Her body moved through the village with a familiarity that belied the scant few weeks she had spent there. Was this the ending?
It was all getting too confusing. Another temporal anamoly was developing, and she felt it pull like a siren’s song. Pyraelia--the usual one, at least--preferred she didn’t go to where they were about to distill, but she was working somewhen else at the moment. Khaeris headed down to where the gardens were.
Cabbages kept rewinding between falling and shattering and back to green missiles flying back into the air. Dragons and their allies were helping sort things out one cabbage at a time. What was it about these vegetables?
Khaeris was here to fix her time problem and there were some promising threads to follow. But it was getting a bit hazy for her. It was probably time to step away and regroup again. She was gathering the sands of the timeways like glitter and it shimmered around her. After helping with the garden she would head to Valdrakken. She had not been yet, a previous fear of running into Bronzes had kept her out. But now, she knew they would look at her funny, but she had the words to soothe them and how to turn their attention away.
There was supposed to be a spa, close to Valdrakken. Maybe she would go. At least until the glittering, golden time-sand was gone again. Pollux hadn’t been too happy she’d been in Eon’s Fringe; maybe he’d join her at the spa.
Nyphele and Selaena would be shocked to see her now, rest their souls. The quiet, unfurnished rooms certainly weren’t an Estate of her own, nor were they the spinsters' cloister Sel always threatened their parents were going to put her in, but the modest apartment was hers.
Sure, her elder sisters would probably be appalled at the circumstances — it would’ve been unthinkable, back then, for the monarchy to have collapsed and the rest of the nobility in shambles around the Regency and military government, but here she was.
Her centuries of service with her cousin’s family, the Sunmotes, had afforded her some luxury. This place — her place — wasn’t quite the top floor unit in this tower block, but it was close enough. Morning light spilled in through the grand arched windows, and it was pleasant to think of how autumn breezes would make gauzy, Sin’dorei silk curtains billow after she got around to having someone install them.
There was room to entertain, room to office, room to indulge… The kitchen alone had so much promise.
Long delayed as The Move had been, it felt like time. The Sunmotes had been the last thread of nobility left in her own family line, and with Fiorenze losing her titles that chapter was finally closed. That ending would inevitably lead to a new beginning there, not quickly, but some things took time. Pyraelia had already chosen that path for herself years ago, but the pressures of the family had never weighed on her as heavily as they had on her elder sister.
Having the tower to themselves would be for the best. It was a bittersweet thing, but she’d be just down the road from them if they needed anything.
Her heart swelled as she looked at the tiled hearth, the aging ceramic backsplashes and empty cabinets. She’d never had the opportunity to ‘feather her own nest’ as the saying went, but now she had the time to throw her own pots and plates, and glaze tile sets in ways that she liked.
The only thing she’d brought with her this time, on this first visit as its owner, was a well worn and loved painting. One that had been restored and reframed many times in its almost seven centuries of existence. She set it on the bare counter, a temporary place, and delighted in the way the airy daylight made the only remaining image of Nyphele and Selaena, and a much younger herself, come to life.
Since the anomaly near the reservoir, that moment when time had stood still and its threads had parted to show Luminash a glimpse of himself, scarred horribly by shadowflame, mind twisted by disillusionment with the Titans and by the Infinite promise of control over time’s endless march, Luminash had been diligent for more, searching the area daily for any trace of that timeway’s signature.
He had tried his timepiece method, an hourglass, even dabbled in harmonies and resonance as some of his colleagues at Eon’s Fringe had, charging condensed glassy beads of temporal sand with the Arcane. Still, he found nothing. In the end, he had felt it best to bring in someone with sharper, fresher eyes to use those tools.
“I remember writing this. Most of it, at any rate,” Luminash said, scanning the timelost scroll recovered from the hills near the reservoir.
“But not all of it?” Theras asked. The younger Dawnwing turned over between his fingers the wolf’s fang he wore around his neck, waiting for his father to speak.
Luminash shook his head, rolling the paper back up and setting it down with the pack his son had brought back, resonating stone humming shrilly before the magister deactivated it, “The conclusion here is different. Significantly.”
“How so?” Still he toyed with the wolf fang, and the magister allowed himself a small sad smile at the recollection of an aging frostwolf companion of many years past.
“I concluded that the Titans were – are – not infallible, but their deeds and legacy are still worth studying and preserving. With important notes, let us say, that we ought not follow their path blindly. The world, all of creation, is much more complex than one piece of it would have us believe.” Catching his son’s eyes, he tapped the scroll with a jabbing finger, “Here, I concluded that their legacy is hopelessly tainted by their intentions of control, and all children of Azeroth should seek to free themselves of the yoke of Order.”
“What would account for that? What happened in that timeway that would lead you to that?” The ranger asked about his father, but the unspoken question of his own fate in that timeway nevertheless hung in the air, “Where do the changes start?”
Emptying the rest of the pack, Luminash sighed, “A very good question. I’ll admit, I have my own doubts, but to throw my lot in with a Primalist-Infinite alliance seems extreme.”
Theras stepped away from the table while his father sorted through the various effects from the other Luminash’s pack. He saw the usual tools of the trade – arcane foci, inks, parchment, nothing out of the ordinary, and certainly nothing to hold his interest. Far better were the rolling dunes nestled in the rocky crags and peaks of Thaldraszus. The young ranger had never seen anything like it, and his heart swelled as his imagination soared through those peaks. He wondered how a drake’s reins would feel in his hands. Then, he snapped back to reality.
“Theras,” the magister said, voice little more than a hoarse whisper, “Here. Look.”
The last item in the pack, the end of their investigation for the day, lay bare on the table. Theras’ hands grasped his necklace, knuckles white, as he stared at its duplicate on the table. The only difference is that the other’s leather cord was gone, replaced by silver, and a chip missing from the end of Rimepelt’s memento.
Soaring through the clouds, wind whipping his red mane behind him, then suddenly swallowed in a black pit, diving deep from the heights, no bottom in sight. Theras, already pale, utterly blanched.
“The beginning, I dare say. I am…” Luminash struggled to find the right words, only trailing off. How often, he wondered, did one have to offer condolences to someone on their own death?
Theras swallowed hard and took one step back, then another. He looked at his father, into his eyes, the same ones that would be darkened with shadowflame after, what, his own demise?
"I will ask one last time. What do you want, Thornspeaker Kellan?" Brigitte grumbled out, still refusing to face the man. He shouldn't have any reason to visit her, not anymore.
The burly man couldn't help a defeated, disheartened sigh at her tone. Gone were the days he could converse with his former student freely - at least to what counted as such when it came to Brigitte - and it was fault. The years of effort he put in to make up for it didn't have noticeable results either.
"Very well, I'll be brief. There are a few younglings who show interest in learning our ways once again. The High Thornspeaker is taking suggestions on who would be willing to guide them. I came to ask if you were interested... and to check on you."
Bri's wooden talons flexed instinctually at the anger the flooded her.
How dare he...?!
"No. I'm not interested. And heed my final warning: LEAVE. ME. ALONE! If you approach me again, you will regret it." She hissed, the root-claws of her left arm tearing into the rock in her anger. "And stop wasting your time. I will never forgive you. Now get lost, old man."
Kellan sighed again with a nod. "As you wish. I won't seek you out again... but if you ever need help, I will be there, should you wish it so. Take care of yourself."
The young woman only caught a glimpse of his receding back, but it was enough.
"No need for that. I don't need help, from any of you, never again." Bri muttered to herself, the curtain of thorns parting before her.
Surprisingly, she believed his words. He won't bother her again... but there will be others. maybe it was time to leave the forests of Drustvar - and the Thornspeakers - behind.
Brigitte hummed at the thought and started to make her preparations.
K’thalen collapsed onto a wooden stump with a short grunt and a shorter sigh. He had just spent the morning hunting with no luck; most of the traps weren’t even sprung, and the few that were only had bits of fur leftover from the critter’s escape… which means breakfast will have to wait until it’s lunch time. Again. He ran a hand through his hair to steady himself, but it was hard to think on an empty stomach. What he really needed was some venison– but getting close enough to an elk for a clean shot to avoid any woodsin in this accursed forest would be impossible with his companion.
“That’ll be a first.”
“Have you ever been in love? I want to be in love!” Coroh began to orbit him immediately once she started talking again; and K’thalen knew if he tried to move she would just follow him like a duckling. “What do the round-ears do again? What is it called, Thal? Mare-rage?”
“Do ya mean marria-”
“I want to be mare-raged! Am I saying it right? Mare-rage sounds amazing!”
K’thalen pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes as the rambling started. He was a fool to think she was actually asking him how to pronounce marriage. Sometimes he would simply press his hand against her mouth for some peace and quiet, though that only worked half the time. Instead he just pressed his ears against the top of his head and stared off into space, hoping she would run out of batteries and tire herself out. It never happened.
“... I want to have lots of babies!” Coroh chirped, giving K’thalen mental whiplash– he definitely picked the wrong time to tune back in. “I want ten! No, twenty! All with big pretty eyes! Have you ever seen baby Miqo’te, Thal? They’re so cute and soft and playful…!” She vibrated with delight, likely imagining her arms full of the infants. “I want to hug them and kiss them and love them!”
“I pity the fool who tries to settle down with you, lass.” He thought to himself, exhaling slowly. Bringing his canteen back up to his lips, he took another modest swig of his whiskey to help fill his stomach since food wasn’t going in anytime soon, especially with this woman’s squeaky voice scaring off all manner of beastkin within a two malm radius. K’thalen caught something about what her babies would look like somewhere amidst her excitement, but he stopped paying attention again.
She’s lucky she can cook circles around him, otherwise he would have abandoned her in this forest the first time she went to go make water.
Once again he was brought out of his stupor, this time from her leaning up against him. “What do you think my man will look like? Will he have blonde hair? Black? No no, red hair! I really like red hair! Do you think he’ll have big muscles, Thal? Do you think he’ll be nice and sweet and gentle too?!”
“He’ll definitely have muscles if you plan to conceive twenty crotch goblins.” K’thalen tried to gently push her out of his personal space but she was stuck to him like flies on feces. “... and he better be gentle about it too.” Hopefully by the time she was old enough for the birds and the bees talk, someone else– preferably a woman– could explain to her how all that works; he wouldn’t nearly be as elegant with his choice of words if the task was left up to him.
K’thalen looked up to realize the sun had already set. His canteen was now empty and the buzz from his whiskey was wearing off; it was always easier to listen to her prattle while tipsy, but being black out drunk remained his preference. Coroh had to sleep sometime– and when she finally settled in he would be able to tag and bag them some dinner. The thought of a savory elk steak was making his mouth water, and he remained so distracted that he didn’t notice her hopping into his lap until it was too late.
“Aaargh!” I wanna grow up right now! Why is it taking so long?!” The excitement in the girl’s voice had all but evaporated, replaced with impatient longing for adulthood… apparently. “The longer it takes for me to grow, the longer I have to wait for mare-rage! It isn’t fair!” K’thalen could feel the tingling in his toes– his legs were falling asleep with this brat and her loud complaining. He had to get her up and off for the sake of his own sanity. “Can I drink a potion to speed it up?! Thal? Thaaaaal?!”
“Enjoy your youth while you still got it.” Was all he could think as she finally slid from his lap to stomp around him like an angry infant. It was surreal, watching a girl like her yearn to be old; she reminded him of himself, in some ways. It’s strange, as children we long to be adults, and adults would trade it all to get their childhoods back. Most of them would, at least– but not him. Not K’thalen.
“Hey! I’m talking to you, sleepy-bones! Can’t you see I’m having a crisis?!” He was jostled awake by the annoying grip of the girl. It was nightfall and she was still going… “Stop zoning out, this is important stuff we’re discussing! I need answers! Why does growing up take so long, huh Thal?! Why?!”
He kept his mouth clamped shut, as he did for the entire day. He could hear her losing steam in her ramblings. Surely she was at least getting thirsty.
“Hellloooo…?! Eorzea to Thalen, come in…?! Are you ignoring me on purpose?! Come ooooon! Talk to meeee!” The whine in her tone was akin to claws on a chalkboard. Never before has he been so tempted to just… tie her up and leave her at their camp for a few hours. “Hello?! Thaaaal! Stop ignoring meeeeeeyuuuhhh!!!!”
Santana had been gone for some time. The house seemed almost strange to her as she walked into the foyer. Shadows seemed to creep from the corners toward her. She wasn't afraid they were curious as to where she had been.
She closes her eyes and lets the magic of the walls and floors come to life at her entrance. The strangeness gave way to familiarity as lights slowly lit upon her steps, welcoming her home. The air began to hum as the manor came to life in her presence.
She opened her hand's palm up and let the magic of the manor move through her commanding it to come alive once more. Her butler crept toward her. The house, of course, had been supervised in her absence. It had just become magically dormant, missing its mistress.
"Welcome home, Lady Ravenwood. I have prepared your chambers, and the library is also available should you wish to read your mail or catch up on all that has happened in your absence."
He had been with her for a long time. He knew her well and knew that something had gone amiss when she went missing. Before she left, she had gone mad with the loss of her sister, even changing her name to Demonica, calling up demons of all sorts, and making deals that he had been afraid might destroy her.
He could only surmise it was to get her sister back in some form. When she disappeared, he feared the worst, but since the manor had remained, he kept hope she remained somewhere.
Santana nods at the man and gives him a warm dark smile. "Thank you. I will take some wine in my library and catch up on what I have missed. Let everyone know their mistress, Santana Ravenwood, is back, and I plan to throw the biggest ball of the season."
He rarely smiled, but the corner of his mouth would curl slightly. Santana was back. Back to her old self, the woman he knew. He thought to ask where she had been but knew that would be overstepping a boundary. If she wished him to know, she would tell him.
Instead, he led her to the library and poured her her usual glass of wine. She took it and walked toward the balcony doors flinging them wide and inhaling the sea night air. One could hear the waves crash upon the rocks below.
She turns toward him and nods, and he takes it as his signal that he is dismissed. She walks to her desk; the mail and other missives lay on the table. She picked up an envelope and grabbed a letter opener to break the seal. She takes a deep breath before she begins to read the contents within.
Hours and many letters later, she rubs her eyes. The day was ending, yet this was just the beginning of things. She had so much more to do. But tomorrow is a new day, and tonight she needed rest.
How many times had Elu felt she had started her life again? How many times had it felt like her beginning had ended?
She looked at the paint can in her hand and the fresh white paint on the fence walls. The White Raven Inn had taken some damage from the last storm that had rolled in from the ocean, and some of the fallen limbs had scratched up the paint.
It wasn't as though she was thinking about that or that was her new beginning. No, painting the fence was thoughtless work, which gave her plenty of time to think about all the things she didn't want to think about.
Like her failed relationships, the fact she had put her singing on hold. At the same time, even her most valued work was suffering, her business, her ventures. Work that meant a lot to her.
She's been neglecting her offices lately. She was letting her sister Sia dictate most of the work. Not that her work wasn't meaningful to her anymore. It was, it always would be, until the day she died.
She just had lost herself to the emotions that sometimes made her feel as if she were drowning. The darkness inside her that threatened to consume her. The voice in her head that told her she was always doomed to fail.
She suddenly laughed as a friend's voice filled her head. A man who would have given her a stern look told her to get over it, move on, and stop wallowing in self-pity. One that had once been her lover. A man she missed at times. He, though, had tired of her wallowing and had moved on. She couldn't blame him. She was tired of her wallowing, too, hence the new beginning. Again.
She finished the last of the touches on the paint and closed the can, sitting the brush on the paint cloth next to her, wrapping it, and picking them up to head toward The White Raven Inn.
It was currently her home, and she helped run the business there. They got few guests, but enough at least to pay the bills and keep the lights on.
She had, though, made the decision that she wanted a proper home. A place she could call her own. A fresh start somewhere new.
She had recently placed a bet on a house in the Goblet after losing out on several other ones she had tried to get. It could be her lucky day, or she could end up somewhere else.
Fate would make that decision for her.
She chuckles to herself at her thoughts.
With her luck, when she finally found one, it would end up being The Lavender Beds. At first, she hadn't even contemplated bidding there. Too many memories, too much heartbreak.
However, endings could be the best place to start new beginnings. Perhaps that was Elu's problem. She had spent too much time running from her past instead of facing it head-first.
She put away the paint and brush and moved toward the inn lounge. The music in the room serenaded her, and the piano in the corner caught her eye. She moves to sit down at it and begins to play along to the melody. Her voice joins the chorus, and she loses herself to the music for a moment.
As the song ends, she nods to herself. Time to put yourself back out there. She starts to reach for her tomestone when she shakes her head. No, Frank deserved to see her in person. She would make the trip herself.
Perhaps the where things had ended where just where things should begin once more.
