a passenger in a memory not his own, a witness to a history carved from starlight and verdant vines.
This was a throne room, but one that pulsed with life, nestled in the heart of a colossal arboreal cradle. At its center, upon a massive, pulsating lotus, sat a man whose presence was a paradox of fire and life. His hair was a burning cascade of scarlet silk, and his eyes held the piercing, luminous green of a forest at dawn.
Across from him, the air itself curdled, coalescing into a smoky, indistinct entity. Its form was impossible to define, a shifting nebula of shadow, yet it carried an astral weight that made the very fabric of reality groan in protest. Within the smoke, two points of light ignited like distant, malevolent crimson suns.
“You put up quite the fight...” The entity’s voice was the sound of continents grinding together, a sound that promised only endings. “The power that a Makaido Fae possesses indeed is not something to underestimate.”
The fae's posture was rigid, his pride a tangible force. "Not merely I, but the combined force of the Aiku and Orun. We will not fall to you, War, no matter your cunning, no matter how you scheme, the Trinity will stand against you. In this life, and the next.”
A ripple of what might have been amusement passed through the smoky form. “Hmp, yes, you’ve all really outdone yourselves, truly. But...are you truly content with this? You know, once the Rite is complete, you will no longer exist.”
The words hung in the air, laced with a passive indifference that was more venomous than any overt threat. Inari felt the seed of doubt take root in his heart, a cold tremor that was not his own.
“It will be your son who subsumes you, and his son who subsumes him,” War continued, its burning gaze narrowing, cultivating the hesitation. “If this spiritual cannibalism is truly all there is to your legacy...Alwyn.”
“I...” Alwyn’s luminous eyes flickered, and War pressed its advantage, an archer sighting a faltering target.
“Soon all the power you’ve accumulated... all the care...will be nothing more than an heirloom. And while you slumber and wait to be devoured, I will unleash everything I have at my disposal to destroy that wretched tree of yours. Nothing...and I do mean nothing will stop them this time. Your son...he is still too immature to perform the rite as needed.”
With a sharp, violent motion of a hand wreathed in protective magic, Alwyn severed the connection. The smoky visage dissipated. Alone, the crimson-haired Fae stood at the edge of his world, staring out at a horizon he had sworn to protect. His expression was a maelstrom of determination, longing, and a terrifying, nascent fear—not just for his world, but for himself.
The vision blurred, shifted, and reformed. The same chamber, but now filled with the innocent laughter of five children playing in a garden of ethereal blue flowers. A man with short, neat blue hair approached, bowing with deep respect.
“My Lord Alwyn....”
Alwyn turned, his gaze still sharp, his tone stern, the weight of his conversation with War still clinging to him. “What is it, Marius...”
“You have a guest, sir. They...they say they have a means of defeating the Horsemen...for good.”
A spark, frantic and desperate, ignited behind Alwyn’s lime-green eyes. “Bring them in at once.”
The guest was a man shrouded in layers of shimmering fabric, his hood embroidered with threads of gold and silver. His bow was theatrical, his tone strangely jovial for the grim audience. “Lord Alwyn Aymara, he who greets the sun, he who sets the moon. Your legend has long preceded you.”
“Is that so?” Alwyn’s casual wave summoned roots from the living floor, weaving them into chairs.
“But of course! There is nary a square in all of the world of Carna, perhaps the universe itself, that does not know of the Great Makaedo Fae and how your powerful magics keep even the greatest cosmic terrors at bay. Lo’Kaleer, and its many sealed terrors, remain under lock and key thanks to your dutiful watch.”
“Your words are like the nectar of a Xia Blossom. Sweet-smelling, inviting even...”Alwyn’s voice was a silken thing, melodic, invoking, and inspiring with each utterance.
"My Lord, you honor-"
Alywn raised his hand, barring him from speaking further. Gracefully, yet definitively.
"Though those who rely on them for succor find little more than an early grave...."
His voice shaprned like a blade.
"I suppose there is a point to this...saturation? "
“Of course...as potent as the tales are...the forces of War have become most unrelenting. Legions of forces are mobilized, albeit thwarted thus far, against the barriers in place. The Ebbs from the great World Tree Yangdrasil, capable of barring the most heinous enemies...dwindle under the strain.”
“...And you have a salve for this affliction...Who...even are you to know this?”
Alwyn leaned forward, his hand folded under his chin.
“I do, my Lord. As for who I am, I am but a humble prophet."
The hooded man smiled, as if scar tissue on Inari's mind resurfaced as he witnessed an emblem engraved on the man's right arm. One he had seen before.
"Tell me. Have you ever heard of the Red Word?”
As the stranger moved to lower his hood, the vision shattered.
Inari gasped, his consciousness slamming back into his body in the sunlit halls of Akasha. His breath came in ragged heaps. Aurelius was there instantly, one hand steadying his shoulder, the other cupping his face, an anchor in the turbulent sea of inherited memory. Nagase watched, her concern a silent vigil.
“The Horsemen don’t just eradicate us...” Inari breathed, the horrifying puzzle settling into place. “Because it is not how the system they’ve created works...”
“It’s like a game almost...” he continued, the truth dawning cold and sharp. "A form of cat and mouse, but far more insidious.”
“What chance does a mouse have of fighting against a cat? Unless...” Nagase murmured, her analytical mind engaging, pushing past her worry.
“The cat, instead of just pouncing, first turned the mice's desire to escape inert...” Aurelius finished, his own spectral form seeming to pale, “the things that gave it the very will to fight back, instead into its greatest despairs...”
Inari remembered the indoctrinating pull of the Scarlet Moon, how it had twisted his own power, his will, into a tool for violence.
“Just like the entity that has been chasing me... it... they... need more than just wholesale destruction. They need the dissolution of order itself to enact their own cosmic ordinance upon the world they visit... then... and only then...”
The three stood in silence, the golden light of Akasha suddenly feeling thin and fragile.
“Does destruction come... it seems almost as if...” Inari whispered.
Nagase finished the thought, her voice barely audible, yet it carried the weight of a tombstone sealing shut.
“It’s a ritual.”
The word hung in the air, final and absolute. They were not just fighting an invasion. They were trapped inside the altar of a slow, meticulous, and universe-spanning sacrifice, one designed to bury not just their bodies, but their very freedom, their love, their will—to make them willing participants in their own eternal entombment. Could what Inari had witnessed... have been the moments that led to the destruction of another world? Could...it have been the place from which the Seed of Creation arrived? If so, then his tethers to the Horsemen...to this war were far deeper than even he ever imagined.
Re: Liminal Reliquary :Crossing The Great Divide
Nagase finished the thought, her voice barely audible, yet carrying the weight of a tombstone sealing shut.
“It’s a ritual.”
The word hung in the air, final and absolute.
They were not just fighting an invasion.
They were trapped inside the altar of a slow, meticulous, universe-spanning sacrifice—one designed to bury not just their bodies, but their very freedom, their love, their will. To make them willing participants in their own eternal entombment.
Her eyes were half-lidded, yet they pierced through the veil like Fravix threading itself through Akasha. Aurelius had shown her plenty, but the mere idea that Vescrutia was not the only world in danger—that perhaps the entirety of existence had already been touched by the rot of Armageddon—settled inside her like cold iron.
She was no longer certain they were fighting a war to prevent subjugation.
Perhaps they were only becoming aware that they had already lost.
Millions of years before any of them had ever drawn breath.
The thought hollowed her.
The illusion of freedom.
The illusion of choice.
What if every civilization, every rebellion, every rise and collapse of empires had merely been another carefully guided current in an unfathomably ancient design? A deception so vast that entire species mistook their captivity for agency.
Outer space.
The seas beyond the stars.
Not empty.
Occupied.
Cultivated.
Farmed.
Nagase’s fingers curled slightly against her arm.
It terrified her how quickly the logic aligned.
Every catastrophe. Every cursed relic. Every age of bloodshed. Every divine schism. Every empire obsessed with dominion and hierarchy. What if they were not isolated failings of mortal nature, but cultivated conditions? Pressures engineered over epochs to produce a specific spiritual outcome.
And stranger still...
She felt responsible.
As if every action she had taken, every kingdom she had manipulated, every conflict she had survived, had unknowingly reinforced the Horsemen’s design. As if her life itself had been motion along a predetermined line.
A laugh escaped her nose.
Dry.
Thin.
“Well...Kiya sure can cook.”
Her voice carried equal parts amusement and apprehension.
Inari glanced toward her, but Nagase’s stare never shifted from the arbitrary point ahead of her. She looked less like a woman standing within Akasha and more like a consciousness only partially seated inside her own flesh.
“Based on the solemn look in your eyes, Aurelius, I can ascertain you’ve yet to find a reliable solution to this plight.” Her tone softened slightly. “Other than...no. I won’t poke at your ideology. Not until I’ve seen the fullness of Akasha.”
Her arms crossed tighter.
“If this place truly serves as the living memory and essence of our forefathers...then I think we should speak with them.”
Aurelius blinked.
For the first time since the vision shattered, uncertainty crossed his face.
“I haven’t been able to do that,” he admitted quietly. “I tried challenging or finding sovereign beings, but it never worked. First I searched for Antares. Then the Water Spirit of Awa. Lastly, any of the Elder Makaians.”
His expression darkened.
“Yet I only found memories. Fragments of identity. Echoes repeating themselves.”
Nagase’s eyes opened fully then, her sharp amber gaze locking onto Aurelius with her signature glint of dangerous amusement.
“That’s because you lack a certain...” she tilted her head slightly, lips curling, “je ne sais quoi.”
The chuckle that followed was soft, though it failed to dispel the tension hanging over them.
“No,” she corrected, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s because you’re a talented seer. But to wrestle with the sovereign nature of the past? To navigate memory that still possesses will?”
Her smile sharpened.
“You’d need be a peerless Scion.”
Inari’s brows furrowed slightly.
Even Aurelius looked faintly insulted.
Nagase ignored both of them, visually. But a faint smile peek across her cheek as she felt the tinge of frustration.
“Give me a name,” she said. “A Makaian elder.”
Aurelius hesitated.
The sheer enormity of what she proposed weighed visibly upon him. Akasha was not merely a library. It was an ossuary of living inheritance. A sea composed of ancestral cognition, spiritual residue, and conceptual remains. To search through it recklessly was dangerous enough.
To attempt communion with something that still retained sovereignty when she clearly didnt even know whom she sought after….
That bordered on sacrilege.
Still...
If anyone among them was willing and capable of forcing open the impossible, it was likely the mistress of mayhem herself, Nagase.
Aurelius closed his eyes briefly, sorting through the countless elders he had studied across the years. Histories. Poems. Forbidden texts. Surviving oral traditions.
Finally, his eyes opened.
“Caim.”
The name landed strangely in the air.
Heavy.
Old.
Akasha responded.
A subtle tremor rolled through the golden chamber.
Nagase smiled.
“There we are.”
She uncrossed her arms.
The instant she extended her hand outward, the realm reacted violently.
The walls around them flashed.
Once.
Twice.
Then rapidly.
Entire landscapes erupted across the golden surfaces surrounding them. Cities blooming into existence only to collapse backward into foundations. Oceans receding upward into the sky. Armies running in reverse, blades returning to sheaths as wounds sealed themselves shut.
The effect was nauseating.
Like watching reality itself rewind.
Like a cosmic VHS tape being dragged backward through time.
Aurelius staggered slightly as thousands upon thousands of scenes flickered around them in rapid succession.
A child crying tears that rose back into dry eyes.
A star collapsing outward instead of inward.
Forests burning in reverse, ash reforming into leaves and bark.
Entire civilizations unmaking themselves.
Akasha groaned.
Not physically.
Spiritually.
The sound resembled billions of whispers speaking backward all at once.
Nagase remained still at the center of it.
Her pupils had dilated completely, devouring the amber of her irises until her eyes resembled dark apertures staring into infinity itself.
“Gods be with us...” Aurelius whispered.
This was beyond standard seercraft.
Nagase was not merely observing Akasha.
She was forcing synchronization with it.
The scenes accelerated further.
Faster.
Faster.
Faster.
Inari’s stomach twisted as the laws of chronology lost all coherence around them. One moment he saw primitive tribes worshipping colossal celestial carcasses. The next, vast mechanical rings orbiting dead suns. Then oceans of red flowers stretching beneath fractured moons.
Backward.
Always backward.
Searching.
Searching.
Searching.
Until—
Everything stopped.
Violently.
The sudden stillness felt like a knife.
Before them stood a colossal obsidian gate wrapped in roots of silver and gold. Ancient markings pulsed faintly across its surface, shifting like living scripture.
And standing before the gate...
Was Caim.
And behind him, stretching beyond the horizon like a sea of gathered stars, stood hundreds of figures clad in ceremonial armor, woven silks, and living bark. Some bore crowns of antlers and gold. Others carried staffs that hummed with restrained divinity. The air around them shimmered with layered barriers and ancient rites, the sheer concentration of sovereign beings causing the atmosphere itself to bend beneath their collective presence.
Yet opposite them—
Another host stood assembled.
Darker.
Sharper.
A legion adorned in obsidian metals and crimson cloth. War banners snapped violently in a wind that did not touch Caim’s side of the field. Hulking beasts shifted restlessly behind armored vanguards, their eyes glowing like banked furnaces. Spears taller than trees pointed skyward in perfect formation.
The tension between the two forces was suffocating.
One wrong breath from either side and the world itself might split open.
Caim stood at the center of his people, impossibly tall and broad-shouldered beneath robes resembling woven starlight and mourning veils. Long pale hair cascaded down his back like moonlit water, though veins of emerald light pulsed beneath it like roots beneath skin.
One hand rested behind his back.
The other held a staff grown from white wood and black thorns intertwined.
His face was calm.
Too calm.
The kind of calm possessed only by things old enough to survive the death of worlds.
Slowly—
He turned.
Not fully.
Just enough.
As though he could feel the foreign eyes watching him across the veil of time itself.
Nagase’s breath caught.
That wasn’t possible.
This was memory.
A fixed point.
And yet Caim’s pale gaze lingered for a fraction too long in their direction, his eyes narrowing with faint suspicion.
Before he could act upon it—
A voice split the silence.
“Caim.”
The tone was rough. Weathered. Cold enough to frost the soul.
“You can’t hide behind ceremony anymore.”
Caim’s eyes shifted.
“You owe me a pound of flesh.”
The figure emerging from the opposing host moved like a thunderhead wrapped in skin. Massive. Scarred. His armor looked forged from volcanic glass and the bones of ancient beasts. A fur mantle draped across one shoulder, and countless ritual brands crawled up his neck like blackened veins.
His presence alone caused the ground to fracture beneath each step.
Caim exhaled softly.
“Kremki…”
Aurelius stiffened beside Inari.
And to Inari’s surprise—
Aurelius and Caim spoke the name in unison.
Nagase immediately noticed it.
Her eyes flicked toward Aurelius.
“You know him.”
Aurelius’s expression darkened.
“Not personally,” he whispered. “But every surviving Makaian text speaks of Kremki the Ash Bear, the Sovereign of the Northern Holds.”
Meanwhile, within the vision—
Kremki stopped several paces away from Caim, though the hostility between them closed the distance more violently than any weapon could.
“You’ve grown old,” Kremki sneered.
“And yet somehow,” Caim replied calmly, “you remain a child.”
A dangerous smile spread across Kremki’s scarred face.
The soldiers behind him laughed uneasily, though none dared too loudly.
“I wonder,” Kremki muttered, circling slightly, “how many centuries you’ve hidden behind that silver tongue. How many treaties. How many ceremonies. How many evasions.”
His eyes sharpened.
“How many traps of mine you’ve slithered around.”
Caim remained unmoved.
“You mistake patience for cowardice.”
“No,” Kremki growled. “I mistake cowardice for cowardice.”
A low rumble swept through the opposing armies.
Inari could feel it immediately.
This hatred was old.
Not the simple rage of rivals.
This was resentment cultivated over lifetimes.
Kremki pointed toward the obsidian gate behind Caim.
“You sit atop fertile lands while my people freeze beneath dying skies. You hold political dominion over the Southern Accords while my nation bleeds resources to maintain your precious balance.”
His lip curled.
“You call yourself protector of the Trinity, yet all I’ve ever seen you protect...is your own authority.”
Several figures behind Caim shifted angrily.
But Caim simply watched Kremki with exhausted eyes.
“You believe conquest will save your people.”
“I know it will.”
“You know nothing.”
The temperature dropped.
Not metaphorically.
Frost spread across portions of the battlefield as Kremki’s aura surged outward instinctively.
Caim’s robes fluttered softly in response.
For the first time—
His calm cracked.
Only slightly.
But enough for Nagase to notice the frightening pressure lurking beneath it.
This man could annihilate Kremki.
Not eventually.
Not with effort.
Instantly.
And Kremki knew it too.
Which somehow only made him angrier.
“Go on, then,” Kremki spat, spreading his arms wide. “Do what your people whisper about. Show them the great Caim. The immortal sage. The divine king.”
His voice rose.
“Strike me down.”
Silence.
The armies waited.
The world waited.
Caim’s grip tightened slightly around his staff.
“You think this ends with you.”
Kremki laughed harshly.
“That is exactly how war works.”
“No.” Caim’s voice deepened. “That is how children think war works.”
Something shifted then.
His gaze drifted again.
Past Kremki.
Past the armies.
Past the battlefield itself.
Straight toward Nagase.
Toward Inari.
Toward Aurelius.
The three froze.
“You simply cannot perceive any greater danger than a spear before your face,” Caim said quietly, though somehow the words felt directed beyond Kremki alone. “You can only see the hand wielding the weapon, but never have you noticed the powers that order the soldier to act.””
Nagase’s stomach tightened.
Kremki scoffed.
“More riddles.”
“There are forces at work you cannot perceive, kremki. They motion you to war with me, to what end? I will annihilate you and with it so the peace of nations for millenniums.”
Again—
That impossible eye contact.
Direct.
Knowing.
Inari felt the hairs on his neck rise.
This was no accident.
Caim was aware.
Not fully.
Not precisely.
But somehow, impossibly—
He could feel them watching.
Kremki slammed the butt of his massive axe into the earth.
“I am sick of your invisible enemies! Your unseen omens! Every time you fear losing power, you invent another cosmic terror to frighten your council into obedience!”
Several members of Caim’s host visibly recoiled at the accusation.
But Caim did not react with anger.
Only sadness.
Profound sadness.
“You think I speak of superstition because your eyes cannot pierce beyond the veil of your own ambition.”
His voice lowered.
“Kremki...there are things moving in the dark between worlds.”
Nagase’s chest tightened again.
Caim looked directly at her.
“There are civilizations already dead that do not yet realize they are corpses.”
Aurelius inhaled sharply.
Even Inari felt cold.
Kremki snarled.
“And there it is. More ghost stories.”
“You believe yourself a predator,” Caim continued. “Yet you are livestock arguing over territory inside a burning field.”
That struck something.
Kremki’s expression twisted violently.
“You arrogant—”
The ground exploded beneath him.
Not from attack.
From pressure alone.
For a singular, terrifying instant, Caim allowed the barest fraction of his true aura to surface.
The battlefield bent.
Entire sections of the opposing army dropped to one knee instantly.
The obsidian gate behind Caim groaned like a living thing recoiling in fear.
Even Nagase felt her soul tighten instinctively despite being nothing more than an observer.
Caim stepped forward once.
Only once.
But the movement carried the weight of tectonic inevitability.
“I have tolerated your provocations,” he said softly. “Your assassins. Your manipulations within the accords. Your attempts to seize political control through famine and unrest.”
Another step.
“Because I know what comes after this war.”
Kremki’s fury faltered.
Just briefly.
And again—
Caim looked beyond him.
Beyond time.
At the unseen witnesses standing in Akasha.
“There are eyes upon this age even now. Waiting for our decision.”
Nagase felt her pulse stop.
Caim’s expression darkened.
“And they are tired of waiting.”
“It’s a ritual.”
The word hung in the air, final and absolute.
They were not just fighting an invasion.
They were trapped inside the altar of a slow, meticulous, universe-spanning sacrifice—one designed to bury not just their bodies, but their very freedom, their love, their will. To make them willing participants in their own eternal entombment.
Her eyes were half-lidded, yet they pierced through the veil like Fravix threading itself through Akasha. Aurelius had shown her plenty, but the mere idea that Vescrutia was not the only world in danger—that perhaps the entirety of existence had already been touched by the rot of Armageddon—settled inside her like cold iron.
She was no longer certain they were fighting a war to prevent subjugation.
Perhaps they were only becoming aware that they had already lost.
Millions of years before any of them had ever drawn breath.
The thought hollowed her.
The illusion of freedom.
The illusion of choice.
What if every civilization, every rebellion, every rise and collapse of empires had merely been another carefully guided current in an unfathomably ancient design? A deception so vast that entire species mistook their captivity for agency.
Outer space.
The seas beyond the stars.
Not empty.
Occupied.
Cultivated.
Farmed.
Nagase’s fingers curled slightly against her arm.
It terrified her how quickly the logic aligned.
Every catastrophe. Every cursed relic. Every age of bloodshed. Every divine schism. Every empire obsessed with dominion and hierarchy. What if they were not isolated failings of mortal nature, but cultivated conditions? Pressures engineered over epochs to produce a specific spiritual outcome.
And stranger still...
She felt responsible.
As if every action she had taken, every kingdom she had manipulated, every conflict she had survived, had unknowingly reinforced the Horsemen’s design. As if her life itself had been motion along a predetermined line.
A laugh escaped her nose.
Dry.
Thin.
“Well...Kiya sure can cook.”
Her voice carried equal parts amusement and apprehension.
Inari glanced toward her, but Nagase’s stare never shifted from the arbitrary point ahead of her. She looked less like a woman standing within Akasha and more like a consciousness only partially seated inside her own flesh.
“Based on the solemn look in your eyes, Aurelius, I can ascertain you’ve yet to find a reliable solution to this plight.” Her tone softened slightly. “Other than...no. I won’t poke at your ideology. Not until I’ve seen the fullness of Akasha.”
Her arms crossed tighter.
“If this place truly serves as the living memory and essence of our forefathers...then I think we should speak with them.”
Aurelius blinked.
For the first time since the vision shattered, uncertainty crossed his face.
“I haven’t been able to do that,” he admitted quietly. “I tried challenging or finding sovereign beings, but it never worked. First I searched for Antares. Then the Water Spirit of Awa. Lastly, any of the Elder Makaians.”
His expression darkened.
“Yet I only found memories. Fragments of identity. Echoes repeating themselves.”
Nagase’s eyes opened fully then, her sharp amber gaze locking onto Aurelius with her signature glint of dangerous amusement.
“That’s because you lack a certain...” she tilted her head slightly, lips curling, “je ne sais quoi.”
The chuckle that followed was soft, though it failed to dispel the tension hanging over them.
“No,” she corrected, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s because you’re a talented seer. But to wrestle with the sovereign nature of the past? To navigate memory that still possesses will?”
Her smile sharpened.
“You’d need be a peerless Scion.”
Inari’s brows furrowed slightly.
Even Aurelius looked faintly insulted.
Nagase ignored both of them, visually. But a faint smile peek across her cheek as she felt the tinge of frustration.
“Give me a name,” she said. “A Makaian elder.”
Aurelius hesitated.
The sheer enormity of what she proposed weighed visibly upon him. Akasha was not merely a library. It was an ossuary of living inheritance. A sea composed of ancestral cognition, spiritual residue, and conceptual remains. To search through it recklessly was dangerous enough.
To attempt communion with something that still retained sovereignty when she clearly didnt even know whom she sought after….
That bordered on sacrilege.
Still...
If anyone among them was willing and capable of forcing open the impossible, it was likely the mistress of mayhem herself, Nagase.
Aurelius closed his eyes briefly, sorting through the countless elders he had studied across the years. Histories. Poems. Forbidden texts. Surviving oral traditions.
Finally, his eyes opened.
“Caim.”
The name landed strangely in the air.
Heavy.
Old.
Akasha responded.
A subtle tremor rolled through the golden chamber.
Nagase smiled.
“There we are.”
She uncrossed her arms.
The instant she extended her hand outward, the realm reacted violently.
The walls around them flashed.
Once.
Twice.
Then rapidly.
Entire landscapes erupted across the golden surfaces surrounding them. Cities blooming into existence only to collapse backward into foundations. Oceans receding upward into the sky. Armies running in reverse, blades returning to sheaths as wounds sealed themselves shut.
The effect was nauseating.
Like watching reality itself rewind.
Like a cosmic VHS tape being dragged backward through time.
Aurelius staggered slightly as thousands upon thousands of scenes flickered around them in rapid succession.
A child crying tears that rose back into dry eyes.
A star collapsing outward instead of inward.
Forests burning in reverse, ash reforming into leaves and bark.
Entire civilizations unmaking themselves.
Akasha groaned.
Not physically.
Spiritually.
The sound resembled billions of whispers speaking backward all at once.
Nagase remained still at the center of it.
Her pupils had dilated completely, devouring the amber of her irises until her eyes resembled dark apertures staring into infinity itself.
“Gods be with us...” Aurelius whispered.
This was beyond standard seercraft.
Nagase was not merely observing Akasha.
She was forcing synchronization with it.
The scenes accelerated further.
Faster.
Faster.
Faster.
Inari’s stomach twisted as the laws of chronology lost all coherence around them. One moment he saw primitive tribes worshipping colossal celestial carcasses. The next, vast mechanical rings orbiting dead suns. Then oceans of red flowers stretching beneath fractured moons.
Backward.
Always backward.
Searching.
Searching.
Searching.
Until—
Everything stopped.
Violently.
The sudden stillness felt like a knife.
Before them stood a colossal obsidian gate wrapped in roots of silver and gold. Ancient markings pulsed faintly across its surface, shifting like living scripture.
And standing before the gate...
Was Caim.
And behind him, stretching beyond the horizon like a sea of gathered stars, stood hundreds of figures clad in ceremonial armor, woven silks, and living bark. Some bore crowns of antlers and gold. Others carried staffs that hummed with restrained divinity. The air around them shimmered with layered barriers and ancient rites, the sheer concentration of sovereign beings causing the atmosphere itself to bend beneath their collective presence.
Yet opposite them—
Another host stood assembled.
Darker.
Sharper.
A legion adorned in obsidian metals and crimson cloth. War banners snapped violently in a wind that did not touch Caim’s side of the field. Hulking beasts shifted restlessly behind armored vanguards, their eyes glowing like banked furnaces. Spears taller than trees pointed skyward in perfect formation.
The tension between the two forces was suffocating.
One wrong breath from either side and the world itself might split open.
Caim stood at the center of his people, impossibly tall and broad-shouldered beneath robes resembling woven starlight and mourning veils. Long pale hair cascaded down his back like moonlit water, though veins of emerald light pulsed beneath it like roots beneath skin.
One hand rested behind his back.
The other held a staff grown from white wood and black thorns intertwined.
His face was calm.
Too calm.
The kind of calm possessed only by things old enough to survive the death of worlds.
Slowly—
He turned.
Not fully.
Just enough.
As though he could feel the foreign eyes watching him across the veil of time itself.
Nagase’s breath caught.
That wasn’t possible.
This was memory.
A fixed point.
And yet Caim’s pale gaze lingered for a fraction too long in their direction, his eyes narrowing with faint suspicion.
Before he could act upon it—
A voice split the silence.
“Caim.”
The tone was rough. Weathered. Cold enough to frost the soul.
“You can’t hide behind ceremony anymore.”
Caim’s eyes shifted.
“You owe me a pound of flesh.”
The figure emerging from the opposing host moved like a thunderhead wrapped in skin. Massive. Scarred. His armor looked forged from volcanic glass and the bones of ancient beasts. A fur mantle draped across one shoulder, and countless ritual brands crawled up his neck like blackened veins.
His presence alone caused the ground to fracture beneath each step.
Caim exhaled softly.
“Kremki…”
Aurelius stiffened beside Inari.
And to Inari’s surprise—
Aurelius and Caim spoke the name in unison.
Nagase immediately noticed it.
Her eyes flicked toward Aurelius.
“You know him.”
Aurelius’s expression darkened.
“Not personally,” he whispered. “But every surviving Makaian text speaks of Kremki the Ash Bear, the Sovereign of the Northern Holds.”
Meanwhile, within the vision—
Kremki stopped several paces away from Caim, though the hostility between them closed the distance more violently than any weapon could.
“You’ve grown old,” Kremki sneered.
“And yet somehow,” Caim replied calmly, “you remain a child.”
A dangerous smile spread across Kremki’s scarred face.
The soldiers behind him laughed uneasily, though none dared too loudly.
“I wonder,” Kremki muttered, circling slightly, “how many centuries you’ve hidden behind that silver tongue. How many treaties. How many ceremonies. How many evasions.”
His eyes sharpened.
“How many traps of mine you’ve slithered around.”
Caim remained unmoved.
“You mistake patience for cowardice.”
“No,” Kremki growled. “I mistake cowardice for cowardice.”
A low rumble swept through the opposing armies.
Inari could feel it immediately.
This hatred was old.
Not the simple rage of rivals.
This was resentment cultivated over lifetimes.
Kremki pointed toward the obsidian gate behind Caim.
“You sit atop fertile lands while my people freeze beneath dying skies. You hold political dominion over the Southern Accords while my nation bleeds resources to maintain your precious balance.”
His lip curled.
“You call yourself protector of the Trinity, yet all I’ve ever seen you protect...is your own authority.”
Several figures behind Caim shifted angrily.
But Caim simply watched Kremki with exhausted eyes.
“You believe conquest will save your people.”
“I know it will.”
“You know nothing.”
The temperature dropped.
Not metaphorically.
Frost spread across portions of the battlefield as Kremki’s aura surged outward instinctively.
Caim’s robes fluttered softly in response.
For the first time—
His calm cracked.
Only slightly.
But enough for Nagase to notice the frightening pressure lurking beneath it.
This man could annihilate Kremki.
Not eventually.
Not with effort.
Instantly.
And Kremki knew it too.
Which somehow only made him angrier.
“Go on, then,” Kremki spat, spreading his arms wide. “Do what your people whisper about. Show them the great Caim. The immortal sage. The divine king.”
His voice rose.
“Strike me down.”
Silence.
The armies waited.
The world waited.
Caim’s grip tightened slightly around his staff.
“You think this ends with you.”
Kremki laughed harshly.
“That is exactly how war works.”
“No.” Caim’s voice deepened. “That is how children think war works.”
Something shifted then.
His gaze drifted again.
Past Kremki.
Past the armies.
Past the battlefield itself.
Straight toward Nagase.
Toward Inari.
Toward Aurelius.
The three froze.
“You simply cannot perceive any greater danger than a spear before your face,” Caim said quietly, though somehow the words felt directed beyond Kremki alone. “You can only see the hand wielding the weapon, but never have you noticed the powers that order the soldier to act.””
Nagase’s stomach tightened.
Kremki scoffed.
“More riddles.”
“There are forces at work you cannot perceive, kremki. They motion you to war with me, to what end? I will annihilate you and with it so the peace of nations for millenniums.”
Again—
That impossible eye contact.
Direct.
Knowing.
Inari felt the hairs on his neck rise.
This was no accident.
Caim was aware.
Not fully.
Not precisely.
But somehow, impossibly—
He could feel them watching.
Kremki slammed the butt of his massive axe into the earth.
“I am sick of your invisible enemies! Your unseen omens! Every time you fear losing power, you invent another cosmic terror to frighten your council into obedience!”
Several members of Caim’s host visibly recoiled at the accusation.
But Caim did not react with anger.
Only sadness.
Profound sadness.
“You think I speak of superstition because your eyes cannot pierce beyond the veil of your own ambition.”
His voice lowered.
“Kremki...there are things moving in the dark between worlds.”
Nagase’s chest tightened again.
Caim looked directly at her.
“There are civilizations already dead that do not yet realize they are corpses.”
Aurelius inhaled sharply.
Even Inari felt cold.
Kremki snarled.
“And there it is. More ghost stories.”
“You believe yourself a predator,” Caim continued. “Yet you are livestock arguing over territory inside a burning field.”
That struck something.
Kremki’s expression twisted violently.
“You arrogant—”
The ground exploded beneath him.
Not from attack.
From pressure alone.
For a singular, terrifying instant, Caim allowed the barest fraction of his true aura to surface.
The battlefield bent.
Entire sections of the opposing army dropped to one knee instantly.
The obsidian gate behind Caim groaned like a living thing recoiling in fear.
Even Nagase felt her soul tighten instinctively despite being nothing more than an observer.
Caim stepped forward once.
Only once.
But the movement carried the weight of tectonic inevitability.
“I have tolerated your provocations,” he said softly. “Your assassins. Your manipulations within the accords. Your attempts to seize political control through famine and unrest.”
Another step.
“Because I know what comes after this war.”
Kremki’s fury faltered.
Just briefly.
And again—
Caim looked beyond him.
Beyond time.
At the unseen witnesses standing in Akasha.
“There are eyes upon this age even now. Waiting for our decision.”
Nagase felt her pulse stop.
Caim’s expression darkened.
“And they are tired of waiting.”
-
Inariel Myotis
- Drifter
- Posts: 173
- Joined: Mon Jan 21, 2019 7:57 pm
Re: Liminal Reliquary :Crossing The Great Divide
"Livestock in a Burning Field"
Inari stood transfixed. The fleeting remnants of echoing thoughts that had formed the vision finally began to subside, only for him to hear Nagase echoing his exact thoughts. This was something adjacent to magic as many conventionally knew it—yet for the Myotis, this concept of spell casting, the sifting through the ebb and flows of intention and how it could so casually be grafted onto the world around them, was a principle he felt he and Aureious both knew all too well.
The Flesh Illusion.
These prisms of sinew and bone served as the pens of the spirit; each movement, every sway of both body and breath, was some form of calligraphy, leaving some kind of mark that perpetuated the reality around them, and the intertwined strings of warped concepts such as fate or destiny. Inari could feel Nagase's process as if it were his own; she was contemplating just how deep this well of falsehood and sacrifice ran. No one knew when the Horsemen, nor this profane rite, first etched themselves onto the universe's cobbled paths. Inari had never been one to be confined to the binary notions of fate or predestined choices. But if all of existence resided within a bubble of self-realized thoughts, if every path we thought we whittled in defiance of such a grand design was nothing but another arbitrary means of fulfilling the very processes they fought against—
Then what did anything he had ever done truly mean?
Every mountain climbed, every valley traveled, every impulse resisted, every lust indulged—all smaller compartments for a larger dominion of control. Over a thousand lifetimes, rises, falls, victories, failures. The triumph over his curse, the forlorn fate bidden to him.
No.
He had to sever such a train of thought before his entire reality became little more than a perfectly sculpted fixture sitting on the cosmic shelf of some ambiguous force. He refused to believe that everything thus far was meaningless. That would be playing right into the hands of the Horsemen and their cursed system. Anything but refusal, he felt, was complacency. Complicity. Compliance. Despite the rivers of uncertainty carving themselves into the Unseen, Inari refused to buckle. His disposition felt hardened, the fur on his forearm prickling up, alluding to unconscious anxiety cradled in purpose. It was far too late to second-guess the path, far too deep in the muck of the unformed realm to begin to doubt.
Whether every action was by design or not, Inari had witnessed firsthand the fate-defying spark that will could ignite—the inferno of change it could inspire. He would be bound by none, sired by none. His will, and his will alone, carried the rapacious disposition of a predator that did not know surrender. He would fight it, tooth, nail, fang, and claw. Cut, sever, lacerate—whatever he needed for his family to survive. To keep his oath to them, to hold his ode to the moon.
His eyes cut to Aurelius. There would be nothing he would allow to separate them again, and if that meant going against the very universe itself, then his candor for Aurelius, his loyalty and blood to Vescrutia, to her children, his kin would scar the very cosmos itself.
He wasn't losing his family. Never again.
Just as he resolved himself in these thoughts, Nagase took her own. Though arrogant, one thing Nagase never lied about nor allowed to be misconstrued was the gravity of her abilities. In comparison to the current crown, even those of ages past, her psionic abilities were in a league of their own. If she felt she could find this—Caim—then she was going to do just that.
"Caim."
Inari uttered softly, almost in unison with Nagase, in a tone that spoke of something akin to reverence, deeper than sentiment; it felt closer to recollection as if something deep within his Hellgate blood sparked to life with the vigor of remembrance. As if that very utterance brought back a piece of something once lost, but still too far away for him to know it. This, though, was the reason they had come here. To know what the first kings knew, to learn how they have denied the Horsemen their rite for these many millennia. To arm themselves with the knowledge that would grant even them the means to defend their home.
Nagase tapped into Akasha. No—it felt more like a hacker burrowing their way through firewalls. The realm blanched around them, flashes of white, grey, and purples flooded Inari's vision, and as those faltering spurts of light faded, a scene of the living past unfolded before him.
The battlefield stretched like a wound across the world, the earth torn and blackened where celestial fire had fallen. Inari felt the weight of it press against his consciousness—a memory so potent it carried the metallic tang of blood and the ash of burnt hope. Before them, separated by a chasm of destruction that neither army dared cross, stood two figures who embodied the entirety of their age.
Caim, the Immortal Sage, stood at the head of the Southern forces. He was regal, impossibly powerful, adorned in robes that seemed woven from starlight itself. His emerald-veined skin pulsed with a slow, ancient rhythm—each heartbeat marking the passage of centuries, perhaps millennia. His calm was absolute, the kind of stillness that could only belong to someone who had survived the death of worlds. Inari understood in that moment that this was no mortal king, but something far older, far more terrifying in its patience.
Opposite him stood Kremki the Ash Bear, Sovereign of the Northern Holds. The warlord was massive, wrapped in volcanic glass armor that caught the dying light of the battle-scorched sky. Bone and ritual brands covered his form, symbols of every sacrifice his people had made to survive their dying lands. Where Caim exuded cosmic calm, Kremki burned with desperate ferocity—the fury of a man whose people were starving and freezing while their southern neighbors thrived in prosperity.
The unseen horrors moving in the dark were tired of waiting for their decision.
Inari felt the weight of something unquantifiable settle on his shoulders. He understood something with terrible clarity: the war against the Horsemen was not a new conflict. It was an old one—a war that had been fought before, that would be fought again, stretching across time like a wound that refused to heal.
And somewhere in the spaces between seconds, he heard Caim's voice one final time—not aloud, but in the chambers of his own heart.
The question is not whether you will fight. The question is whether you will see.
Inari's eyes lingered weightily on Caim. His Aura, so naturally bold, spoke to a level of mastery Inari felt lost to them. As effortless as breath, as subconcous of hearing ones thoguhts. Beyond intention...it simply was. The vision had shown them the truth of their enemy, the scale of manipulation that had shaped civilizations.
But more than that, the Black Gate. Inari's eyes could not glare beyond it. As if something about it called to his very blood.
The thought should have brought despair.
Instead, Inari felt something else entirely. If this battle had been fought before, if others had seen the same terrible truth and still struggled onward, then their fight was not meaningless. It was a continuation. A relay race passed through the ages, the torch of defiance carried by hands that did not know the hands that came before. Caim's silent acknowledgment almost felt as if he was entrusting them with more than a warning. With the fate of the future of sentient life itself. Handing down to them, defiance itself.
And in that defiance, perhaps, lay the only truth that mattered.
"Perhaps you're not as peerless as you once beleived nana."
Inari's gaze had even reached her, yet he could feel her snarling glare.
"He...knows we are here."
Inari stood transfixed. The fleeting remnants of echoing thoughts that had formed the vision finally began to subside, only for him to hear Nagase echoing his exact thoughts. This was something adjacent to magic as many conventionally knew it—yet for the Myotis, this concept of spell casting, the sifting through the ebb and flows of intention and how it could so casually be grafted onto the world around them, was a principle he felt he and Aureious both knew all too well.
The Flesh Illusion.
These prisms of sinew and bone served as the pens of the spirit; each movement, every sway of both body and breath, was some form of calligraphy, leaving some kind of mark that perpetuated the reality around them, and the intertwined strings of warped concepts such as fate or destiny. Inari could feel Nagase's process as if it were his own; she was contemplating just how deep this well of falsehood and sacrifice ran. No one knew when the Horsemen, nor this profane rite, first etched themselves onto the universe's cobbled paths. Inari had never been one to be confined to the binary notions of fate or predestined choices. But if all of existence resided within a bubble of self-realized thoughts, if every path we thought we whittled in defiance of such a grand design was nothing but another arbitrary means of fulfilling the very processes they fought against—
Then what did anything he had ever done truly mean?
Every mountain climbed, every valley traveled, every impulse resisted, every lust indulged—all smaller compartments for a larger dominion of control. Over a thousand lifetimes, rises, falls, victories, failures. The triumph over his curse, the forlorn fate bidden to him.
No.
He had to sever such a train of thought before his entire reality became little more than a perfectly sculpted fixture sitting on the cosmic shelf of some ambiguous force. He refused to believe that everything thus far was meaningless. That would be playing right into the hands of the Horsemen and their cursed system. Anything but refusal, he felt, was complacency. Complicity. Compliance. Despite the rivers of uncertainty carving themselves into the Unseen, Inari refused to buckle. His disposition felt hardened, the fur on his forearm prickling up, alluding to unconscious anxiety cradled in purpose. It was far too late to second-guess the path, far too deep in the muck of the unformed realm to begin to doubt.
Whether every action was by design or not, Inari had witnessed firsthand the fate-defying spark that will could ignite—the inferno of change it could inspire. He would be bound by none, sired by none. His will, and his will alone, carried the rapacious disposition of a predator that did not know surrender. He would fight it, tooth, nail, fang, and claw. Cut, sever, lacerate—whatever he needed for his family to survive. To keep his oath to them, to hold his ode to the moon.
His eyes cut to Aurelius. There would be nothing he would allow to separate them again, and if that meant going against the very universe itself, then his candor for Aurelius, his loyalty and blood to Vescrutia, to her children, his kin would scar the very cosmos itself.
He wasn't losing his family. Never again.
Just as he resolved himself in these thoughts, Nagase took her own. Though arrogant, one thing Nagase never lied about nor allowed to be misconstrued was the gravity of her abilities. In comparison to the current crown, even those of ages past, her psionic abilities were in a league of their own. If she felt she could find this—Caim—then she was going to do just that.
"Caim."
Inari uttered softly, almost in unison with Nagase, in a tone that spoke of something akin to reverence, deeper than sentiment; it felt closer to recollection as if something deep within his Hellgate blood sparked to life with the vigor of remembrance. As if that very utterance brought back a piece of something once lost, but still too far away for him to know it. This, though, was the reason they had come here. To know what the first kings knew, to learn how they have denied the Horsemen their rite for these many millennia. To arm themselves with the knowledge that would grant even them the means to defend their home.
Nagase tapped into Akasha. No—it felt more like a hacker burrowing their way through firewalls. The realm blanched around them, flashes of white, grey, and purples flooded Inari's vision, and as those faltering spurts of light faded, a scene of the living past unfolded before him.
The battlefield stretched like a wound across the world, the earth torn and blackened where celestial fire had fallen. Inari felt the weight of it press against his consciousness—a memory so potent it carried the metallic tang of blood and the ash of burnt hope. Before them, separated by a chasm of destruction that neither army dared cross, stood two figures who embodied the entirety of their age.
Caim, the Immortal Sage, stood at the head of the Southern forces. He was regal, impossibly powerful, adorned in robes that seemed woven from starlight itself. His emerald-veined skin pulsed with a slow, ancient rhythm—each heartbeat marking the passage of centuries, perhaps millennia. His calm was absolute, the kind of stillness that could only belong to someone who had survived the death of worlds. Inari understood in that moment that this was no mortal king, but something far older, far more terrifying in its patience.
Opposite him stood Kremki the Ash Bear, Sovereign of the Northern Holds. The warlord was massive, wrapped in volcanic glass armor that caught the dying light of the battle-scorched sky. Bone and ritual brands covered his form, symbols of every sacrifice his people had made to survive their dying lands. Where Caim exuded cosmic calm, Kremki burned with desperate ferocity—the fury of a man whose people were starving and freezing while their southern neighbors thrived in prosperity.
The Sage's gaze lingered on Inari, holding it with an intensity that made the Myotis feel exposed, stripped to the bone. In that moment, he understood the terrible weight of the warning. Not just for Kremki, who would never hear it. But for them. For the three who had burrowed through the firewalls of Akasha to witness this moment.“I have tolerated your provocations,” he said softly. “Your assassins. Your manipulations within the accords. Your attempts to seize political control through famine and unrest.”
Another step.
“Because I know what comes after this war.”
Kremki’s fury faltered.
Just briefly.
And again—
Caim looked beyond him.
Beyond time.
At the unseen witnesses standing in Akasha.
“There are eyes upon this age even now. Waiting for our decision.”
Nagase felt her pulse stop.
Caim’s expression darkened.
“And they are tired of waiting.”
The unseen horrors moving in the dark were tired of waiting for their decision.
Inari felt the weight of something unquantifiable settle on his shoulders. He understood something with terrible clarity: the war against the Horsemen was not a new conflict. It was an old one—a war that had been fought before, that would be fought again, stretching across time like a wound that refused to heal.
And somewhere in the spaces between seconds, he heard Caim's voice one final time—not aloud, but in the chambers of his own heart.
The question is not whether you will fight. The question is whether you will see.
Inari's eyes lingered weightily on Caim. His Aura, so naturally bold, spoke to a level of mastery Inari felt lost to them. As effortless as breath, as subconcous of hearing ones thoguhts. Beyond intention...it simply was. The vision had shown them the truth of their enemy, the scale of manipulation that had shaped civilizations.
But more than that, the Black Gate. Inari's eyes could not glare beyond it. As if something about it called to his very blood.
The thought should have brought despair.
Instead, Inari felt something else entirely. If this battle had been fought before, if others had seen the same terrible truth and still struggled onward, then their fight was not meaningless. It was a continuation. A relay race passed through the ages, the torch of defiance carried by hands that did not know the hands that came before. Caim's silent acknowledgment almost felt as if he was entrusting them with more than a warning. With the fate of the future of sentient life itself. Handing down to them, defiance itself.
And in that defiance, perhaps, lay the only truth that mattered.
"Perhaps you're not as peerless as you once beleived nana."
Inari's gaze had even reached her, yet he could feel her snarling glare.
"He...knows we are here."
Re: Liminal Reliquary :Crossing The Great Divide
Nagase could not pull her eyes away from Kremki.
It bothered her.
Not his rage.
Not even his arrogance.
Those were ordinary things. Mortal things. She had seen kings throw entire nations into the maw of extinction over bruised pride and imagined destiny. No, what unsettled her was something deeper.
Kremki knew.
Maybe not consciously. Maybe not fully. But somewhere beneath the fury and nationalism and venomous ambition, some primitive corner of his spirit understood exactly what stood before him.
Caim could kill him.
Easily.
Nagase had seen living power, man who were closer to deities than mortals. Some were monsters wearing flesh. Others angels cursed with skin. All were calamities masquerading as people. But this...
This was different.
Caim did not feel powerful in the conventional sense.
He felt foundational.
Like gravity.
Like the concept of winter.
The area itself seemed to orient around his existence as though reality had accepted him as an unavoidable law.
And Kremki knew it. Hated it.
Nagase saw it in the slight tremor buried beneath his breathing. In the tension in his jaw whenever Caim stepped forward. In the way his soldiers looked at Caim not with hatred, but dread.
So why continue?
Why push?
Why willingly ignite a war he could not confidently win?
Unless...
Nagase’s pupils narrowed.
“He wants to die,” she murmured.
Inari glanced toward her.
“No,” she corrected herself immediately, eyes still fixed on the memory. “He wants something Caim loves….to die.”
That was the horrifying part.
Kremki no longer behaved like a man seeking victory.
He behaved like a man attempting to force an outcome.
Any outcome.
Even annihilation.
Especially annihilation.
The realization made her stomach twist.
How many rulers throughout history had behaved the same way? How many conflicts had not been born from greed or ideology, but from some unseen pressure guiding civilization toward collapse?
And then there was Caim.
Nagase’s confidence had begun to fracture long before she admitted it aloud.
This should not have been possible.
Akasha was memory.
An imprint.
A spiritual archive composed of preserved cognition and ancestral resonance. They were not physically present. They were observers drifting through recorded existence.
And yet—
Caim kept looking at them.
Not vaguely.
Not symbolically.
Directly.
The implications clawed at her mind.
Either all of Akasha was somehow more alive than anyone realized...
Or Caim’s perception transcended temporal law so thoroughly that he could sense beings observing him from thousands—perhaps millions—of years in the future.
The latter possibility was so absurd it bordered on blasphemy.
And yet Nagase no longer possessed the arrogance to dismiss it.
For the first time in years—
She felt exposed.
Small.
Seen.
“I suppose you aren’t as peerless as you thought.”
Inari’s voice slid into her thoughts with infuriating calm.
Nagase’s eye twitched instantly.
Aurelius wisely remained silent, huding behind a slight smirk.
Nagase slowly turned her head toward Inari with the expression of someone contemplating homicide as a stress-relief exercise.
“Oh, shut the fuck up.”
Inari smirked.
That alone reignited her pride enough to smother the fear creeping through her ribs.
Fine.
If Caim truly could perceive them...
Then she would test it herself.
The memory surged onward abruptly.
Without their concentrated awareness anchoring it, time accelerated violently around them once more.
The battlefield blurred.
Voices stretched into incomprehensible echoes.
Nagase watched negotiations unfold in fragments—sharp gestures, shifting armies, diplomats scrambling between camps. Kremki’s outrage continued, but the confrontation never reached bloodshed.
Caim diverted it.
Again.
And again.
Every provocation.
Every political trap.
Every opportunity for violence.
He redirected them all with surgical precision.
It became increasingly obvious why Kremki hated him so deeply.
Caim wasn’t merely stronger than him.
He was wiser. Superior in all ways that mattered in war and infuence.
That was the more unbearable truth.
Eventually, the armies dispersed.
The northern legions withdrew first, their banners vanishing into storms of black snow beyond the horizon. Caim’s own allies departed more slowly, many lingering with visible unease before finally bowing and taking their leave.
Then—
Silence.
The massive field stood empty beneath dim celestial light.
Only Caim remained.
Still.
Motionless before the obsidian gate.
Nagase narrowed her eyes.
“…Alright then.”
She stepped forward instinctively despite knowing there should have been no “forward” within memory. No real movement. No true interaction.
Just observation.
Her lips parted.
And instantly—
The veil ruptured.
“Well?”
Caim’s voice echoed across the empty field.
“Are you not going to introduce yourselves?”
Reality split open.
Nagase’s eyes widened violently as the membrane separating Akasha from the memory peeled away like wet paper torn by invisible hands. The world lurched sideways.
Suddenly—
She could breathe.
Actually breathe.
Cold air slammed into her lungs with such force it felt painful.
Gravity returned.
Sound returned.
Smell returned.
The sensation of temporal and spatial awareness crashing back into place hit her nervous system like a hammer.
Nagase dropped to one knee instantly and vomited onto the dirt floor.
The taste of bile burned her throat.
“In-fucking-possible,” she gasped between breaths.
Aurelius looked equally horrified.
His spectral form flickered erratically, unstable from shock alone.
Inari said nothing.
For once.
Even he looked genuinely shaken.
Slowly—
Caim turned to face them fully.
And as he did—
His flesh began to come apart.
Not rot.
Not decay.
Dissolution.
His skin fragmented into streams of pale dust that drifted upward like ash caught in reverse gravity. Entire pieces of muscle and sinew unraveled into luminous particles, exposing the skeletal frame beneath.
Nagase staggered backward.
Beneath the dissolving body was not death—
But something preserved beyond it.
A radiant skeleton adorned in ceremonial robes untouched by time itself. Vast crystalline wings erupted from his back, unfolding with the slow majesty of a celestial phenomenon. They were not feathered, but composed of enormous translucent prisms that refracted impossible colors through the dark.
The sight was unbearable to look at directly.
Not because it was grotesque.
Because it was ancient.
Too ancient.
Like witnessing the remains of a god that had refused to stop moving long after death.
The sockets of Caim’s skull glowed softly with emerald light.
And then—
The immortal sage smiled.
It bothered her.
Not his rage.
Not even his arrogance.
Those were ordinary things. Mortal things. She had seen kings throw entire nations into the maw of extinction over bruised pride and imagined destiny. No, what unsettled her was something deeper.
Kremki knew.
Maybe not consciously. Maybe not fully. But somewhere beneath the fury and nationalism and venomous ambition, some primitive corner of his spirit understood exactly what stood before him.
Caim could kill him.
Easily.
Nagase had seen living power, man who were closer to deities than mortals. Some were monsters wearing flesh. Others angels cursed with skin. All were calamities masquerading as people. But this...
This was different.
Caim did not feel powerful in the conventional sense.
He felt foundational.
Like gravity.
Like the concept of winter.
The area itself seemed to orient around his existence as though reality had accepted him as an unavoidable law.
And Kremki knew it. Hated it.
Nagase saw it in the slight tremor buried beneath his breathing. In the tension in his jaw whenever Caim stepped forward. In the way his soldiers looked at Caim not with hatred, but dread.
So why continue?
Why push?
Why willingly ignite a war he could not confidently win?
Unless...
Nagase’s pupils narrowed.
“He wants to die,” she murmured.
Inari glanced toward her.
“No,” she corrected herself immediately, eyes still fixed on the memory. “He wants something Caim loves….to die.”
That was the horrifying part.
Kremki no longer behaved like a man seeking victory.
He behaved like a man attempting to force an outcome.
Any outcome.
Even annihilation.
Especially annihilation.
The realization made her stomach twist.
How many rulers throughout history had behaved the same way? How many conflicts had not been born from greed or ideology, but from some unseen pressure guiding civilization toward collapse?
And then there was Caim.
Nagase’s confidence had begun to fracture long before she admitted it aloud.
This should not have been possible.
Akasha was memory.
An imprint.
A spiritual archive composed of preserved cognition and ancestral resonance. They were not physically present. They were observers drifting through recorded existence.
And yet—
Caim kept looking at them.
Not vaguely.
Not symbolically.
Directly.
The implications clawed at her mind.
Either all of Akasha was somehow more alive than anyone realized...
Or Caim’s perception transcended temporal law so thoroughly that he could sense beings observing him from thousands—perhaps millions—of years in the future.
The latter possibility was so absurd it bordered on blasphemy.
And yet Nagase no longer possessed the arrogance to dismiss it.
For the first time in years—
She felt exposed.
Small.
Seen.
“I suppose you aren’t as peerless as you thought.”
Inari’s voice slid into her thoughts with infuriating calm.
Nagase’s eye twitched instantly.
Aurelius wisely remained silent, huding behind a slight smirk.
Nagase slowly turned her head toward Inari with the expression of someone contemplating homicide as a stress-relief exercise.
“Oh, shut the fuck up.”
Inari smirked.
That alone reignited her pride enough to smother the fear creeping through her ribs.
Fine.
If Caim truly could perceive them...
Then she would test it herself.
The memory surged onward abruptly.
Without their concentrated awareness anchoring it, time accelerated violently around them once more.
The battlefield blurred.
Voices stretched into incomprehensible echoes.
Nagase watched negotiations unfold in fragments—sharp gestures, shifting armies, diplomats scrambling between camps. Kremki’s outrage continued, but the confrontation never reached bloodshed.
Caim diverted it.
Again.
And again.
Every provocation.
Every political trap.
Every opportunity for violence.
He redirected them all with surgical precision.
It became increasingly obvious why Kremki hated him so deeply.
Caim wasn’t merely stronger than him.
He was wiser. Superior in all ways that mattered in war and infuence.
That was the more unbearable truth.
Eventually, the armies dispersed.
The northern legions withdrew first, their banners vanishing into storms of black snow beyond the horizon. Caim’s own allies departed more slowly, many lingering with visible unease before finally bowing and taking their leave.
Then—
Silence.
The massive field stood empty beneath dim celestial light.
Only Caim remained.
Still.
Motionless before the obsidian gate.
Nagase narrowed her eyes.
“…Alright then.”
She stepped forward instinctively despite knowing there should have been no “forward” within memory. No real movement. No true interaction.
Just observation.
Her lips parted.
And instantly—
The veil ruptured.
“Well?”
Caim’s voice echoed across the empty field.
“Are you not going to introduce yourselves?”
Reality split open.
Nagase’s eyes widened violently as the membrane separating Akasha from the memory peeled away like wet paper torn by invisible hands. The world lurched sideways.
Suddenly—
She could breathe.
Actually breathe.
Cold air slammed into her lungs with such force it felt painful.
Gravity returned.
Sound returned.
Smell returned.
The sensation of temporal and spatial awareness crashing back into place hit her nervous system like a hammer.
Nagase dropped to one knee instantly and vomited onto the dirt floor.
The taste of bile burned her throat.
“In-fucking-possible,” she gasped between breaths.
Aurelius looked equally horrified.
His spectral form flickered erratically, unstable from shock alone.
Inari said nothing.
For once.
Even he looked genuinely shaken.
Slowly—
Caim turned to face them fully.
And as he did—
His flesh began to come apart.
Not rot.
Not decay.
Dissolution.
His skin fragmented into streams of pale dust that drifted upward like ash caught in reverse gravity. Entire pieces of muscle and sinew unraveled into luminous particles, exposing the skeletal frame beneath.
Nagase staggered backward.
Beneath the dissolving body was not death—
But something preserved beyond it.
A radiant skeleton adorned in ceremonial robes untouched by time itself. Vast crystalline wings erupted from his back, unfolding with the slow majesty of a celestial phenomenon. They were not feathered, but composed of enormous translucent prisms that refracted impossible colors through the dark.
The sight was unbearable to look at directly.
Not because it was grotesque.
Because it was ancient.
Too ancient.
Like witnessing the remains of a god that had refused to stop moving long after death.
The sockets of Caim’s skull glowed softly with emerald light.
And then—
The immortal sage smiled.
-
Inariel Myotis
- Drifter
- Posts: 173
- Joined: Mon Jan 21, 2019 7:57 pm
Re: Liminal Reliquary :Crossing The Great Divide
The realm moved forward, thousands upon thousands of years, and Caim stood vigil over the Black Gate. Armies rose and fell, civilizations were born and destroyed, eroded either by the malicious aims of an opposing commander or by the ever-flowing rivers of time. Inari witnessed them all without a single blink. His soul was being filled at this very moment, witnessing the literal events of his clan origins unfold before him.
Just under a year ago, he was but a dark wanderer trekking through the Maaluki Woods in search of anything, any salve that could save himself from himself. The hunger to know, so maddening it drove him into frenzy. Where he was once a vulpine pup wailing at the Scarlet Moon, afraid of connection yet yearning to know how he fit into a world that so openly fought against him. There was so much about that time he did not understand. Why the Maaluki Woods? Why did the scarlet moon cause him such frenzy? Why... was killing so easy for him? Questions that bled well into his first venture into Solaris, beyond the city sitting in the center of the Acrix.
Why did he have to force Earth to answer him? Why was it hard for everyone else to understand him?
After so many trials, he had discovered some answers, but the few he had found gave way to so many more questions. He was... a single soul that had lived the lives of a thousand other faces. A soul not of this realm and yet... he still knew not from whence it came. And yet as the ages passed, he felt more connected to his bloodline than ever. Despite the many things he did, he did not understand what he did know was that he was Hellgate and this... this was HIS history.
The breach was not gentle. It was not measured. It was the violence of creation, the raw force of existence asserting itself against intruders who had no right to be present. Inari felt his spatial awareness crash into place like glass shattering against stone, every nerve ending in his body screaming as gravity reasserted its claim. He tried to breathe and found that air was a thing that required permission, that his lungs had forgotten their ancient purpose.
The cold hit him first—a living thing that gnawed through his clothing and into his flesh with the hunger of a starving predator. Then came sound, overwhelming in its totality: the howling of wind across the plain, the crack of ice beneath distant footsteps, the wet, broken noise that Nagase made as her body rejected the violence of manifestation. Inari turned his head, watching as she dropped to her knees, her lunch painting the frozen earth in colors that steamed in the bitter air. He wanted to help her, wanted to say something, but his own body had become a country he no longer recognized.
His knees struck the ground with enough force to rattle his teeth. The cold was so complete that it became heat, became fire, became a sensation beyond naming that raced up through his skeleton and into the marrow of his very soul. He gasped, and each breath was glass in his lungs, knives, the remembrance of what it meant to be physical after so long of existing as something less than real.
Aurelius beside him was no better, reduced to a curled mass of suffering, his massive frame trembling with the shock of forced incarnation. Inari reached out, his hand finding Aurelius's arm, anchoring them together as waves of nausea rolled through both of them.
The cold air filled his mouth, his nose, his eyes. Inari felt his eyes watering, the tears freezing on his cheeks like tiny implements of torture. He wanted to close his eyes, wanted to return to the safety of observation, but he found that he could not. The membrane was gone. They were here. They were present. And Caim was watching them with the patience of something that had long ago abandoned urgency.
When Caim turned to fully face them, Inari's confusion intensified beyond measure. The human flesh that had covered the Makaian elder began to dissolve, not rotting, not decaying, but simply ceasing to exist. It rose into the air in luminous particles, each one catching the dim light of that bruised-purple sky and reflecting it in colors that had no names in any language Inari had ever known. The transformation was complete in seconds that stretched into eternities, and what remained was neither human nor monstrous but something that existed beyond such convenient categories. But so that his mind could conceptualize it, his youth whispered.
"A Glamour."
A type of illusion.
Caim stood before them as a radiant, ancient skeleton, each bone carved with symbols that seemed to shift and change when Inari tried to focus on them. And his wings—his crystalline wings—spread out to either side like the frozen roar of some impossible beast, catching the dying light and refracting it into prismatic rainbows that painted the snowy plain with impossible beauty. He looked like death, like preservation, memory given form and time made.
Inari's mind struggled to process what he was seeing, what it meant for something so utterly other to look at him with what he could only describe as recognition. The nausea was still there, would probably always be there, but beneath it was something older and more powerful: the undeniable certainty that he had come home to a place he never knew existed, standing before an ancestor who had been waiting for him across the vast gulf of possibly millions of years.
Caim regarded them silently, his skeletal features somehow expressive enough to convey a weight of meaning that no words could contain. When he finally spoke, his voice was the sound of glaciers grinding against mountainsides, the echo of a command that had shaped the very foundations of the world Inari inhabited. He felt...compelled to answer the sage, not because he demanded it, but because it seemed like something one did in the face of true nobility.
"Inari...Inariel Myotis Hellgate."
Just under a year ago, he was but a dark wanderer trekking through the Maaluki Woods in search of anything, any salve that could save himself from himself. The hunger to know, so maddening it drove him into frenzy. Where he was once a vulpine pup wailing at the Scarlet Moon, afraid of connection yet yearning to know how he fit into a world that so openly fought against him. There was so much about that time he did not understand. Why the Maaluki Woods? Why did the scarlet moon cause him such frenzy? Why... was killing so easy for him? Questions that bled well into his first venture into Solaris, beyond the city sitting in the center of the Acrix.
Why did he have to force Earth to answer him? Why was it hard for everyone else to understand him?
After so many trials, he had discovered some answers, but the few he had found gave way to so many more questions. He was... a single soul that had lived the lives of a thousand other faces. A soul not of this realm and yet... he still knew not from whence it came. And yet as the ages passed, he felt more connected to his bloodline than ever. Despite the many things he did, he did not understand what he did know was that he was Hellgate and this... this was HIS history.
The breach was not gentle. It was not measured. It was the violence of creation, the raw force of existence asserting itself against intruders who had no right to be present. Inari felt his spatial awareness crash into place like glass shattering against stone, every nerve ending in his body screaming as gravity reasserted its claim. He tried to breathe and found that air was a thing that required permission, that his lungs had forgotten their ancient purpose.
The cold hit him first—a living thing that gnawed through his clothing and into his flesh with the hunger of a starving predator. Then came sound, overwhelming in its totality: the howling of wind across the plain, the crack of ice beneath distant footsteps, the wet, broken noise that Nagase made as her body rejected the violence of manifestation. Inari turned his head, watching as she dropped to her knees, her lunch painting the frozen earth in colors that steamed in the bitter air. He wanted to help her, wanted to say something, but his own body had become a country he no longer recognized.
His knees struck the ground with enough force to rattle his teeth. The cold was so complete that it became heat, became fire, became a sensation beyond naming that raced up through his skeleton and into the marrow of his very soul. He gasped, and each breath was glass in his lungs, knives, the remembrance of what it meant to be physical after so long of existing as something less than real.
Aurelius beside him was no better, reduced to a curled mass of suffering, his massive frame trembling with the shock of forced incarnation. Inari reached out, his hand finding Aurelius's arm, anchoring them together as waves of nausea rolled through both of them.
The cold air filled his mouth, his nose, his eyes. Inari felt his eyes watering, the tears freezing on his cheeks like tiny implements of torture. He wanted to close his eyes, wanted to return to the safety of observation, but he found that he could not. The membrane was gone. They were here. They were present. And Caim was watching them with the patience of something that had long ago abandoned urgency.
When Caim turned to fully face them, Inari's confusion intensified beyond measure. The human flesh that had covered the Makaian elder began to dissolve, not rotting, not decaying, but simply ceasing to exist. It rose into the air in luminous particles, each one catching the dim light of that bruised-purple sky and reflecting it in colors that had no names in any language Inari had ever known. The transformation was complete in seconds that stretched into eternities, and what remained was neither human nor monstrous but something that existed beyond such convenient categories. But so that his mind could conceptualize it, his youth whispered.
"A Glamour."
A type of illusion.
Caim stood before them as a radiant, ancient skeleton, each bone carved with symbols that seemed to shift and change when Inari tried to focus on them. And his wings—his crystalline wings—spread out to either side like the frozen roar of some impossible beast, catching the dying light and refracting it into prismatic rainbows that painted the snowy plain with impossible beauty. He looked like death, like preservation, memory given form and time made.
Inari's mind struggled to process what he was seeing, what it meant for something so utterly other to look at him with what he could only describe as recognition. The nausea was still there, would probably always be there, but beneath it was something older and more powerful: the undeniable certainty that he had come home to a place he never knew existed, standing before an ancestor who had been waiting for him across the vast gulf of possibly millions of years.
Caim regarded them silently, his skeletal features somehow expressive enough to convey a weight of meaning that no words could contain. When he finally spoke, his voice was the sound of glaciers grinding against mountainsides, the echo of a command that had shaped the very foundations of the world Inari inhabited. He felt...compelled to answer the sage, not because he demanded it, but because it seemed like something one did in the face of true nobility.
"Inari...Inariel Myotis Hellgate."
The team