Merrin dashed sidely with the strange man. Strange, yes, that was the accurate word. Not in a bad way—just bizarre. But currently, he observed the panting stranger. Fear, like a mask, was worn across his features—wide-eyed, afraid. Such dread that could only be identified as born from an old memory, almost like an instinct that urged one to never again relive the past.
And he was the husband of Farmir... What had he seen? Like when I lost Leim... When I killed Leim, did Aeon have such regrets? Is he running like this for that sole reason: Regret? Likely. Perhaps he was there during the Scattering of men—during the moments when the frenetic actions of man had cost the life of the Highlady Farmir.
Such a loss had effects on the mind of another—human or not. Yet, what was beside him was no man, but an imprint within Orvane's memories. Amazing. That indentation was enough for the formation of such characteristics. Aeon was selfless in reality; hence, he was so in a dream.
Did he attempt to save Este at the original time?
Had he failed?
Had he been killed?
So what is this now? A chance at redemption. False absolution. Ah... did he know? Did he know he could never again take it back—not for his wife, not for Este, not for anyone.
Merrin gritted. YOU ARE DEAD, AEON!
And he dashed further, stretching the distance between them both. To Aeon, no doubt, this seemed like the action of a love-stricken man. Perhaps they were true. Perhaps Alurian endured such desires. Except... he was not Alurian. He was Merrin, and time was of the essence.
Fortunately, however, somehow, Merrin knew the drawing conclusion of this particular dream. A finality. This had always been the endpoint—this moment, nothing more. Oh, how accurately he knew it.
Somewhere—now, Este was doing something. The Dream was ending! Merrin grated, took in the false air—no longer did it induce the calming sensations. Just fear. Why fear? He wondered. What did he dread? Her death? Not learning of the seal? What exactly caused the birth of this sensation?
He laughed. Not so long ago, I had sworn to save everyone, regardless... And here, right now, I am condemning one! He screamed: "ESTE IS DEAD!"
That drowned out the conflicting voices. Always, that was the way with him—long before the snapping, the endless battle ruled his internal self—it had always been the same. Who knew—perhaps this was a shared trait among all humans. Was it different for the Orvalen?
Ah! Stop thinking!
He crossed the long corridor, sensing at that moment the familiarity of its vastness. The difference, however, was the now... nothing was chasing. Not the once mysterious Aelmiren. No, from behind, that is. Something else was, however, in pursuit. Something ahead. Something he could miss.
I must meet Este before the dream ends. Even if it's a lie, a falsehood. I must tell her that, despite her death, that partial end, what she might have taught to be a failure... Her family. Her children. Thousands of years from now. Oh... They still LIVE!
And a promise: So would they continue!
I must tell her. I must tell Este—this Este—before she becomes...
Ahead, a gate loomed, hard pressed into a wall. And as expected, it bore the intricate details of Orvalen Artistry. Images of figures welded into its form. Great men and women. Important, yes. There existed a need to learn about them... But ah... The time.
Merrin clenched and drilled a punch into the high wall—it seemed a mountain of metal, square, not rippling. Good! And so the boom rocked the earth, dust flying off as the great metal slab was dented as though a giant spear had crashed into it. It shrieked, slanted, and fell. Again, the world quaked to its fall. But that was good. That was enough.
And so, Merrin, now sided by Aeon, jumped into the chamber... And there, in the center of the massive space, was a woman. A tall, white-formed woman. Slender, with lustrous white hair cascading elegantly behind her. She stood, skin fissured like cracked stone, body wrapped in a makeshift dress, a known shade: a red dress, hardly enough to cover her totality. Who?
And beside her, lying on the floor, was another. A familiar woman. Este!
Merrin shuddered.
I was too late!
I didn't make it on time.
NO!
Este had become Orvane!
He had always known—from the instincts of the dream maker, to the mannerisms... He had always known. Este was Orvane! What she had done was not the creation of some different awareness... Oh no.
What she had done was a transplant of the mind. Incomplete, yes, but a transplant nonetheless. This came more of an instinctual awareness than a true, organized fact. He had always known. And seeing it—the true version of Este—the one with no broken mind—dead on the floor, Merrin wept.
Even here, she could never have known in complete truth... She would never know what the future was for her children. Orvane might have been Este, but a shattered mind was never the original. But why a shattered mind?
He turned, and standing a few meters away from the woman was an amorphous mass of darkness.
Favnir!
And that surged the mental procession. He had killed Este. He had attacked Este. He had stopped the completion of the transfer.
Ah, how fervent his Caster mentation was churning. Like a rapid firing of stimuli. But what was the use? Este was dead—and Orvane was born!
And in that moment, he saw it—Caster cogitation fitting the collective data into a singular narrative.
Favnir had refused the creation of the required power source—a means to protect the dying Aelmiren. But Este, oh, pitiful Este—Mother to a species, had done what she had to do. She made them a Woman. A Mother. A Protector and Savior. She had made for them... herself.
And for that, Favnir had learned. He had suspected the defiant nature of this scientist... But what did he do? He confronted her. Forced her to halt such actions by the complete authority as a Highlord... But oh, he had seen the failure of that. He had underestimated her.
For even the total power of one such as him could not stop a Mother. Este was determined. Marvelous. What she was, was a woman who had lost her sister—now her children. The pain gave her strength. Endless power. And so she began the creation and transfer... A thing that was near its success. But Favnir had seen to its end. A premature finality!
He attacked her just before the completion of the transfer. And the result? An incomplete mind with a fractured awareness. Simply... Este had died. The true awareness was gone—and in its ruins, Orvane was born! And even then, after thousands of years, that singular desire to protect her children... that one need, burned in the inferior copy.
Shame be on the world for her loss!
And Aeon, beside him, cried out, "What have you done?" He dashed towards Favnir. A moment of flash motions... But Merrin knew. This... All this had become pictorial.
He turned and regarded the singular silent one—Orvane. And she? She looked to him, a knowing expression present on her pale, impassive face. "It hasn't ended yet," she said softly.
Startled, Merrin whirled to the battle. There, Aeon was pinned to the earth... and a Coin. What? A coin floated before the reaches of the black mass, almost as though it was held by it. That coin spun in the air. Again and again, and beneath Favnir, a pool of darkness surged out, a sense of immense hunger present in it.
Noctivore!
What?
The coin twirled once again... and in that moment, it was shot out, slamming into Orvane. The stone woman whined in pain. But that was not the end. Abrupt, chains rained down from the heavens, tearing through the ceiling and slamming into the vast space... The ground cracked—the pillars, the surfaces—everything trembled.
Merrin sensed it. Somehow he did. The Castle... It was sinking!
What was this?
Utter chaos.
What was happening?
He could not input!
He could not understand the acts—the total chaos that descended into this space. Too much, all of it. Even Caster mentation could not process—nothing. Too much!
MIST IT!
The world shattered like glass, each shard dripping down into the whiteness, fading away... Now there was nothing. Only him in the endless tintless world. Silent... Good.
But then there was another. In the distance, a slender figure wrapped in a red dress—barely. A woman. Orvane.
Merrin trembled, gasping, and said, "You used me? You used Enavro?"
Silence.
"The seal was never in the Stone City. It was the coin."
"And that darkness is a piece of Favnir. Only with it, inside the coin, could I 'hack' the seal," Orvane said, edging slowly. "I am not a true caster, but Infused. But you, however, you played your role expertly. You knew for a while that Este was me. Good. Although I am not her exactly, but... I do think you missed something." She leaned towards him. "Do you know what?"
Merrin panted, realization dawning into his awareness. He whispered, "Who is Enavro?"
"Who is Enavro?" Orvane repeated.
"You are Enavro," Merrin said, dazed. "But Enavro isn't you."
Orvane shrugged. "It's just a matter of applying the same principles that created me. She carried out the objectives without the awareness of the reasons. Simply put, she found a human caster—free to control all symbols. She led you to the darkness, indirectly, I suppose, as not to arouse suspicion. And you, having faced the terrors of the castle, required a weapon. And so you made one with the nearest available source. The darkness. Although the creation of a weapon was not desired, the darkness was still fitted into the coin. But no matter, my desire remains the same... The question is... Can you guess what?"
"THE ORVALEN ARE DEAD!" He screamed. "FAVNIR IS LONG DEAD. THERE IS NO NEED FOR REVENGE."
"Ah..." She sighed. "I think 'you' are missing the objective. I am Este, but not completely. Even I am prone to doing things without the awareness of the reasons. Este had hated the humans who killed her sister. And if you say the Orvalen are dead. No problem. That leaves only one singular enemy. A sole focus."
Merrin was stunned. "Please don't do this."
"It has already been done," she said. "In reality, your body has been brought to me, and I have taken the coin out of your pockets."
"But... But." He stammered. "You are in the Plague."
"Oh yes..." She said. "That too can be hacked. Think of it as a divided mind. What does it matter if a fractured mind were to be broken some more?"
"Please," Merrin pleaded. "You have your daughter... Take her. Stay here. Don't go to the surface. You would bring war." You would hurt my people!
Este offered no emotion to the words—just blankness in that pale marble face. "The act has been done," she said. "Your kind will learn what a Mother can do for what has been taken from her... All of them will know."
Merrin wept, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I don't want this, Orvane."
"Does that matter?"
The words struck him.
He paused. "You're right, aren't you? It never mattered what I wanted or needed." He looked to her, noted that fissured self—the cracked mask of a pitiful thing, and said, "Remember this. Remember that I had begged you. Remember that I cried for you."
"That is all a human can do."
"No... That is all Merrin Ashman could do. But... That's not what happens now." Merrin stood. "I doubt Este truly ever wanted this. Not to this extent at least." He heaved a breath and said, "Come to me!"
And the world shuddered. A grayness drowning out the white heavens above, spiraling, sparking, lightning. Voices raining down like shouts from a violent thunder, loud, powerful. And then... There were dots: forms of blackness scattered like sand in the vast above.
As always, his Ardents heeded his call.
"He will never die!" They said as one... and a shadow of a thing descended behind him. Immense, its wings expanding as though it desired the complete coverage of the world. The Bird.
Now Orvane would know... The El'shadie had come... and behind stood a giant bird!