2nd of the 1st Cycle
So that's how it was, Aether mused.
He took a glance around the once magnificent throne hall, now a desolate cavern. The dias from where the throne once dominated the hall was empty, the seat of Decarabia's power long dusted to ash. The great banners that hung from the rafters were coated in dust and cobwebs, a far cry from their once vibrant hues.
The mosaic floor was shattered and torn, great empty patches from where mosaics were smashed from the ground stippled the hall. The ceiling, high above them, could barely be seen through the darkness, for no longer was there the divine brilliance that once illuminated the chamber.
Wind did not blow here, and the air was thick and stifling. The small group had split up in order to further investigate the chamber - the womb of a god - and the tomb of another. Everyone kept to themselves, silently gazing. Silently - for there was no sound, only silence, time and time again broken by-
thud–thud
Aether noticed Jean staring at the broken column where a red-haired warrior once laid, he saw Johann tracing the masterfully crafted images of the ground. But what intrigued him the most was Lisa, still as a statue, her eyes boring into the empty space where a throne of storms once stood.
He approached her from behind, and she spoke first without looking at him.
"This place is so steeped in sorcery," the witch said, "That I could live by breathing in the latent mana alone. It's so… concentrated, that I could swim in it."
Aether experimentally took a deep breath, and felt nothing but lukewarm air entering his lungs. Well, it was to be expected - as a celestial entity he had no capacity for mana. It was well documented that humans had three systems in their body that allowed them to function - first was the bloodstream, second were the nerves. These allowed a body to function, every living being had them.
Even the corporeal forms of the incorporeal. Because bodies were a vessel for the soul, nothing more. Humans might identify themselves by their bodies, they were born with them after all, but immortals like Aether did not.
The third system, however, was what made humans human. It gave mortals the capacity to be more than mortal, it allowed them to fight beyond their capacities, it allowed them to be audacious. Meridians, a set of special pathways in the human body that allowed them to absorb latent mana in the air and manipulate it - an art called sorcery.
It was a largely unknown phenomena, and the greatest mages of every nation made it their life's work to perfect their knowledge of the meridians - albeit through different methods. Unlike blood and nerves, meridians differed from human to human - those with more of them naturally had more potential in the arcane arts.
If Visions were the gods' gift to man, then sorcery was of man's own ingenuity.
Aether had no meridians, only a second heart and bloodstream. Gods had no meridians, their artificial bodies incapable of hosting such a complex system. Only humans did, it was what made them special compared to greater beings.
As such, he could not feel the mana in the air, and simply decided to take Lisa's word for it.
"Well, it is to be expected," he replied, "Just look at this Tower, do you think any ordinary magic could build such a thing?"
Lisa did not reply, seemingly transfixed on a sight. Aether walked up besides her, following her gaze - and saw a series of symbols carved into the bottom step of the dais.
"What is it?"
"Looks like… Old Reitz?"
Aether stared at the words, golden eyes burning, attempting to decipher what was written - to no avail. He cursed the god who sealed his powers away again, for the petty deity seemed increasingly more bent on inconveniencing him as much as possible.
"What does it say?" he was forced to ask.
"I… don't know," Lisa seemed stumped, "I am only able to recognise a few characters, from my time studying old runes - but without the context, I'm afraid they are meaningless to us."
"Iomerhaltan; everlasting. Immortality."
Meaningless indeed. To be written beneath a throne, immortality could mean many things. It could describe Decarabia as a god, perhaps as an eternal ruler, perhaps it meant his kingdom would never fall. There was no point dwelling on it.
thud–thud
Or there could be, for immortality might mean something else entirely.
"How do you think Amos has stayed alive all this time?" he asked quietly.
"Why are you asking-"
"Just speak your thoughts."
The witch shifted in her place, her eyebrows furrowing in puzzlement as she leaned in thought.
"Perhaps it is the gate, binding her soul to it."
"Except we walked through hallways covered in the corpses of a thousand gatekeepers," and wasn't that a horrible sight, at least when they got there the bodies had all long rotted away to bone.
"But it could bind her soul, no?"
"An immortal soul does not beget an immortal body," Aether rebuffed, "Besides, the Ophanim had kept the gatekeepers' bodies in a state of undeath, not their souls. I propose that the gate does indeed bind you, but it does not extend your life."
"...You may be right," Lisa admitted, "A curse then, plied by Barbatos?"
Aether closed his eyes, thinking. It was a sensible theory, curses and blessings were two sides of the same coin. Barbatos could have cursed Amos for her stubbornness, or blessed her for her conviction - except, there was a single contradiction.
"Then why didn't Barbatos save the bard?"
thud–thud
"Because… because Decarabia's spear was cursed- …oh."
Decarabia had pierced Amos' heart with the very same golden spear in his dying moments.
"Lisa… you're a librarian, no?"
"...I am."
"Do- do you know," Aether wetted his lips, "What happened to Regin after the war?"
"The only thing the histories say is that he condemned Barbatos for taking the mantle of godhood," Lisa recounted, "After announcing he would not trade one tyrant for another, he fled the Land of Wind. Millennia later, his descendant Ragnvindr would participate in the Great Revolution."
"So Regin died."
"That is the consensus, yes. There is no evidence he lived beyond human years."
Aether palmed his face in frustration. He had thought the cause of Amos' apparent immortality was the golden spear, but she was not the only person pierced by it - Regin and the bard were as well. Except Regin lived a largely ordinary life after the rebellion, and the bard died after seeing his first sunrise.
"So was it not the spear…?" he muttered.
"...No, perhaps it was," Lisa looked up, a hardness in her eyes, "Where were Amos and the bard struck?"
"Through the heart… through the soul," Aether said slowly, "But the bard was killed, wasn't he?"
"Was he?"
thud–thud
"I do not understand…"
"Think about it!" Lisa spun around, a fire burning in her eyes, "The spear was cursed, but if the curse was to cause an unhealable wound, why would Decarabia kill Amos with it?"
"Because… because…?"
"It doesn't make sense," she insisted, "He purposely made his last act to kill his lover, even in the face of his own death - was he truly so enraged by her betrayal, or was he killing her at all?"
"Even so!" he rebuked, "If the curse on the spear was one of longevity, then why did the bard die?"
"What I'm saying," the witch said lowly, "Is that the bard isn't dead either."
thud–thud
Aether took a step back in faint surprise. If the bard wasn't dead, then where was he? Amos' own body felt very much alive, and her soul had retained much of her own personality and character. If Lisa was correct, then the same should be for the bard - but despite climbing the Tower for over a day, they had seen nary a single sight of the boy.
"Like you said, an immortal soul does not necessarily beget an immortal body," Lisa mused, "Perhaps his body is long gone, but his soul remains."
thud–thud
"Lisa…" she spoke, and the witch turned to look at him, "What are the chances this Tower doesn't have a consciousness like you first theorised?"
She furrowed her brows, before suddenly flinching - eyes widening in shock. Lisa stared at him, and he met her gaze.
"What you're saying… is that we aren't hearing the heartbeats of the Tower?"
"No. Remember, a faux-conciousness, not life. An object cannot live, they have no organs, it is impossible for them to have a heartbeat."
"So what we've been hearing this entire time was…"
"The bard," he finished.
thud–thud
"And all those memories and visions we saw," she breathed, "It wasn't from the Tower, or Barbatos - it was from…"
"The bard."
Yes, it was all coming together now. Decarabia had pierced the souls of the bard and Amos with a cursed spear - damning their souls to eternal life. Or perhaps, it was a blessing - Aether knew that many mortals considered longevity a blessing. With their souls now immortal and trapped in the Tower, their bodies degraded over time until they were gone - leaving them formless spirits trapped in a tomb.
However, that doesn't explain two things. First, why did Amos have a body while the bard does not? And second-
"How does the bard have a heartbeat, if he does not have a body?" Lisa asked.
thud–thud
Aether felt like smashing his head against a rock. They had taken two steps forwards, and then one step back.
He opened his mouth, but suddenly stumbled forwards when the entire Tower shook violently. Balancing himself, he swivelled around to see dust falling from the ceiling - and looked up to see a section of the roof slowly descending.
Everyone scattered around the hall turned to watch as the odd elevator descended with seemingly no support - simply a circular piece of stone floating downwards until it hit the ground with the soft thud. Aether cautiously moved forwards, craning his head upwards in an attempt to see the exit - but could spy nothing but an endless void through the darkness.
As they gathered around the platform, the Grandmaster spoke.
"Masters Johann, Aether, and I will take this lift to the top. The rest of you will await us here."
Lisa released an incredulous laugh, "No, no no - I am coming as well! Do you really think I will miss this chance!?"
"You will," Jean answered firmly, "This is divine judgement, not anyone can witness it."
"Is it truly? Or is that simply your opinion!?"
Seeing the quarrel between the two women heating up, Aether raced to think of a way to calm them down before Barbatos got impatient. Hells, he didn't know if Barbatos could even get impatient, but better safe than sorry.
He leaned over to Lisa and whispered in her ear.
"You have to investigate the bard, remember?"
The witch paused - before releasing an explosive sigh and striding away.
"Mages, with me!"
"Yes, ma'am!"
The mages broke away and followed their leader.
Seeing this, Jean stepped onto the platform and beckoned him to join her - to which he did. After a brief moment of hesitation, Johann climbed onto the stone slab as well. As if understanding their intentions, there was a rumble, and the platform began to ascend.
The knights below saluted as they watched them leave, and the Grandmaster saluted back.
They rose higher and higher, into the mist that shrouded the ceiling, into the darkness that enveloped them.
thud–thud
"Time to go face destiny, hm?"
2nd of the 1st Cycle
Aether blinked away the darkness, and never felt more at home.
Above, a great dome of impenetrable void - the black body of heaven's keep, cradling sacred starry boughs that shone so bright. Constellations ignited upon the midnight sky as if choreographed upon a celestial stage. Distant galaxies spun amidst the cosmos, observing the motions of realities so very different from the one he experienced now.
It was home.
So close, yet so very far away. And so false, like the False Sky it was.
For they were in the midst of the eternal storm, a raging maelstrom of dancing winds dressed in turbulent greys. They danced to the roar of heaven's drum, they called great arcs of lightning to their stage. They were in the eye of the storm, the sole place of stillness in a furor of chaos - surrounded by the tempest.
In the middle of the tempest.
On judgement grounds.
And the judges came into view, descending from the inky blackness above.
And they sung.
Seven Choirs and One, they sang and Aether crumpled to his knees - clenching his teeth and clutching his ears as a great pressure posed down upon him. And yet as if unaffected, Jean and Johann stood tall, gazing over their heads in awe and horror.
For it was a sight to behold.
The Ophanim - Choir of Mercy - sang a mournful tune that did not beget their appearance. Each composed of four interlocking gold wheels adorned with countless eyes of their own mind - with a single massive cerulean eye held in the centre of the sphere. Each wheel spun independently, set aflame with different colours.
The Hashmallim - Choir of Contrition - howled upon a dais of rage, their unearthly screams demanding penitence. They were ethereal, a great flaming cloud from north, outlined by a corona of brilliance. And in the midst of them were flashes of lightning among the flame, and from the flame were silhouettes in the likeness of four creatures. Indecipherable.
The Seraphim - Choir of Judgement - flew in deafening silence, each beat of their six wings like the crack of a gavel against the block. One pair was set about the waist, crossing over their bodies to cover it; another pair was set about the shoulders, raised over their heads and crossed. The last pair was set from the back, beating and keeping them aloft - though Aether did not know whether they needed it. And since their bodies were covered by feathers, only their heads were revealed - an abomination, the heads of a lion, a falcon, a dragon and a wolf fused together at the neck, each gazing in a different direction and revolving about a pivot.
There was a reason why Barbatos emerged victorious from the Archon War. Aether had doubts of how a newborn god still conforming to their divinity could crush its rivals, but now he had a good idea of what won the war for him.
Or perhaps not, for Barbatos was still a god. In the centre of the audience, was a figure wrapped in linen, with six wings about his back beating in pairs. Aether looked upon the god, and knew why the bard had no form.
Because Barbatos stole his body.
For the bard looked down upon him, with his boyish face and braided hair. With his short, lanky body and large green-blue eyes. Then, with a beat and an imaginary breeze, the god's wings opened, feathers splitting apart like lapels - eyelids, and a thousand eyes opened, gazing everywhere and nowhere at once.
"The Thousand Winds," he heard Johann whisper in reverence, "A thousand eyes for a thousand winds! Lord Barbatos, the Thousand-Eyed God!"
This was a god just as powerful as Paimon, Aether realised incredulously, if not even more. However, this did not undermine Paimon's own standing. She was a Cosmic God, as was he - to a degree - with such a boundless domain, it was natural that their authority is beyond anything worldly pantheons could accumulate. They were aliens, foreigners, who did not need mortal believers to justify their authorities.
However, that was also their weakness. With no mortal believers, their belief was incredibly miniscule - with only minor cults who had seen beyond their own realities able to perceive their existence. In simple terms, it was a trade off. What Aether felt now, was the unchallenged, unrivalled, and absolutely fanatical belief the Land of Wind had in their patron god given form.
As if in response to the bishop's reverence, there was a soft laughter. Aether looked up to see Barbatos chuckling, his mouth not matching his sounds, laughing - a mocking laughter - not at Johann, but seemingly at himself. Aether had not realised a god could be self-deprecating, for they were naturally arrogant beings. Perhaps, he numbly thought, it was because Barbatos was once an insignificant venti himself.
At the laughter, however, both Jean and Johann snapped back to their senses - eyes widening. And then they hastily moved to kneel, their knees bending so fast it looked like they snapped.
A wave of power washed over them, pressing Aether further to the ground, and he grit his teeth in indignation. For the same power stopped Jean and Johann from kneeling, caught mid-bend, their bodies shaking as they were trapped in the midst of an action.
"You are men of freedom, Freedom," the God of Freedom spoke, his voice reverberating throughout the heavens, "You do not kneel."
It was spoken with finality, a declaration so powerful it must've been heard throughout the Land of Wind. Jean slowly - ever so slowly - rose to stand once more, head held high. Johann, meanwhile, couldn't seem to fathom not kneeling to deity - so while he did rise, he did so with his head still bowed.
"You seek judgement, Lionfang Knight. Who is the accused?"
The Grandmaster pointed down at him, "This man, my lord. He is accused of blasphemy, by inflicting grave bodily harm to the Dragon of the East!"
"And who shall be the judge?"
Jean's eyes widened as she took a step back in surprise. She looked up to see Barbatos' gaze boring into hers, and she averted her gaze - to hear the Seraphim's silent roar. Two choices, the god had given her. Aether cursed under his breath, both choices could equally mean the end of him.
He could not perceive through Barbatos' impenetrable gaze, and could not discern his thoughts. Out of the two, the god was a much preferable outcome compared to the Seraphim - as the Choir did not look particularly pleased he was still alive. He couldn't actually tell what they were thinking, it was hard to discern the emotions of four inhuman faces, but it was a gut feeling he believed. Silently, he hoped Jean would choose Barbatos to be his judge.
But to his surprise, and he dare say to the god's surprise as well, Jean chose a third option.
"I propose the judge shall be made of my peers, the Four Winds!"
Barbatos smiled oddly, "Then so be it."
A cold wind blew, sharp and stinging - it ripped tears from his eyes and brushed his skin dry. Aether was forced to shut his eyes and shy away from the wind, and when he opened them again he saw that the False Sky was gone - and so were the angels.
There was only the storm, and clear blue skies devoid of clouds.
Barbatos descended, his wings folding away and seemingly in on themselves until they no longer existed. Then, floating just over a dozen cubits from the ground, he reclined - lounging on an invisible seat and resting his head on a fist.
"Come, the prevailing wind calls" he spoke, his voice with all the power of a man, "and the Four Winds answer."
A heaven-rending roar shook the world, and the Dragon of the East burst out of the tempest - so immediate that Aether dared to think that the dragon was waiting for the very call. To his surprise, he saw that the great beast had all six of its wings.
The dragon landed on the Tower, shaking the ground. And it spoke;
"Enough with your dramatics, Barbatos," its voice was a deep, low growl.
"Ooh, it seems you have returned to your senses, Dvalin!" the Anemo Archon cried, "And your wing as well, how'd that come about?"
Gone was the great deity that commanded the heavens and skies, all that Aether saw before him was a childish boy. Was that an act, or was this an act? He could not fathom, for the god did not show any speck of falsehood on his face that would suggest he was putting on a mummer's show. A god of many faces indeed, Barbatos was. Jean and Johann too, looked on with wide eyes - visibly unsure of how to react to the sudden change in personality.
"Indeed," the dragon grumbled, "I had reclaimed my lost energies from the Lion's knights below - and I must duly thank you for bringing my lost limb, Lionfang Knight."
"O-Oh, it is no large issue, my lord," Jean stammered in the beginning, but quickly composed herself soon after, "I was simply doing my duty."
"Heavens know what a rarity that is, for a human living in the Land of Wind - ruled by the most immature deity that is!"
"Surely you do not mean those words, my lord," the knight laughed nervously, afraid of whether to offend the god or the dragon.
"Indeed, she is right, Dvalin!" Barbatos cried, "How must you offend me so?"
Jean hastily opened her mouth to voice her agreement, but god's next words prompted her to shut it just as hastily - with an audible click to that end.
"I rule nothing at all," the God of Freedom reminded - and somewhere, thunder roared.
"...Of course," the dragon replied smoothly, "My apologies."
"How grand," Barbatos clapped, "Now, where is that-"
The storm turned icy, freezing cold. Hoarfrost crept across the stone as a chill set into his bones. Then the storm was gone, replaced by a howling blizzard of raging slate and hail, like a blinding white curtain descending from the Sky.
And from the storm came the largest wolf Aether had ever set his eyes upon. At least three men tall, the giant wolf bore deep blue fur upon its head, thick like a lion's mane. Icicle-like spinal bones ran down its back all the way down to the tip of its tail. Its underbelly was white snow turned fur, with ice hanging off the edges.
Andrius, the Wolf of the North - he had heard of the tales told of the mighty being. The Lord of Blizzards was once the undisputed god of the north, his kingdom spanning across all of the Windwail Highlands. That was, until the Tower burned the Cecilia Garden to the ground. From there, Andrius declared war on the Tower to keep Decarabia's power in check.
This prompted the rise of the storm walls, and the subsequent fall of the Tower.
Stories told of how Andrius - realising he was not fit to rule over the north - killed himself after the rise of Barbatos, allowing the Lord of Wind to take the seat of Anemo Archon.
"Andrealphus!" the Lord of Wind laughed, arms wide, "I haven't seen you since- since when!?"
"Since the last Walpurgis, Barbatos," the wolf growled, his voice like the harsh whisper of a fleeting cold, "Now, what have you summoned me for?"
"Sullen as ever, huh?" Barbatos smiled widely, "Still bitter from your loss in the War? You need to get over that, old man!"
Even as the wolf uttered not a word, the blizzard still howled - betraying his emotions.
"Enough with your japes, Lord of Wind. A worthy war was fought, and I have long accepted my defeat. Now, what is the purpose of this gathering?"
There was a story there, Aether could tell. Of a long and brutal war over the north, of men dying by the tens of thousands in raging snowstorms, of mountains torn from the bedrock under the rage of two rival gods. Of an ancient deity succumbing under the brutal ideals of a younger one, and accepting the outstretched hand of peace.
"To dispense judgement, I suppose," Barbatos mused, staring upwards, "We should be waiting for the Falcon… but she isn't coming, is she?"
Andrealphus sniffed, the very act cooling the temperature drastically, "The Overseer does keep a close eye on mortal gods."
"Ah- AH!" Barbatos put a finger over his mouth, "You're speaking way too much!"
In response, the wolf hacked out a cough.
"Another jest of yours? All know the Overseer is at his end, the Lord of Void is set to replace him very soon."
"That's supposed to be secret!?"
"To whom? If it is a secret, then it is a very open one."
"Seven hells, you have no sense of politics at all!" Barbatos swivelled his head around, "Look, Dvalin's staring as if you're mad - and those three down there have no idea what you're talking about! Let's just- let's just get this underway."
"About time," the dragon said blandly.
Aether felt as if he was in a fever dream. Were these supposed to be gods? Well, the dragon wasn't, but that was besides the point. The Lords of Wind and Blizzards were bickering like children before his very eyes, and he was supposed to take them seriously? No, wait - he was, for he had witnessed first hand the power of the God of Freedom.
That, and he was still pinned to the floor - he could already feel his legs getting numb.
"Right, right. The Dragon is here, the Wolf is here, the Lion is here - and the accused his here. Three out of four, not bad."
"Barbatos."
"Ah-? Oh, right. Alright, who deems this man guilty?"
"Guilty of what?" the great wolf asked dryly.
"Uh, of rending Dvalin's wing off his body."
The wolf's massive head turned to face his downed form, then turned to stare at the dragon Dvalin.
A howling laughter filled the Sky.
"To inflict such a wound-! A worthy adversary indeed!" the wolf roared, "Come to my domain some time, it would be an honour to engage in battle with you."
"Uh- yes," Aether jerked, "I would be my pleasure."
"Grand! I deem you innocent!"
"So do I," the Lion of the South proclaimed, "An injury inflicted in self-defence is justified as they come. Innocent."
"Two out of three," Barbatos hummed, "What say you, Dvalin?"
"I owe you a great debt, outlander," the dragon said, "For the pain of your blade shook me from my madness. I have torn off the yolk of the Abyss, thanks to you. Innocent."
Aether saw the Anemo Archon's eyes incrementally narrowed, as if he had not realised Dvalin was corrupted by the Abyss. Well, he mused, it did explain why the dragon abandoned his post as one of the Four Winds, and began attacking those he was meant to protect. When Aether shook himself from his thoughts, he realised there was no longer a pressure holding him down.
He stood up, dusting himself off.
"Well," Barbatos clapped, "Trial over, I'll see you all next time."
"Ah- if you would wait for a moment!" Aether called, and the god swivelled to stare down at him.
"Can you explain why Amos was sealed in the gate of this Tower?"
The god paused, then disappeared in a breeze - and appeared directly in front of him, grabbing him by the shoulders.
"Amos was sealed in the- what!?"
"Lady Amos, the fair archer! She said you sealed her in the gatehouse-"
"Seal!?" the god all but roared, "I am the God of Freedom!"
Barbatos clenched his hands, and Aether winced as he felt divine strength squeezing him. The god's eyes were hard and flinty, like finely cut emeralds. The winds around him roared, deafening his senses.
This, Aether realised, was the true God of Freedom. The god who held such an unyielding stance in his ideals that he waged bloody wars across the Land of Wind in order to unchain peoples not even his. The god who warred to the north, to the west - the god who even warred with an ancient assembly to the south - a triumvirate of gods - half a dozen times before relenting.
The very god who smashed his rivals to insignificance before he was even a century old.
The god born from the corpse of another.
"Amos and the bard," he tried to explain, "They're alive, somehow, trapped in the Tower."
"How?"
"We- we think it's Decarabia's golden spear which cursed them to immortality."
"Impossible," Andrealphus growled, "Celestia would not allow such a weapon out of their grasp."
"Golden spear… golden spear," Barbatos mumbled, before glaring at him, "Tell me more!"
So Aether told him all of it, of everything he and Lisa theorised, of what they discovered. Of how the golden spear pierced the hearts and souls of Amos and the bard - of the heartbeat, of the memories.
And at the end of it all, the God of Freedom was silent as a stone - a dangerous kind of silence.
"I," the god spoke, "Am not the first Heir of Astaroth."
"My lord," Jean asked slowly, "What are you speaking of?"
"The spear may not be in the possession of Celestia because it was gifted to Decarabia by an older god, one older than even Celestia," the wolf god explained, "An Elder God."
"I- I am afraid this is no curse of immortality, but a curse of time."
"...The Thousand Winds of Time," Jean breathed, as a kind of realisation dawned on her.
A realisation Aether was no privy too. And he felt increasingly oblivious, for it was obvious even Johann understood what the Grandmaster was saying - for the poor man looked just about ready to faint. He had his sympathies, Aether decided, any man would feel so after experiencing what he had just gone through.
"Yes," Barbatos raised his head, "Our goals may not have aligned, but I have never - never - wished Amos undue suffering. I am afraid that both the fair archer and bard have found themselves trapped in time - and thanks to my ignorance, they have suffered unduly for it. For millennia."
Six pinioned wings flared, the great wingspans blotting out the Sun - awakened with a thousand eyes. The dragon roared to the heavens in response to his god's fury, and the wolf howled - calling upon the Sky to witness the great council.
"This-," the God of Freedom snarled, "This must be rectified."
Rewritten on 13/6/2022