I know, I said I may not be posting anymore of this novel, since I have lost a lot of interest but depending on how many crits I get I may or may not stop, considering this is most likely murdering you with boredom. I have tried as much character development as possible here, but so much as to overcrowd you with info dumps. Note, the 'Estrian' is the new name of te old twilight guy.
Chapter Five
The Beast of Reflection
Aedomir still felt angry, and missed his companions dearly. But the comfort of Seridon slowly grew, and he felt he could speak with him more and break the solitude.
But it was spoilt.
Only one thing could have guided the vision to befall upon him. In truth, its power still lingered, but he had forgotten.
The Estrian of the ritual.
“Never have I seen someone to survive that power. Your body stood firm against it. I do not know whether this deviant strength will trouble you. As we Visgards say; Ak Viemnok jore fol oust y’agrein,” said Seridon, as the words of his kinsmen floated amidst the serenity.
Aedomir smiled at the words “The power of night sleeps in harmony.”
“But disturb it and you will not be so fortunate,” settled Seridon, as he stepped over a tree stump. “There is one reason to why you awoke during the ritual. I do not understand its extent as it stands currently, so unsure I remain. You will need an explanation prior.”
“Continue, please, I listen to your words,” said Aedomir patiently.
“I have not been entirely honest; with either myself or you. I claimed I knew not of immortality’s reasoning. I may, however, be able to offer some,” spoke Seridon with a sigh. “When we were, let’s say, stolen, we knew naught but our legends. So, in turn, we somewhat lacked knowledge. Some came to embrace the opportunity of enduring life, and others even offered themselves into vileness of the Daerim. Time swept by, and it replaced all memories. People no longer knew joy, or any emotions of old. They then began to realise that they were all immortal. We pondered over how this was possible, or at least, if it could be reversed. What we learnt horrified us.” Seridon paused and strayed away. He gulped and looked back to Aedomir. “If by magic or device, the Daerim had, in turn or tide, learned to create life. Then from that, sustain it.”
“But only by destroying their souls,” Aedomir finished. A moment later, he heard a twig snap beneath his feet. “Yes, that would seem right, I fear.”
“Why?” Seridon asked.
“Because he seeks the Mehdres. If Kuzarr has captured Malwin then the reason behind it is more or less understood. The Mehdres, if you must know, can hold the soul of a God and harness the power. By taking her soul, the cycle would be complete.”
“The three undeniable truths; birth, death, and… life,” sighed Seridon.
“I fear so.” Once more, silence reigned. Both contemplated the thought in succession.
At length, Seridon spoke, “I know naught of this device; please, tell me.”
Aedomir knew he could trust Seridon in ease, and convinced himself no harm would come of it. “There are—or were the five divine, remember? Gods of death, life, war, birth and beauty, each bound in wedlock. Theses wives were once humans, selected to rule over others. One, however, fled. Malwin’s spouse returned and hid. But nothing can hide from Gods. She feared for herself and used her divine knowledge to craft a weapon; the Mehdres. Malwin followed suit after his wife. She threatened to destroy him, and not even the legends conclude why. Nevertheless, Malwin was broken, and clearly, he could not fight against immortality, since he was, after all, the bringer of death. Perhaps that is how he was taken so freely.”
“That is what the legends speak, friend. I do not doubt you, but now I feel no reason to believe myths. Hope has somewhat fallen now, there is now only room for truth in purity.” Seridon’s face looked downwards into the ground he trod on.
“So the Mehdres demands spirits, the heart of life,” completed Aedomir. “You speak of permanence in defeat, but have none tried to defy it?”
“In the beginning, yes. But you what overlook you forget, there is no right or wrong. It is but a concept and through time it will be erased and supplanted. One thousand years as an eon, and when emotions are crushed, to what end would a rising achieve? Under bond, our power could wax into a fine weapon. But now, the folks believe that times have always been this way. They forget the taste of sweetness, and the smell when ripe fruits are taken during the season of harvest. As have I. It became evident that years of hard work are needed to build honesty’s tower but a short stray could see it breached. And it did. When I was taken, violation compelled me to fight for what was right. But then I realised it lacked purpose. No others fought with me and I stood, alone. People bathe their existent in fear now...”
“Then they do not live,” said Aedomir. He felt like a fool for thinking they might be helped. He now yearned to meet one, and speak with them of what had become. Perhaps they could be assisted—saved even—from their painful wounds, he would think to himself. He could feel his heart beating against his chest. He felt violated. He had missed the day when the times and changed, and destroyed emotion and freedom.
Anger became his passion. It thrived in him like a young seed.
An hour passed along their journey. On several occasions did Seridon try to slow down, but Aedomir’s lack of patience kept them fast. The time came for them to venture into the woods’ borders. It began on a high hill, and ran in clusters down into a forest; distant and wild. The canopy of the leaves shone a murky brown, gone was the colour. A single grim elm hung between the trees and the comrades. Aedomir cringed at the burnt edges, the dry leaves and the light that fell upon it.
Aedomir’s comrades could be near.
He had a mountain to climb.
More than anything, what he desired most laid in wreckage as a memory in the times of old, when he could counsel with his outlaws on the war and sorrow beset upon them. Be human or else wise, they would speak upon the matters dear to them. Aedomir knew this well, for the only prize near to his heart would be his fellow kin—the outlaws. Their thoughts were his, as his were theirs. They took no matter in the events of others, and seldom left as aid. But the times had changed, and what was then would no longer be so true he believed. Of all the exiles to have passed under his command, one wrought a more troubling memory. Not troubling then, but now perhaps. Her name was Vélos, and even if she lived he had could not promise a chance to rekindle any of the cherished, beloved moments with her. They would be gone, windswept. Their love was kept secret, almost so by themselves, until it became too clear to ignore. Young she was, and it was by a strange fortune that she was born into such an ill world, and that she should be left in such an unloved company as amongst outlaws. Aedomir knew little of Vélos, but her beauty was plentiful enough. Her wisdom dwelt in song and music, but of course the flair of weapons and magic. Aedomir sighed when he thought of her wasted skills, her lost presence, and the knowledge that she may never love him again.
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