DaydreamChronicles

The slumber fades away again. This time my ethereal body floats in the vicinity of a large castle. The outside is intimidating. Ramparts of blackened stone. Embers floating in the air reveal the devastation of the surroundings. A moat full of lava seems to guard this place from whatever may be brave enough, or foolish enough to venture here. My current state awards me with the ease of flight. My intangibility provides protection from the environment. It also protects the environment from my own intervention, for I am viewing a historical event. Here, in this place, I witness the origin of Achymiarel. The vast lands around the castle are littered with volcanoes and pouring rivers of incandescent magma. A number of scorched trees suggest this was not the case before. Suddenly I am pulled into the castle, to a chamber with a large window to the outside and an opening in the ceiling. A powerful magician draws a rune circle using an enchanted piece of chalk. The intricate lines glitter in the flickering light of the multitude of candles and lamps. Several other mystical items have been placed on display pillars around the central object. This object is nothing more than a small twig, yet it emanates an incredible amount of magic. It may be what remains of a once powerful magical tree. Among the other items a jeweled necklace stands out along with a dragon’s nail, a horn and a scale. There is a scepter set at another altar that looks positioned specifically to channel its power to this magical construct. A low rumble changes the shape of some of the chalk lines. The magician rushes to fix the lines. He seems exhausted and at the same time extremely anxious, as if his very being depends on this to work.

After an hour of tinkering around the magician begins the incantations for this unknown ritual. It looks as if this is some form of infusion. Powerful magical items infused into a suitable receptacle. Surely this would not work though. Such a ritual needs to have an enormous amount of additional stabilizing agents. Items whose magical balance can contain the energies about to be unleashed. From the looks of it, the magician was out of time. Just outside the castle a large battalion of soldiers marched onwards. The moat would hold them for a while, until they could build a suitable bridge. Then there was the winding series of hallways and passages meant to confuse anyone not familiar with the design. Another low rumble moves the grains of sand and dirt. The shape of the chalk changed once more. This time, the magician disregards it. He knows it might be the ritual itself adjusting the chalk. Using Achymiarel’s power I could see an ethereal shape of what was the final result of the constant rumbling. That small twig, brimming with power, was causing the rumbles.

Fiery stones exploded in the air outside the castle. A magical barrier protected it from siege weapons. Meanwhile the soldiers had begun to arrange a series of stones and logs to cross the moat. They were forced to proceed quickly, for the wooden logs would soon burn. Inside the castle, the ritual was making progress. One of the items on the altars floated just above it and turned to dust. This line of dust floated into the twig at the center and started to reshape it. Before my eyes the small, seemingly insignificant twig, became the mighty Achymiarel. When the process was complete a magical shockwave pushed the magician away. He was walking near the large window and was thrown off onto a balcony. This newly created wand vibrated and pulsed. All the magic within was barely contained. The poor magician, hanging on for his life, was able to lift himself back to the room. He approached his creation, held it for a brief moment, and then an arrow pierced his chest. A sudden discharge of magic escaped his body. The archer did not expect such an effect, and was torn as if made of paper. Achymiarel, still on the magician’s shaking hand, could not be controlled. Its power, too intense to wield. Fearing for the end of his life, the magician could do little else. To protect this power from falling into the wrong hands he called down a lightning bolt. Yet, the bolt, instead of destroying him with the wand, supercharged it and caused it to open an interdimensional portal. The magician’s body disappeared and Achymiarel fell into the portal. The castle, strengthened by a multitude of spells and enchantments, began to crumble into a sea of lava due to the magician’s absence. Every volcano in the vicinity erupted. Whatever this army had come to claim was for naught. They would perish along with the magician they sought.

My body started to float away when I noticed the extent of what was happening in this world. In the far distance a gigantic tree stood. Barren of any leaves, of any life within. I surmised that the twig must have come from this tree. A world tree like that one is bound to the very life force of the world. To be in such a state means that the world was in its death throes. Floating further away, high in the sky the evidence spoke for itself. The volcanic wastelands were bordered by ruined kingdoms, dried farmlands and vast deserts. That army had come to claim the power of the last magician they knew of because they thought them responsible for what was happening. In truth, all the magically adept were searching for a solution to their problem. The dying of their world tree might have been a direct result of losing those who were magically attuned. They died out because of the arrogance and above all, the ignorance of their leaders. Achymiarel pulled me into a new dark abyss. A new slumber. What would be shown next?

(Related Story: Chronicle Zero – Achymiarel)

I awaken. The world around me is strange and unfamiliar. Where has this great power taken me? I ask myself. Achymiarel is still in my possession. There is no trace of where Ouros went or what happened to the guardians. Perhaps they were also transported here. There is no clear evidence, nothing to guide me. Standing up, I gaze upon the lands that I now inhabit. A piece of one of the large marble doors had crashed into the ground on a nearby hill. Upon moving closer to inspect it, I saw how its form shifted and warped. It was as if it lay in a state of flux. This thing didn’t belong here, but by extension neither did I. Something protected me. Could the wand have spared me? No way to be sure, but certainly my arrival here had some meaning.

A short walk to the top of the hill revealed two armies down in the valley. It looked like a standoff. Huddled down near some rocks, I looked on. The tension of such a conflict can be felt all around. After a few short minutes the armies commanded their advance. The clash let out a resounding echo of screams and metal clangs. I had not experienced such carnage in many years. Not since the war of the settlements. That old conflict eventually led to the splitting of the clans and a more lasting peace. We learned how that loss of life was irreplaceable. No kings or queens would ever drive us to such lengths. Sadly, some leaders found another way to drive us away. Ouros would pay for forsaking my people.

The wand responds to my anger. Such memories are difficult to repress. While the slaughter continues in the fields I rise from among the rocks that concealed my position. I lift Achymiarel high above my head and a bolt of lightning splits the clouded sky. Blinded by the old rage and the sacrifice of countless soldiers to some unknown cause, I decide to teach them a lesson. Yes, life is sacred, but without the threat of something far greater these people will never learn its value. A powerful thunderbolt skims across the ground sundering it and tearing apart everything that it encounters. It eventually reaches the commanders of these armies and shreds them. Their armor falling to the ground, bloodied and burnt. Not even their mounts were spared. The few soldiers that remained escaped back to their own territories. Achymiarel gave me the power to be both judge and executioner.

What have I done? What have I become? I question repeatedly as a sea of blood flows down through the valley and into a river. Thousands upon thousands of corpses lying dead. A testament of the fearsome power of this wand. This was more of a lesson to myself than to all those poor souls. For a moment I was walking through the field. Many still alive suffered from their wounds, either from sword or ax, or from the vicious thunder that split them apart. I looked back to the hill and suddenly I was on it again. The soldiers were clashing, fighting for whatever their cause was. I had seen a vision. Achymiarel showed me my rage unleashed upon unknown forces. They are innocent of the matters that affect me, but I had the power to destroy them utterly. This artifact works as if it had a will of its own. With time I would come to better understand it. For now, a new dark abyss forms beneath me. This time, it does not swallow the world around me, instead it drags me down into a slumber. A repetition of what happened at Chymus. Maybe this time I will find Ouros.

“The light of the flames serves us well.”, said elder Yelene. “They keep the miasma at bay, while we continue to live our lives in this tainted world. In our struggle to survive, we are constantly reminded of what was lost. In today’s lesson I will recount the old story so that it is forever etched into your minds. One day you will tell this to your own hatchlings.”

“Elder Yelene, we heard the story last year. Why repeat it?”, Kivis, a young crowmaran asked, curious.

“As I said, it is so you do not forget. The day we forget where we came from is the day that world will be completely lost.”

“Then please proceed, apologies for my interruption.”

The elder nodded and continued, “We owe the great lost lands of Ilneas, our original birthplace, a great gratitude. The older generations remember the lush green forests and beautiful blue skies. Those lands provided freedom, nourishment and the chance for the companionship of the other races. Thankfully the crowmaran survived the great catastrophe. It was a slow but steady decline. Very few could predict that the miasma would become the downfall of Ilneas. This horrible calamity was like a beast that hungered for everything it could grasp.  As you well know, the purpur fog of death, the miasma, holds no mercy for us. Little by little the forests were lost. The skies became poisonous. We braced for what would be the end of our world, until the great flame was found. A group composed of a crowmaran, a human and a minos searched day and night to find it. The great temple of the guardian flame was discovered by these brave heroes. The miasma cowered away from the temple and the flame itself. Our greatest scholars learned that the flame could be carried by specially built lanterns. This allowed us settlements in what little remained of the floating mountains. Sadly the flame was worn thin. The temple eventually succumbed to the miasma when the last bit was taken. The great heroes fell with it. It was their final attempt at restoring the flame somehow. Without the flame at the temple the miasma grew to spread all across Ilneas and beyond. Today, few have the courage to venture forth and risk what little of the flame they possess. There is one hope remaining to save our world. If we ever find the temple of the flame again, and light the great chalice, its light might guide us to vanquishing the miasma.” Elder Yelene concluded the story. “Any questions?”

“Can we do it? Can we find the temple?”, asked Kivis.

“We can only hope. It is why the crowmaran continue to search. With some tinkering we discovered better ways to increase our limited supply of the guardian flames. Yet, we must still be very careful. We dare not spread our own flames too thin.”

“Why did the temple not guide us before?”, this time it was Alliria who asked. One of the older crows in the group.

“No one is certain, but some time after the flame at the temple was extinguished a traveler claimed he got a glimpse of the temple and that there was something new. Something different. His recount pointed to a set of mirrors that could spread the light of the guardian flame.”

“Did those mirrors appear now?”

“We can only speculate that they were always there, but covered in vegetation. The miasma, ever consuming, must have revealed them by chance.”

“Elder Yelene? Can we go now? It’s almost dinnetime.”, little Baybill asked. He is one of the younger hatchlings.

“Yes, yes. I will not keep you further.”

As the others left, Kivis stayed behind.

“You are thinking of leaving, am I right?”

“Yes elder. I cannot in good conscience ignore the story anymore. Every year we hold on to the hope that one of the expeditionaries will find the temple again.”

“Remember to tell your mother that you are leaving. Many have ignored my advice, but instead of flying off into the unknown, perhaps it would be best to keep those claws to the ground.”

“Isn’t that counterproductive? We want to find the temple as soon as possible.”

“Correct, finding it is imperative. Flying off into the miasma, hoping to follow its currents, will lead you nowhere. The expeditionaries have all ignored my warnings. Many of them returned completely exhausted and with not a clue of the temple’s whereabouts. Please, you are one of my dear students. Will you heed my words?”

“Where should I go then?”

“Us crow people once had a beautiful city in these lands. The floating rocks of Kervel have been our home for many ages. After the miasma passed they say these stones, or rather mountains, drifted slightly apart, but remain close enough. If you find a way to traverse them, then perhaps you can find something in the abandoned city that can help.”

“Do you know of anything specific?”

“Many magical artifacts were hidden in the city. I have no doubt that some may yet remain.”

“Elder Yelene! Cease this nonsense!”, Elder Xorilis abruptly interrupted Elder Yelene.

“Goodness, Elder Xorilis, why do you deny my teachings?”

“Because it will end up killing him. He must fly if wishes to search for the temple!”

“With respect Elder Xorilis but I will do as I please. Everyone before me has done the same and the results speak for themselves.”, Kivis said.

“Pah! Then go on! I will not see you off.”, Elder Xorilis left, rather angry, at Kivis’ defiance.

“Pay him no mind. I will see you off when the time comes.”, said Yelene.

“Thank you. I’ll head home now. Mother will not like it, but I feel this adventure calling to me.”

“Go then my dear.”

Kivis left. Elder Yelene was rather proud to have moved the strong hearted crowmaran to action. In all her years of teaching the old story of their world, very few actually had the courage to do so. Much less to defy the wishes of the other elders. They always preached that flight, as their gift from nature, should be the method of translation in the search for the temple of the guardian flame. Anything else would be insulting, or so they said. As was their tradition, the other elders ignored Yelene’s advice. She was aware that to find the temple it would require more than just flying around the world. Too many of the expeditionaries that left, never returned. Elder Yelene always knew that the secrets held in Ilneas would help the expeditionaries. It is her hope that Kivis will be able to discover something new that will alter the fate of the world.