Chapter I: The Golden Chalice
The chair gave a hearty creak as he sat down, the old wooden pieces groaning as they flexed against his weight. The dusty old tome, which he had clutched in his hands, was laid out flat on the table, his fingers smoothing down the cover reverently.
Caryll could barely contain his excitement. The breaking of the Pthumerian code would surely revolutionize Byrgenwerth's understanding of the ancient civilization, and now that he was confident that he could interpret the old symbols, the secrets that they had kept from beyond their grave were ripe for discovery. The most logical place to start would be the set of journals that they had discovered in the old labyrinth.
The first of these Caryll would turn his attention to was a tome which he could now see was titled 'The First Edition'.
But the 'first edition' of what? Could it be an omnibus of Pthumerian history? An alchemist's cookbook? A religious text?
The possibilities were endless, as were the insights that Caryll could gain into the people he had dedicated his entire life to studying. The very thought of what could lie on the first page of the book sent a shiver of anticipation through Caryll's hands, which only dissipated as it reached the tips of his fingers. His mind throbbed excitedly as he clutched at the corner of the book's cover, and lifted it up.
The ancient scrawls started right at the first page. Caryll licked his lips feverishly as he set his Pthumerian language index on the table next to him, raised a magnifying glass to his eye, and began to puzzle over the first line.
"T-o... h-o-w...um, no, that should be w-h-o...e-v-e-r...r-e-d-s...r-e-a-d-s...t-h-i-s..."
A long, long time ago...
"To whoever reads this... stop reading at once. This is a private journal, containing my inner thoughts, feelings and beliefs. You are a trespasser and should feel ashamed of yourself.
But now that's out of the way, I can recount the events of the day. And o, what a day it has been.
I was proposed to again. Woe befell me, I have had enough of these noblemen and their marriage proposals! This time it was a tall, dark-haired man with a long face - the Lord of Londor or some such horrendous place I've never heard of. He was so dull I could have fallen asleep in my chair! But yet he insisted on taking a knee, reaching for my hand so he could garnish it with a kiss from his dry, scaly lips. I admonished him of course. I could never commit my life to someone so... gloomy.
Of course, my father was angry at me. The miserable lord had scarcely rounded the corner before he began to rave and rant at me about duty and prestige and the bloodline! I contend that he cares more about the damn lineage than he does about me! Mother was more gentle, as always, but I feel even her patience wearing thin. She thinks me flighty... whimsical... I know my place, but I'm still young, and I'll be damned if I let any of these trumped up nobles whisk me away just yet.
I talked to Yvan about the whole ordeal. Sometimes I think he's the only one that understands me... If only he weren't so old, I might just marry him instead! He bent my ear for another matter of interest, however. He said that there have been whispers of war again from the North. Scouts have been seen around the borders of Pthumyll. I knew they'd be back to stir up trouble again sooner or later. Father acts like there's nothing to worry about, but I know that he's just putting on an act for me and mother. Our army took heavy hits the last time we came to blow. I don't think we could take another battering. That's why he's so desperate for me to marry, I know... If only there was another way that didn't involve me becoming just another strategic ploy in the games of war.
I suppose if Ihyll was to fall, I wouldn't have to marry anyone!
But that doesn't make me feel any better, of course.
Whatever has become of the world?"
The pen fell still between her fingers, and she paused, sighing deeply, before letting it drop onto the table with a deep clatter. A chill had come over her, and she pulled her cloak tighter around herself to ward it away. The candelabra that hung from the iridescent blue ceiling seemed further away than a star in the sky, and no warmth stemmed from its gentle orange glow.
A knock on her door stirred her from her thoughts.
"Princess Yharnam?" the soft voice called. "The king requests to speak with you, immediately."
Yharnam ran her hands through her ghostly-blonde hair and her teeth closed around her front lip. "Can it wait?"
There was no reply for at least three seconds. Then, the voice timidly returned "I don't believe so, my lady."
Whatever could her father want with her at this late time? Yharnam could only guess, but after the tempestuous conversation they had shared earlier that day, it couldn't be anything good.
Yharnam tasted her own blood as she rose quickly from her chair, tucking back her skirt. She crossed the room in only a few paces, her cold feet brushing against the soft carpet longingly. Her hand closed around the cold stone of the door, pushing it open. Verdant green met dull brown as her eyes locked with those of Pietrus, the court squire, who jumped at the sight of the princess, radiantly yet subtly beautiful in the evening gloom. His thin unsmiling lips muttered an unfeeling "my lady" as he backed away, bowing his head.
"Very well," Yharnam sighed. "Take me to my father."
Glistening moonlight cloaked the two figures as they stood to attention, their shortswords falling at their sides as they paid their respect to their general, who had just emerged from the dungeon gate, red in the face and huffing. His step betrayed a slight annoyance at being summoned so late in the evening.
"You rang the bell?" he grunted, eyes darting between the two gaunt faces in front of him, waiting to see which would speak first.
"Yes sire," stammered the first guard, relaxing his stance and turning to face the general. "Something most peculiar has happened...!"
"Peculiar?" the general croaked, his red robe swaying in the wind. "Peculiar, how?"
The man's cheeks reddened and his gaze began to wobble. To his great perturbance, the general realized he was nervous. "Spit it out!"
"Well..." the man began, already regretting his decision to summon the commander over what was almost certainly a deception of the darkness. "I was on guard for the last few periods, as you know, and we were playing the Royal Pthumerian Game to pass the time..."
The general scowled. The Royal Game, a basic but enjoyable jaunt played with a set of wooden checkers and a stone tablet, was often partaken in after a long night of drinking, and usually resulted in the loss of large wagers from its players.
"Get to the point, man!" the general barked. "I'm missing a glass of fine Ihyllian red because of your errand, so you'd better have something good!"
"Ay, sire, my apologies," the man winced. "As we were concluding a game I noticed a strange flame between the three trees atop the copse in the yonder."
The man raised his hand, gloved finger pointing the general across the dark green plain towards a distant hill.
"Strange flame?" the general repeated, chewing the phrase between his yellow teeth. "Do you mean like a campfire?"
"No, sire," the man said, gesturing wildly with his hands as though to simulate a pulsating light. "It were green, and blue, and red and pink... all at once... It was like it was dancing, beckoning me with a finger made of fire..."
The general turned to the second man, who seemed to be trying as hard as he could to recede inside his armor like a snail. "Has he been fermenting his potatoes?"
"I regret to say that I saw this flame as well, sire," the other soldier drawled. "Although I could not say that it was any color in particular. It seemed to be without color, in fact. But it was definitely shining away on that hill over there..."
The general's eyes narrowed, before skirting back over to the hill, which appeared as little more than a round shadow in the empty night, devoid of any light - ethereal or not.
"If you're wasting my time I'll have you thrown into the watchdog's pit," he warned, as he hoisted his belt sleepily and began to walk out towards the hill. The two soldiers turned to regard each other uncertainly, before sprinting after their commander.
The air was thin, cold and light to the touch as the three men strode across the moonlit field, away from the safety of the city walls and into the wilderness of the Above. The trees loomed above them in all directions, like watchful guardians of nature. Eventually their footfalls were lost to the crunch of leaves underfoot, and then mud, as the trek began to take the men upwards on a slope, towards the clearing.
The general was halfway up the hill when he misjudged an incline, and fell, twisting his ankle and sending a bolt of agony through his leg. His cries were muffled as his mouth landed in the mud, and he tasted the salt of the earth.
"Sire!" the first man cried, turning back to help the older man to his feet. Cursing, the general refused his hand, staggering to his feet amidst new jolts of pain.
"I'm fine, just keep going," he hissed. "The sooner we chase away this fairytale the sooner I can get back to my drink..."
The latter half of the hill took much longer to ascend on account of the general's injury, but before too long, they were at the summit, surrounded by three young, thin trees. An acrid but intriguing smell, like burning lavender, wafted into the men's noses as they examined the clearing. The grass sizzled gently with the embers of a diminishing flame, leading back to a large, black rock buried in the earth, surrounded by deep fissures.
"What is this...?" the general grumbled, wincing as he took another step forward.
The very air seemed to have grown in density as the general leaned over the misshapen, charred stone. A dull pain began to throb in the center of his temple as he stooped down, gloved hand outstretched. The burnt aroma grew stronger, overpowering his nostrils and making his eyes brim with tears.
A sharp jolt, like lightning, rippled across the palm of his hand, and he recoiled. But within a moment, the curiosity began to gnaw at him again, and with a quick movement, he stretched out and placed his hand on the surface of the rock.
The white struck him like a howling blizzard, assaulting his senses. Then it gave way to orange, and blue, and yellow; colors so vivid yet transient that he could not, for a moment, begin to tell them apart from one another. Then, the colors seemed to meld into one, indescribable shade, and transformed. Flashes like great pyres lit up in front of his eyes, surrounded by startling images.
First, he saw a streak of yellow and orange, blazing against a starlit sky. Then, a ball of fire and dust as it came to rest in the earth below. Even in the haze of disorientation, the general knew that what he was seeing was the origin of the object. A meteorite from beyond this earthly plain.
Next, he saw a stone mosaic floor, stained with sanguine red which grew to spread out across the ground like a flooding lake. Dark figures in a barren field, lit up by surges of flame, arcing like plumes of lava. Clashes of steel and flesh, buried in a haze of shadow.
A terrible, mournful shriek to shatter even the hardiest of composures.
An infant's wooden cradle, shrouded by shadow, in a damp and cold stone courtyard.
And a great, writhing, skeletal thing, looming above all, gangly appendages dancing like the strings of a puppet against the silhouette of the moon.
When the general came to, vision swimming like a drunkard, he was on his back on the ground, breathing shallowly. Above him, gazing down with concerned expressions, were the two guards.
"Sire, are you okay?" asked the first, somewhat sheepishly.
The general managed a pathetic croak, reaching up to grasp the hands of the guards as they hoisted him to his feet.
"What happened?" the other man asked, gaze flickering between his commander and the cosmic boulder which had sent him into a state of delirium.
Spluttering, the general whispered. "I saw... flashes... images...events... Events which have happened... and events which are yet to come..."
The two guards exchanged a dubious glance. The first turned to the general and asked "From a rock?"
The general reluctantly turned his eyes back to the stone - which he now, without a shadow of a doubt knew, was not of this world.
"That is not a rock..." he groaned. "That is black magic..."
Turning back to the men, he composed himself, straightening his back and trying to muster some authority. "Send for a wagon. The Court of Ihyll will definitely want to see this."
The light dazzled Yharnam's weary eyes as she stepped into the large, elongated hall. The royal chambers were always the most extravagantly-lit room in Great Ihyll, and tonight was no exception. Red and yellow silk carpets smothered the stone floor below, reaching out to beckon her inside. Candelabras shone brightly from every nook and cranny, casting a bright orange into every dark corner. Obsidian trunks gilded with gold, emerald and jade glistened from alcoves lining the sides of the room.
The stimulation would have been overwhelming for anyone other than the king's daughter, who knew the throne room like the back of her hand. As Yharnam marched across the tiles, she felt a deep foreboding. Her father sat patiently and quietly in his great stone chair, beneath his imperial banners, grandiose tapestries which depicted a bony hand clutched around a magnificent jewel. His withered eyes were inscrutable, buried in an albino forehead which was dappled with liver spots. His long white beard suffocated his thin, unsmiling lips, and his red eyes stared unblinkingly.
As she approached, he called out. "You have kept me waiting, daughter!" His ancient voice still projected the power, confidence and charisma that had once united his people against many enemies, upon whose ruins he had founded his empire.
"I came as quickly as I could," Yharnam replied, cautious not to raise her voice too strongly.
King Pthu rose achily from his chair, his weathered hands clutching at his staff as he propped himself up on failing legs. Beside him, Queen Mergo clasped her hands together, her features contorted with discomfort and apprehension, as she anticipated her husband's next move.
"Come," he gestured, his ornate red and brown cloak swishing as he hobbled towards one of the many treasure troves he kept at the head of his throne room. Yharnam glanced over at her mother, who tried to encourage her with a gentle smile. Then, she followed her father.
The old king raised the lid off of his trunk, and began to rummage inside. Yharnam stood closely by, nervously. If he had summoned her here at this late hour just to placate her with one of his old treasures, she wasn't sure she would be able to even feign the enthusiasm needed to survive the encounter unscathed.
To her surprise, instead of a glimmering sapphire or a silver necklace, the king instead produced an ornate golden goblet - the sort which was often used in diplomatic events to commemorate the visitation of an ally.
Pthu turned back to face his daughter. "I have spent twenty-five long years of my life trying to puzzle you out, daughter. You were born into the royal family of the greatest kingdom this world has ever known, one day poised to inherit it all. The princess of Pthumeru..."
Yharnam tried not to be intimidated as her father's intense stare bore into her. She could practically visualize the debate which was about to occur.
"But you don't seem to understand what that means. You take what you... what we have... for granted."
"Father-" Yharnam began.
"Silence," Pthu commanded. "You have done enough talking today. I wouldn't suffer another defiant whisper out of you."
Yharnam did not defy him. She felt a cold emptiness growing from her very core, spreading like grasping roots through her whole body.
"Well, I have made my decision."
The king suddenly jerked his hands forward, and presented the golden cup to Yharnam. The princess hesitated momentarily, before taking the goblet into her hands. The metal was cold to the touch, but polished to perfection, and Yharnam gazed into the golden surface, seeing a badly-proportioned facsimile of her own gaunt features in the reflection.
"What is this?" she asked, turning the goblet over in her hands, and weighing it in her palms.
"It is a chalice," Pthu replied, surprising Yharnam with a softness to his voice. "To be more precise, it is my mother's chalice. She gave it to me when I was very young. It's the only token I have left to remember her by..."
His gaze dropped, and he seemed to lose himself in thought for a moment.
Yharnam brushed her fingers over the elegant metal, trying to picture her grandmother's face in the shimmering gold. Pthu rarely spoke of Iharis, but she knew that he worshipped her very name.
"I... I don't know what to say..." Yharnam whispered.
Pthu made a grunting sound. "Then you needn't say anything. Consider it the first part of your inheritance, just as it was mine. Some day you shall pass it onto children of your own."
Yharnam's gaze faltered at the mention of children, and she lowered the chalice to her side. "Thank you... my lord..."
"You must also know," the king continued, turning now to face Yharnam properly. "The timing for this gift is not coincidental. I am presenting you with this chalice as a commemoration. You are to be wed at the date of the next new moon."
A gasp erupted from Yharnam, and she nearly dropped the chalice to the stone tiles below her feet. "Wed? To whom? I have chosen no husband!"
Her father's expression was firm now. There was no trace of the vulnerability he had displayed just moments ago. "Prince Olef of Karsand."
Yharnam's eyes grew wide. "Who of where?!"
Mergo stifled an inappropriate laugh at her daughter's impromptu response. Pthu was unmoved. "Karsand is a valuable ally. Especially if rumors are to be believed that the North is amassing an army once more."
"But I've never even met this man!" Yharnam exclaimed, rushing across the room and grabbing her father's arm. "How can I marry him?"
"Because I have told you so," Pthu boomed, prizing his daughter's hand off of his robe. "You have dallied for long enough. Pthumeru is in dire need, and you must answer the call."
Yharnam's stomach was swirling like a great surge of water. Her legs were beginning to shake. "Father...!"
Pthu did not turn around until he was back in his chair, and when he did, his expression was empty. "I have decided. You are dismissed."
"I will not marry anyone!" Yharnam roared, casting aside her fear and opening the floodgates.
"A queen needs a king," Pthu replied dismissively. "One day you'll understand that."
Mergo opened her mouth as if to speak, but quickly changed her mind.
Yharnam was about to retort when a loud, drum-like succession of knocks turned both her and Pthu's attention.
A tall man in a dark, hooded robe stood by the open throne room door. His hands were clasped behind his back, but as Pthu rose from his chair, he outstretched one hand courteously, and took a knee in reverence.
"I hope I'm not interrupting," he began, drawling in his distinctive syrupy tones. "I come bearing some intriguing news."
Pthu waved his hand dismissively. "What is it, Mensis?"
Ihyll's chief alchemist and spymaster raised his hood from off of his bald, domed head, and smiled broadly at the king.
"Our scouts have made a discovery, sire. I think you'll want to see it for yourself."
"So what do you think it is? In your scientific opinion, that is."
Mensis took his place beside his king, fingers interlocked and brow furrowed in contemplation.
"It's like nothing I've ever seen in this world, sire," he began. "Which leads me to believe... it is not of this world."
Pthu turned to the alchemist and scoffed. "So... what? It's from Loran?" The sweltering, labyrinthine land was the closest the old king could picture to another world beyond his own - he had grown used to the comfort of his underground kingdom.
"Much further than that, sire," Mensis continued, incapable of keeping an excited smile from forming at the corner of his lips. "I am certain this artefact is from beyond the sky. From the stars."
"What?!" Pthu stared incredulously at the peculiar rock that he had been called to examine, and simply couldn't imagine that it had come from beyond the sky itself. What did that even look like.
"I believe it is a 'seeing stone', sire. The guards who brought it in said one of them had touched it and had a fearsome vision of a ball of flame that came down from amongst the stars."
"What does this mean?" the king asked, breathless. Mensis turned away so that the old man could not see his pitying smile. What could this decrepit sovereign even begin to understand?
"I believe it is an opportunity for great learning, sire," he cooed. "I should like to study it - with your permission, of course."
The king gave a dismissive nod and made to leave. Clearly, his stress-addled mind was not up to the task of deciphering the riddles of the universe this night.
"Goodnight, sire," Mensis called. "You leave everything to me."
Once the door had closed, leaving him to his devices, Mensis turned his attention back to the extraterrestrial rock, seizing a scalpel from a nearby rack.
"Well, well, my pretty..." he whispered. "Let's get to know each other better..."
The walled gardens were teeming with life. Sparkling droplets danced through the air weightlessly from the roaring fountains, creating the illusion of buzzing insects. Servants hurried to and fro, snipping at giant, lush green stems and polishing the leaves of bulbous, multicolored flowers. The walkways bustled with courtiers, noblemen and elders, out enjoying a wondrously banal day in the underground capital. Far below the towering walls, supported by pillars of polished quartz, the streets of Great Ihyll heaved with foot traffic.
A light but intriguing smell - perhaps a combination of freshly-baked ashbread, or a new alchemical fertilizer concocted by Mensis - scented the air as Queen Mergo took a seat next to her daughter on the marble bench. Yharnam was even paler than usual, and she said nothing as her mother approached, only shifting her gaze from the resonant blue glow of the lumenflowers for a brief moment.
Mergo began gently, with a "I always loved these gardens. Your father had them erected as an anniversary gift to me. Did you know that? Yes, it was to remind me of my home in the mountains of Yogia."
Yharnam reached across the pathway and plucked a petal from a nearby flower. It was a dazzling cobalt, and she turned it over in her palm with her finger, again and again, scrutinizing it.
Mergo sighed. "Alright... I could have been more tactful. But I was trying to explain to you that it won't be exactly like you think. I didn't want to marry your father either, but in time, I became enamored of him. He was so thoughtful and kind, even when he had a kingdom to rule, and distant wars to fight. He made me feel like I was the only one who mattered. Your husband will be the same to you."
"You don't know that," Yharnam replied softly, letting the petal fall from between her fingers, where it caught on a draft and drifted away. "He could be a tyrant. He could play the dashing prince one day and smite me for my throne on the next."
"Olef isn't a tyrant," Mergo assured her, taking Yharnam's hand between hers. "I met him once, a long time ago. He was just a boy, but he was so sweet. He plucked a beautiful bud from his garden and gave it to me as a present, and just smiled at me. He has a good heart, I could tell."
"Sounds like you're the one who should be marrying him," Yharnam jibed. Her mother chuckled softly, but didn't let go of her hand. Then she said something Yharnam was sure she would never have said in the presence of anyone else besides her.
"Your father is wrong. It is not a prince that makes a queen. But you will come to value the counsel of another. Being monarch is not easy, and your father has had to make many difficult decisions during his rule. He has always been able to rely on me to make them. And that... is how we have these."
Mergo gestured to the resplendent, verdant green that lay before them - and beyond that, the bustling streets of the city. The beating heart of the nation.
"Symbols mean everything to people," she continued. "They inspire, they empower, they give hope... and they take it away."
At the last statement, and almost imperceptibly, the queen seemed to sadden.
"This marriage is first and foremost, a symbol," she concluded, squeezing her daughter's hand gently before standing abruptly. "In time, you'll know what it portends for you."
Yharnam watched as her mother slowly but purposefully walked away through the garden - the garden that her father's love had built for her - before taking her journal out of her satchel, and starting to scribble.
The sudden splash of water stirred Mensis from his frantic scrawlings.
He spun around, seeing that the pot he had meticulously positioned had overflowed once again, indicating that another evening had fruitlessly passed. His contrived but ingenious contraption, the forebear of what we may describe in modern ages as a clock, rigged up a precisely-measured volume of water to slowly sift through an elaborate filter system, comprised of gears and levers to a strategically-placed pot at the bottom. This process, from start to finish, was roughly equivalent to three hours.
"Curses!" he yelled, tossing up a bundle of his research papers out of sheer frustration, which then slowly pirouetted down onto the sodden laboratory floor.
The meteor had bore no answers for him. It tantalized him with its mysteries, beckoning him forwards with something akin to telepathy. His mind tingled with the possibilities, of which he was certain, were endless.
Even more curiously, whenever he took his eyes from the thing, he could've sworn it began to shift, the surface shimmering and convulsing in a way that no solid object rationally should. But looking over seemed to dispel the illusion, and not once had he ever perceived it for himself.
It was enough to drive a man into a frenzy.
And now, after hours of trawling through his notes on geology, chemistry and sorcery, had he found any explanation that satisfied him for the way that this peculiar rock was making him feel. He wanted to rip it open with his bare hands - to scour it so thoroughly that nothing could go unseen or uncatalogued.
And yet he knew nothing would come of it. He knew better than to touch the thing after the manic testimony he had received from the men who had discovered it.
He was about to call in for the night - probably by taking a trip down to the brothel - when there was a strange sound. In his exhaustion he nearly missed it. It was quiet, nearly inaudible, but distinctive.
A chipping.
Mensis spun around to witness the meteorite beginning to shudder, splintering and cracking into pieces before his very eyes. A silent yelp rose to his lips but he suppressed it, rushing across the laboratory to examine the spectacle up-close.
The top of the meteor was starting to fracture. The surface crumbled away like sand, and an elongated shape, roughly the size of a human finger, arose from the shadow within, curling and recoiling at the first touch of the cool air of the outside world.
Soon, it was followed by a head, but not like any head Mensis had ever seen on an animal from this earth. It was frilled, scaly and covered with strange protrusions, like the limbs of an octopus.
Mensis watched, eyes bulging at the corners of their sockets, as a body prized itself from the wreckage, the first tentacle arm now accompanied by a further three, which the creature used to balance. A pair of glassy, unintelligent eyes opened for the first time to survey the brave new world they had discovered. Then, the bulbous head, which Mensis now realized was mostly mouth, opened wide to reveal a red, sponge-like maw.
The comfortable silence of the night was punctured by a shrill, unearthly cry, and the infant extraterrestrial lay still and watchful, curious what the giant figure before it would do next.
But Mensis was paralyzed by a perfectly balanced concoction of fear, confusion and awe. He could do nothing but look on at his discovery - his child of the cosmos.
"Well... my little fallen star..." he whispered.
"Whatever will we do with you?"