A/N: This was supposed to be up a week ago! I'd promise faster updates, but that's really not realistic. I'll try to aim for once a week at least though. Thanks so much for those of you who subscribed and especially those of you who left wonderful comments. Also, thanks to me beta, Z, this wouldn't be half as good without you~
Chapter One
On the highest peak of Caelei stood the court of the gods. It was carved out of the grey, dead stone that made up the terrain of the Heaven Realm. Twelve pillars came together at the mountain's peak, each with intricate iron decorations. The blue metal twisted, thin and web-like into various shapes: one pillar was entirely covered tangle of elegant flowers; another was wreathed in solid flame; one was twirled into menagerie of wild animals; spun metal humans impaling each other on sword and spear adorned another. The court was majestic, if cold.
Footsteps rang across the polished marble floor as the gods entered between the pillars. Engraved in the marble below where the pillars came to a peak was the twelve pointed star. Twelve gods took their seats, and the discussion began without ceremony.
"Let us be blunt," said Pakram, sweeping towards the center of the meeting hall, the morning sun catching his copper hair. "Winter is upon the mortal realm once more. The Daemons are growing restless. The mining towns of the mountains are already under strict curfew as night seems when the Daemons are most comfortable. The High Daemon of the mountain range is gathers his minions. His attack will be swift. We must take action—"
"Take action, you say?" Came a haughty sneer from across the hall. A tall woman dressed in scarlet armor stepped into the circle. "Why should we risk ourselves for a bunch of whining miners? There are more important people to protect. What about the soldiers posted down in the plains for the winter? The harlot of a high Daemon who dwells there is as loathsome as any other. This is war, and my soldiers need protection."
A third god stood and placed his hand on the seething war goddess. She glared up at his deathly pale face and his red eyes. The bow and quiver slung across his back did nothing to lessen his dangerous appearance. "Now Daka," he cooed into her ear. "Where would your lovely fighting machines be without iron? You know it's the best for fighting Daemons. Just thing of their burning flesh against your blade. The metal came from somewhere, and some filthy Daemon wants to destroy the people who get it for us. Are you going to let him?"
She glared at him, her desire to keep her precious soldiers safe for war and massacre at war with her hatred for Daemon-kind. Her hatred won. She cracked the other god a smile. "That most of the miners are also hunters has no bearing over this, does it, Gilbert?" she asked sarcastically.
"Of course it does. I just happened to turn it into a logical and convincing argument." Daka shivered at his words.
A snicker echoed through the halls. Gilbert glared at its source: a god, handsome by any standards, mortal or immortal. His golden hair was half tied up in the back while the rest fell loose around his face. He reclined on the throne, a thick violet cloak draped over him. "Mon cher," he began, blue eyes arrogant, "I believe my expertise in the arts of love may be rubbing of on you. That or the lovely, bloodthirsty goddess just doesn't know what a real lover could be like." He raised his narrow eyebrows at her.
Daka laughed, high and cold, but before she could retort, the willowy form of Arlya rose, concern etched over her face.
"Alfred is lost again," she said.
There was a communal sigh. Many of the gods were beginning to doubt the boy had any real use. It had been seventeen year since Arlya had brought him to Caelei and so far, he had shown no signs of any talent that would be useful in the Daemon war.
"Leave him, Arlya. Let the human find his own way out for once," said Gilbert. "Either that or he'll starve to death and we'll finally be rid of him. It's not as if he good at anything anyways."
The goddess stood to her full, rather impressive height, silver shift fluttering around her. "He has talent, even if your disgust towards humans makes you blind." Pakram repressed a sigh. It seemed like every time they held court something would drive her into a defensive fury over the boy she found. "Perhaps he just needs something, a gift, that would help prove that to you."
"Arlya, the prophesy specifically says a 'gift the gods give naught,'" said the violet clad god.
"I see, does prophesy now fall to the god of the arts, Francis? What will you claim next? War? We all know how skilled you are in that field," said Arlya, a cruel smile spreading across her face as Francis paled. "Alfred just needs a gift. We cannot expect him to end the Daemon war trapped in the canyons of Caelei."
She held the gods' attention. Her words made sense, for who was to say that the gift described in the prophesy was the only gift the boy needed?
"What is your proposal?" asked Prakam.
"He is to be our messenger."
USUK
A tall boy slumped against the rough side of the canyon. He had been wandering in circles all afternoon, hopelessly lost. His white tunic was smeared with grey dust and his ends of his dark breaches were starting to stick to the back of his knees. He rubbed under his glasses with the back of his hand, cursing to himself.
"Seventeen damn years and I still can't find my way from one side of this stupid mountain to the other." He ran his fingers through sunny blond hair. It really was no use, no matter how hard he tried, Alfred could never tell the mazes of paths from each other. The only thing he was sure of was that it was getting late. The sun had slipped out of sight from the narrow piece of sky that peaked out from between the great cliffs that lined the paths. Either that or he had somehow gotten turned around and was now going north rather than east, which was entirely possible. He tugged himself off the ground and wandered down the path, his fingers dragging along the dead stone. When he came to the next fork, he picked a direction at random, hoping either that he'd find his way to Kiku by sheer dumb luck or, the more likely option, one of the gods would take pity on him and guide him out.
Thankfully for Alfred, he was found sooner rather than later. He had only been walking for another few minutes when a hand dropped onto his shoulder. After yelping in surprise, he turned toward the god, though Alfred knew who it was by the distinct smell of cats.
"I was starting to worry I'd be lost here forever. Thanks, Heracles."
The god only nodded, and stared at Alfred in a slow, yet almost appraising manner. Alfred shuffled under his gaze, anxious to be out of the claustrophobic canyon.
"What is your skill?"
Alfred gave him a blank look. "What?"
"What is your skill?"
Alfred worried his lip, gazing at the ground. What was his skill? What did he mean by skill? Like Kiku's skill with his hands? He didn't have anything like that, or at least not that he knew of.
"I don't really know?" It came out as more of a question. "I mean I'm good at remembering stuff, except for maps and how to get around Caelei. I remember what Gil was telling Daka yesterday about the Daemon around that little mining town. Apparently the villagers can't go out at night anymore because the Daemons are so aggressive. The only thing keeping them safe is the iron wrapping around the containing wall. Apparently they also have a huge temple to Pakram there, that's made out of more iron than in most other towns." Curse it all, he was babbling again. He bit his tongue and looked for any reaction in the god. Heracles continued to stare, a small frown on his face. After a moment, he nodded.
"Kiku wants you," he said.
"I know. I'm technically on my way, but — well, you know, me, this mountain…"
Heracles grasped Alfred's shoulder. With an odd whooshing sensation, they were whipped straight to the peak that housed Heracles' garden and Kiku's workshop. Immediately upon landing, a flock of cats rushed through the garden to meet the fertility god. With final thanks, he set off down the pebble-line path to Kiku.
Kiku stood as Alfred approached. He stood, brushing at his grey-smudged work tunic. He looked at Alfred with his usual unreadable dark eyes under short, black hair.
"Alfred, I apologize for calling you all the way. Though I must admit I thought you would be more timely."
Alfred gaped for a moment, flushing red. A moment passed before Alfred noticed the teasing gleam in Kiku's eyes. Both broke into laughter, a rare smile spreading across Kiku's face. Alfred hugged his friend around the middle, ignoring how he briefly stiffened. Kiku was the only other human in Caelei, and Alfred's only real friend. They were an unlikely pair; Alfred was loud where Kiku had a soft voice, emotional where his friend was reserved. Perhaps it was that they were both human. As much as Alfred adored the gods, they were distant, and not particularly involved in most of his life. And it was Kiku who noticed Alfred's growing restlessness. He couldn't imagine a life in Caelei without something to do, especially for one with as much energy as Alfred. He had taken it upon himself to relieve some of Alfred's restless energy. He was a skilled craftsmen, his art honed by years of practice in a workshop designed by the gods, and though he had little experience in making this particular gift, he was rather proud of it. Released from Alfred's grasp, he bent down and held out a bundle wrapped in slick oilskin. "I thought you might like it. It is not much, and I am inexperienced in making such things," he said, his cheeks a light shade of pink.
Alfred eased the casing off his gift. His hands held a cherry wood lyre. It was beautiful— polished and shining, strung with delicate wire. It was a little rough, especially around some of the sharper curves, but Alfred saw no flaw. He stroked the strings and marveled at the sound. It hummed through the air, a higher, more somber sound than Alfred expected.
"It's beautiful," he whispered.
Kiku's cheeks darkened at the sincere praise. "I am glad you like it, Alfred. Perhaps you can ask Francis to instruct you?"
Alfred nodded, only half listening. He ran his fingers over the instrument, giving off a gentle crescendo. He plucked a few wires, noting the different tones. They sat together, side by side, Kiku watching the winter sky swirl from blue to orange to violet and Alfred entranced by the music that came from his instrument. The sun had long set when Arlya finally came to find him. She halted, surprised by the gentle notes. It had been too long since she had heard an instrument and she closed her eyes in pleasure.
"Alfred," she cooed, "what are you doing?"
The boy's head jerked up. He swallowed and ran his fingers over the polished wood.
"Nothing, really. Kiku gave this to me today," he said holding out the lyre. "I don't even know how to play it, but I'll get better fast, I promise!"
Arlya let out a bell-like laugh. "It sounds wonderful already, but it is much to late for you to be out. It is time to come home."
Alfred stood and shook out his legs stiff from sitting. He glanced around realizing that Kiku had already left. He nodded and held his hand out to the goddess. She swept them back to their own mountain peak. She drifted into the night, off to watch over the mortal realm by the light of the moon. Alfred leaned against the side of his bed, picking out tuneless notes deep into the night. It was only when his fingers were raw and bleeding did he succumb to slumber.
Arlya found him curled around the lyre the next morning. She stooped over him with a curious expression. Her hands strayed towards the lyre, eager to hold an instrument again, but stopped, her hand hovering above it. No, her mind argued. Her touch would just destroy it. She wouldn't do that to the boy. It was one of the few things here that had ever made him truly happy. She crouched in front of him and stared at the boy she had rescued from the mountainside. He was still the little child, his head tilted back against the bed and mouth open to the sky. The same small strand of hair still stood straight up as it did on the day she found him. She ran a cool hand over his cheek and down his neck, startling Alfred awake. He blinked up at her and pushed her hand away.
"Arlya?"
"Come, my baby. The gods have a gift waiting for you."
She turned and glided out of Alfred's room. He frowned. He had liked the pet name when he was little, but it bothered him now. He was not a baby. He stood and cursed himself for the awkward sleeping position. However, curiosity got the better of him, and he grabbed his glasses from the side table and walked after the goddess, wrapping his battered leather coat around him for the winter chill. Arlya waited outside and pulled Alfred close to her. They were whisked to highest of the mountain peaks. She guided him to the center of the court of the gods, hand firm around the back of his neck. It was mostly empty, only two other gods were present, Pakram and Francis. The former turned to face the newcomers, leaving other alone to fiddle with his rather ostentatious blue cape as he waited. Arlya danced up to the sun god, giving him a chaste peck on the cheek.
Alfred shuffled his feet as the gods whispered behind their hands, glancing at him every so often. They argued in whispers; Arlya seemed to be winning to no one's surprise. Finally Pakram nodded and waved Francis forward.
"You have lived here for almost eighteen years, have you not?" said the sun god. "And in that time have you done anything worthwhile?"
Alfred tried to hide his stung feelings, failing per usual, though the god did not seem to care.
"The time has come to remedy that. Francis?" With a flourish, the god of the arts held out a pair of boots, each with two fluttering white wings attached at the ankle. Alfred gazed at them, then up at the gods, confusion lining his face.
"You are to be our messenger." It was a command, a contract. Alfred nodded, he wasn't given a choice in the matter, but he was excited nonetheless. He took the boots from Francis, who winked, and slipped them on. The supple deerskin molded around his calf providing a tight grip. He pushed off from the marble floor, hovering. It was thrilling and strange. He overbalanced and toppled to the floor several times before he mastered the new way of holding himself in the air. Parkram and his wife eventually left the court, leaving Francis to supervise. Finally Alfred managed several consecutive moments of holding himself in place. Francis approached with mocking applause, though his eyes showed fondness.
"I hear you have recently received a lyre, non?"
"Yes. A present from Kiku."
"But you do not know how to play, do you?"
"Not really."
"I thought not. Come." He glanced back at Alfred, who looked at him with suspicion. "You want a teacher? Meet me in my garden." He smirked as Alfred jumped into motion. Hopefully he wouldn't keep Francis waiting now that he had a more efficient means of travel. He turned and was swept away into the breeze.
USUK
Though Alfred was eager for his lesson, he decided to practice flying on the way. Hovering had only taken a small time to master, but actually flying was an entirely different matter. It was unlike any movement Alfred had ever engaged in. Even the smallest twitches could send him completely off balance, half falling; half flying down towards the mountain passes. After several instances of flipping forward and dangling upside down from his boots, he began to get a notion of how to go about flying. The trick was to keep moving or have his feet directly under him. The birds-eye view did however help with his sense of direction. He found his own home in far less time than he would have walking, not that that meant anything much, given he never failed to become hopelessly lost down there.
He landed on his hillside with far more force than he intended. He flushed at the thought of what he must look like, stumbling along the crest of the mountain, arms flailing for balance. Pushing aside his embarrassment, he ran into the small building that was his home. He grabbed his lyre off the bed and departed, taking a flying leap into the air off the top step. The wings around his ankles flicked into action as he soared up.
It's not really easy, but this is fun, he thought as he felt the rush of biting air against his face and flapping against his jacket. He spiraled through the air, trying to see how fast he could go. Eventually he came to halt above the court of the gods. His stomach was rolling slightly. Perhaps spinning as fast as he could hadn't been the best of ideas. His body was quickly adjusting to the different movements flying required. Nothing had ever some so naturally to him. He sighed with contentment. This is wonderful. He laughed at the cold, at the mountain paths that would never trap him again. He laughed because no one was around to hear and to glare at him for making noise. No one was watching up here. He was free.
He looked down, his bearings still somewhat unsure. He finally spotted Francis's garden and the god waiting in its midst.
As Alfred landed Francis swept over to him, his blue cape fluttering behind him. His bright blond hair was pulled halfway up, the way Francis preferred it when about to engage in his specialty. He greeted Alfred fondly with a pat on the head, though Alfred was only a hair shorter. They began the lesson. Though Alfred was inconsistent at best, Francis would often close his eyes and listen to the imperfect chords and scales with a wistful smile. Alfred expected Francis to take the lyre from him to demonstrate some of the more difficult technique. However, the god kept his distance, explaining rather than showing. On a particularly difficult chord, Alfred stood, frustrated and shoved his lyre towards Francis.
"Just show me. I don't understand what you are saying. How are my fingers supposed to go?"
Francis flinched from the held out instrument. His blue eyes glittering with some old hurt that took Alfred aback.
"I wish, my boy, I wish."
Alfred stood in silence and waited for him to continue. Francis frowned; melancholy seeped from him. It was an expression Alfred was unused to seeing on the normally exuberant god. Alfred had turned to leave when a soft voice cut through.
"There is no music in Caelei, is there?"
Alfred turned, startled. Now that he thought about it, the only music he had ever really heard was down on visits to the mortal realm or Kiku's occasional humming. "I guess not. Don't you like it?" he asked.
Francis gave a distant chuckle. "Very much. Of all the arts, I would have to say it is my favorite."
Alfred let the silence hang. When no further response came from the distracted god, he sighed and crossed his arms across his chest. "If it's your favorite, why don't you play?"
The god shook his head, resting his eyes against his palms. "We cannot. The gods are cursed. If we so much as touch an instrument, it will decay, corrode in our very hands. It has been such for an age."
Alfred felt an odd stirring in his chest. It must have been a particular burden on the god of the arts. Alfred reached out and squeezed Francis' arm. The god looked up from his hands and a grim smile formed on his face. "Alas is my fate. But I vow to make a musician out of you, yet, though I will never play again. Now, I will explain this to you once more, this is how to play a harmonic scale."
Alfred arrived home several hours later, fingers raw and sore and his heart heavy with Francis' story. Arlya greeted him on the steps leading to his room. She immediately noticed his oddly thoughtful expression and held him to her. He let her run her fingers through his hair as he confided what had happened.
"It is true, the gods cannot play music," she continued, "and every instrument we touch will break, though it was not always so. Francis loved music, and he was talented. It rent his soul to have it taken away." Alfred nodded, he had heard as much from Francis.
"So why? What happened? How could gods be cursed?"
Arlya moved her caresses down to his shoulders, working out the kinks from sleeping up against the bed the night before. She continued in her same train of thought.
"It was heartbreaking really. Francis could play any instrument with intuitive ease. To have such a gift taken away— it hurt him more than he will admit."
Alfred made a noncommittal sound, observing how she brushed off his question. It wasn't particularly unusual for Alfred to be ignored in such a manner, but Arlya typically was straightforward with him. He let himself be steered into his room, half-listening as Arlya continued to speak of Francis. A thought sprung to his mind, a satisfying way to get a small revenge on the goddess who was so obviously ignoring his real questions. He said the most ridiculous idea he could think of.
"It was because of the Daemons, wasn't it? That the gods lost music?"
The goddess froze. She stared at the human with pale eyes Alfred couldn't read. Then with an unnerving smile she responded, "That seems to usually be the case, does it not? Now good night, my baby."
She swept out of his room, leaving Alfred with a stunned expression and even more questions.
A/N: Massive character dump! Hopefully you like the intro to some canon characters. More to come. England will probably make his appearance within the next two chapters. Several of the characters have had major arc changes since this began (supporting characters should be much more interesting now), mostly due to my introduction to HetaOni (you can find it on YT). It's dark, its creepy and it screws with your brain. I highly recommend it. -queue end of shameless promotion-
Comments, constructive criticism, and requests (I'm still in need of some side plots) are love~