"Tell me another story about them," Adah asked, her voice a soft, sweet note in the silent aftermath. The "them" was understood: the firebirds, the Phoenixes, the creatures of myth and terrifying reality.
Sheut sighed, a puff of cool air that dissipated into the night. "Adah, all the stories are practically the same. They are born, they live, they die in a glorious blaze, and they are reborn."
"Dooonnnttt Care. Tell us another story," The Queen said with a dramatic flick of her wrist, her eyes twinkling.
"Also, the last one was about righteousness and purity," Adah countered, taking Sheut's hand. "What about a different kind of story? A more... eventful one?" Her eyes were sparkling, and her expression was a mix of pleading and playful.
Sheut looked at her for a long moment, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. He had been raised on tales of power and purpose, not fables. But for Adah, he would try. He settled onto a nearby rock, the shadows coiling around him like a cloak, and began.
The Heretic Phoenix
Long before the era of light and darkness, the first Phoenix was born from the cosmic chaos itself. It was a singular being, a creature of boundless power. It was not a champion of righteousness, but an impartial force, a steward of change. Its purpose was to maintain the cycle, to bring forth the new by first sweeping away the old.
But as the first civilizations rose, they saw only a fleeting glimpse of its power. A blaze that consumed a forest, a volcanic eruption that birthed a new island. The people, in their fear, gave it a name. Phoenix, the First Demon. They saw only the destructive aspect, a terrifying force that purged and cleansed without mercy or emotion. In a desperate attempt to contain its chaotic power, the first mages and warriors. The very ancestors of the Light-Born and the Dark-Born united. They wove a great web of binding spells, a prison of collective intent, and trapped the Pheonix in a dimension of eternal solitude.
The Pheonix was not angered. It was amused. It knew their magic was a fleeting imitation of true power. So, in its loneliness, it began to sing. Its voice, a melody of pure chaos and order, resonated through the planes. It was a song that taught and corrupted, a siren call to those who yearned for power beyond their mortal grasp. To those who listened, the song offered visions of forbidden sciences, of forgotten poetry, and of the raw, untamed power that lay dormant within the universe. It was a tempting promise, and many fell to its allure. The devils, in their quest for domination, and the elves, in their search for knowledge, were among the first to heed the call. They sought to bind the Pheonix's power for their own, to become gods in its image. They believed they could control it.
But the song had an unintended consequence. With each new student of its power, the Pheonix's essence began to leak back into the world, splintering into smaller, less powerful fragments. These fragments, no longer containing the entirety of the original being's purpose, were distorted by the fears and desires of the races that sought them. The benevolent ones, those who embraced its capacity for rebirth, became the righteous Phoenixes of legend. But those who coveted its power for destruction became the dark legends, the lesser demons of fire and decay.
The Phoenixes you saw were not the Heretic Pheonix. They are its children, a fraction of a fraction of its original purpose. They are the beautiful consequence of a power misunderstood and misnamed.
Sheut's story ended, and he was silent for a long time. The only sound was the humming of the of the crystals controlling the carriage, its blue light illuminating the ground around it. The myth of the Phoenix had just been turned on its head. The pure, righteous beings of the last story were not the original. They were a splintered, diluted version of a primordial, chaotic being that had been named a demon out of fear.
Big John cleared his throat, calling out to Sheut. "Sheut!" he said, making sure he had the man's attention.
"Yes, King John. How can I help you?" Sheut replied.
A wave of suppressed laughter rippled through the group. Adah and Queen Nandi hid their snickers behind their hands, but Big John's face turned a brilliant shade of red. He coughed into his fist, his composure visibly fraying.
"I'm not the King, Sheut," Big John insisted, his voice a low, exasperated rumble.
From across the way, General Kar's voice was barely audible, but Big John's acute hearing, a byproduct of his physical nature, caught every word. "If you're not the King, then I'm not a Beast-Kin."
Big John's head snapped around, his eyes blazing. "What did you say, you overgrown furball!" he erupted, a fiery burst of frustration overtaking him. "I'll knock you into next week! Just you wait for PT!"
The threat was so sudden and so charged with genuine fury that the fur on General Kar's body stood on end. He was a seasoned warrior, but the sheer force of Big John's temper was something he had learned not to trifle with.
Big John, seeing the General's instant reaction and remembering his purpose, coughed again. He ran a hand over his face, a silent apology for the outburst, before turning back to Sheut, his shoulders slumping slightly. "My apologies," he murmured, the kingly comment and the ensuing chaos having completely derailed his train of thought. "As I was saying... I'm not the King."
He was completely unaware of the running, widespread joke around the kingdom that revolved around Big John being their unofficial king. Even though Sheut hadn't known Big John long, his shadow sense allowed him to understand the nature of those he met. While he couldn't read minds or gather specific details about someone's life, he could infer their intent, how they moved, their emotions and more. To Sheut, who valued deeds and power over titles, the designation felt entirely appropriate. The man had proven to be a monarch in everything but name, a pillar of strength and a beacon of wisdom in a group of powerful beings.
Sheut gazed at the shadows of his newfound companions, a silent question forming in his mind. He had read their shadows and felt their deference to Big John, a profound reverence that he had initially mistaken for servitude. Now, he wanted to see if the shadows, the truest reflection of a being's soul, told a different story.
He focused on Queen Nandi's shadow first. Her shadow was not what he expected. It was woven with a gentle, luminescent quality, a deep sense of trust and familiarity that wrapped around Big John's own massive shadow like a gentle embrace. It felt nothing like the shadow of a queen and a subordinate. It was the shadow of two equals, of a partnership built on a foundation of mutual love and respect.
He then delved deeper, and to his shock, he sensed faint soul traces of each other's within their shadows. The Queen's, and Big John's shadows were interconnected. They were not bound by force, but by a shared history, a profound intertwining of their very essences.
With a frown plastered on his face and furrowed brows, he thought to himself, "Was I wrong?" The absolute confidence with which he had judged this world, the way he had categorized its people based on his limited knowledge, felt foolish now. "Are they all yanking my chain?" he pondered, the thought both absurd and thrilling. "Or are there simply more factors to the story, factors that my arrogant senses failed to grasp?"
Noticing the expression on Sheut's face, the Queen decided to come clean about the situation. She looked at him with an empathetic gaze. "Sheut, I can see the gears turning in your head. From your action of gazing at our shadows, I can ascertain that you are questioning your shadow sense and whether or not we are yanking your chain."
She sighed, a sound that carried the weight of a heavy burden. "No, my dear, John is not the King," she began, her voice low and steady. "He is much more than that. He's, my partner. And yes, we are a couple and even share a child together."
A brief, heavy silence fell over the carriage as the revelation settled in. The truth was far more complex than Sheut could have ever imagined. The Queen sighed again, this time with a hint of weariness. "No one in the general public knows," she continued, her gaze shifting to the passing scenery. "Only the people in this carriage and my most trusted council are privy to this secret. While the public theorizes about their relationship, it's just a running rumor or a joke to them. A whisper in the wind that no one truly believes."
Heaving another heavy sigh, a deep sound that seemed to carry the weight of her entire reign, the Queen finally said, "No, I will not disclose the reasons as to why we chose to live in this manner." Her voice was firm but not unkind, a clear signal that this part of the conversation was over. "But I will tell you this," she added, her eyes meeting Sheut's, "yes, your senses were spot on."
The simple confirmation hit Sheut with the force of a physical blow. His shadow senses had not lied; the emotions, the relationships, and the deep, familial bonds he had seen in their shadows were all real. The problem, he now understood, was not in his ability to see the truth, but in his inability to comprehend it. The world was far more complex than his simple black-and-white worldview had led him to believe. There were layers to everything, and he had only been seeing the surface.