Once upon a time in the Eternal Rain, when night had no end for centuries, and the last day was mere myth, and the next a desire in every mortal and immortal heart.
Father and son sat facing each other in the moving carriage.
The old man lit his pipe, revealing a tired, disinterested expression.
The young man let out a sigh, peeking at his father.
It was the first time he had met him. In fact, he had encountered him before, but he had been too young to remember.
It was the Order of Sǣdere, tied to the religion of the underground dwellers, the Hālig Sǣdere, owner of the life of any human born with darkness in their heart.
A ritual performed during the birth of any baby, where priests, with ordeals, marked the feet of the newborn. Upon immediate scarring, unnatural regeneration was confirmed, and the baby was immediately taken from the mother's arms and given to a wet nurse of the Order.
The child's upbringing and training would continue until marriageable age, when the chosen one of the Order of Sǣdere would depart, along with the fháuric mistress, for the surface.
The road remained dark, without natural lighting.
There, on the cave ceiling, miles away from the rocks on the ground, there were no floral crystals. The horses were illuminated by crystals on the outside of the carriage itself, at a calm, cautious pace.
— What are my brothers doing? — inquired Lohengrin. His life had been dedicated to studies, of the sword and shield, and of languages, geography, history, and alchemies. — I heard you married again. With my mother, that makes five wives. I imagine the abundance of offspring.
— Why do you want to know that? — the man puffed his pipe and the cloud of smoke filled the carriage interior.
His beard and long black hair seemed like one thing, reaching down to Gottfried's protruding belly. He wore the best that money could buy. He was an imposing figure, tall, with an assessing expression.
— I want to have an image of what to envy. — the father let out a dry laugh at such sincerity, and heard his son continue. — My brothers are shadows. I can't imagine their faces. Not even yours was known to me. My mother seems like a ghost.
— Does she haunt you?
— I don't see her. — explained Lohengrin, disappointed.
— It's better that way. Once you leave, you won't return to Fæstanveil. It's better that you leave nothing here. When you think of what you abandoned, nothing will weigh you down, pulling you toward illusions or childishness. You are a man.
— What is a man in your view?
— Someone who doesn't cost his father anything.
— So little?
— One day you'll be a father, perhaps, I believe there are no obstacles to that, and you'll understand me. — Gottfried shifted his broad back on the black oak wood. — Do you want to hear what I said to your brothers before their weddings?
— Are they all married?
— Not all. Of the men, six are dead. Six are married. And there's Lilian's baby. Among the women, two little ones, they are my joys. None married, yet. Why do you want to know?
— One would say the married ones work.
— Certainly.
— Where?
— At the port.
— All of them?
— Yes, is that really important, Lohengrin?
— No, just curiosity. What does a man do at the port?
— A lot, as much as can be told. But not your brothers. They work in offices, customs, cargo clearance. Much remains restricted at the port, the gates to the surface open only once a year, that requires calculations and requests. All kinds of grains, spices, and orders. Everything needs documentation. The boats too, both for docking and departing. These are ways for the king to collect taxes. I hear there's even a profession for that.
— Inventing taxes?
— That. They change from year to year. Always favoring the nobility.
— Isn't my father a noble?
— Aren't we both?
— I am no longer. — and he wasn't. Lohengrin, like all those chosen for the orders linked to the fhaurens, had lost his noble title. He held the title of serf, which was far from any refinement. — Do they receive gold? Are my brothers greedy?
— No, silver. Viscounts and above receive gold. Your brothers are like bourgeois, but born into that easy life. I know they thank me for it.
— If I were one of them, I would thank you too.
— I'm sorry for that, Lohengrin. It's the law.
— I'm sorry too, my father. And don't apologize, I understand my situation. By the way, tell me the same thing my brothers heard, in a way, a marriage awaits me.
— The woman, and the fhaurens are all women, so, that should serve you, demands three vows from the man. Fidelity, virility, and her side before others.
— What does that mean? I understand fidelity, but the others...
— Virility means lying with your betrothed as a man lies with a woman, not as a man lies with his daughter. And her side before others concerns arguments. Which will be many, with neighbors, with strangers, with relatives. No matter how wrong she is, in your voice, before others, your wife will be right. And you can lie, and even kill for that. When alone, she must obey and be disciplined. In my father's words, your grandfather, no cunt is worth a woman's company. He was an old man. It was his way of preparing me. Marriage is a conflict where there is no truce, no peace, only dominations. Tame her according to our religion, hedonism.
Lohengrin blushed in the darkness of the carriage.
And he wished he had more time with his father, or with his grandfather, who was already dead, but had left him, and his fháuric wife, a property as a gift.
When the carriage stopped, Lohengrin got off, he looked at his father once more, wondered if it would be the last. And then he walked away.
The temple was entirely carved from dark rocks. Tall, four stories high, ominous in the blackness.
There was another carriage nearby, with the son of the coachman Heim, the young Landius, who greeted Lohengrin, his new lord.
He descended a staircase, natural with spaced, asymmetrical rocks, down to the carved steps. The high ceiling had luminous floral crystals in chandeliers, and on the stone walls were inscriptions in fháuric, a language prior to the Unifier and already forgotten by mortals.
The sound of Lum's breathing could be heard from the corridor before the drop. The room was a hundred meters to the far end, circular, disappearing into the grim on the side opposite the descent.
Lohengrin was sweating and breathing heavily when he saw her.
Twenty meters tall, human face and body, a giantess.
They were called Hālige, the protectors of the inverted trees.
From the building's ceiling descended a tree with roots that ran along the entire temple ceiling. With roots above and branches below, it had no leaves, was gray, five times taller than the giantess.
The Hālig's eyes fixed on the human at the edge of the rocks, looking at the new staircase, even larger than the other.
Lohengrin caught his breath and began to descend.
As he crossed the path, he noticed the bones, there were many, forming a pile in the center of the garden at the bottom of the space. The giantess lay leaning against that, which they called Hærges þrōn, or throne of bones in the language of salt.
Lum, the giantess, spoke to the young man:
— You seem smaller each year.
— We won't seem larger. — Lohengrin's fear was replaced by curiosity. During his years of study at the Order of Sǣdere, Lohengrin had no contact with any magic or supernatural act. Everything had been human, natural. There, before that creature, everything changed. The impression that the religion was made up only of charlatans fell to the ground. — How long have you been here?
— Since the activation of the Crucible. Perhaps before. What is your name, human?
— Lohengrin, and do you have a name? — he spoke loudly, hurrying his steps, until he lost his breath, slowing his advance down the stairs. The echo of his footsteps became inaudible, and the giantess's breathing, guttural, trembled his youthful bones.
— Lum. As is said of the stars. — but Lohengrin didn't know what the giantess was talking about, regretting not having studied more etymology. — Is that a sword with you?
— Yes, and I also use a shield.
— Is it smaller than your sword?
— No, it's not here, I left it at the new house. — the teenager added, which quickened his heart. — Are you my wife?
— Certainly... — Lum teased. — No. By chance, have you seen any giantess on the streets of your home?
— No...
— It would be impossible. Imagine the panic.
— The commoners would go mad.
— The commoners wouldn't be the problem. The nobles would gather armies, that is something to be avoided.
— What an awful situation. — when he reached the bottom, he glimpsed the splinters of crystals illuminating the structure, and saw a colossal entrance at the far end. — Is there a kingdom of giants beyond that passage?
— Perhaps. — Lum was amused by that small creature approaching fearfully. — Your voice awakened her.
— Who?
— Your mistress.
Above, upon one of the great tree's branches, the wood cracked and bled like blood, unveiling the fhauren.
She was like a woman in height and appearance, but she had scales on her arms, and curved horns on her head. She was naked, with full, bell-shaped breasts, and thick thighs, with muscles.
The fhauren's eyes scanned the branches, and many other fhaurens were seen, asleep on the thick branches, on the trunk, and even among the roots.
Izaht remembered another time, and felt the rain on her body, coming to herself, wiping the tenebrosity from her face, descending in a leap, touching the ground near the human.
The fhauren Izaht glided, rising, then descending swiftly, expelling fluids from her body onto the ground.
Izaht's hair was long, reaching down to her knees, straight black strands.
Her eyes glowed in the low light, shimmering whiskey-colored.
Izaht walked to Lohengrin, and stretched out her right hand to the height of the young man's heart, closing her eyes.
She felt the darkness within him, and it was almost nonexistent, but it was there, and that was enough.
Lohengrin knelt when the fhauren's hand moved away from him, and showed respect:
— I am Lohengrin, son of Gottfried, son of Wollstonecraft. Your servant, if ordered I will die for your name. If permitted, I will be your sworn, until my death. — Lohengrin had spent the last nights repeating the same words, as in the book of good manners, but there was something different here, he was captivated.
Izaht's perfume carried the scent of white plums, drawing the young man's dark eyes across her entire naked body.
The fhauren, despite the confusion of ancestral memories, recalled the last centuries, and remembered what was awaited in her duty.
Izaht held Lohengrin's face, and he rose as he felt her tongue on his tongue. The kiss was not light, it lasted as the boy's eyes opened slightly, appreciating the mature beauty on the fhauren's face, and her horns, and above them the Þēostre Trēow.
— You took your time. — Izaht whispered, still holding Lohengrin's face in her hands.
— I'm sorry, I...
— I know, in the Þēostre Trēow I saw your dreams.
— All of them? — Lohengrin didn't believe it at first.
— Since your birth. Courtesy of the Nameless One.
— Who is that?
— That's a long story.
— We have time.
— That doesn't matter now. — Izaht corrected Lohengrin, and began to remove his clothes. He helped her and threw his garments on the ground, becoming as naked as she was.
Lohengrin lay down, and Izaht sat on top of him.
The cold of the rocks no longer bothered him, and Izaht felt the pressure become one with the chosen.
It wasn't as imagined. Izaht held him at chest level, with Lohengrin's muscles trembling every time she descended. She rose strong and descended even stronger, making him moan, appreciating the sculptural sight.
There was no romance.
It was hedonism.
Appreciation soon took hold of him, and Lohengrin's hands felt Izaht's breasts weighing upon them. He milked her, and that did not diminish the intent.
— Do you really need to watch? — Lohengrin expressed, with Izaht ceasing movement, dripping sweat.
Lum retorted:
— Actually, no. But not much happens here, so, if you don't mind.
— Izaht? — Lohengrin wanted to be sure of the opinion of the one who was riding him.
— I don't mind. — and she went back to sitting vigorously, with Lohengrin's hands holding her waist, and then her warm thighs.
For her part, the Hālig did something unexpected.
Lum lay on the ground, watching the couple fuck hard. She opened her mouth slightly, surprised, appreciating the act. It was an enormous face, close, covering the entire scene around.
Lohengrin first tried to ignore her, closing his eyes, and then appreciated her. She was the beautiful giantess, with whitish hair falling above an austere, feminine face, sometimes their eyes met, and their smiles were like mirrors.
When Lohengrin finally came, flooding Izaht's womb, the giantess stood up, cutting her gray right wrist, already with many scars, with the nails of her left hand.
The blood sealed the marriage, bathing them.
They were servant and mistress, husband and wife.