Private The Second Son

[Nimue]

L O C A T I O N | Illyria, The Temple of the Silmä
T A G S | Aryn Teth​

What fate had stolen from the Silmä with the disappearance of the prophesized one, it had returned twice over in ways even the Oracle could not have predicted. Their newfound freedom had led to a swell in numbers, and with numbers came a contrivance that neither Nimue nor the Silmä had known for centuries.

Time.

With the introduction of new acolytes, no longer were they forced to accomplish tasks beneath them. The temple looked as perfect as it had in years, the grounds had been tended and cultivated, the larders stocked, the classrooms filled, the cauldrons in the Pivara stoked. Those of greater standing were finally blessed with the time to accomplish things that had long since escaped their attentions. Whether it was new magiks, perfecting alchemy, or transcribing prophecies, the Silmä were finally functioning as their ancestors had intended.

It was a strange and unusual situation for Nimue, but the fates did have an amusing way of perfecting their timing. With the disappearance of their prophet came another opportunity. A chance that the likes of her predecessors had not seen before. In the turbulent time between then and now, she had not been able to spare the priestesses to explore this whisper. Things had been far more settled recently, and several of her most trusted had left the temple in search of what she had come to know as the life forge.

It was only then did it come to light that the whispers were not whispers, but fragments of truth. It did not take long for the High Priestess to piece them together.

Should she have been consulted in this foolish task before their King had undertaken it, Nimue would have advised against it, and she would not have shied away from saying as much to his face. Life was not some fickle force move you could play with on a whim. Walking through the nether, nevertheless guiding someone back, was not a task for the feeble-minded. His ego had finally won out, and he had paid the ultimate price for it, much to the detriment of the planet and the people he had left behind.

This was nothing but good news for the Silmä, who always had a way of weaving opportunity even from the darkest of threads. This life forge was a power unmatched, and now it lay under their control. The Oracle had told of a prophesized one. One that would lead the Silmä and Illyria itself to prosperity and greatness that no other planet could hope to match. They had been disappointed the Oracle's choice once before, and Nimue would not allow that to happen again. Though she could not remove the fact of a prophesized one altogether, she could certainly craft it to lean in their favour.

After all, the most reliable way to predict the future was to create it for yourself.

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Nimue crossed the threshold of the life forge.

A colossal chamber of polished raven marble formed the circular room. It appeared to be one whole, unbroken slab, but the floor was separated by aqueducts that gashed striking stone like scars from some great battle. In the silence, a crimson liquid trickled, echoing from the smooth walls, and filling the room with eerie hollow sounds. In the centre of a room, a reconstruction of a fountain poured the same crimson liquid from its depths. The black marble made the pool below a frightening pit of swirling ebony. All around its circumference ran a table of pure silver metal.

Flanked by priestesses of all calibre, Nimue sent them scurrying with a flick of her hand. One to lay a cloth of raven silk across the silver tables, others to light candles that would surround the life forge. Nimue approached the life forge and lent carefully over the edge of the pool. There was no reflection waiting to greet her in the swirling depths, no light from the candles could have dared to breach it, the doors to the nether did not open so easily.

"Let's begin." Nimue spoke as the gathering began to form a circle around the edge of the fountain. Each candle that clung to the edge bore a rune carved into its waxy shaft that glowed softly with the light that filled them. "The Oracle predicted a prophet, and a prophet we shall have. What lies before us is a gateway to the nether, and what we shall call from it will be a perfect conglomeration of all that we revere. What we call from it will answer to our blood, and the blood that unites us as a coven." She nodded her head, a sheen of white hair shifted and tumbled over her shoulders.

The coven seemed to understand its meaning, each one pulling long curved ritual knives from the depths of their cloaks. Nimue's blade caught what little light had managed to travel the black marble as she raised it up to her hand. There were no words that could conjure this kind of magik, no spell or charm or curse that could fit the lock to this doorway. The blades sang in unison as they cut through air and flesh alike, and for a moment or two, the only sound that filled the life forge was the gentle drip of blood as it seeped across the stone and into the murky depths of the pool.

Nimue lent forward again and trailed her wounded fingers through the thick liquid. She did not bleed like the others; her sacrifice would be greater. A piece of her soul for a soul in return. The force kept the momentum of her fingers going and as the priestess and her brood stepped back from the edge, the current in the fountain began to pick up. It rose slowly, like the tendrils of some sea beast until it had formed a sphere around the entirety of the fountain. Nimue watched, with bated breath, and called to the soul that lay in wait behind the doors.​

 

[Aryn Teth]

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Nimue​

Four doors of darkness. Behind four doors had Aryn wandered in search of solitude and respite. Each offered new protection, a deeper defense against pain and memory - behind three of them he had still found it, harrying him and forcing him to remember. The sound of a booming explosion, the force of it rocking him against the wall. The touch against her belly, lifeless where once it had been sown. The look in her eyes, in their eyes. The skies on fire. The thrum of the engine as he left.​

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First was the door of sleep. For a time it had offered him retreat from the world, but dreams had offered no respite in short order. Even the embrace of sleep had bid him recall, bid him feel his pain. There would be no rest to be found, nothing that would hide him from the reality of all that had occurred.​

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Second was the door of forgetting. This wound, too deep to heal, too painful and with no healing to be done, could not linger in his mind. Time did not heal all wounds, he had learned - that was a lie. And for wounds such as this, they lay behind the second door. Yet so too were there things one could not forget, or did not wish to. The lines of her face, the way he had felt the movement beneath his palm, the swelling joy inside. He would not forget, and so this door was not deep enough.​

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Third was the door of madness. So great had the pain been, so deep his sorrow, that his mind sought no more recourse than to hide in a shattered form of itself. Many might have seen insanity as a waste, a break in reality that could not be beneficial, yet it was. There are times when reality is nothing but pain, and thus reality must be left behind. Yet even through the dawning of years, the turn of time and the twisted madness of the Netherworld as it replaced the true galaxy - pain found its way through the gaps still. Ever clawing and threatening to draw him back.​

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Thus, finally came the fourth door.​

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Last was the door of death, his final resort. For all his efforts, all his fleeing and fighting, every other door had permitted pain and memory to grace him, to drive their knives into his flesh and carve visions that could not be removed. He would never forget. Thus, the final door. Nothing can hurt us after we are dead, or so we have been told.​

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__________​

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The darkness was not empty.​

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You could not, after all, have nothing without something. In death, that had been among the first lessons he had learned. He had learned to drift on the inky shadow, to follow the way it shifted and to draw it unto himself. It was not unlike using the force, so much so that he wondered if this was not simply an extension of that power he had once wielded with such ease.​

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Thus had he learned to manipulate it, and in that darkness and silence had he thrived and found comfort untouched and unbidden by any of those memories.​

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Yet, even perfection could not last forever it seemed. When he first set his eyes upon it, the light that was born into being was near-blinding. It was small, its form unknowable as it cast its rays throughout his paradise, the shadows enveloped and surrounded it as well as himself, cells fighting off an infection, an intrusion.​

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Yet that light - that soul - would not be barred from its present course. It crept closer, unwavering and unending. When it reached him, he felt it all at once - memory, light, life. How wretched.​

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__________​

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Cold. He felt the cold before anything else.​

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He was deep underwater, it felt like the bottom of a lake but he could not see where it ended. All around him was darkness, save for the small circular light above him where the water broke. Desparation drove him upwards, instinct not to succumb to the freezing sensation that threatened to drive into his bones.​

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As he rose higher he felt something, a presence of something strange, something malevolent. It was something he had not felt in so long, something that had lay so far beyond the realm of his focus. The dark side.​

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Bursting forth from the water with a gasping breath, shaking hands reached out and clasped the edges of the fountain. Quickly, dark eyes darting about the room, blinking as he made out figures and shapes. Where was he?​

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[Nimue]

T A G S | Aryn Teth​

The silence in the life forge could have been sliced with the very blades that had been used to extract their sacrifices. All eyes were on the High Priestess as their portal to the netherworld began to open.

Nimue herself was silent, flame orange gaze trained intensely on the swirling liquid that engulfed the fountain in its entirety. No key man-made or magik made would fit in these doors if the force did not want them to be opened. All the research and knowledge she had attempted to gather on this ritual all counted for nought now that she stared it in the face. If the Oracle or the force so wished it, they could crumble the entire cave around them and prevent them from ever trying again.

The sphere of crimson liquid shuddered, and the tendrils that had formed it lashed out suddenly with no warning. It was violent and aggressive and malevolent as it threatened to destroy everything around it, but the coven did not move. They did not break the circle, for doing so would bring destruction upon them all. It reached its pinnacle as the tendrils whipped at the marble walls, leaving deep cracks and gashes that shook the very foundations of the cave. And then suddenly…

It fell back to the ground with little to no warning, spraying dots and splashes of crimson over anything that was near enough. Nimue rose a hand to protect her face, but almost the minute the water had calmed again she paced forward to allow her gaze to scan the murky depths.

A shapeless form emerged from the depths. It appeared at first to be nothing more than a splash of colour, contrasting starkly against the ebony pool. It did not take long for the newly formed soul to break the surface tension of the water.

Nimue raised her brow, with both curiosity and disappointment reigning on her expression.

He was nothing as she had expected him to be. For a start, she had not expected him to be male. The Silma were a female-dominated coven, and logically, the sacrifice of female blood should have brought about one of their own. Out of all the souls that the Oracle could have guided through the doors, this was certainly not one they had intended. If anything, Nimue would have preferred Adron back. At least if it had been him, she would have known how to control him from the beginning. But now…

A sharp click echoed from the ebony marble walls as Nimue called for her brood to step forward. Several of them did, to pull him from the depths of the fountain by his underarms and onto the cold, icy floor. Another stepped forward, sweeping their cloak off with a flourish and lowering it over the shivering form before her. The minute the velvet material settled on his shoulders; Nimue sank down to bring her amber orbs to his level.

She did not recognise his face. She did not recognise his presence, but that hardly mattered now. This stranger, their prophet, was tethered to this mortal realm via a part of Nimue's soul. The ritual had formed a bond between them that even the high priestess could not shatter. Even if she had wanted to. The Oracle, the force, and the prophecy would not let them escape each other now.

"Welcome back to the world." Nimue spoke in a careful, quiet voice that was far from her usual dominating, ancient tone. It was almost motherly. "You must have many questions, but I will not answer them yet. Come with me, and I will show you your new home." Her spindle finger unfurled in front of his face, to offer him help to stand should he need it, which he likely would.​

 

[Aryn Teth]

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Nimue​

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The feeling of the cloak wrapped over his form was pleasant for the warmth it filled him with. Instinctively, he drew it about his form tighter, drying and warming his own soaking form as his deep blue gaze shifted up to settle upon the amber orbs that met him. The pale face and white hair was briefly familiar, but it was not the visage he expected, not the one he distantly hoped for. Instead it was strange, unknown - much like the place he had awoken in.​

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As she spoke, she welcomed him back, and distantly he felt the call that reinforced her words. Bonds once strong now faded or near-severed, but all the same calling to him. Even the feeling of cold and the touch of the floor against his legs, he had been ripped back from beyond the fourth door. Perhaps even the third. Somehow, stranger still than his resurrection had been what she had said next.​

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His new home..?​

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Aryn Teth had been a dead man, and it had been many long years since he had walked the galaxy, but he still felt the feeling of wariness that settled in at those words. She had said she would answer his questions, and he deemed that she would have been the one in charge. Whatever purpose he had been awoken from, she had known it, and she seemed to be the one willing to suddenly determine that this was where he would stay.

Ignoring her hand, he pushed himself slowly to his feet. Death had not slowed him, only the cold seemed to - it was something that surprised him as he rose to his full height, gaze narrowing some as he watched her. "Who are you - and where am I?" He spoke firmly, the tone of his voice that of a man that had commanded many before in similar fashions. And it was a command, not a simple request as he already seemed willing to push the bounds of this supposed connection, this woman and her fellows who had dragged him back from the hereafter. ​

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Whether or not they would come to regret drawing him forth as he tested them remained to be seen. But he was not daunted, even in his reborn state. There was no fear in his eyes, no trepidation in his stance. Simply resolute and powerful determination.​

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[Nimue]

T A G S | Aryn Teth​

Surprised was not the word she would have used to describe her reaction to him standing by himself. Perhaps impressed if stubborn willpower was anything to be impressed by. His rise came with her retreat, a step or two to make the distance between them less intimidating. Nimue had expected confusion, and questions by the thousands, but what she had not expected from someone newly pulled from the clutches of death were demands. Certainly not in the tone he had used, which still reverberated off the cold stone slabs.

Nimue could not stifle the roll of her eyes as the questions began to pour from his lips. New life was always so aggressively curious. Even to its own detriment.

Endearing though it may have been to some, Nimue had lived far too long to find the patience for it. A resigning sigh followed shortly after. "My name is Nimue." She inclined her head, sending a flurry of snow-white hair tumbling over both shoulders. As she rose, she opened her hands to gesture to the cracked walls of the life forge. "This is the life forge. A doorway if you will. To the nether. One from which you have been called through by powers you are currently far too weak to understand." Her graceful gesture dropped, and her gaze fixed on him once more. On the naked form that had been covered in ebony velvet.

It travelled slowly from the tips of his toes all the way up to the top of his head. As if she were some sort of merchant sizing up a purchase. The adrenaline from the journey had kept him staunch from the moment he had climbed from the pool, but new blood and new flesh could not hold their own without a guiding hand. Someone to point out the obvious when their obstinate nature got the best of them. A fact that Nimue was more than willing to play to her advantage. "You may ask your questions but know that if I give you my answers now, I will not repeat myself later. Given your current situation, do you feel yourself willing and able to listen attentively?"

Though posed as a question, it was set as a challenge.

In Nimue's mind, his answer would determine if the Silmä had failed once more to bring forth the prophet the Oracle had spoken of. They found pride in using strength and courage where one felt weakest. Their last prophet had failed through his own hubris and ego by refusing to acknowledge his weaknesses. In refusing to accept help where help was necessary. This time, she would not see her sisters suffer through years of servitude to the wrong soul.

Beyond that, prophet or not, Nimue was not in the habit of taking commands from anyone. Less so if they made them naked as the day the Oracle sent them.​

 

[Aryn Teth]

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Nimue​

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A gateway to the Nether - he supposed it would have been simple enough to deduce, but it confirmed that this new world was not only a dank cave, but the galaxy at large once more. His gaze narrowed somewhat at the mention of his weakness. It was true, he could feel beyond the simple chill that his body was tired, his muscles ached as though they were all cramping at once - a stiff and lifeless corpse reanimated once more and reminding itself of the rigours of movement.​

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Still, there was more than bare strength that Aryn had called on in the past, and more that he had learned to call on in death. The question that remained to him was whether that availed him here. Turning his back to the woman, he cast his gaze over the other priests in the chamber before his gaze settled once more on the pool he had burst from. A hand raised, eyes closing as the surface of the water began to stir.​

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No - not the water, but the shadows that lay atop it. They slowly rose and danced like water in zero gravity, spiralling and twisting through the air to his command. He let the shadows rise, opening his eyes as the shadows moved in a shifting swirl, closing his hand as they suddenly dissipated. That at least was a power that had not left him, and it made him at least somewhat more confident in trusting the situation he had currently been placed in. Whether or not he would have to use such power to free himself from a new prison remained to be seen, but as the dead man turned back to meet amber eyes with cerulean, he seemed stronger.​

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Stronger, but aware of the aches that surged through his form.​

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"I will take some clothing, first." He uttered plainly, drawing the velvet around him once more to shed the last of the dampness that plagued him, before he shrugged it off his form to let it drop. As it had dried him it had only grown colder, and the man had been dead for long enough to lack shame, anyway. "And then you'll show me this place." It was another command, though it was measured and carefully chosen to align with an offer already given. He did pointedly avoid referring to such a place as his new home, however.​

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Who this woman was and what purpose she and her fellows had in drawing him back from the doors of death was entirely unknown to him, but Aryn had seen the machinations of those who used the dark side in such a way before. He would not be a pawn, not a piece in some larger plan, certainly not after he had been enjoying the sweet release of death.​

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[Nimue]

T A G S | Aryn Teth​

Unblinking amber orbs did not shift once from their target. They drank in every goose pimple and hair that the cold stood on end. Every twitch and shiver of his muscles as the icy atmosphere sank into his bones. If she tried hard enough, Nimue could recall the sensation of being human, though it was not her own memory to summon. The thud of a heart against your ribcage, the rush of blood through your ears, warmth as it enveloped your skin and soothed your worries. That was the only thing she truly missed, which is likely the only thing that currently connected the two of them.

Warmth.

The heat as it sank into your bones and spread from the inside out until it called upon sleep to drag you into its depths. The crackle and lick of a freshly built fire as its flames stretched up to touch the skies. There was something unmistakably beautiful about the sensation of warmth that could not be replicated by any other means, though she had tried exceedingly hard to do so. Her frigid flesh would not permit any level of heat to permeate it, and so she lived in the icy grip that Sanguinius Vampirika had on her veins.

Nimue parted her lips as if she were going to stop him from moving, but almost as soon as she had opened them, she closed them again. When he turned to regard the pool, curiosity had gotten the better of her. Her fellow priestesses had begun to grow weary, but Nimue stayed them with a hand. What was he doing?

The shadow that dominated the pool he had crawled from stirred. Nimue felt it in the pit of her stomach as it grumbled and stretched to the call of a new master. Once again, Nimue found herself impressed by this man's strength. For the first time since he had crawled from the water, Nimue's gaze shifted from his form to the twirling droplets in the air. They shifted and swayed to the call of his fingers, and as suddenly as they had appeared again, they disappeared.

Nimue clapped politely, but it was obvious that there was a little sarcasm behind it. Her voice was laced with much the same when she spoke again.

"Very clever." Nimue inclined her head in tandem with the words, and followed it with a response to his second command. Delivered with a measured assessment of the situation around him, Nimue could not refuse him this time. "A very wise decision." Nimue inclined her head as she spoke. "You must come with me then. We did not expect you to…" She flicked her eyes from the lower half of his body to the upper. "Well, be a man, to put it simply." Turning on her heel she motioned for her to follow him with curling fingers.

If the erroneous display of force use hadn't exhausted him, the walk from the life forge to the ship was short enough to handle. If not, then there were plenty of priestesses to lessen his burden.

_____​

Nimue had driven the ship herself and left the others behind to clean the mess they had made of the life forge. It landed in the empty space in front of the temple and was greeted by yet more sisters of the Silmä. Instead of making him walk to the living quarters to find clothes himself, Nimue had commissioned a new acolyte to bring something suitable out to the ship.

"Here." Nimue said, placing a neat square of clothes onto one of the seats. "Put these on. I will be waiting outside. When you are ready, I will show you the temple and answer some of your questions."​

 

[Aryn Teth]

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Nimue​

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The man's cerulean gaze narrowed at her sarcasm. For the time being, Aryn had determined he held little pleasantry for this woman. She had torn him back from his respite, and it seemed by her words not even intentionally. They had not expected a man, which meant they had certainly not anticipated Aryn Teth, based upon her reactions she did not even know who she had drawn back at all - it vexed him to a considerable degree.​

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Yet, there was an urgency to her movements and those of the priestesses as they attended to him. As he padded after Nimue on the way to the ship, he faltered only once - falling easily onto the hands of a pair of priestesses who easily and readily bore him the rest of the way to the ship. They had not intended for him to be male, and they had not intended for him specifically - yet they seemed willing and even eager to acquiesce to the support he required. Based on Nimue's words, they had even expected him to remain here.​

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Wherever here was.​

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Nimue had promised his questions would be answered and so he held his tongue for now as he followed her aboard the ship and into the living quarters, taking the journey as an opportunity to rest as he fell into meditation. How long had it been since he had taken to such an act? Thankfully it was not such a thing he easily forgot. As the ship hummed around him, he focused on the dark side that permeated the world he'd found himself on, drew on it. Once he might have balked at the thought of such a thing - but death changed such things.​

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_____​

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As the clothing was brought to him, Aryn gave a brief and appreciative nod, changing quickly into the simple, yet somewhat luxurious clothing that had been arrayed from him. It was a resounding symphony of black and grey tones which he supposed was of little surprise, but it was comfortable enough. ​

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Slow footfalls carried him down the ramp of the ship as his gaze cast upward to the shape of the temple. It was not one that he recognised, nor did it seem overtly Jedi or Sith in its origin, at least to his own recollection. Aryn suspected there was no way it could be so simple. Letting his gaze turn and settle upon Nimue, he motioned for her to lead them on, asking his first and most pressing question. "Why am I here?"​

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[Nimue]

T A G S | Aryn Teth​

Nimue was, as she had said she would be, waiting for him when he trailed down the ramp of the ship. Pressing her painted lips together, she drank in his newly donned clothing with an eye that was clearly trained to find imperfections. After a few moments, she could see none, which produced a nod of satisfaction from the ancient priestess. "Perfect." The acolyte that had brought them looked visibly relieved, but Nimue did not notice. Her attention was focused on his question.

For the first time since he had crawled from the pool, Nimue smiled. It was not an unkind smile either and it made her sharp features appear softer in the lavender glow of the Ingress. As expected of the insatiable curiosity that new life was enslaved to, he had posed the biggest question he could have possibly posed. Though she did not feel him ready to handle the true answer yet, she had made her promise, and she was a woman of her word. "You ask an exceedingly complicated question, and I shall have to begin as many long-winded stories do." She motioned to the temple. "At the beginning."

As she spoke, she began to walk toward the archway of the Ingress. The thick layer of white fog covering the grounds parted as she did, curling tendrils of wispy smoke in maddeningly complicated patterns up toward the night sky.

Stairs carved from the same dark stone that made up the life forge levelled out into a hallway that led to the depths of the temple itself. Covering every inch of visible stone were millions of runes, each one glowing an eerie shade of purple that eliminated the need for light of any kind. "This is the temple of a coven of witches known as the Silmä." One of her hands stretched out to point toward a statue that stood proudly at the right side of the entrance. It was of a woman, in the same elegant flowing robes that Nimue wore. Her cold stone eyes had been inlaid with gold, and they were steadily fixated on the spot where Aryn would be standing at the bottom of the stairs. "High Priestess Lyvina. The first of our kind to take such a mantle, responsible for the construction you see before you, and the first one to hear the Oracle prophesize of your coming, but we will come to that shortly."

"Many thousands of years ago this land was imbued with all the horrors that this galaxy had to offer. This was done by the hand of a Sith Lord known as Kruel Zing." Her hand turned to the other statue on the left side of the archway. A stone likeness of the sith lord glared down in the same direction his mistress was. Only, his face had been covered in its entirety by a golden mask fashioned to look like a wolf. "He believed that the ritual sacrifice of the souls of powerful force users, dark, light, and grey alike, would grant him the ability to bind the power to himself. He conducted so many savage and violent experiments surrounding the perfection of this ritual that it lead to the creation of a force nexus beneath his lair. When he abandoned a far lesser version of the temple you see today, a group of native Illyrians took his place, drawn to the powers of the dark side that swelled here."

Continuing their walk, her heels clicked sharply against the polished stone steps. Upon reaching the top, and the great stone archway of the Ingress, Nimue guided them over to the pillars that held the Ingress aloft. It was there that she stopped once more. Her fingers trailed over a set of runes, carved so long ago into the stone that their edges had been worn down by the cruel hands of time and mother nature. "These were the early Silmä, and they fought against much to cement their rightful place here. They dedicated their time to the occult, and to the dark side, but their real interests lay in the art of divination."

Her sharp nail tapped against the stone, to direct his attention to the writing. "Every rune carved here is a name, but these…" She pointed to a line a little above the halfway mark of the giant archway and trailed her finger all the way down to the bottom of the pillar. "These are their names." She leant forward to trace over the lines of the runes closest to the floor. Her touch seemed to make them glow vehemently, so much so that the vivid purple shade dominated her pale white skin. "High Priestess Lyvina. The first to be blessed with the power to hear the Oracle, and the very reason why divination is our true power. Though not much is known about the Oracle themselves, I can tell you with certainty that their prophecies are the very reason that the galaxy as we know it still stands today."

At this point, Nimue expected a look of incredulity from him or at the very least some form of protest, but they could argue the semantics of Oracles and the reliability of prophecies later. When she had finished all there was to say.

"It was she that transcribed the first prophecy the Silmä ever received. It lies within the depths of our archives, where we keep the words of the Oracle. Once you have fully recovered, I shall take you to see it. I would take you now, but I can promise you that you do not wish to navigate the archives in your current state." Nimue shook her head as if to stop herself from digressing further. "This prophecy I speak of foretold of the coming of a second son. A recreation of the sith lord that forged our nexus and built the very foundations used to create the Silmä." Finally turning to face Aryn again, her amber eyes locked onto his. "You are here because we called upon you. You are a pure creation of the dark side, of the powers of the Silmä, manifested in physical form. Our sacrifices opened the gateway between this galaxy and the nether to allow you to come through."

Clasping her hands together in front of her, her gaze returned once more to scrutiny. Only this time the thing she scrutinized was not the clothing he wore, but the man himself. When she had finished her inspection, what came was not an approving nod, nor did she offer the polite praise she had given to the acolyte earlier. Instead, she returned her gaze to his eyes and made no attempt to stifle the sigh of resignation that came before she spoke again.

"You are the prophesized one."​

 

[Aryn Teth]

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Nimue​

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Aryn wondered if perhaps, the ritual these witches had enacted had instead been a little off the mark. As Nimue gave her explanation and he followed along behind her, the expression on his face only seemed to grow more skeptical and incredulous. They had intended to summon a recreation of their ancient lord of the Sith, their prophecized second son - yet they had brought him instead.​

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If he was not certain this woman had no idea who he was, he was all but certain of it now. Aryn Teth, once-Supreme Commander of the Galactic Alliance and Jedi Knight, sworn enemy to the Sith and the Dark Side in a past life. And yet he had been brought back as the supposed reincarnation of such a thing. A pure creation of the dark side, she called him - Aryn felt it flow within him, certainly, but that had been a shift even before he stepped into the hereafter.​

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"No, I'm not."​

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His answer was blunt and utterly devoid of emotion. Cerulean orbs drifted over the form of the woman before him, his fingers brushing against the fabric of the clothing she had arranged for him as if assessing it briefly. "I don't doubt the strength of your magicks, such as they have pulled me back to this galaxy, but I suspect you have reached a little off-target." For a moment he paused - if they deemed he was not this prophecized one they expected, perhaps they would simply end him. Still, returning to the embrace of sleep wouldn't be entirely unpleasant.​

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"I am not Sith, nor have I ever been." Despite the roar of the force inside him, drawing upon the energies that permeated the air around him, he believed his words. The wound that had now lay dormant in him for so long gorged itself upon the force that hung in the air - it would not be long before Nimue felt it pull upon her as well. It was a powerful and strange sensation, a touch entirely unwilling upon her connection to that energy field which seemed intent to draw her toward him, even more-so for that connection she had formed by the ritual.​

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At the periphery, it seemed a near pleasant sensation, a warm and gentle brush, but there was more to it. Deeper within was a black and endless void, one that threatened to entrap her forever and steal all she knew away if it was left unchecked. If she was not careful. "You have found the wrong person."​

​

​

 

[Nimue]

T A G S | Aryn Teth​

Fate was difficult to accept when it was shoved so forcefully and unavoidably in your face, as this one had been for Aryn.

Nimue could understand the denial in his tone and could even empathize with it somewhat. Her original intention had never been to become the high priestess of the Silmä, she was content with the lot that priestesshood had provided her, but the Oracle had thought differently. She recalled the feeling of denial that raged through her body until it clouded her mind and judgement alike. She did not answer when he denied it, nor did she try to convince him otherwise. She only stood and watched.

In the midst of his refusal to accept the truth, Nimue could feel the beginning of something she had not intended. The force built around her like waves drawing themselves back from the shore in preparation to crash, but instead of coming to a crescendo as she had expected, it was leached from the very air around her. Her eyes narrowed as he made his announcement. His final refusal.

Yet still, Nimue was silent.

She had poured over many tomes containing information on wounds in the force, but she had never come across one herself. Not once in her centuries of life. It was a dangerously alluring sensation. Like a magnet in the centre of her stomach, tugging her toward something that felt as though it should be pleasant, but it was shrouding something far more sinister. They had little time to address it, and as a result, even less time to debate the things that raged through his mind.

"Come with me." She finally said as she wrapped her slender fingers around his and entangled them until he had no choice but to be guided along as she walked. Despite the icy touch of her skin against his, her grasp was feather-light, as though fingers were merely a winter breeze tickling across his palm.

They dove into the Ingress, leaving behind the statues and the runes, and talk of oracles and prophecies. After pacing quickly to the centre of the temple, Nimue took Aryn down a spiralling staircase that led into the depths of Illyria itself. The temple melted away, the walls turning from sleek ebony stone to the jagged hand-carved angles which only grew more natural the further they went.

The Omnivident.

The force nexus that fuelled the powers of the Silmä, and thus, fuelled Aryn too. Her hand did not let go of his until she had brought them to the edge of the pool itself. Its milk-white surface glowed, bathing them in a warm light that made the cave seem as hazy as the Ingress had been.

Here, he could rejuvenate himself, and drink to his heart's content. Though this would not heal his wound, it would be a stepping stone to beginning that journey. Beyond that, it would hopefully provide him clarity and logic for what Nimue had yet to admit. The reason he could feel the dark side of the force flowing through him so deeply. The reason why he could not ignore the undeniable sensation of something that was drawing them both together.

Nimue shrugged off the thick robes that covered her body, revealing beneath an ebony dress that clung to her lithe frame like a second skin.

Her back, which was now visible all the way down to where the material sat against the base of her spine, was covered in deep cracks that spread across her skin like the roots of a tree. They widened and narrowed at various points, both curling and angling to cover what they could, making the patterns seem untraceable unless you had hours to map them out. They only began to disappear into the follicles of her hair and where her dress began flowing again. They should have been angry and red, as most wounds of this calibre were, but they were far from it. Instead of flesh and blood, they were pulsing rivers of pure gold.

They seemed to twist and flow up and down the length of her back, agitated as she rose a hand to motion to the edge of the pool beside her. "Sit."

It was not a request, but a command, and spoken in a tone befitting a high priestess. "We will speak no further until you are restored." Nimue lowered herself down to her knees and swept her mass of cloud-white hair behind her shoulders, which covered the soft glow of the golden liquid meandering across her back. "I trust you know how to meditate?"​

 

[Aryn Teth]

​

Nimue​

​

As the woman reached out to lace her fingers with his own, Aryn's own instinct was to recoil. He had not touched another living being in who knew how long, and the brush of her hand against his own was strange, an almost alien feeling not made better by the icy cold sensation to her touch. Yet, he did not wholly recoil, allowing her to take hold and lead him delicately along.​

​

Internally, he felt a bead of frustration that she had not responded to his insistence, finding it all too likely she did not particularly care for his own judgment as to whether or not she had successfully drawn the right soul back from death. Perhaps she was simply too stubborn to accept that it might have been a failure. At the very least she had not reacted with violence, and so Aryn kept his mouth shut having made his denial known. They would come to see in time he was not the man they were looking for.​

​

As slow footfalls carried them nearer to the heart of the temple and the nexus beneath it, that sensation he felt only grew - and with it his own strength. Each step felt lighter and the cold that had seeped into his bones began to fade. Ordinarily, he would have taken care with that power, but he did not know or trust where he was or the women that surrounded him. If it somehow became necessary for him to resort to violence, he would be prepared - and so he drank deep of the power that surged from the pool, his eyes drifting over its milky surface as they neared it.​

​

Yet, there was something else he noticed.​

​

His eyes did not follow the pale woman as she removed her robes, his steps carrying him instead to the edge of the pool. The reflection he could see struggled to pierce through the faint clouds that drifted beneath the surface, but it was clear to him that when he saw himself in the water it was not entirely as he was now. The shape was the same, but his face was hidden, hooded and donning a thin-visored mask. Once, Aryn had donned such a thing prior to rising to prominence, but this was different, not a memory.​

​

His attention was stolen by her voice, and when he looked back to the pool it was gone.​

​

Sighing, the exasperated dead man slowly moved to sit alongside the woman, rolling his eyes for a moment at her question. "I am more restored than you know." He muttered simply, but he acquiesced to her suggestion. As he settled at the pool's edge, he closed his eyes, drawing in a slow breath to feel the flow of the force around him as it surged forth from the water. He focused on its currents, effortlessly beginning to draw them into himself.​

​

​

 

[Nimue]

T A G S | Aryn Teth​

Nimue had ignored the final lashings of the exhausted child that had eventually settled down beside her. Their dynamic would soon change, as his strength returned and he accepted his fate, but for now, only Nimue knew what was best for him. A task not unlike the one she had been set when the failed prophet had been sent to them. Only she had failed then, and she would not repeat her mistakes now.

Time passed differently in the influence of the Omnivident.

When coupled with the intense concentration that meditation required, it was almost impossible to tell whether minutes, hours, or days had ticked by.

The High Priestess of the Silmä was at home in the dominating power that surged through every crack and crevice of the cave itself. Over a fifth of her unnaturally long life had been spent in its embrace, or at least on the very precipice of it. It was more of a comfort than any of her possessions or connections across the galaxy. The soothing lull of the water stirring against its stone bowl only drew her further into the depths of its generosity. It was a chance for her to replenish her energies too. Drawing life back from the clutches of the nether was no easy feat, and she had felt the effects as keenly as he had.

It was the stiffness in her legs that finally convinced her to stop. Her head lolled back slightly, stretching out the knots that had formed from sitting so still. When she finally eked some relief from them, she turned to look at Aryn.

"The Oracle is not infallible. Their prophecies can be interpreted in many, many ways. Part of our work here is attempting to decipher them, finding the most likely outcome to put our faith in. We are not always correct, but in this case, I'm very much afraid we are." She shifted slightly at her waist to face him properly. "There was another prophet, before you. He was the first and only man to defeat the Silmä in head-on combat with nothing but the force at his side. We had not seen power like that for many millennia. The prophecy fit him like a glove, and for a time it seemed as though we had found our answer, but he fell victim to the very life forge that brought you back. He failed. I failed." She corrected herself as her expression dropped into a much more serious gaze.

"I could not put my sisters through such tragedy again, so we determined a way to summon a unique soul that could only answer to the call of blood it had once recognised." Nimue opened one of her hands, palm up, to show him the centre. There was a fading, silver scar in the centre of her palm where she had slid the blade across during the ritual. Though her accelerated healing was making neat work of the wound, it was clear that it had been deep. "I do not bleed like the others, but their sacrifice was enough to open the portal. All that remained was my own sacrifice."

"A soul cannot be brought back without something to cling to in this life. When you intend to take something must always be prepared to give something in return." She closed her palm and turned to lean over the milk-white reflection of the Omnivident. As usual, there was no mirror image staring back at her, but she was not searching for that.

"I used a part of my own soul to call into the nether." Nimue stretched a finger out and touched the surface of the pool. The disturbance caused ripples to spread over the surface, steadily throbbing like the beat of a heart. It made the force in the room shudder around them. "The culmination of thousands of years of history shouting into the depths of darkness where many do not even possess the ability to hear? No one but the prophet could have answered."​

 

[Aryn Teth]

​

Nimue​

​

As he meditated, Aryn was briefly relieved for the silence. The ship had offered some reprieve, but here - being able to draw upon the power of the Omnivident - it offered far more in the way of comfort. He could feel the strength returning to him, not only his connection to the force, but the pain in his muscles faded, the tired haze that lingered in his mind. He felt alert, more capable, more ready with each passing moment as he drew in its power and drank deep of the well of force energy.​

​

It was the sound of her voice that shook him from it, though by then he was more than renewed.​

​

Opening his eyes slowly, Aryn turned his gaze to settle it upon her, his brow lifting slowly as she began her further explanation of this prophecy and the Oracle. As she continued, explaining the depths of the magic, the sacrifice she had made and the certainty that the Silma had in calling to him, and him specifically - he still found himself struggling to believe, to accept it. "I am no prophet." He resolved softly, though it was difficult to determine if it were simply something he said for his own benefit or a real rejection of what she had told him. ​

​

"Even if I were, what does that mean? What does this prophecy of yours say of this prophet?"​

​

Clearly his mind was his own, were it not, the memories he had not once fought so hard to escape would not be assaulting his psyche with each passing moment. He held no desire to linger in this dark place, despite the power he drew upon from the well. He had no desire to take charge of such a Coven or to rule over anything.​

​

Whatever Nimue and the other priestesses wished, Aryn found himself hard-pressed to envision himself acquiescing to their desires. "You drew me back from the Nether, but perhaps I might have wished to remain there." He uttered finally, shaking his head as he sighed. Death had been a far more pleasant reprieve, certainly more so than the confusion and frustration that had built within him since he had awakened.​

​

​

 

[Nimue]

T A G S | Aryn Teth​

"I wish I had been blessed with the power of choice when it came to which soul was plucked from the nether, but I was not. I did not actively choose you." Nimue said bluntly. "Nor would I have done if I had been genuinely offered the choice. You are not the only one who disagrees with the interpretation, but there can be no other." Though it had been no secret, this was the first time she had actively voiced her displeasure at the situation. "The Silmä are worthy of far more than a prophet who cannot escape the shadow of his past."

"You pine for her." Her gaze flicked from the pool up to Aryn, where she looked him dead in the eye. She had made no mention of recognising him before, but Illyria had been a part of the Confederacy throughout the attacks that had traumatised his mind. She had seen their outcomes first-hand before they had even come to pass. Even before the Oracle had given her the specifics as she had meditated and scenes of his past lift passed before her eyes like a holofilm, she had recognised his face. But his past life was of no consequence now.

He was no longer Aryn Teth. He was the prophet.

Her brow lifted slightly as she continued. "You pine for a future and a life and a child that you were never destined to receive, but you must not think of yourself as the same man who was consumed by the nether. Time changes all, and the nether changes even more. You are reborn now. The Aryn Teth of old died long ago, and even I cannot say what you are capable of now." The very thought of what she was about to say appeared to pain her, but she carried on, bolstered only by the swell of the Omnivident.

"You have the potential. You have been given what many others would fight tooth and nail to receive. Not many can say they are given a second chance at life. If you search for a reason to remain in this galaxy then let it be that. The Oracle would not have chosen you if it did not think you worthy of the claim, and whether it takes a week or a lifetime, you will come to realise this one day." Her unwavering gaze had not once shifted from him the entire time. "But first you must release your past."​

 

[Aryn Teth]

​

Nimue​

​

It was the first real mistake that Nimue had made since he had awoken, and yet it was a grave one.​

​

She had not said the name, but as the High Priestess made mention of the woman that had lingered on his mind, Teth's expression grew colder than the pool he had climbed from. His eyes turned hard as iron, and the pit within him that had been drawing the energy of the force seemed to focus intently upon her, a leech now determined to draw wholly upon her, even ignoring the immense well that sat before him. His fingers gripped tightly onto the edge of the pool, white-knuckled and furious.​

​

First the mention of her, then the child, then the demand that he release it all. His focus on her narrowed, and a pressure settled around her neck, tightening along with the motion of his hand. "Do not mistake me for some fresh and wide-eyed babe, desperate and clinging to a warm voice in the darkness, Nimue." As he spoke, his words dripped with venom, particularly the mention of her name. "Do not pretend to know me - to know who I was. You do not know the first note of the music that moves me." As he spoke, he began to draw upon the power of the nexus once more, devoting his efforts to the tightening of that force focused upon her throat.​

​

"I am not the same man who died those years ago - that is one of the few truths you have spoken. But who I am seems lost upon you still - thus allow me to illuminate you." His gaze narrowed and his teeth ground together, nothing but icy cold fury and malice in his expression. "You do not fear me as I should be feared - I have walked in the nightmares of others and twisted them to my will. I have seen a thousand worlds crash together and walked in the flowers that bloom from their decimation."​

​

The pressure around her neck faded suddenly, and the resurrected man moved to stand. ​

​

"Perhaps your Oracle was right. Perhaps I have this potential." He conceded plainly, his voice still cold. "But if you ever speak of her again, you will never live to find out."​

​

​

 

[Saraya Arenais]

oops.

 

[Nimue]

T A G S | Aryn Teth​

What happened then was the first real display of someone who could one day become the prophet the Silmä had hoped for all these years. The awakening of the blood that had, up until now, laid dormant in his veins. He did not look at her, but in the wrought expression of anger, Nimue could finally see it. It was the first time she genuinely believed that the Oracle had not made a mistake in choosing this man. That he was truly blood of her blood, and of all the Silmä who had come before her.

The guards at either side of the archway began to step forward to intervene, but Nimue raised a hand to still them. This anger was something she had anticipated, nobody liked to confront the truth, and should he choose to exact it in this manner then so be it. Whichever way it was wielded, it had come from a place of darkness. A place that could only be reached when in tune with the force that flowed from the Omnivident. This was a step in the right direction as far as she was concerned.

But he was not there yet.

The pressure around her neck dimpled her skin where the tendrils of force had wrapped themselves tightly. She did not struggle. Like many of her kind, death was the warm and welcoming embrace that they had craved from the moment of their birth. Though she did not actively seek it, Nimue had lived through enough years to greet it like a friend as it leeched the life from her lungs. The minimal fear it produced that managed to creep to the surface was cannibalized by the force and drawn upon greedily. Either by herself or Aryn or the Omnivident itself, it made no difference.

If this was to be her end, sacrificed once more for the creation of the prophet they so desperately sought, then so be it. It was quite a fitting end to a life that had no right to have carried on for so long.

As his volatile words shook the foundations of the Omnivident, Nimue stretched a smile over her lips. They were words meant to instil fear. To shock and horrify. To summon the very nightmares that formed the pool of milk-white water before them. If they were not the words of a prophet of darkness, Nimue did not know what was, and despite her rather dire predicament the smile on her face grew wider. It remained there, plastered on her unnaturally still expression, even when the tendrils of force released her neck from their vice grip.

"Perhaps." Nimue replied cooly, though her voice was barely a whisper. Thinned by the tightness that had encircled her throat. "For now, we can do nothing further." She said, suddenly, and rather finally. Rising from her place next to the Omnivident, she coaxed the heap of black material that was her cloak back up to her shoulders. "You are welcome here, but this temple is not your prison, and the Silmä are not your captors. Nor do we wish to keep you here should you find the need to explore the galaxy you left behind. But when the time comes, and you wish to break the chains that bind you to weakness, then you shall find us here."

The edges of her cloak billowed around her ankles as she turned to leave the Omnivident.

What happened next lay in Aryn's hands. He could stay, if that is what he wanted, but she doubted what he truly wanted would be anything but. Nothing stayed the mind like than running far and fast to something familiar. Something that she hoped was far away from the Silmä. He was not ready yet, and Nimue did not want him here until he was. Food, clothing, transport, and anything else he would require would be provided.

He needed only to ask.​