Sorcerer
Chapter 6 - Aftermath
Slowly our eyes adjusted, and slowly we found each other. Our people were distraught, terrified: no-one knew how we had survived at all. I told the people that I could find to make camp and stay warm; I then set off towards the stump that was the base of our tower.
It was there that I found a blessing: the five Empyrean Lords who had been sent to hold Aion intact, still alive. They gathered us all together, told us that our world had changed forever, and told us why. Worse still was the cost of this attempted peace: we had lost millions, and Siel and Israphel, the two Guardians of the Tower, had sacrificed themselves so that we might live in their stead. In life they had committed a great folly, but their deaths had not been without honour, and in silence we remembered them.
I returned to our makeshift camp soon after and helped to construct a huge fire to attract other survivors. Over the next few days, thousands would come to us, battered, bruised, and distraught at the events that had transpired. I was fortunate enough to find Phalaris, my child, amongst the survivors, though no-one else that I had known from my settlement had survived.
Days passed, then weeks. It became apparent that our world, our shattered world, had stabilised, and our destiny was once again in our hands. Aion, it seemed, had departed, as had the Aether that had empowered me. For the first time in a long while, I felt vulnerable again. Not wanting to let fear take control of my wits, I spoke with Asphel, and set about plans for founding a new home for us all.
Seven hundred and fifty long years passed, and in that time I saw a great many things change. We soon ran out of firewood, though our eyes were already adapting to the encroaching darkness. Our town was built, named Pandaemonium, and soon expanded into a great city. I saw our people flourish, adapt, evolve against all odds, always under the direction of our Shedim Lords.
Our evolution took on physical characteristics too; our skin grew pale in this engulfing darkness, and the hard ground, littered with razor-sharp debris, turned our feet into claws. Our hands, too, acquired graceful talons, as if to say that none of our race would ever go unarmed again. These marks were once difficult for me to accept, but if they were necessary for our survival, and they were, then we had no choice but to carry their burden. To us, they were the price of Israphel’s attempted peace, which Ariel had been fool enough to support.
In that time I also saw Phalaris grow old and die, along with his children, and theirs. Such is the life of the Daeva.
Slowly our eyes adjusted, and slowly we found each other. Our people were distraught, terrified: no-one knew how we had survived at all. I told the people that I could find to make camp and stay warm; I then set off towards the stump that was the base of our tower.
It was there that I found a blessing: the five Empyrean Lords who had been sent to hold Aion intact, still alive. They gathered us all together, told us that our world had changed forever, and told us why. Worse still was the cost of this attempted peace: we had lost millions, and Siel and Israphel, the two Guardians of the Tower, had sacrificed themselves so that we might live in their stead. In life they had committed a great folly, but their deaths had not been without honour, and in silence we remembered them.
I returned to our makeshift camp soon after and helped to construct a huge fire to attract other survivors. Over the next few days, thousands would come to us, battered, bruised, and distraught at the events that had transpired. I was fortunate enough to find Phalaris, my child, amongst the survivors, though no-one else that I had known from my settlement had survived.
Days passed, then weeks. It became apparent that our world, our shattered world, had stabilised, and our destiny was once again in our hands. Aion, it seemed, had departed, as had the Aether that had empowered me. For the first time in a long while, I felt vulnerable again. Not wanting to let fear take control of my wits, I spoke with Asphel, and set about plans for founding a new home for us all.
Seven hundred and fifty long years passed, and in that time I saw a great many things change. We soon ran out of firewood, though our eyes were already adapting to the encroaching darkness. Our town was built, named Pandaemonium, and soon expanded into a great city. I saw our people flourish, adapt, evolve against all odds, always under the direction of our Shedim Lords.
Our evolution took on physical characteristics too; our skin grew pale in this engulfing darkness, and the hard ground, littered with razor-sharp debris, turned our feet into claws. Our hands, too, acquired graceful talons, as if to say that none of our race would ever go unarmed again. These marks were once difficult for me to accept, but if they were necessary for our survival, and they were, then we had no choice but to carry their burden. To us, they were the price of Israphel’s attempted peace, which Ariel had been fool enough to support.
In that time I also saw Phalaris grow old and die, along with his children, and theirs. Such is the life of the Daeva.
