This work is a piece of historical fiction. While inspired by real events, cultures, and practices in human history, the story blends factual history with fictional characters, dramatizations, and creative interpretation.
It is not intended to promote, glorify, or encourage any illegal activities, substance use, or harmful behavior. All depictions of sensitive topics are included solely for narrative and historical context.
Reader discretion is advised.
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Earth-199999, Pompeii.
~1945 BE (Before Emergence) ~ 79 CE (Current Era).
Flying above the clouds, hidden from mortal or divine sight, alone, Aragorn lacked his usual company. Hestia and Selene had parted for the Han Empire (China); Hestia to collect knowledge and heal the ailing, and Selene to explore parts of the Ancient World she had never had the chance to.
Effortlessly gliding with the grace of an albatross and the momentum of a kaiju, Aragorn's wings caught the gentle winds, and in conjunction with his telekinesis, the feat of defying gravity was achieved.
He was currently flying above Mount Vesuvius. His eyes were tracking a group of mortals so obsessed with eternal life that no limits were too bold to blur.
To extract dragon bones buried under Pompeii, the Hand sought to use a volcanic eruption as cover.
The citizens? Mortals held little to no value in the eyes of the eternal. Aragorn could attest to this.
However, Aragorn was not here for them. He was here for the guests from outside the Sacred Timeline—from the TVA in the Null-Time Zone.
With a mighty flap of his wings, Aragorn appeared above Pompeii. With a lazy sway of his tail, he came out of cloaking.
His shadow blanketed a portion of the city. It was not an overpowering shadow that he cast—his draconic body was translucent, after all—but the difference in the light gradient was enough to make the mortals gaze upward in panic first, and later awe when they recognized whose shadow it was.
Aragorn shrank into his Aquila persona and then hovered down to ground level.
What normally followed after Aragorn entered a population center was a few rounds of healing, visits to the local centers of knowledge—usually temples, governmental buildings, and places of art—and a walk through the local mercantile centers to find objects to collect, or taste new dishes.
This time, however, Aragorn spammed a simple psionic command in the heads of all citizens of Pompeii: Bring me children.
Like ants with the single purpose of ensuring the wellbeing of their queen, the humans sought with uncanny coordination anything that fell into Aragorn's definition of the concept of 'children.'
All the children were brought over to the spacious piazza of the city, the main Forum. Some were too small to walk and still depended on adults for mobility, some waddled like ducklings grabbing the hands of their parents, and some came running eagerly to Aragorn.
"Aquila!" the children called to Aragorn with parasocial familiarity—a product of the countless stories told by the humans and even the Duskari of their local Obelisks.
Aragorn smiled calmly at the children and opened a few portals. On the other side, an ample futuristic room could be seen.
"Go through it, little stars," Aragorn instructed, with all the tenderness he didn't have for adult humans and only reserved for children.
"What about Pa?" one of the older children paused and asked.
Aragorn looked at the child warmly and said, "You have no Pa." The child's eyes clouded for a moment, then the child smiled brightly and, with a skip to her steps, passed through the portal.
After almost half an hour, every child had crossed the portal. Aragorn then instructed the adults to return to their daily lives.
Almost all adults went on their way, leaving behind a percentage composed of pregnant women—only those whose fetuses housed souls.
Aragorn snapped his fingers and the psionic compulsion cleared from their minds. They retained memories of what had just transpired, so with obvious dread, they looked at Aragorn.
"The mountain is going to erupt in a few," Aragorn said, accompanying his words with scenes of the upcoming volcanic eruption flashing in their eyes. The women brought their hands to their mouths; they trembled, cried, and wailed.
"The children I saved shall have a future—a brighter one than you could have ever provided," Aragorn showed them scenes of what life in the Imperium was like for a human child.
Even amidst the wailing, there was a flicker of awe.
"Your children—the ones in your wombs—do you want to save them?" Aragorn asked, his voice carrying the temptation of an angel—or a fallen one.
"Aquila, could you save everyone?" one of the mothers asked.
"No. I heal, I protect, and I save children. But I don't save adults. That has and will always be so," Aragorn replied.
The woman, and several others, bit their tongues and clasped their hands hard enough for their nails to sink into their palms.
"What will happen to us after we deliver?" another of the women asked. She understood that Aragorn was saving their babies, not them.
"Death, or oblivion. You choose," Aragorn said.
Death was easy for all to understand. Oblivion took a brief explanation: "You'll lose your memories, and you'll be given new lives afterward. There's leniency in what these new lives could be."
The push of a mother to save her offspring, and the instinct to fight death present in every living organism, moved the women to choose the only logical option.
Aragorn nodded at them and then told them to move to the local Obelisk.
With the women gone, Aragorn tapped his P-Link and sent a message to the local Duskari custodian, informing them of the situation. Aragorn then comfortably hovered close by.
The wait wasn't long. As if timed by fate—or maybe a coordinated effort between all of Aragorn's selves—a door into the Sacred Timeline opened right in front of him.
Loki and Mobius—both variants from purged branch realities—walked through the door.
Their reactions couldn't have been more contrasting.
"Who might you be?" Loki asked, intrigued but at the same time unguarded.
Mobius, on the other hand, tried to immediately backtrack through the door. But, much to his escalating panic, something was preventing him from crossing—an invisible panel, like glass, blocked his way.
Aragorn moved his gaze from Loki to Mobius. Loki turned to follow his gaze and found the panicking TVA agent banging violently on the invisible obstacle like a rabid dog.
"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no." Like a broken record, he repeated 'no' nonstop.
"Mobius, it appears you know of our host," Loki commented. In his head, he was already marking Aragorn as a threat—if he could garner such a reaction from the TVA agent.
"Ahem!" With a cough, Mobius tried to fake calm and turned around while straightening his clothing. "Mr. Aragorn, we apologize if we intruded on your territory. It hasn't been long since the peace agreements were signed with the Fulgebunt Draconis Imperium—there might have been a mishap in the delimitations."
All throughout his overly polite apologies, his legs were visibly shaking, his back sweating cold, and his eyes darting back and forth as if seeking an escape route like a caged wild animal.
"My personal understanding was that the Isthmus, Halo, and the Obelisks were off-limits. I must implore you, don't take our transgression as a reflection of the TVA's will," Mobius said.
"..." Aragorn watched his demeanor and performance with the gaze of someone enjoying a funny scene in a movie.
"Would you be so kind as to introduce us?" Loki said to Mobius, his gaze now serious.
"I'm Aragorn, enemy of the TVA," Aragorn answered in Mobius' stead. "I inhabit the Sacred Timeline, but I'm also a variant generator. My variants and the TVA will wage war almost 1,500 years from now.
"As you can see, the TVA loses and has no choice but to accept them. It came at no small cost, did it, Mobius?" Aragorn asked with a mocking grin.
"It's an honor you know my name," Mobius replied subserviently.
"Of course I do. After all, you and Loki here have a 'glorious purpose,' don't you?" Aragorn replied while directing his question to Loki.
Loki's smile faltered a little upon hearing his catchphrase in Aragorn's mouth.
"Mr. Aragorn, it appears you know us quite well. I feel inadequate with my lack of information," Loki said with a servile smile. "If it isn't too much to impose, we came here to confirm a theory of mine."
"You can rest assured, your theory is correct," Aragorn cut to the chase. "The variant is hiding in apocalypses."
"Aha! I knew it!" Loki triumphantly exclaimed. He looked at Mobius pointedly.
Mobius understood what Loki wanted, and he immediately pulled out his Temp Pad to check for fluctuations in the Sacred Timeline. Even while doing this, Mobius couldn't help but gaze furtively at Aragorn.
"With your permission," Loki said to Aragorn.
Aragorn understood what Loki wanted and removed the obfuscation field he had up to cloak their meeting from the eyes of the passersby.
Then Loki walked to the astonished crowd and basically shouted: You're all about to die.
"We come from the future, right?" Loki paused mid-spiel, confused about where in the timeline the TVA was located.
"Aquila, I think he needs healing," one of the mortals present said to Aragorn.
"Sadly, there's no cure for his ailing," Aragorn replied with a heavy look.
"How sad," the mortal pitied Loki.
Loki's performance smile cracked once more, but before he could retort—
BOOOOOOOOM
—Mount Vesuvius exploded.
Mobius observed with astonishment at his Temp Pad, confirmation found on it that Loki was right—one could hide in apocalyptic events.
"Don't come looking for me when you discover the truth," Aragorn said to Loki.
"Truth?" Loki asked.
"Truth. I'll probably be out of the world by then, and unlike the rest, you won't find me even in the past," Aragorn cryptically said.
"... Okay," Loki said with a confused look and then turned to Mobius. "It's time to go, unless you'd rather be part of that," he pointed at the approaching wall of death—a pyroclastic flow.
"Yes, I'd rather not meet my end here," Mobius scurried to the door.
"Goodbye, God of Stories," Aragorn said.
"It's lies—God of Lies," Loki corrected with a somewhat condescending grin.
"Is it, though?" Aragorn asked.
The door into the Sacred Timeline closed, and the last Loki and Mobius saw was the pyroclastic flow engulfing Aragorn.
"Did he... die?" Loki asked.
"If only it were that simple," Mobius said with a sigh. "I saw him snuff out of existence a squad of Hulk variants because they were being too loud."
Loki's heart skipped a beat at this comment. "A squad of Midgard's trolls? He snuffed them out of existence?" Loki asked.
"Hulks, not trolls. I didn't know Earth had trolls," Mobius corrected.
Loki rolled his eyes. In his mind, what was Hulk but a troll?
"What's this about a war?" Loki asked.
"Shortly before you were captured, we were signing peace agreements. But before that, a cruel war spanning years took place between the TVA and an intergalactic empire of variants," Mobius explained.
"That's obviously a better place for a variant to hide than in apocalypses! Have you not considered that the variant might be hiding in there?" Loki asked, his patience running thin. It was obvious in his eyes that that was exactly the type of place he would choose to hide from the TVA.
"No, that's not possible. The Fulgebunt Draconis Imperium was cloaked from us up until recently, and they don't accept outsiders," Mobius shook his head.
"It matters not if they do or don't. The variant could sneak in," Loki countered.
"No, they couldn't. Your magic doesn't fly over the Imperium's head," Mobius denied.
"What? How would you know? Let me tell you, I can fool even the Allfather's senses," Loki said, a confident grin plastered on his face.
"That's what most Loki variants assured us before trying to sneak past the Northern Scale—only to meet their ends under a barrage of blackhole ammunition," Mobius said, his face as if he were about to throw up.
"... What?" Loki asked.
Mobius sighed and then explained, "When the war was beginning to take too heavy a toll on us, variants began to be offered freedom in exchange for their services. While some of them did a number on the Imperium, nothing was definitive—yours included."
"..." Loki was floored.
136 CE...
Aragorn and Luxena floated in the vacuum of outer space. Not far from them, a comet burned bright under the radiation of the Sun. {Daughter of Yelena and Kav'Juhus, Goddess of Agriculture and Celestial Stars.}
This was Halley's Comet. However, it didn't look like the normal Halley's Comet observed in most Earths.
Instead of the usual bright nucleus, ion tail, dust tail, and coma, this one had rings—axial and concentric rings around its axis and nucleus.
It was as if the rings of Saturn had been stolen and placed around the nucleus of the comet, then those rings had been copied and dragged along countless times from the nucleus to the end of the dust tail.
'Grandfather, how many times does this make?' Luxena asked, her hands poised and extended forward, pointing at the comet.
Aragorn, hugging her from behind so that his arms and hands were worn like an exoskeleton over Luxena's, replied, 'We started roughly 70,000 years ago, so this will be the 945th ring.'
From his heart, void energy flowed richly into his chest. From his chest, it flowed with an uncanny calm only Aragorn could command upon it. It filled his arms, then his hands, and finally exited onto Luxena's hands in the form of her divinity.
Luxena then took command over this faux divinity and mixed it with hers. Then, slowly, another ring began to bloom along the comet's dust tail.
'Why would you need this much firepower?' Luxena asked.
'You never know when you'll need to erase a dimension and I'm not around,' Aragorn replied. He was enjoying the feeling of Luxena's downy fox tails wrapped around his legs and midsection, as well as the soft caressing of her ears at the sides of his face, and he rested his chin on the top of her head.
'Could this truly erase a dimension? A dimension could be as massive as a universe, no?' Luxena queried.
'The spells we've been loading on it are not for show. And although a dimension can match in size a universe, the "stuff" that makes up a universe is sterner than what makes up a dimension. Hence, it's simpler to blow up a dimension than a universe,' Aragorn explained.
'But if this were to detonate, how much destruction would it cause?' Luxena asked.
'Maybe... 0.89% of my universe, which is about 1.21% of this universe,' Aragorn responded with total calm.
'... What?! That's a lot. 1.21% of a universe is a number not many can grasp,' Luxena said.
'Maybe from your stand, it looks like a lot, but when I fought the Goblin Force—before she reversed time—we had destroyed about 3% of my universe while I was doing my best to contain her,' Aragorn said.
'... That's a scale I can't grasp,' Luxena confessed.
'You'll get there, eventually. Your growth isn't capped. Once you reach the ceiling of divinity, you'll have to jump on another path and keep moving forward,' Aragorn said.
'For now... Nine Tails is the objective,' Luxena said. She reclined back and rested her head on Aragorn's chest.
'Take your time. I'll make sure you have enough to grow at your own pace,' Aragorn said while sharing his :Love:.
'Thank you, Grandfather,' Luxena replied in kind.
170 CE...
Aragorn was seated in front of the current Roman Emperor, Marcus Aurelius Antoninus Augustus. About a year ago, there had been another co-ruler, his adoptive brother, but he had passed away.
Marcus Aurelius' face was marred with a solemn expression. It also carried an air of pleading. This was not a surprise, for he was doing exactly that: pleading.
"Aquila, my request shouldn't conflict with your neutrality. My request is nothing more than for you to heal my ailing people," Marcus Aurelius said.
"The problem is not about the act of healing, it's about the quantity. You have a plague of severe smallpox going on. The amount of healing I would have to do is much more than I would like to dedicate my time to," Aragorn answered.
"Smallpox? Is that the name of the ailment?" the emperor asked.
"Yes. Also, it's not so hard to find a solution to fight the spread of the ailment, is it?" Aragorn said, nonchalantly.
"It might appear so in your greatness' eyes, but in my mortal ones, the ailment is as terrible as a curse," Marcus Aurelius said.
"Not really. You've identified already that the ailment can be passed from person to person, right?" Aragorn asked.
"Yes, Aquila. It is as you say," Marcus Aurelius nodded.
"Then, even without my healing, if you want to slow down the spread or limit it, isn't the answer logical?" Aragorn asked.
"..." Marcus Aurelius remained silent for a moment, connecting the pieces of the puzzle. "Isolation, is it?"
"Yes. Just keep your distance from each other and isolate those sickened. It won't heal you, but at least it should prevent the healthy from getting sick... somewhat," Aragorn said.
"That's... impossible in some areas, but doable in other fields," Marcus Aurelius replied, his face now an expression of deep thinking.
"It doesn't work for all diseases, mind you. Don't go isolating anyone sick just based on what I told you. But for the ailments that spread, it works pretty well most of the time," Aragorn added.
Marcus Aurelius thanked Aragorn profusely, and then Aragorn went away. He had knowledge to collect, humans to heal, and a Selene to annoy!
185 CE...
A supernova graced Earth's sky with its shine. Selene and Hestia were by his side. They were in China, ruled by the Han Dynasty.
"It's been there for almost six fucking months!" Selene exclaimed. "You've stared enough!"
"Fufuf!" Hestia chuckled. "Aragorn, didn't you say that you normally gaze upon the supernovas of the universe?"
"Yeah, but they're all pretty," Aragorn replied. "I like the way they shine."
"You're insufferable!" Selene complained.
Later that year, Aragorn and his two goddesses made their way back to Rome through the Silk Route.
"阿奇拉 (Āqílā), is it acceptable to have one so esteemed as yourselves as the hired force for my caravan?" Zhang Lü asked with a nervous cadence to his tone.
"Zhang Lü, it was part of a deal I made with your emperor. In exchange for permission to copy your sericulture journals, I was to help you reach Daqin and return safe and sound," Aragorn replied.
Aragorn was floating by the side of the window of Zhang Lü's carriage as he spoke. He was currently assuming the shape of an eastern dragon, about the size of a Titanoboa. On his back, like lazy sloths, Hestia and Selene lay belly down, comfortably resting.
In this era, sericulture was a state secret across all of China, and it wouldn't be until the 6th century that some monks under the directive of Justinian I would bring silkworms outside China for the first time. This was the reason the current emperor was opposed to Aragorn copying their knowledge.
With Aragorn's promise that the knowledge wouldn't make it outside China due to fault of his own, and that he would escort one of their trusted merchants to Daqin (Rome), Aragorn gained unrestricted access to the Han Empire's knowledge.
Naturally, Aragorn had no obligation to this, but since the Chinese Pantheon was still operating strongly and Hestia didn't like conflict, Aragorn chose the diplomatic approach.
"I understand, Aqila... At least I understand the motivations. However, I can't wrap my head around having one of your standing as my escort. Not to mention your beautiful companions," Zhang Lü said.
"Don't mind it. Unless someone is actively trying to annoy us, we are quite the tame monsters," Aragorn said.
"Impossible!" Zhang Lü declared. "I don't presume to brag in front of you, Aqila, but my nation boasts of historical information like no other. I can say with certainty that this is the first time in known history that you escort someone. The pressure on my shoulders is immense!"
"In a way, you're right," Aragorn said.
Currently, the caravan was making its way through the Taklamakan Desert. This was considered a place of no return. With temperatures high enough to cook eggs, an absence of water measured in decades, an absence of vegetation to contend with Antarctica, and worst of all, an area of 'Close Doors.'
Close Doors areas were a globally acknowledged designation for those zones where Obelisks held signage that read 'Closed'. These were the type of Obelisks that either were not hollowed or were simply closed. Most of these areas were located in places that saw little to no transit—deserts, high peaks, oceans, and sometimes even dense forests.
Normally, crossing through the Taklamakan Desert was an impossibility for the era—and it would remain so even into the late 20th century. However, with Aragorn, Hestia, and Selene by their side, the route posed as much difficulty as reaching the moon did for Aragorn.
Making way past the sandy nomadic dunes and resting in the Obelisks when the extreme temperatures—scorching at day, freezing at night—were too much for the humans to bear, the caravan made its way to the Shule Kingdom—modern-day Kashgar. Not before encountering some of the unluckiest bandits ever.
They were not the unluckiest because, along the way, the caravan had encountered—and would encounter—more bandits.
"Chose, slavery or death," Aragorn's voice reached the ears but not the minds of the panicking bandits.
Each of them had their weapons held against their throats by Selene's telekinesis. They were fighting to escape, but an unseen hold kept them in place.
"Should I take your silence as death?" Aragorn asked.
"N-No!" Shouts and pleas came in droves.
"Move to the end of the caravan. That's where the 'voluntary' slaves are," Aragorn instructed.
"Do you want to bet on how many will try to escape thinking they are unsupervised?" Selene asked Hestia.
"That's morbid," Hestia replied. "... Two if none of the senior 'voluntary' slaves inform them," she added after a moment of thought.
"I say three if no one tells them," Selene said. "I want to drink from the tap," she licked her lips while seductively eyeing Hestia's neck.
"You shall lend me your buttocks as stress relief if I win," Hestia eyed Selene's butt as a child does a toy.
Later that night, two of the new voluntary slaves died in an explosion of gore after attempting to escape while everyone slept inside an Obelisk—the bandits were kept outside.
Slap! "Ah! Have mercy!" Selene cried as Hestia slapped her butt with a decadent smile.
"Are you an S?" Aragorn asked. With his eyes, he could see past Selene's clothing at her reddening buttcheeks.
"No, I just like how it wiggles. It also helps me release stress. Sometimes I wish I had blessed my siblings with a few spanks in their youth," Hestia replied with a smirk.
Slap "Ah! You're gonna awaken something in me!" Selene's pleas fell on deaf ears.
Aragorn chuckled at them.
Eventually, a few years after the start of their journey, the caravan made it to Rome.
In Rome, they parted ways momentarily while Zhang Lü went to sell paper and silk to then buy Roman glassware. Aragorn and the S&M goddesses located the Court Physician Aelius Galenus, most commonly known simply as Galen.
Galen's work in medicine would be the point of reference for about one thousand years to come, so Aragorn wanted to copy his works.
Galen was honored. In fact, getting your works copied by Aragorn and Hestia for safekeeping was considered one—if not the—highest honor.
A few months later, Zhang Lü was ready to depart back to the Han Empire. At a later date, Zhang Lü would publish a journal about his journey with Aragorn and the goddesses. This would become one of the most important pieces of history and literary works, as no other piece about the life of a mortal next to Aragorn with such detail would ever be made.
203 CE...
In Carthage—modern-day Tunisia—Aragorn and Hestia stood outside a crowded prison cell, under the disbelieving eyes of battered, famished, suffocating, and aching prisoners—mostly Christians.
The guards were initially just as surprised as the prisoners, though now they lay on the floor, unconscious.
While holding Hestia's hand, Aragorn walked forward, their bodies phasing through the bars of the prison. The crowd—those capable of movement—parted way for the pair, and soon they found themselves in front of a woman giving birth in those unfavorable conditions.
"A-Aquila?" the woman helping the mother give birth voiced out.
The woman giving birth while chained could only wail amidst the unmeasurable agony.
"When are you due for execution?" Aragorn asked. He crouched next to the wailing woman and grabbed her hand; instantly, her pain seemed to vanish.
"In a few days," the helping woman replied.
"A-Are you here to help my child, Aquila?" the mother asked, her breath ragged.
"I'm here on her request," Aragorn pointed with his tail at Hestia.
Hestia was not crying, but that was the only tell missing in her sad expression of her inner turmoil.
"I'm sorry, I don't know your name, my child's savior," the mother said.
"Hestia, but most call me Vesta these days. What's yours, child?" Hestia asked, her voice as soft and pained as her heart.
"Felicity," the mother replied. Hestia turned to the helping woman in askance, and this one said, "Perpetua, my lady. That's my name."
"Felicity, can we have your child?" Hestia asked. "We don't interfere in mortal affairs, and something tells me that you welcome your deaths," Hestia lifted her eyes and gazed at the terrified yet determined prisoners. "But all mothers must care about their babies."
Felicity lowered her face in thought for a moment before raising her eyes to match Hestia's. "Thank you," was all she said.
A few days later, with a newborn in Hestia's arms, Aragorn and she witnessed as the prisoners were served to a mad cow, a leopard, and a bear for a public execution. The beasts mauled the prisoners, but even then, some survived. The guards lined them up and killed them one by one.
Perpetua guided the trembling sword of her executioner to her throat.
"Madness," Aragorn commented. "Fucking fanatic madness."
"..." Hestia remained silent at Aragorn's remark.
"Fucking Christians," Aragorn said. "All the work that is needed for them to be able to exist, only for them to throw it all away under the banner of collective madness and zealotry known as 'Martyrdom.'"
"You speak with disgust, Aragorn," Hestia remarked.
"Yeah, maybe a little. It's just all nonsensical to me. Jesus wouldn't want this, nor the other two. This only serves 'Christianity,'" Aragorn spat. "But, oh well, what can be done? This is why I hate most religions."
"Isn't the Imperium a form of theocracy?" Hestia asked, her eyes on the baby in her arms.
"Our religion quite literally tells them not to be idiots. The Divinicon is basically a book to teach the Duskari what we consider idiocy. We have no use for your deaths, we have no use for other Duskari deaths, don't do atrocities in our names, you're not to interpret our will, you can ask what's unclear, we can be mistaken, people change with the passage of eras, so don't blindly believe what's written in this book, and so on and so forth.
"The Divinicon was created with the foresight that mortals are idiotic fools. Our religion is more of a spiritual recommendation, nothing as sickening as this," Aragorn pointed at the last fallen Christian.
"I don't have where to stand," Hestia said. "My religion brought little else other than negatives."
"..."
"..."
Hestia and Aragorn sighed in defeat. A moment later, all the Christian corpses burned brightly in a warm golden flame. Aragorn decided to at least burn them with his flames.
The baby stayed with them for a few weeks until her Duskarian family was ready to welcome her.
258 CE...
Hestia, Selene, and Aragorn watched as the crowd cheered and celebrated while a man was roasted alive on a gridiron.
"T-Turn me over; I'm done on this side," the man said amidst gritted teeth and agony.
"..."
"..."
"..."
Aragorn and the goddesses looked at each other and then nodded. "Madness," they agreed.
304 CE...
The last and most severe Christian persecution was happening.
"And you say these pitiful guys will be the ones doing the hurting in less than a century from now?" Hestia asked.
"Mhmm," Selene and Aragorn nodded at the same time.
"..." Hestia had no words.
306 CE...
The first Christian Roman Emperor is crowned, Constantine the Great.
"Ah, I understand it now," Hestia voiced out. "They gained power and then used that power to oust others, just like they were ousted themselves!"
"Pretty much," Aragorn said.
"Yeah, they are even more effective than the Romans were to them," Selene added. "In a few years, anything not 'Holy' will be deemed pagan."
Just as Selene had said, when the rule of Emperor Theodosius I came—379 CE—he made Nicene Christianity the state religion, banned 'pagan' practices, and ordered the closure or destruction of many temples and philosophical schools.
When the order was passed, at that same moment, millions upon millions of tomes of knowledge, pagan or not, flew as if by will of their own to the nearest Obelisk.
This infuriated the emperor, but a Dragon Ore Pillar in the Palace of Caligula quickly shut down whatever desire for a fight there was in his heart.
"Aw, you won't act out?" Aragorn's disappointed voice reached the Imperial Chamber, echoing sharply in everybody's ears.
Theodosius I immediately tried to stand up and turn around to face the source, only for a pair of clawed hands to forcibly sit him down by his shoulders. A warm, scaly appendage wrapped around his neck and forced him to face forward.
He couldn't see the assailant, but he didn't need to in order to recognize it was Aragorn. His trusted men, the ones he was facing, were all unconscious with their vacant eyes frozen open.
"I must confess, I'm disappointed. I was already imagining myself and the Roman Empire locked in battle... Well... there's not much battle to be had with that matching, is there?" Aragorn's voice came like a whisper to his soul.
"Anyway, I just dropped by to kill you if you had ordered your followers against me," Aragorn chuckled. Each chuckle grated in the emperor's bones.
"You should be grateful, I rid your empire of the pagan's knowledge," Aragorn lifted one hand from his shoulder and then condescendingly petted his head in a deliberate motion.
"Remember your place in the food chain, human," Aragorn disappeared with his warning. The emperor's confidants restarted as if nothing had happened.
390 CE...
Imagine a rectangle from the inside. Imagine this rectangle is so tall that even from the center looking upward, no end can be seen. Imagine the inner walls of this rectangle are populated by bookshelves piled upon bookshelves, with only the occasional beam of light breaking through from openings to the outside.
In the center of this hollowed rectangle, there's a spiral stairway as tall as the unmeasurable height of the structure. From this stairway, bridges branch out to each level of the structure.
In this rectangle, light comes from the free-floating sparks of ethereal light and the openings that give way to the outside. These openings are the balconies of the Libralisk. Each balcony is isolated from the atmosphere of the outside world by a hard-light dome. Each of these balconies is a fully equipped room for whatever manner of studying is required: from simple reading, industrial drawing, chemical experimentation, mechanical essays, dissection, and artistical composition, to even the most basic of needed necessities such as sleep and eating.
There are three types of recordings in the Libralisk. There are the original copies—copies of the original works down to the molecular level. This includes steles, murals, vases, rock slabs, papyrus, and other more primitive knowledge-keeping formats.
There are the originals—works that would have been lost due to targeted or accidental destruction.
Lastly, there are the books. These are faithful transcriptions of the knowledge in the copies and originals, from both inside and outside the Libralisk. These are not regular books, though. For the following millennia, paper will be the primary form of recording, but in the future, paper will become obsolete and humanity will migrate to the e-format.
Aragorn, with the foresight of a thinking being with knowledge of the future, created these special books that are compatible with all forms of data transfer within the electromagnetic spectrum—to ensure that no matter the era, the knowledge in the books will be easily accessible.
Currently, Aragorn, Selene, Hestia, and the LibrarianSelf were on the topmost floor of the Libralisk enjoying some flan Seraph sent their way—a new recipe.
"I need to recruit people for the Libralisk," LibrarianSelf said.
"Is it not enough with just you?" Selene asked, her eyes sparkling at the sweetness of the dessert.
"It is, but the objective of the Libralisk is not to become a vault," Aragorn replied.
"If I want to grant access to the knowledge within this structure to humanity, they are going to need capable people to operate the Libralisk for when I'm no longer here," LibrarianSelf continued.
"And I was thinking of maybe claiming this island and making it the default center of breakthroughs," Aragorn added.
"Breakthroughs?" Hestia asked.
"Medical."
"Technological."
"Technical."
"Metallurgical."
"Polymers and other materials."
"Art."
"Military stratagem."
"Weaponry."
"Aerospace."
Aragorn and LibrarianSelf alternately began to name fields of knowledge.
"—Hey!" Selene interrupted them. Their eyes turned to her. "Why are the two of yourselves eating flan?" Selene's eyes narrowed in hostility.
"Obviously because Seraph is my daughter and I take precedence over you," Aragorn said with a hmph!
"She clearly sent an additional portion for me," LibrarianSelf claimed with a condescending grin.
"... Fuck you," Selene weakly murmured, then went back to her flan.
"Are you trying to make something like an erudite country?" Hestia asked.
"I don't know if I should call it a country, because I have little motivation to enter the political fray of Earth. So I was thinking of a place to congregate great minds and give them the opportunity to reach their full potential with the best tools available," Aragorn explained.
"And it would accept anyone from any origin?" Hestia queried, interested in the prospect.
"So long as they aren't outright hostile to the world, yes," LibrarianSelf affirmed.
"I find this idea wonderful," Hestia beamed in approval.
"Why are you doing this, Boss?" Selene asked.
"I've gotten so much from this world's humanity—especially in the form of souls and the seed group for the Duskari—that I feel somewhat ashamed if I don't return some of the gains," LibrarianSelf replied.
"And I know I can come across as racist to humanity, but I don't hate them—I usually don't care about them. So, just as I could go and slaughter them all without regret, I can also create something like the Libralisk and this project without a motivation of importance other than repayment," Aragorn concluded.
"Mmmm, I see," Selene muttered. "You're more benign than I gave you credit for," she nodded as if affirming something to herself, "then I want in!"
"In?" Aragorn asked. Hestia mirrored his confusion.
"I have no believers, and the vampires of our Earth are still far away and not a done deal. I could locate these great minds for you, offer them immortality through vampirism at the end of their lives, and then gather them here for you," Selene explained her idea.
"Won't that make the level of this island greatly differ from that of the outside world?" Hestia asked.
If, let's say, Selene turns Isaac Newton into a vampire at the end of his life—after he had fulfilled his role to the Sacred Timeline—and then brings him over to the island while having done so for every great thinker of the past, won't the technological level of this island surpass that of Wakanda in a few centuries?
And since the idea was to grant free access to the Libralisk and the island to humanity, won't that mean they'd be uplifting humanity? These were Hestia's concerns.
"We can put a ban on the knowledge," LibrarianSelf said.
"Not outright ban it, but only make the discoveries available outside the island upon their discovery, and fully release everything upon our departure," Aragorn explained.
"Like only releasing knowledge about steam engines once they are invented?" Selene asked.
"Yes," Aragorn affirmed.
"It would still greatly benefit humanity, but we won't be uplifting them," LibrarianSelf added.
"Mmmm... Yeah, that could work," Selene nodded.
"Then we should start looking for the first vampire, right?" Hestia's eyes lit up with excitement.
Aragorn and LibrarianSelf chuckled at her enthusiasm. It was clear that Hestia was excited because, in her eyes, Selene was going to expand their family—after all, Hestia saw Selene as one of her family members.
400 CE...
They were in the Gupta Empire—later known as India—for the official wedding of Sersi and Ikaris. 'Official' because, since long ago, the Drachantheon Therion considered them married.
Irina, Mindee, Bucky and his wives, Seraph, Jean, and several others of the Drachantheon Therion who were close to the Eternals were in attendance.
The Therions, as excessive as their dragon, piled gift upon gift for the couple. Sersi nearly lost it when she found Aragorn quietly chuckling at her discomfort with the opulence of the presents.
"Did you tell them to go overboard with the wedding gifts?" Sprite, held against her will in Aragorn's arms like a child, asked.
"No, no, that's tradition. We tend to splurge on presents. These were actually quite tame. Normally we gift things that rank in planetary value," Aragorn replied.
"... You guys are mental," Sprite said with a lost look in her eyes.
Later that evening, Death joined the celebration and brought out a particular drink to share. It was a blood-red liquid in a bottle with a golden snake for a cap. The thing exuded danger, and were the Eternals capable of sensing emotions, they would have felt the dread the Therions were oozing upon sight of the bottle.
The only one who noticed was Druig, but he had been previously bribed to keep his silence.
The next day, some interesting couplings awoke in despair. They all shouted Aragorn and Death's names, both in their hearts and with the power of their lungs.
415 CE...
For the past decades, there had been plenty of impressive minds, yet, to date, none that pleased Selene enough to grant them the privilege of becoming her first vampire—first after her apotheosis, and not those from Earth-5H1N3. That changed a few years back when Aragorn mentioned a personage quite notorious in the current era.
However, it was not that simple to ensnare a smart human with the promise of gothic immortality—AKA vampirism. For one, smart people don't go making shady deals with shady entities, do they? Much less accept eternal life in exchange for uncompromising servitude.
"This would be easier if you were the one offering," Selene grumbled. "These humans trust you almost unconditionally."
"You shouldn't be complaining," Aragorn replied. "It's only going to get harder from here on, now that monotheism is on the rise. Vampires are unholy, after all."
"Is that why you inserted yourself in their mythos?" Selene asked.
"Yeah. To them, I'm an apostle, sometimes messenger of God, and the collector of souls fallen outside homes," Aragorn replied.
"Do they still not know that you also collect souls of those departed within homes?" Selene scoffed.
"Well, they can catch glimpses of my SplitSelves on the battlefields, and since I stealthily collect souls when they are surrounded by their loved ones, they have no choice but to assume that I only take the souls of those dying outside," Aragorn explained. "It fits well with the belief of God being among them in their homes."
"You used to be very open about collecting souls. What happened to that? Don't they have any evidence of it?" Selene asked.
"There are some wall paintings and a few other pieces of evidence left from those times, but since the drawings only showed me next to the departed, they assumed it was symbolism or sporadic instances," Aragorn shrugged.
They were in Alexandria, cloaked from mortal sight, observing and trailing behind a woman known as Hypatia. Philosopher, mathematician, and astronomer, she was a symbol of classical reason and scholarly learning.
The problem was that Alexandria was a hotbed of tension among pagans (still present in academic and elite circles), Christians (increasingly dominant as the city was under Roman rule), and Jews (who had a strong population and presence).
In this boiling pot, there was Bishop Cyril, Patriarch of Alexandria, and Orestes, the Roman governor of Egypt, who was more tolerant of pagan and Jewish traditions.
Orestes and Hypatia were close, with the former turning to the latter for consultation on several occasions.
Everything about Hypatia screamed conflict with her surrounding world, through no fault of her own.
Christian teachings of the time emphasized modesty, seclusion, and silence for women in public life. Women were expected to refrain from teaching men, speaking in public assemblies, or occupying civic positions of influence (per 1 Timothy 2:12).
Hypatia was famously celibate but not a Christian nun. Celibacy outside Christian religious frameworks—especially without submission to male spiritual authority—was suspect, even threatening. She embraced philosophical purity (the Platonic ideal of rational detachment), rather than the Christian ideal of virginity in service to Christ.
Lastly, she taught Neoplatonism, a philosophical system that incorporated pagan metaphysics and rejected Christian doctrine.
During a time when the Church was consolidating power, this made her a target—not just politically, but ideologically. And with her supporting Governor Orestes, Bishop Cyril saw it fit to manipulate the masses and have his faithful rid Alexandria of the one he saw as a stain.
Selene, in hopes of getting closer to Hypatia, had become somewhat of a secret friend to her, only approaching Hypatia when in solitude and privacy.
During one of those secret sessions of friendship, Selene said, "You're going to die tomorrow."
This made Hypatia pause for a moment. "Bishop Cyril?" she asked.
"You'll be accused of sorcery and manipulating Orestes with pagan magic to keep him from aligning with the Church," Selene said with a nod. "He'll have the Parabalani carry out his will."
"So much for their official task of caring for the sick and burying the dead," Hypatia scoffed, with some powerlessness to her.
The Parabalani were a group that, as Hypatia said, was tasked with caring for the sick and burying the dead, but in later years, the benevolent idea of the group had turned into a zealot organization acting as violent enforcers for Bishop Cyril.
"Selene, why have you brought this up?" Hypatia asked.
"It's time you accept my proposal," Selene curtly instructed.
"Ah, how could I forget that my apparent companion has always vied for my eternal servitude?" Hypatia dramatically remarked.
"What's there to overthink, Hypatia?" Selene asked. "You'll get access to knowledge and tools others can't even imagine. And have I mentioned eternity?"
"All in exchange for my servitude, at the cost of drinking blood like a bat—and let's not forget I won't be able to walk out in the open during the day," Hypatia remarked.
"You're so complicated," Selene groaned. "How about I show you what awaits you?"
"How would you?" Hypatia asked, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Selene had explained to her what vampires were, and as far as she remembered, there were no prophetic abilities in the slew of perks.
"I wouldn't, but my boss could show you," Selene said.
"Boss? So there's also a figure above you," Hypatia remarked.
"Yes, Aquila," Selene said.
"Aquila!" Hypatia exclaimed, shocked by the information.
As Selene had said a few centuries ago, without telecommunications, it was almost impossible to hear news from around the world. This was why, even after so long of Selene accompanying Aragorn, not all knew about her association with him.
Selene glared softly in displeasure. "You should be equally surprised to have met me."
"It's different, Selene. Aquila is an enigmatic figure from before the birth of civilization, as far as is known. Aquila has also met Plato—I base my teachings on his works. I can't even begin to grasp the amount of wisdom that can be peered from just his presence," Hypatia spoke with an upbeat tone that no woman who had just been told she was going to die should have.
"No, not much wisdom to peer into. Maybe just about shiny things and fluffy ones," Selene murmured under her breath. "Anyway, do you want to see what awaits you or not?" Selene, fed up with Hypatia's skepticism, said.
Without giving much thought to the matter, Hypatia readily agreed.
Selene tapped her P-Link, and shortly after, Aragorn appeared from a portal.
"Hello there," Aragorn greeted Hypatia.
"It's an honor to exchange words with you, Aquila," Hypatia humbly greeted.
"... Okay," Aragorn said while turning to Selene questioningly.
"Let's get this over with," Selene's reply came out almost like a groan.
"How will you show me my death, Aquila?" Hypatia asked.
Aragorn replied by pulling a Hypatia from his storage. It was a soulless clone built from a sample Selene had acquired for him. Down to the most minimal imperfection—even her clothing—the clone mimicked Hypatia.
"Think of it as a husk that looks and acts like you," Aragorn said to the wide-eyed woman from the 5th century who had just been introduced to the concept of cloning.
The next day, CloneHypatia went on with Hypatia's life as if she were her. In the Mirror Dimension, the continuously astounded Hypatia observed with her supernatural companions as the clone traveled in her chariot.
Suddenly, she was ambushed by a Christian mob led by a deacon. They dragged her from her vehicle and pulled her through the streets to a nearby church—the Caesareum—which had been converted into a Christian site. Coincidentally, this was the headquarters of Bishop Cyril.
Inside the church, they stripped Hypatia naked, defiling her before the Christian altar. The mob then flayed her alive—they used roof tiles or oyster shells to scrape the skin and flesh from her body slowly.
This was not meant to be a clean execution—it was extended, excruciating, ritualized torture meant to humiliate her intellectually, morally, and physically.
After she died from the mutilation—more exactly, the pain—her body was dismembered. The mob carried her remains out of the city to a place called Cinaron, a rubbish heap, and burned them—a symbolic erasure of her legacy.
"In case you want to know, Bishop Cyril would be deemed a saint after his death," Aragorn said, rubbing salt in the wound.
Hypatia was already minutes into crying in Selene's arms after the clone was first stripped and flayed.
"Shut it, Boss," Selene glared.
Aragorn tactlessly shrugged.
That night, after Hypatia had cried as much as her body could afford, she entered Selene's House and became her first vampire. She was already a 60-year-old woman, but after her conversion, her body returned to its peak.
Like Selene's, her skin became alabaster white, and she emerged supernaturally beautiful from her blood cocoon.
"I wonder what would happen if you turn a black human," were Aragorn's first words after Hypatia's transformation.
"That's what's on your mind?" Selene hit him with her best 'really?' look.
"I mean, you were already very white, and I initially assumed it was because blood stopped flowing under your skin, but upon closer inspection, it was a result of your image of vampires as pale beings," Aragorn said.
"Aquila has a point, My Lady," Hypatia interjected. "Would an Aethiops turn white like an albino with natural Aethiopsian characteristics, would their skin become fairer, or maybe nothing would change?" Hypatia spoke with the intonation of a scholarly woman. {It's a plausible word an Alexandrian woman could use to refer to some of the black people in Africa.}
"If it were just about conceptual factors, they would definitely turn albino," Aragorn engaged with Hypatia in a discussion.
"I'm interested in learning more about these conceptual factors, Aquila," Hypatia said. She ignored even the fact that she was very much naked after stumbling out of her cocoon of blood.
"Sure, now that you're part of Selene's racist vampire house, I don't mind enlightening you with The Truth," Aragorn chuckled.
To all of this, Selene couldn't help but gaze in horror at their interaction. She realized how compatible 'great minds' were with Aragorn, and how the insanity of a 'great mind' synchronized in harmony with 'Insanity Incarnate.' After all, no great mind was sane.
With the addition of Hypatia to Selene's house, Selene separated from Aragorn's trio. There was much that needed to be taught to Hypatia, and also mortals that needed to be recruited to man the island.
With the addition of these mortals to the Libralisk island, Hestia separated from the group as well, since she wanted to have a break from all the bloodshed of the 'old continent' while still helping Aragorn's cause. Her self-imposed role would be to lead the mortals.
Aragorn returned to trodding the planet alone. Well... he was never alone when Death—the Death in her realm—always kept in contact with him.
452 CE...
'My Love, why is it that you need to deal with this mortal yourself?' Death's love-dripping voice echoed in Aragorn's mind.
'So... I blame Selene, but the real culprit is the butterfly effect,' Aragorn replied.
All around him, there was death—not Death, death in minuscule. Mangled corpses, rotten corpses, and near-corpse bodies of technically alive humans but effectively dead.
Aside from the dead, Aragorn's SplitSelves were also collecting souls while in visible mode. He was putting on a show.
Attila the Hun had just finished his mid-afternoon daily slaughter, but just before moving to the next city to slaughter en route to Rome, his men informed him of Aragorn's presence—and it was hard to miss the entity whose stealthiest feature was the cloak that appeared woven from space, said cloak which shone bright with stars in it.
Historically, Emperor Valentinian III sent a delegation to negotiate, led by Pope Leo I, accompanied by high-ranking Roman officials to deal with Attila. Again, historically, Pope Leo I persuaded Attila to turn back.
(Valentinian III)
(Leo I)
Legends would have claimed Attila saw a vision of Saints Peter and Paul threatening him behind the pope. Others suggest logistical issues, disease in his army, and the threat of a Byzantine attack on his rear might have also played a role. But...
'Hypatia asked Selene to mar Bishop Cyril's reputation after her rebirth as a racist vampire, the stupid butterfly flapped its wings, and now, Pope Leo I is about to prevent Attila's future death,' Aragorn said. He hovered closer to the approaching figure of the Horse Warlord Attila.
'How?' Death asked.
'Attila's death was meant to be due to suffocation in his blood in his sleep thanks to a burst blood vessel in his nose. Now the talks with Pope Leo I will take long enough to prevent his death by a series of coincidences.
'Because the talks will take longer, his future campaigns will be pushed further, and because of that, the day he would have burst a blood vessel—about a year from now—will not coincide with a time he is passed out drunk, ergo saving his life,' Aragorn explained.
'But won't this affect your stand of neutrality, My Love?' Death asked. 'It could be interpreted as you protecting Rome.'
'No, I'll just speak some ancestor bullshit and nudge Attila into returning to his steppe,' Aragorn claimed. 'That should facilitate the pope's talks.'
Like a sage, Aragorn stood calm beneath the shadow of Attila's war-banner, cloak stirring in the scorched winds of death. His voice, neither loud nor timid, flowed like a slow river through the silence of the Hun's war entourage.
"Rex of the Huns of the Endless Steppe… you have thundered across the land like a fire sent by Heaven itself. Cities kneel. Rivers part. The eagle of Rome flutters, broken-winged. But even dragons, in flight, must pause to breathe."
Translation: Bruh, look at the fucking mess you've made. How many cities have you fucked up? The Roman Empire was already fucked up and you fucked it more. Maybe you should take a break.
Aragorn stepped closer, eyes fixed not on the warlord but on the horizon. An air of mysticism and ethereality that only an entity such as himself could carry.
"The land grows thin. The hooves of your horses beat dust from soil that no longer feeds them. Your warriors—proud and fierce—now dream uneasy dreams and cough in the night. Illness rides behind your banners as if it, too, is part of your host."
Translation: Are you fucking blind, bruh? You are running low on food for your men and feed for your horses. Feeding this many ain't easy, is it? Look at your men—half of them are as hungry as their horses, the other half is sick!
Aragorn picked up a fallen feather—that wasn't there at the beginning of the conversation—from the ground and studied it.
"To chase the lion too deep into its cave is to risk the bite of another beast. A wise general counts not only victories, but the shadow of his own absence."
Translation: You fucking idiot! The Byzantium you defeated before is now eyeing your sickened and hungry army. It's only a matter of time before they plant it in your rear like a man who leaned down to pick up the fallen soap in prison! Then Rome is going to join and you'll get yourself spit-roasted like a slut!
He let the feather go. It drifted on the wind—a wind that wasn't there before and apparently only affected the feather in question.
"Some storms end not with thunder, but with a turning breeze. The wind shifts, Rex of the Huns. Will you ride with it… or against it?"
Translation: Idiot! Are you trying to die in battle, or would you rather you and your men live another day? Just turn back, bruh! Your fucking mess is affecting me and I would rather not fuck you up real good and send you packing to your mommas!
Like a mirage, Aragorn and his SplitSelves disappeared from the pensive gaze of Attila and the utterly confused stares of his men who only knew battle and horses.
'How was it? Was it ancestorly and enigmatic with the perfect blend of wizened and young appeal for these young'ns?' Aragorn asked.
'My Love,' Death chuckled. 'You know I love you without end, right?'
'Of course, Noona. I love you just as much,' Aragorn replied in a beat.
'Good. Let's talk about that,' Death said.
Aragorn was not about to argue about the abrupt topic shift. If there was any conversation topic aside from shine and fluff he would never turn down, it was love.
A few days later, Attila and the Roman envoys met, Pope Leo I among them.
Their talks went as smoothly as they were meant to, and Attila and his men retreated. Just like that, the campaign of terror of the horse warlord ended. Most of the credit would be coined to Pope Leo I, but a few centuries later, a passage containing Aragorn's words to Attila would come to light.
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OC Character Sheet #7
Mindee Millie Fulgebunt Draconis
Race: Homobestialis Magicae Canin
Beast: White Fox
Tails: 8 Silver White Tails.
Ears: Silver White
Hair: White
Eyes: Blue
Affinity: Light and Illusions
Divinity: Goddess of Iridescence and Order
Background:
Mindee is the result of the Weapon-XIV program—part of the Weapon Plus Program. The original program was designed by John Sublime as an alternative to mutant extermination. The plan consisted of using a psionic pulse born from a thousand telepathic mutants of omega-level power to wipe out the mutant race.
There were several problems with this plan. First of all, Emma, the gene donor, was not an omega-level mutant as Sublime had initially estimated. Second, the genome degeneration was faster than Essex and Sublime had expected, so the clones couldn't last long enough to be taught how to wield their powers. Lastly, before a cure for her genome degeneration could be found, Essex shifted his attention to his personal project: the Summers-Grey child.
After a visit to one of Nathaniel Essex's clinics, thousands of eggs were extracted from Emma Frost—Emma Fulgebunt Draconis these days. These eggs would later become the seeds for the growth of 1237 clones.
These clones were technically Emma's daughters—maternally and paternally—her clones, and her twin sisters. The clones were born with a degenerative genome defect, which meant that the older they became, the more their genome was corrupted.
Each time a clone perished, through the connection they shared, its consciousness would migrate to the next clone. By the time Mindee—the last clone—was found, her mind housed 1236 of her sisters.
By the time Mindee was found, mentally she was six years old. Physically, she appeared about as old as a young schoolgirl—due to poor nutrition and the genome degeneration it was hard to tell, but somewhere between 8–11 years old—and the age of her body was less than a year.
However, she already had plenty of experience with a grown-up body because not all of the clones had similar physical ages. The ages ranged between 5 to 20 years old.
Personality:
Initially, due to her botched uprising, Mindee was an inexpressive girl. Most of her emotions were muted—similar to Aragorn's—because what the main thought stream felt—the original mind to her clone body—was dissected by the other 1236 thought streams, which meant that her emotions were processed 1236 times before she experienced them.
This did not mean she was emotionless, because should an event impress all stream thoughts, then the unfiltered impression would reach the main thought stream raw, but it made it difficult for her to truly experience a wide emotional range.
This problem was easily fixed by Aragorn shortly after he repaired her genome degeneration. Emma then further helped Mindee process her emotions and taught her how empaths deal with feelings.
In the overbearing care and love of a society of empaths—such as the one in Halo—Mindee slowly but smoothly grew out of her shell to become an empathetic and affectionate girl.
This tenderness of hers clashed with her princess persona, so under the guidance of her mother, she learned how to have a Private Mindee and a Princess Mindee self.
Traits and Quirks:
Initially, she referred to herself as 'we' due to her multiple thought streams, but as her minds integrated and became part of a whole, she began to refer to herself as 'I'.
Even before the time Aragorn evolved her and she gained the adaptability mutation, Mindee could imitate the sleep cycle of dolphins by putting to rest half of her minds and leaving the other half alert.
She halted her physical growth at an earlier time than her mother's apparent age. This was not to spite Emma, but because she saw that she was growing to be a faithful copy of her mother. She didn't dislike this, but she felt it would be a shame if she could no longer be cuddled by her mother. Hence, physically, she looks like a teenager.
When it came to choosing her divine fields, she was only interested in Order, since it would help her both in battle and in her role as princess of the Fulgebunt Draconis Imperium. But upon seeing the iridescent glimmer of Aragorn's hair at a right angle, she decided to take advantage of her natural affinity to light and chose Iridescence.
Mindee is considered the second princess of the Imperium, right after Seraph—as much as succession is nonsensical in an empire of eternals—and the heir of the Fulgebunt Draconis house, which currently consists only of Emma and Mindee, with the addition of the adopted daughter Alflyse.
Mindee considers Seraph her sister, and although she is part of the second generation of Therions—Agatha, Wanda, Peggy, and herself—due to the initial age difference with her peers, she is closer in friendship to the third generation—Luxena and Pietro.
Dislikes:
She is not claustrophobic, but she dislikes enclosed spaces because they remind her of the time she spent in her pod as a clone.
She hates conflict, especially the violent type.
She hates singularities after the accident that landed her in Svartalfaheim.
Selene, whom she blames for Aragorn's first death.
Believers and Territory:
Mindee's believers are shared with her mother, or more accurately, they are both seen as a divine duality, so anyone who worships Emma worships her as well.
Unlike the rest of the Therions, Mindee doesn't own a star system. What she can say is that The Ark and its six satellite planets are where her belief is mostly found.
Most government officials are believers in her through her domain of Order, and as counterintuitive as it sounds, most reliable judges in the Imperium are those who worship her and not Kitty, the so-called Goddess of Law.
The Isthmus can also be considered her territory since she manages it along with the population of eternal Duskari—the descendants of the ShadowClad and Dark Elves—and the Dark Elves Aragorn rebirthed for Alflyse.
Since most priests and priestesses are eternal Duskari in race, it could be said that any priest or priestess of her aunts and uncles is also a worshipper of her own.
Mindee is considered the second mother of the Dark Elves because she raised and breastfed them. Although Alflyse and Aragorn were there as well—just like Emma—they only granted that honor to Mindee since they knew that aside from Alflyse, she was the only one with the initiative to save their race.
Individually speaking, her believers are the strongest force outside the Therions in the Imperium. This is so because the eternal Duskari and the Dark Elves, with their immortal lives, are the best-trained and most capable personnel.
The average Eternal Duskari and Dark Elf have been trained by at least one of the Drachantheon Therion. All of them are considered scholars of the highest esteem and warriors of the most dangerous caliber.
In fact, most of them have positions in the Imperium as distributors of knowledge. Teachers, trainers, archivists, information managers, custodians of knowledge, and many other roles that require ample wisdom are occupied by them.
Aspirations:
For Alflyse to stop bickering with Aragorn every time they meet.
The continual growth of her faith to reach the ninth tail.
To return to Earth-5H1N3 to pay a visit to certain individuals.
The eternal maternal and paternal love of her mother and grandfather.
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{A/N:
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