EPISODE 236: [CHOSEN OF GODDESS MADRIS] 4

"Edryans, when I asked my child—a child who already possesses the very world—what reward can I grant him… he did not ask for territory, nor did he ask for any riches."

They held their breaths, arms reaching upward in desire and hope.

"My Edryans, I asked my child, our Holy Son sent by our Goddess, to lead us into an age of prosperity like none prior—I asked him: What is it you desire?"

Their expressions were mixed, but their eyes were all the same. Hungry.

My child answered in a way none prior has. Although in a position where he will not want, my child still lets his desires be known. Such desires were nothing as superfluous as noble titles or status—he did not look to gain more privileges or benefits. Edryans… when I asked: What is it you desire? "

Oh, what a desire it was. A desire, I believe, spread far more than one could believe. It was such a desire that changed Edryan… Great Edryan has come into what it is now.

"My child, our [Chosen of Madris] answered."

She faced him, and the city stilled. Perhaps it was a performance, a play for the citizens of Great Edryan, but even if they knew it was one, they would still fall for its effects.

" Holy Prince of Edryani, Son of the Edryani—What is it you desire ?"

I was present for this speech, and even I was drawn into its hopes, its desires, its promises.

" In Edryan… "

He paused here and breaths halted, not even the whisper of the wind could be heard in that stillness. For I have never seen the city of Edrya stop, but that day…? That day it did.

" …Under The Prime Sun, All Men Are Free ."

— Excerpt from the diary of Maiden Braya, A Scholar of the Abode. 7282 of the second month of Central.

— GREAT EDRYAN, YEAR: 7294. SEASON: CENTRAL.

A new dawn came, and with it, the start of the Sovereignty and Federal Enterprise had arrived. The sky was dark, clouds covering the majority of it and preventing the summer heat from shining down. It was strange as no signs of the weather existed the night before.

Allura Grasci Az'Dawn leisurely walked toward the grand hall where the participants of this event would be hosted. Next to her was Aunt Chine and several members of the Redsan clan sent to support her. She wore a kaftan, aubrey, like her eyes, with flower patterns of a Red Viper displayed throughout. Its nature was that of a slow poison; its effects came only after one consumed its liquid insides in the depths of the desert's heat. A scarf wound itself around her neck, trailing behind her in an invisible wind. Heavy steps clicked, announcing her presence before her figure could be seen.

Click.

Click.

Clock.

Allura halted, a hint of a smile on her face. Fatima stood off to the side, her eyes focused on Allura. The young woman's smile blossomed like a rose in spring. A smile used to mask the thorns that protected her.

"Sister," Allura greeted. Her smile widened with every passing second.

Fatima's eyes flickered, and her chest rose as she inhaled. Then, in a manner similar to Allura's, Fatima smiled. "Half."

A tense pause entered the air. Then, like a spell construct shattering, Allura walked past.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Aunt Chine glanced at Allura with an unknown expression. There was no love between the children of the [Heavenly Father]. If not for their mutual connection through fatherhood, should they pass each other on the streets, then it would be as strangers at most. And, should they meet in the desert?

Grand doors, their wood dyed the red of dried blood, opened. They were intricately carved with racing wyverns spewing flames to an army below. Their rides appeared to be laughing while the men below burned. Allura recognized the land below—its visage that of rolling hills she'd once seen in a history book.

"The Battle of Lush Regal, jeweled city of the race of the Loric people," Allura stated, barely pausing before continuing.

The eyes of Chine Redsan closed. "Not a battle, but slaughter."

She paused her words, searching for the appropriate thing to say. "A slaughter of a race in the name of vengeance. A battle once expected to dissolve the world into chaos."

Allura glanced at Aunt Chine, a concerned expression on her face as her steps slowed. "You couldn't have been alive back then."

"No… but my mother was… she… she lost much and I believe she was never truly the same after. She was nothing but a child scared by the flames of war. I never forgot the words she told us. They relish in the heat of war, desires boundless and bloodshed limitless, for it is all in the pursuit to please Her. No matter their atrocities, so long as even a glimpse of approval is given, then they would do it again and again, all for that trace of affection. "

Allura didn't respond, but her gaze turned inward as her pace resumed. Next to her, Aunt Chine composed herself, but a final sentence entered Allura's ears as they made their way into the hall, a single, round table at its center.

"Allura," Chine Redsan spoke softly. "Do not let your hatred for… him allow you to forget. The Crowned Prince of Edryan is a magi; he is Her instrument. Do not forget."

"Do. Not. Forget. They may look human, but they are anything but."

The words of Izon Jhan rang through the head of Ìmólè. Her twin prepped her through several sessions, and watching his soft and hard methods when dealing with the politics of the Theocracy gave Ìmólè confidence in her objective.

The young woman glanced around at the busy magi. Refreshments were being served as the earliest to arrive sat around a circular table—one that would put their statuses on an equal footing and dissuade any from holding power over another. Ìmólè noted how particular the magi were about this, among other things. Every detail mattered, and it seemed the magi put extra precaution into ensuring all needs were met while they still held a strong front.

Ìmólè glanced at one of the two princesses of Az'Dawn who walked in and took her seat. Perhaps at home her brother would have immediately noticed the discrepancy, but it took Ìmólè a day of analyzing to understand.

"The members of Az'Dawn are not here together but separate. Two factions vying for power and more," Ìmólè internally mused.

Stolen story; please report.

She hadn't noticed it, but the interactions between the Az'Dawn countrymen weren't harmonious. They sat near one another, but they didn't sit with each other. Ìmólè didn't see any verbal communication or any signs that they were planning and plotting together. Ìmólè wondered how she could utilize this. Perhaps there was room for the Theocracy to get involved, she just didn't know how yet. However, if Izon sent her here, that meant he was confident in her abilities now. She couldn't always stand in his shadow, even if he was the Chosen of Jhan.

"Snake-Eye," Ìmólè called. "What is your report?"

The Prestige waved a hand, and a sound barrier emerged around them before he began to carefully give Ìmólè the details.

"Allura Grasci Az'Dawn, sixth child and third daughter of the [Heavenly Father]. She was perceived to be the farthest from inheriting the throne, as her mother had perished, and her connection with her father was unstable," Snake-Eye began, his voice low as he spoke. "Three years ago, she ventured to Edryan on a second visit—when she returned, it was with magi [Death Guards] loyal to her and only her, access to these magi batteries, her sin of [Wrath] activated, and other resources of the state—she seemed to have formed a connection that has won her the support of her mother's clan and help revitalize their hopes for a chance at the throne."

Ìmólè silently listened, her eyes briefly flicking to the auburn-haired and eye colored woman in contemplation. "And the other one?"

"Fatima Éyan Az'Dawn, third child and second daughter of the [Heavenly Father]. She possesses the Sin of Envy and is known for her cutthroat and malicious behavior once she perceives an enemy to hold something she doesn't." Snake-Eye's voice was more solemn as he spoke. "She is dangerous, not because of her Sin, although that factors in. Her danger stems from the support of two Prestige clans of the Az'Dawn nation. Her grandmother served as a political partner between her clans of Sertson and Fresgra. Both hold a late and early stage Prestige."

Ìmólè nodded, keeping the information in mind. Snake-Eye added a few more tidbits before Ìmólè waved him off. She wasn't concerned with the Yorimen Race. They were humans who'd forsaken their humanity long ago and were quite weak in her eyes. They could only muster two and a half Demigods and perhaps a dozen or fewer Prestige. Every Domus in the Theocracy held a Prestige. There were no Demigods in the Theocracy, only the worship of Goddess Jhan was allowed.

"And the rest," Ìmólè questioned, her gaze landed on the doors as the [Skyscrapper] Alaric and several others entered separately.

Alaric's eyes immediately turned toward her, and they locked gazes. Ìmólè boldly stared, not backing down.

"When you enter Edryan, no matter what or who you face," Izon's voice echoed in her head. "Know that it is a mind game. Those who arrive at Edryan do so not out of respect but precaution. Those that do not are either overconfident fools, believe the magi threat isn't great, or lack a stable leadership of the next generation."

Izon Jhan sat across from her. He wasn't Izon, Chosen of Jhan, or the leader of the Theocracy. He sat there as the older brother, lecturing his younger sister. "Those who do arrive understand the magi aren't weak. Perhaps their current classes and grasp of the system are decades, perhaps centuries behind. I pray you pause and ask why it was only at the steps of the Temple of the Sun that they were stopped twice."

Her brother looked away as he nursed his goblet of wine. "It is those who show up at this… Sovereignty and Federal Enterprise events are the dangerous ones. The ones with designs upon the continent, just like the magi."

Alaric smiled, sharp, needle-like teeth on full display. He looked away as did Ìmólè as more and more parties arrived. The young woman found herself surprised that, of the thirteen countries, most arrived early. Even the Machan were seated in their designated station, throwing looks of bravado and more at those seated around the table. Twelve were seated with a thirteenth missing. Ìmólè glanced at Snake-Eye, whose sight hadn't left the door for several minutes now.

The grand doors opened, and in stepped the Daughter of Zion. Snake-Eyes gritted his teeth, his narrow eyes narrowing further. The Cardinal of the Eye was agitated, and the Daughter of Zion immediately noticed. Ìmólè glanced at the covered woman next to her, her eyes narrowed as the figure wasn't present the day prior.

"Snake-Eye," Ìmólè barked in a manner her brother would. The man's response was immediate as he turned and bowed in respect.

"My Lady," he answered.

"Tell me about the Daughter of Zion. Tell me who she is and why you've failed to capture her."

Snake-Eye pursed his lips, his pale skin turning paler. He took a moment to compose himself before he began his tale. "The Daughter of Zion is a position among the Warring Beastman Plains. It can be equated to a position such as a Chosen. Only this one is not ordained by a divine but by the tribes themselves. Olupani or Zeor is the Daughter of Zion for the cat-aligned tribes of the Plains. She is one of several Daughters of Zion but remains the most prominent of her generation."

Ìmólè watched as Zeor and her party took their seats. Now, only one chair remained empty, and that was the one of the host. Snake-Eye continued his report, and Zeor, sensing Ìmólè's gaze, glanced over and smiled—a single canine slipped between her lips. Ìmólè's gaze shifted to the woman covered by the felion, and she stared curiously. The figure was covered from head to toe with no discernible features available to tell who or what the person was. The figure sensed Ìmólè's gaze and turned to face the young woman.

"Her age ranges between thirty and fifty, with no true discernment on when she was born. We know she's been active for the last ten to fifteen years, and after she appeared, all previous Daughters of Zion of the feline-aligned tribes either died under her hand or submitted. Her primary class is suspected to be a [Tamer] or [Bond Bearer] with several Rising Calamities. She holds a [Beast World] pouch with at least three different feline beasts of that level within. It is one of these beasts," Snake-Eye said bitterly. "That caused my repeated failure."

Ìmólè glanced away, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Who does she worship?"

Ìmólè knew those of the Warring Beastman Plains held faith of mixed heritage. Some worshiped [Thousand Faces] or God Zion, a member of the [Twelve Thrones] and the originator of the beastmen. Yet a vast majority held faith in mixed heritage. From denouncing Gods altogether and giving their faith to Sins and Virtues, to worshiping Gods such as El the Adventurer, He Who Hides in the Shadow Places, or offering their patron to one of the two Titans of the Underneath Below.

"We have seen traces of God EL, but it isn't confirmed," Snake-Eye responded promptly.

"Have her elders not interfered with her capture?"

"No, to them it is training. If not for such a," Snake-Eye glanced around, a hint of disdain hidden deep within his eyes. "…grand event, then she would be roaming free in the plains belonging to those of the feline alignment."

"What of this Rising Calamity that's caused your failure in capturing her?"

Snake-Eye sighed. It was a heavy, bitter thing. "She holds ties with a Rising Calamity named Ashra. It is a [Void Bearlion] and can traverse the void freely. It also holds a unique ability that allows it to govern felines weaker than itself. And, by that ability, it can teleport or switch places with the feline…" Snake-Eye snapped. "Like that."

Ìmólè frowned. That shouldn't be enough to stop a [Prestige] like Snake-Eye from traveling through the void and catching up to his target. The Cardinal seemed to sense her rising question and answered before she could ask.

"There is more. This ability allows it (Instant Teleportation) and leaves no traces to follow when traversing through space. It cannot be stopped by (Void Lock), (Space Lock), or any other variation of a space-restricting spell. Unless we can capture one of the exceedingly rare [Void Bearlions], then it shall be neigh impossible to catch her."

Ìmólè blinked, and suddenly a final chair was filled.

Amaya Musa glanced around coolly, her gaze seemingly indifferent to those who stared at her. Then, suddenly, she smiled and turned toward the Machan who were already grumbling and opening their mouths to speak. The young woman let them; to Ìmólè's eyes, Amaya's gaze was mocking—like she knew a secret the others did not.

Erin slammed two of his four fists down, a surprised look on his face as the table did not shatter. It barely halted his voice from barking, and the agreement of his brothers in a chorus of approvals. ‎

"How dare you! Is this [Chosen of Madris] of yours fearful to the extent it cannot arrive in person? I'm beginning to believe this Chosen is a lie—a made-up story you magi fabricated in hopes of buying time before those of Elrunian come for their revenge."

Amaya's mocking smile grew larger. "Are you worthy to look upon Him ?"

A startled shift overcame those present. Even Ìmólè shifted in her seat at the words of Amaya. She did not use him or the common word used to address any man or individual of mortal status. Amaya used Him , a masculine term preserved for those of the divine who'd once been of the male gender.

Are you worthy to look upon Him?

Are you worthy to look upon Him?

Are you worthy to look upon Him?

The question reverberated through Ìmólè's and others' minds. A startled expression appeared on a few.

"Impossible," Ìmólè muttered. "Less than twenty years have gone by since his birth. Impossible. No one, not even the first Gods, got to such a stage that fast. Brother isn't even…," Ìmólè's voice trailed off.

"If true…"

Ìmólè glanced at Snake-Eye and felt their thoughts align.

If true, then the threat the magi posed would be enough to shake the world to its very foundation.

"Hmph, words are only words," a voice uttered, breaking the tense silence. "How silly of you to believe such things without proof."

Eyes turned to Ninjaro, who sat with his arms folded. "And you believe yourselves superior?"

Ninjaro scoffed, and a hand reached up to stroke his abacus as he gazed around. "I'm starting to believe those left in charge as the Path of Apotheosis open will be lambs left for the slaughter."

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