One learned to speculate on the actions of man with the data derived from the past. Argon had gone beyond that, bashing the conceived notions against the rocks like a true tempest. Why had he done that? Accepting the continual assembly with the formless—I AM, whichever their name might be.
An unpredictable outcome!
Was it an event powered by the natural cynical aspect of man? Had Argon developed the age-induced Vanity? Pride. A need for legacy. Reputation. Often that was the case. A desire to 'Be known throughout history'
Did that drive the Highness of Steel, the protector of the Ashmountains and Warden of the Black jails?
Had Argon changed before observation?
Did this suddenness require a silverAssurer for correction? As the old words went: 'When the flesh, call the changeWeavers, when the mind, call the silverAssurer.'
She winced, wood had hammered into her shoulders, sending a bone-shudder. Exhausting. Mist it! A spin and Ivory managed a strike on the ladyCaptain's vembrace.
The battle continues.
In thought.
Then there was the thing about the Formless…Another piece of undiscovered knowledge. Annoying how those kept surfacing. What was it? Argon had revealed the reason for the lack of widespread awareness was the intrinsic nature of those things.
Symbols had the habit of developing some measure of sentience when exposed to prolonged force. The mindForce, to be exact. This, she contemplated, was a natural effect of the force. The mind was sentience—an Animal with a Vested Rank Force would likely acquire the intellection. What stopped Symbols?
Nothing did!
More so, was the effect of their existence— "Once a Formless begins to grow, a merging of surrounding symbols can occur, often leading to Discord. Yet, they do suppress with force. If more were to learn of their existence, to understand them in one's mind feeds it. Call it an indirect giving of force. After all, all sentient things in some amount are contained."
Was that I AM? A symbol created from prolonged force exposure? How then did it gain the knowledge? Argon had hinted at an answer. "Symbols are the inhabitants of that hidden world. Their knowledge to some extent is beyond anything we can ever know—that remains the reason why Aspirants of the School of Thought spend their days researching this."
That provided a fragility in reasoning. If the awareness of it gives it power, why tell her? Why accept the continuous gathering? A thing of Vanity?
Ahhh!
It was an annoying source of variables. And then there was the dance. A strange prowess to gain without reason. Symbols did that, often emposing entropic events into reality—no visible reason why. The fa'n and da'n castWarers, loremasters, Scholae, Aspirants had unanimously agreed to blame this phenomenon on the inner 'unknown' workings of the symbols.
Fancy talk for 'No answer has been provided, let's stop here.'
Beings that accepted the walled results often unknowingly acquire the weaknesses. No advancement.
Not her. Never her.
But Argon was a mystery.
It may be an answer more understandable to a low-minded. There was a theory to that. What was it? Oh yes. 'The high-minded often look for clues and puzzles. An elaborate definition for an existing problem, when often the answer was as simple as the sight of it.'
A darkCrown would say the Highness merely sought a greater stage. A name. Ivory felt fault in that answer. Not once had the storm of Valor sought eminence. Why now?
An age-induced thing?
Ivory stepped back, panting, said, "That's enough." Making sure to infuse the finality into tone.
Nail swirled the nail sword, said, "Not all things should be imposed on the definitions of logic. Do that and the world loses its colour."
"Enor has no colour."
"For now."
Ah. Ivory thought. Another thing for the archives. Nail was one of the believers in the church's propagation. Evident in that acceptance of prophecy.
No blame, as the prophecy in some details bore realness.
The heavens were sealed. The heavens were once radiant with sunlight. Thousands of years ago, before the Four Kings locked the skies.
I need a different source.
Recorded by Valorian dutiful loremasters
Ivory stepped into beauty—the garden. A vast, murky chamber, the walls subtle through the rolls of elastic trees, and other species of wood. Glowing. There was an obvious glamour to it, as though orbs of multihues were trapped within. A hall of orchard.
She observed the path stretched through the gardens, carving a line, with flora peeking out from the sides. Tenebrosity ruled, light scarce through the seldom spaced foliage.
Artificial Servs drifted like 'fireflies'—another old word. Down, she moved, feet padding low on the granular-surfaced steps. Wide, all of it. A certain immensity present from the high ceilings, meters above, wide walls, nearly that of a street. Ivory awed for a moment, both arms folding behind.
The natural effect of this place.
Deep within the Gardens was Rhaena Valor; she knew this. Sister to Saedon Valor. Disparate from the potential highHeir in the event of her death. Beautiful Rhaena, she was called—a redeemed Caster at a young age, intelligent, wise. An incarnate of Samara. Outside the little pride, Ivory could only accept the superiority.
For now.
Rhaena could become highHeir and that would be an 'Acceptable' outcome. She thought, a light trail of blue, rounding her, swirling, fading into the lightless skies. The dark overhead.
Beautiful…The only present thought in this place.
Buried in the orchard chamber was Rhaena. Often there. No, always there. A wandering Rhaena was agnate with a catalyst for war. Make no mistake, the highBorn embodied that possibility.
Ivory battered a stray branch, noted then, a blue light spewing into her perception, blinding for a moment, unfolding next into an ethereal event.
A man stood, rayed round by a certain cerulean hue, diaphanous but in a mesmerizing quality. He was handsome—yellow-haired, curled atop the head, beard like thick whiskers bending up from the upper lip—square-jawed. Evident traits of the Honor clan, though strands of white dripped from the sides.
brightCrown.
Hands up in a manner of fervent beggar, eyes waiting for something—a longing, perhaps. Ivory was surprised at the familiarity she drew from the expression. How recurrent her face had worn that look to a given matter.
Kabel!
Was that the face of love? It felt odd to the mind—alien in the tongue. Yet, there it was, the amity, uncanny.
Back to the man—dressed in a side-buttoned white coat, nearly conflate with the white of the Aspirants. His, however, was tighter, fitter, carving a warrior out of the wearer. Even then, he yearned. Eyes up, waiting—patient. Almost like a creature ready for an eternity of agony without its partner.
It came.
A figure hovered down from the overcast—a Mirath {Spirit}, draped in a metal dark robe, sleeves puffy, wide, spreading like large wings over the world. Shadow casting. The woman, below the torso, had the robe tautened into a dress, legs let bare, revealing a slender, lucent leg, molded with a slight bluish glow tint.
Hair was a splendid sight—blacker than the blackness, each strand's end aglow with a brightCrown's white. Brighter than Ivory's, it seemed. She bore an odd cerulean eye, swirls of deeper blue present in it. Trapped oceans, some called it. Not the black seas, that's for sure.
But here she was—Rhaena Valor; simple yet magnetic in that observable manner. The body produced the internal heat in her presence, a sensation that often brought men to their knees. Yes, men. Weak creatures to that effect. They would wail, war, scream, kill, and die as though the act of self-destruction brought closeness to the beauty desired.
Stupid things.
Yet, she understood.
Rhaena was the embodiment of that concept—and men, for all intents and purposes, experienced beauty in a particular evocative way. Case in point, the man was crying. Wailing, arms outstretched for the falling grace.
He could trap and hold her forever—smolder her in that seductive happiness. That was the weakness of the woman. To show invoked the men, to do, seduced the female. Often, those two were interchangeable. Dependent on individuality. Which were they? Ivory thought, Rhaena lowering closer to the male, smiling.
There was an acceptable beauty in their togetherness.
Like two shards of metal, welded from absolute heat. Do I need to go to Iron Shire? Ivory considered, hiding her breath not to destroy the enfolding scene.
It began.
"Do not leave me, Rhaena." The man, teary.
Rhaena cupped his cheeks, voice like honey."Ah, my dear," she said, "Even if the sun were to return again, I will still be lost in your radiance."
And he smiled, like a child granted the wanted recognition.
He faded, smoke drifting in the air. One remained, floating inches from the earth. Rhaena. She turned, eyes staring back. Cobalt. "What brings the highHeir of Valor mere hours before her investiture?"
"Perhaps it is destiny." Ivory stepped closer.
Rhaena laughed softly. "Destiny is a word fools use when they don't know what happened…You, Ivory, are no fool."
"Then I seek Advice."
"You have Loremasters, deadEyes, Scholae, and Aspirants at your disposal."
"Didn't you just say I wasn't a fool?"