Chapter 58: A World of Primordial Dominion

  Aeor's vision began to recede.

  The storm, the sea, the endless horizon, all slipped away, layer by layer, until nothing remained but those cerulean eyes. They watched him in silence, vast and impersonal, weighing not his actions, but his existence.

  Judgment without malice. Observation without mercy.

  Then even they faded.

  Darkness claimed the space they left behind.

  Aeor opened his eyes.

  He lay on his back against the ground, gaze turned toward the sky. But Sol did not greet him. No golden rays pierced the clouds. No warmth pressed against his skin. Instead, darkness stretched overhead, heavy and wrong.

  Only the faintest outlines of clouds lingered along the horizon, barely distinguishable against the void above.

  Sol's presence was gone.

  Sound returned in fragments.

  Soft voices first, low and shaken. The rustle of armor as soldiers shifted where they stood or knelt. The brush of feathers as Avians resettled, wings folding with weary care. Beneath it all came quiet cries of lament, carried without direction, without ceremony.

  Aeor turned his head.

  Pockets of flame moved through the field, threading between the two battalions. Some soldiers carried torches, their light unsteady in the windless dark. Others conjured flame directly, small and controlled, shaping brightness where the dark pressed too close.

  Not everyone moved.

  Bodies lay scattered across the ground, unmoving where they had fallen.

  His gaze searched.

  He found Velora first, pale form cutting through the chaos with deliberate calm. Zoey was nearby, crouched beside a fallen soldier, her hands glowing faintly as she worked. Others moved with them, lifting, checking, calling out names, tending to those who still breathed.

  Aeor pushed himself upright. His muscles protested, stiff with aftershock, but he forced his breath to steady. He lifted a hand and let death answer, shaping the Essence with quiet care until it formed a steady flame.

  Violet light spilled outward, soft and contained, illuminating the ground around him without casting harsh shadows.

  The glow revealed a kneeling orc a short distance away.

  The man's shoulders trembled as he stared up at the sky, lips moving in soundless prayer. Tears traced slow paths down his face, catching the violet light before they fell. There was no rage in his expression.

  Only loss.

  Aeor could feel it in him. Not pain alone, but the collapse of hope itself. The hollowing that followed when the thing you had trusted to endure simply vanished.

  Scenes like it stretched across the field.

  For many here, faith had been the only thing holding them upright. Take that away and what remained was not defiance, but silence, and the quiet realization that they no longer knew how to stand.

  Aeor turned his gaze toward the mountain ranges.

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  In the distant dark of the peaks, four pairs of violet eyes burned steadily. The Empyrean Wyrmkin watched the south in silence, immense shapes barely discernible against stone and shadow. None spoke. None moved.

  The sight set his thoughts turning.

  In his conversations with Vaelkar, Aeor had asked about the First Solenar more than once. Each time, the ancient wyrmkin had avoided most of his questions, answering only a few, and even then painting a picture that no longer aligned with what Aeor had seen.

  Vaelkar had claimed he remembered nothing of the thirteenth. Only a burning rage, sharp and unreasoned, without shape or memory to anchor it.

  Even Morvaketh had remembered the First Solenar and what had been done to him, yet he too held no recollection of the thirteenth.

  Are they lying?

  The thought crossed Aeor's mind, then faded. It did not feel like deception.

  Then why has the thirteenth eluded them? Is it tied to the Aspect of Existence?

  Of all the Primordial Aspects, Existence was the hardest to grasp. Vaelkar had spoken of it only in fragments, usually in the language of battle. Of facing multiple versions of himself at once, of a presence that fractured perception rather than overpowering it.

  The core of it remained hidden, even from Vaelkar.

  Only this much was clear. Its influence was fundamental, as vital to reality as the other pillars of time, death, and life.

  Aeor exhaled slowly, letting the thoughts settle.

  He would have his answers later.

  For now, the world demanded his attention.

  He looked away from the mountains, but the image of those violet eyes refused to leave him.

  Stone shifted underfoot. Dregor approached, each step deliberate despite the wreckage around them.

  "Are you alright?" Dregor asked.

  Aeor nodded once.

  "Did you see it?" Dregor continued, voice lowering. "The ocean."

  "Yes," Aeor replied, distant.

  He knelt beside a fallen soldier as violet mist gathered at his hand.

  "Rise," Aeor said softly.

  The mist traced the body, lingering for a heartbeat as if searching for something to claim. Then it thinned and dispersed, leaving the corpse unchanged.

  Aeor's jaw tightened.

  "Rise," he said again, and a hint of anger slipped into his voice.

  Nothing.

  The mist unraveled once more.

  What had these people done to deserve this end?

  The question came unbidden.

  They had made it through one nightmare after another, and it had only bought them here. For what? To be dragged into the Archives and learn the world would keep taking, again and again, until there was nothing left to give.

  "Rise," Aeor said again, louder now, control slipping as frustration bled through.

  The result did not change.

  "Aeor."

  Dregor's hand settled on his shoulder, firm and grounding.

  Aeor snapped toward him.

  Rage burned in Aeor's eyes, violet light flaring sharp and uncontrolled. Even so, Dregor's gaze stayed warm and steady, unshaken by the fury in front of him.

  Aeor froze.

  The fire in his eyes dimmed. The surge collapsed inward as quickly as it had risen.

  "I…" Aeor began, then stopped. The words would not come.

  He looked around and realized how many eyes were on him. Soldiers nearby had paused, attention drawn despite themselves.

  "I am sorry," Aeor said quietly as he lowered himself to the ground, gaze fixed on the stone beneath him. "I lost my temper."

  "It's alright," Dregor said. His voice stayed even. "Vaelkar tried to raise them, like he did the others. He couldn't. The thirteenth has his hold on them."

  Aeor's breath caught.

  "How many did we lose?" he asked, barely above a whisper.

  Dregor did not hesitate. "More than half."

  Aeor looked up sharply, disbelief plain on his face.

  "What?" was all he could manage.

  Dregor did not answer.

  Around them, those who had been watching turned away, attention drifting back to their wounded, to their dead. No one lingered on the question.

  Aeor's jaw tightened.

  "What about the settlements?" he asked. "What happened there?"

  "The Vaelirras haven't arrived yet," Dregor replied. He paused and said nothing more.

  He did not need to.

  Considering the strength of those stationed there, the implication settled heavily between them.

  "I don't understand," Aeor said. His voice stayed steady, but something harder edged beneath it. "We secured more than half the Scales for the Initiation Thread. That should have been enough. We should have avoided this. Why was the toll so massive?"

  Silence answered him.

  Then Dregor spoke again, quieter.

  "Aeor, you should check your Archive status."

  Aeor's eyes widened. He scanned the ground until he spotted his parchment nearby. He retrieved it, fingers closing around the familiar weight.

  He focused and willed the Initiation Thread to surface.

  This time, the Archives answered.

  Throne of Sol'Karenth

  Type: Woven (S)

  Status: Completed

  Details -

  Completed?

  Aeor frowned.

  He willed all of his threads into view, scanning until a new entry caught his eye.

  A World of Primordial Dominion

  Type: Woven (S)

  Status: Ongoing

  Details -

  His heart stuttered as he stared at the unfamiliar title. He willed it to expand.

  Overview:

  Sol'Karenth persists in stasis beyond the jurisdiction of the Archives. To break the stasis and join the Archives, the Four Pillars and the Orders of the Nine Supporting Primordial Aspects must be wielded in unison.

  Once the Aspects have been aligned, the Archives shall offer a choice.

  The thirteenth has risen. In the wake of his arrival, the remaining Primordial Aspects have surfaced. However, their rising is not without cost. A toll is demanded that shall be paid with the weight of Existence. Sol'Karenth has been bound to that payment. Its denizens were made to sustain that cost by the thirteenth.

  The newly risen Aspects have been claimed by the thirteenth and separated from their mortal vessels.

  Empyrean Wyrmkin risen prior to the Reckoning have accepted unification with the Archives. The thirteenth has rejected the claim.

  Given the instability caused by clashing Primordial Aspects and the fall of Sol at the hands of the First Solenar, the world of Sol'Karenth has fractured and can no longer sustain its balance unless compelled by the Aspects themselves.

  Aspect Concordance

  Aspects that oppose the stasis: (8/13)

  Death

  Time

  Light

  Darkness

  Authority

  Horizon

  Entropy

  Depth

  Aspects that support the stasis: (5/13)

  Existence

  Life

  Dream

  Void

  Invariant

  Time Until World Collapse: 21 Days

  Chapter 59 releases Monday at 6 PM EST.

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