Skippii stared at the mural for long. If it had come from Eirene's vision, how much truth was there to it? Three meteorites burned against a black pitch which plastered the wall, imitating the night's sky. He fixated on one in particular–the almost black star, surrounded by a silver halo and firetail. There was a faint oval glow at its centre, almost human in shape, but too blurred to make out. The other stars possessed similar such shadows at their burning hearts. Stepping closer, he pressed his face close to the star, certain he could detect some sort of detail there.

A flash of memory: the heretic's hateful eyes as he had uttered an incantation and crushed Skippii beneath an accursed magia. The stench of it–astringent like an apothecary's pot–dirty and sticky against his skin. He shuddered and stepped back, drawing energy from the earth as his hand instinctively drifted to his kuri.

"Cosmipox," he said, as the name surfaced from memory. "This is who I encountered."

Eirene scowled. "The name is new to me."

"I've heard it twice before," he said, glaring at the black star as though in challenge. "I faced one of his emissaries, defeated them. That's how my magia awoke. That's when I first felt this power beneath me as more than just a whisper of heat, but something…" He scowled, skin prickling. "The magia… you named it Cor?"

"The Primordial earth," Eirene said. "And you, his distant son. Heres to his power."

The thought struck him, blinding like a fist. Amazement and exhilaration burst in his veins, but he shunned them, cautious of a trap. Eirene's eyes burned into him, reading his reaction.

"Okay, if I accept that, then answer this: where are the Gods now?"

"The Pantheon?" she said.

Skippii waved an arm down the corridor. "The lords of the heavens who built this world, who made mankind. Where are they now? What have they to say about these invading Gods? Just three of them to oppose the whole Pantheon?"

Eirene's expression darkened as she looked away. "Very little, it seems. I have contemplated much on this matter, over many years, though Oyaltun has offered me no clarity of insight as to the minds of her brethren."

The old hermit took a deep breath, leaning on her cane. "Some may be dispassionate, content to abandon humanity. Others have grown weak with gluttony. For many, it has been eons since they performed miracles and reshaped the land, choosing instead to proffer their powers to their subjects. Others, I dare say, such as Diamortis…"

Eirene licked her lips, hobbling closer, and lowering her voice to a crackled whisper. "Others may not have rejected the invaders. One, may even have extended a hand."

"But there are three of them," Skippii said, "If your vision is correct. And there are sixteen of the Pantheon, plus many lesser Gods. Why has Chrysaetos not burned them, or Seismorix not crushed them?"

"Millenia ago, when they first arrived, I do believe there was a confrontation," Eirene said. "There are records from multiple manuscripts of the sun turning black, the rain turning to acid, and the earth splitting asunder. But much of it in foreign lands, the peoples who you know simply as the 'Ürkün', but who bore many names, and once celebrated many cultures, and many vast kingdoms of wealth. All of them, subjects of the dark gods now."

"So, we've been abandoned."

"By many, but not all. One might see it that way."

"Wait," Skippii said. "I may not be as learned as you, but I know my history of the Auctoritas. Five centuries ago, the old Empire was defeated by barbarians who almost destroyed Vestia. It was the first ever warmagi who prevented our destruction. Before then, few people wielded magia. The pantheon was hardly worshipped at all."

"I have no dispute."

"And the Gods almost let us die."

"That, they did."

"But because we begged them… because the warmagi were devout and invoked their power, we survived. And ever since, we have been their pawns, fighting a war from which the Gods themselves abstain. Our Legions face the enemy and their heresy–the monsters of their lands–all to preserve a pantheon who are apathetic of our plight."

"You fight to preserve yourselves. Some would say that it was the gifts of the Gods which saved Auctoritas from destruction."

"And the sacrifice of many thousands of legionnaires. Why don't they come down from their high palaces and challenge their adversaries themselves?"

"For the same reason a nobleman commands his armies from the safety of battlements."

"Not the Legion," Skippii said. "Not in Auctoritas. Superiors lead from the front, they bare arms with the legionnaires. We share blood and death with our betters."

"And what of your senate?" Eirene said. "Your kings in politician's robes? Do they command from the phalanx?"

Skippii sneered. "You know little of Auctoritas. The legions carry out the reclamation campaign. We are right now liberating Nerithon from the Ürkün invaders, adn after it, all of Philoxenia. All of the known world."

Eirene glanced aside, shrinking with an exhalation. "Perhaps you are right. I see many visions of the past, but few of the future, and fewer still of humankind. I must admit, I know little of the lands where you are from, and have had only these temple walls for company for many years."

"Why then, don't the Gods fight their enemies?"

"For many reasons which I don't dare predict. Why does any nation avoid war?"

"Fear," he said bitterly.

"That may be amongst their reasons. I suspect apathy, as kings who dwell in halls feast while their borders are pillaged, so too have the Gods long since retired from duties of the earth. You said that your people did not worship the Gods properly for some time, and the elder spirits have long memories. Centuries are a blink to them. Perhaps some hold a grudge."

"But…" he grimaced as resentment gripped his gut. "We fight their enemy. The heretic. And furthermore, you speak of Oyaltun as though you revere her, but I do detect a resentment in your voice. A deep resentment, for the life you lost in becoming her slave."

Eirene barked with laughter. "You do detect, do you? How astute."

"Don't you think it's cruel that she forced you to remain here by manipulating your mind, that she used you up, and on your dying day, sent me to resurrect you to perform one final task: to persuade me to now join her cause?"

"Of course it is cruel," she hissed. "But many things in nature are cruel, and many ends must be made with sacrifice. Does the lamb not suffer the cruelty of the butcher? Yet all animals have a part to play, and all humans play their parts for the Gods and their elders. My emotions are my own, my life… a wreckage, washed ashore. Stranded in these halls. But can that be called cruel, that which must be done?"

"Must be done for whom? The Gods, or-"

"For you," she stabbed. "You, Son of Cor. Heres of Fire, Primordial defender of this realm. I have waited all of my life for you to arrive. You must not let darkness fall and chaos reign, or else all we know shall become consumed and crumble into abyss. I do not speak in riddles, I mean so very literally. We shall be destroyed if you do not prevail."

Reluctant to meet her eyes, Skippii grumbled and shook his head. "What nightmares have you seen, and what illusions have you been fed? How can you know what is real and what is manipulation?"

"Do not speak to me of illusions, boy," Eirene snapped like an old crow. "I have had my share, and dwelt between blurred lines of sanity and vision and dream. I may have lost my mind, but I am no fool, and I have had a great deal longer to think about it than you, with all your wisdom of minutes since our meeting. Besides, I know you have witnessed the end of times too. Dark visions, I saw in your eyes when you looked upon my mural, and the black star which you call Cosmipox. And beyond knowing, beyond visions, you should feel it in your blood."

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Eirene gripped his arm and pulled herself close. "You feel it, don't you? A rejection of them. Our most abhorrent foe."

Relenting, Skippii took her under the arm and began to walk down the corridor and back towards her chambers. "I do feel it," he sighed. "But I am astray. I have never pledged my fealty to the Gods, and my old masters, the legion, are no more…"

"Oh, but you are wrong. In receiving Oyaltun's blessing, you are neither astray nor astral. In Philoxenian, there is an old word for it. The best translation I can think of is acclaimed."

Skippii shivered. It was a lot to take in. His mind was brimming with bright, new information. Seating Eirene in her chair, he fetched her blankets and made her comfortable, then sought a kettle from her supplies and prepared a pot of tea with the herbs in his carrysack.

Upon touching his dried leaves, the sensation and smells brought him back to his mother's wagon, and her soft singing out front. Shutting his eyes, he reached for her voice, wishing it to be louder, but the more he pressed, the fainter the memory became, until he was returned to the firepit and temple.

Drawing a little energy, he performed an Enkindle Flames upon the firewood. A gust of heat rushed from his palm, igniting the coals in a whirl of ashes. Then he set the kettle to boil.

"What other abilities have you, heres?" Eirene asked from beneath her blankets.

"Heres?" he asked.

"A descendent of potent blood. That is you. Now answer the question."

Skippii hesitated, recalling the ordinatio. "I call that Enkindle Flames. I was instructed by a friend to divide my magia into a series of weapons, or evocations. I could tell you all their names?"

"Good," Eirene said, shoulders softening. "You need not explain the process. I am familiar with it."

"How?" Skippii scowled. "Cliae–that is, my friend–called it ordinatio. It's the same method which warmagi use to develop their repertoire."

"Yes, yes. But it is much older than that. Humankind has beseeched the Gods for many millennia, seeking favour, and wielding a fraction of their power. Such practices did not start with the warmagi weaponising the pantheon's gifts in Vestia's temples. It was devised by the Gods themselves–their tool for manipulating the Primordial powers. There is a codex in this attic somewhere which describes the process of ordinatio, as you call it."

She sighed, shifting her blanket to cover her thin, exposed legs. "But this is fortunate. I am already quite tired from talking, and feared I would have to explain much more about the process to you before your trials. I am glad that the chronicler found you sooner."

Pouring tea into a small wooden bowl, Skippii set it by Eirene's side. His heart ached to see a woman made so frail by the schemes of the Gods, like a piece of rope grated against stone until all that remained was a mere thread of life. Resting his hand on the nape of her neck, he drew a trickle of energy and let it wash into her.

Sighing with relief, she lifted the bowl of tea and blew on it, then set it in her lap. "Cor is an elemental force; it has no mind for things like the ordinatio. This heat… this splendid heat which you call upon–that is Cor's lifeforce. But the ways in which you bend it–claim it–this is the gift of Oyaltun, Sentienscence."

"I don't think that's true," he said, restraining bitter feelings. "That should be accredited to Cliae, and me. We spent many hours training, moulding, and devising new abilities to forge."

"And who gave you the idea to work so?"

"I told you," he said. "Cliae. Their father was an ordinator for magi in Clidus, and they continued the trade without need for pay nor acclaim. I won't have their labour be wrongly credited to some God who barely helped."

"The very Goddess who led you here, to a crossroad of fates?"

Skippii withdrew his hand. "You have spent many years in the web of visions. Pardon me for saying, but I sense that you have forgotten how to think for yourself. Not everything… every act and thought, is ordained by the Gods themselves, or else they would have no need for us to act here on earth."

"Perhaps you are right," Eirene said, motioning towards the tomes stacked on her desk, written over the years by the temples' attendants. "The caretakers have had millenia to ruminate on how best to advise the heres when one arose. And now that task falls to me. It is such a weight, and I am far too old to bear it. Please, forgive me for speaking so brashly. I mean only to advise you, and lead you to where you must go. I should be happy that you have already begun to master your powers. It should lighten my load… but I fear, with each stone that is lifted from my back, my purpose upon this earth dwindles, and my time of end draws near."

Eirene closed her eyes, breathing shallow. "My feelings are of little consequence. Forgive me, I have delayed long enough. You need not explain what abilities you possess, for no words can do what demonstration requires. It is time for your trials, Skippii Altay. Are you ready?"

"I have faced many trials," he said, straightening his spine. "But what are these you speak of?"

"This is no ordinary temple. Deep within the earth are chambers crafted by Oyaltun with tools stolen from Erymenes, the Fabricator, lord of fire and metallurgy. They were created to stress the heres' mind, heart and soul. I would tell you more, if I could, but the chamber's depths have never been revealed to me. You must pass over the threshold and return alive, though, I suspect it will take all the strength of your training to do so. But you must prevail, and appear before Cor, as a son does his father, and receive his blessing. Fail, and your magia shall stagnate. You shan't strengthen; there is a limit to what you can ordinate alone. But I must warn you, if he rejects you, your magia shall wither, and if you avoid his trials, he will sever the link between you."

"He…" Skippii began, mind awash with daunting memory. "He spoke to me, I think. Twice. Once when my powers awoke, and once when I mastered my core–the energy at the centre of my chest."

Eirene watched him, but had no words of comfort.

"He sounded… not too happy."

"They," Eirene corrected. "The Gods are gendered. Primordials are not; they do not procreate. Any masculinity is simply your own inference."

"But you mentioned father," he said. "As a son does a father."

"True," she nodded. "I make the same human errors."

"What does it matter?" Skippii said.

"Do not mistake Cor for an empathic spirit. They are Primordial. Raw force. Their mind only exists due to their bond with Oyaltun. Their desires are not human, nor godlike. When you commune with them, do not forget this. They cannot be bargained or bribed. Cor does not want for much, but rage and revenge… and above all, freedom."

"I must commune with him? It?"

"Yes," she said.

The chamber's stone floor warned like a whisper of hot breath calling him. He shivered to remember his previous glimpses of that vast presence; an imposing mind bearing down upon his, as a Titan regards an ant. It was everywhere, deep within the earth upon which he had stood his entire life. Inescapable. And he was its son…

"Meanwhile, in the north, dark forces amass," Eirene pressed. "It is within your blood to reject the heretic incursion–the incursor Gods. That is why your powers awoke. But once they are fully unleashed, you will draw the attention of the pantheon too. The Primordials are, after all, their most ancient foe. But there is too much at stake, and now, each shares a common enemy."

"Hold on…" Skippii said. "In being here… in awakening, I will draw the pantheon's ire?"

Eirene nodded slowly. "But it must be."

"The more you tell me of the Gods, the more ignorant they seem."

"Oh, but they are ignorant," she said. "And so are women and men, made in their image."

"And then what? Will completing these trials give me the power to oppose Chrysaetos the Sun, or Seismorix, Quakelord? You expect me to fight heretics and the pantheon alike?"

Eirene looked at him in earnest, desperation blossoming on her face. "I do not know. But Oyaltun will guide the way. She will convince them that the Primordials are not the foes of old, but an ally which must be aided."

Skippii took a deep breath, shaking his head resolutely. "It's too fragile. Too much unknown. If this were a battle strategy, it would be a poor one. Not something you would trust to the fates."

Eirene grasped his hand like a pleading beggar. "Face the trials, Skippii. Let me guide you there. You will become much stronger. You will unleash such power as you cannot dream of now, and rise as a fire to reshape the world."

So many thoughts rattled inside Skippii's head, as though he was being jostled atop a bucking stallion. Dizzy, he placed his hand upon Eirene's chair and closed his eyes. Clenching his eyes shut, he grounded himself, just as he always had done when overwhelmed. Recoiling his mind, he retreated into his body, taking comfort in the warmth drawn up through his feet, spreading throughout his chest. His magia, his birthright. The old hermit's tales of Gods and the fates had started to tie him in knots.

Breathing slowly, he pried at the ties, letting them fall limply to the ground. The air around him stilled. The crackling fire had died down to a whisper and there was silence in the temple hall outside. It felt as though the whole world held its breath for his answer.

But Skippii ignored them all. He thought of his mother, the depth of her kindness, and of his companions in recent days: honest, decent men. He felt their qualities resonate within him, and guide him. It was not long before he had made up his mind, and knew what he must do.

"I'll face your trials," he said, opening his eyes on the dark antechamber. "But as for your prophecy, there's no mention of my name. You are missing a piece, and your mosaic is incomplete. I am Skippii Altay, warrior of Auctoria, sworn bane of the enemies of the Imperium. For centuries, that has been the Ürkün and their heretic gods. Invading gods, as you put it. By my coming here, and your account, that has not changed. My vows have not changed, nor were they given to one God or another. Mine are uncomplicated vows–the kind that every legionnaire takes. And though they have been broken, and I have deserted, they remain true in my heart. Your tales of history have been fascinating… illuminating, and I thank you for all you've done, but you have not lit a single path for me to follow. The decision is mine, where I go, my will be done."

A sound from outside the temple caught his attention, and his head snapped around. A voice, then footsteps entering the hall.

"Fear not," Eirene whispered. "For the guardians would have stopped them, were they intruders."

"Guardians?" Skippii asked, releasing the old woman's hands and stepping towards the door. He paused, holding his breath, listening to the intruders. Heavy feet fell upon the decorated floor, followed by a lighter set. He was about to grab his spear when a voice was raised, and he was frozen to the spot.

"What marvelous halls are these," a sonorous voice exclaimed. "By whose grace have we been led here? Oyaltun, why not answer my prayers now upon these sacred grounds. Show me the light of your wisdom. Guide me as your lance. I beg of thee, deliver me from disarray into your service."

Skippii strode out of the hermit's antechamber into the bright sunlit halls, and beheld not the first miraculous sight that day.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.