Chapter 7: What Remains After Death

  Aeor Calder

  Am I back in this place again?

  Darkness. Endless and complete. Aeor floated in a vast expanse of nothing, the silence broken only by the weight of his thoughts.

  "Aeor..." A soft, familiar voice drifted through the void.

  That voice...

  "Aeor, it’s almost midnight. We need to leave soon."

  He opened his eyes slowly. The darkness peeled away, giving shape to stone walls and gentle light.

  A single candle flickered on the windowsill, casting a muted orange glow across the floor. Shadows clung to the corners of the room, soft and undisturbed. Above his narrow cot hung a faded tapestry depicting Véurr Thor locked in battle with a great leviathan. The air smelled faintly of resin and aged parchment, the scent of folded prayer rolls his mother always kept by the hearth.

  A gentle hand rested on his shoulder.

  He turned toward the woman beside him. Her brown hair was tied neatly into a bun, held in place by polished bone pins. She wore a flowing white linen tunic, sleeves gathered at the wrists in pleated cuffs embroidered with delicate turquoise thread.

  “When did I fall asleep, Mother?” Aeor asked, his voice still young and light.

  “Not long ago, dear. People have started gathering outside.”

  “No fair... I wanted to stay up and help like everyone else.”

  “There will be time for that, Aeor. No need to rush. You are only eleven winters old.”

  “I promise, next phase I won’t fall asleep.”

  She chuckled softly. “Sure, honey. Now wash your face, change into your attire, and come to the seating room. We’ll leave in a few minutes.”

  “Okay,” he said, pushing off the bed and padding toward the privy.

  At the basin, he touched the sigil by the tap. A stream of cool water poured out. He splashed his face, then paused to study his reflection in the mirror.

  Hair’s getting longer. Good. I’ll be able to tie it soon. Then I’ll look just like Father.

  He dried off and changed into a tunic that matched his mother’s in color and cut, though his lacked the pleats and was made for smaller shoulders.

  When he stepped into the seating room, his mother smiled and handed him a softly glowing candle.

  “This phase, the march for the Night of Severance, will begin at the town square and end at the memorial grounds,” she said. “Now remember—”

  “There will be people from all across the empire and things will get crowded, so I need to stay close to you at all times. Yes, Mother, I know,” he said, cutting her off with a small grin.

  “Good. We’re nearly ready.” She handed him a small candle. “Give this to your father when he joins us.”

  But at her words, something shifted inside him.

  A chill. An unspoken dread.

  Why? Why does that feel wrong? Am I forgetting something?

  Footsteps echoed from deeper in the house.

  Aeor turned toward the hallway. His heart pounding faster with every step that approached.

  Then his father appeared, but not as Aeor remembered him.

  He wore a serpent-hide tunic that shimmered in the candlelight, the scales catching the glow with an oily gleam. A deep crimson mantle trailed behind him, its hem etched in slow-pulsing sigils that breathed like embers.

  His hair was slick and ash-colored. His eyes were bottomless voids.

  “Father?” Aeor whispered.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  No... this isn’t right. Where have I seen him like this?

  “Child, did you forget?” his father asked, voice regal and cold.

  “The Initiation is coming.”

  A shock coursed through Aeor as memory crashed back into him, the ancient ruins, his awakening, Lyra, Kaeric... his death.

  But it was too late.

  His father drove a hand through Aeor’s chest. Fingers exited from his back, clutching a still-beating heart.

  Red filled his vision. The world blurred and dimmed.

  “Why?” Aeor rasped.

  “You must embrace who you are.”

  Aeor gasped and jolted upright, his breath ragged as his eyes adjusted to the dim flicker of firelight. A few stones had been arranged into a makeshift firepit at the center of a shadowed cavern. The glow revealed four familiar figures watching him. Zoey, Velora, Dregor, and Gurz. Their faces carried a mix of wariness, concern, and fear.

  No one spoke at first.

  Aeor blinked several times, his mind still spinning from the dream or memory that had just unraveled within him.

  "What... happened?" he asked, voice hoarse. "Where are we?"

  The others exchanged glances. It was Velora who answered, her tone calm but laced with caution. "Do you remember anything?"

  Aeor’s brow furrowed. Images flashed behind his eyes: the burning wasteland, the Titan Spawn, the chaos of battle.

  It was too fast... two of them died... Velora was injured... and then...

  "I died?" he asked, the words dry on his tongue.

  Velora nodded. "You did."

  Aeor looked down at his hands. No burns. No gashes. No pain. Beneath the tattered and bloodied remnants of his tunic, his skin was untouched, as if nothing had happened at all.

  "Did someone... heal me?" he asked.

  "No," Velora replied. "You healed on your own."

  Dregor folded his arms. "Do you remember what happened after?"

  Aeor shook his head.

  Velora spoke again, slower this time. "Less than a minute after you died, you came back. Your eyes were glowing a deep violet. But it didn’t feel like it was you who returned. It felt... ancient. Archaic. You were radiating Death Essence in waves and as you rejoined the fight, the spawn that was toying with us suddenly wasn’t. You killed it."

  Aeor stared at her, trying to grasp the weight of her words. But part of him was already drifting inward. I died in the ruins too... Did I hurt the ones around me?

  Kaeric, Lyra, even... his father. Faces blurred in his thoughts, each one marked by pain or blood. The fear that he had harmed them twisted in his chest.

  Then, as if drawn by instinct, that quiet inner calm returned, the same stillness that had kept him grounded since waking in this world. It steadied him now.

  Dregor’s voice broke the silence. "What you did back there, was it an ability? Or a trait?"

  Aeor glanced toward him. "I’m... not sure. If I had to guess, I’d say it was a trait. I have two, both marked unknown."

  "Does it say 'unknown' in your Archive status?" Dregor asked.

  Aeor frowned. "Archive status?"

  Zoey chimed in. "It's your parchment. The Archives tell the current state of beings aka Archive status via items that said beings are familiar with. For me, it's this." She showed the perfectly rectangular crystal in her hand. "Whatever the form, it's personal to you. Only you can read your Archive status."

  Aeor reached for his satchel and pulled out the folded parchment. It was intact, unmarred by battle.

  He unfolded his parchment.

  Traits:

  Scion of Death

  Tier: Woven (S)

  Effect: Unknown.

  Archive Note: "Some names cannot be erased, even in silence."

  Flame-Eclipsed Heart

  Tier: Threaded (C)

  Effect: Unknown.

  Archive Note: "The flame is not yours. It waits to see what you’ll become."

  Nothing has changed, Aeor thought.

  "It says unknown," he said aloud.

  The others glanced at one another, puzzled, until Velora offered an explanation. "Sometimes, if a trait or ability is dormant or not fully understood, the Archives mark its effect as unknown."

  "How does someone even acquire traits like that?" Gurz asked.

  "It’s rare," Velora replied. "The Archives typically sever the ties between parent and child to ensure fairness. But in rare cases, powerful traits can pass down, if the child is compatible. Even then, to awaken them, you must understand them."

  She turned to Aeor, hesitant. "I know I’m prying, and perhaps I shouldn't ask, but… you're a walking anomaly. A human controlling Death Essence? That alone is unheard of. But surviving a true death? I’ve never heard of any living being capable of that. Could you share the tier of those traits?"

  "One is Threaded," Aeor said quietly. "The other is Woven."

  "Dark Mother bless me," Velora breathed. "A Woven trait?"

  Dregor's brows rose, visibly shaken.

  Zoey and Gurz exchanged confused looks at the reaction.

  "What’s so special about Woven tier?" Zoey asked.

  Velora took a breath. "He’s only Awakened tier. Most traits align roughly one tier above or below your own. But Woven… that's the pinnacle. It’s five full tiers above him. To possess that, and another that's Threaded, that’s staggering."

  Zoey let out a low whistle. "Way to go, Aeor."

  "I don’t think I did anything to earn them," he muttered.

  Velora softened. "I won't press you further. Thank you for confiding that to us Aeor. More importantly, Aeor, how are you feeling?"

  "Tired. But fine," Aeor said. He glanced at the group. "Thank you all for not leaving me behind."

  Dregor shook his head. "If anything, we should be the ones thanking you. We would have died there, all of us, if you hadn't turned the tide."

  With that, Dregor stood and moved toward the supplies or what was left of them. He returned carrying a chunk of meat wrapped in thin bark.

  Zoey's nose wrinkled. "Not that foul thing again. We had to eat that earlier today. Wasn’t once enough?"

  "We make do with what we have until we reach the city. The terrain ahead is steep, and we still have to climb. Get all the energy you can."

  Even the others, aside from Dregor, seemed less than enthused.

  As Dregor approached, the smell hit Aeor. Pungent. Almost rancid.

  He carved the meat and handed out rough portions. It was bitter and gamey, with a lingering acrid aftertaste. Zoey looked ready to throw up after every bite.

  Compared to this, even cave moss felt like a delicacy.

  "Dregor, you mentioned a city. Are we close?" Aeor asked.

  "If we stick to the planned route, we should be back in... uh... Tha...is."

  "It’s Thar’Ezun, Dregor," Gurz corrected.

  "Right, yes, that place in a day," Dregor muttered. "There are a lot of Thar, Kar, and Sol in your names. It gets confusing." The second half was directed towards Gurz.

  Gurz looked puzzled. "Does it not say 'Gates to the Sacred Remains'?"

  Now Dregor furrowed his brow. "What gates?"

  Gurz turned to the others. "Did you all hear Thar’Ezun when I mentioned the city’s name, and not 'Gates to the Sacred Remains'?"

  "Yeah, that’s what you said," Zoey replied.

  "Oh! That explains it." Gurz nodded. "We don’t give distinct names to places in our culture. We describe them. What you’re hearing, Thar’Ezun, is how it sounds in Solethi. It literally means 'Gates to the Sacred Remains.' Looks like Threadwoven Speech isn’t translating the intent behind names, only the names themselves."

  "Same with this place," he added, gesturing toward the cavern walls. "Vaelkarreth. In our tongue, it means the resting place of Vaelkar, or Vaelkar’s Rest."

  "Who is Vaelkar?" Velora asked, her curiosity piqued.

  "A descendant of the Sun," Gurz answered. "He died during the Forgotten Wars. His death turned parts of a once-living mountain range into this scorched wasteland."

  Zoey opened her mouth to ask something, but Dregor cut in, his tone suddenly alert. "I hear the storm coming."

  Both he and Gurz stood, quickly beginning to tidy the camp.

  "What’s going on?" Zoey asked.

  "When Vaelkar died, the explosion of Essence corrupted the land. Now a storm cycles through it, jagged wind, searing lightning, shards of obsidian. We can’t survive out there when it hits. That’s why we insisted on finding a place like this."

  Without further words, the group gathered their belongings, whatever they had, and moved deeper into the cavern.

  They passed the time with idle conversation about the world, the city, and whatever lay ahead, but fatigue weighed heavily, and soon even Zoey grew quiet.

  They laid down, the fire dimming.

  In the morning, they would begin the final leg of their journey to Thar’Ezun.

  Where the trials awaited.