---- The air was so still, so unbothered, unlike the old hags sitting atop their crescent table. Their attention more so dialled in to the Ashtik-shaped blood spatter atop their most holy of tables rather than the woman herself. They didn't look at her, didn't care to watch the execution. The Golden woman, though – she clung to Ash's gaze as the blade piled forth.
The weapon was a beautiful little thing. White steel, stained red with her. Soon enough there would be no white left at all beneath all the red. Her gaze shifted towards her killer. He looked so dispassionate, almost bored. "No, not boredom," she realised. "Disappointment." There was no pleasure in him as he stood there frozen in his thrust.
Frozen.
The specks of dust didn't fall as they sailed their wave of sunlight. The bead of sweat didn't drop from her nose. The tear didn't fall from Golden eyes, but they would fall from steel eyes. If she died here, what would become of the sister? Would they curse her as blood of the heretic? Would the monks come for her?
But the blade didn't fall. Nothing was happening."Why aren't they moving?"
It wasn't a conscious act that brought her left hand high. She tried to meet it with her right, but it seemed as frozen as everything else in the world. The mark in her hand fluttered – it twirled and danced with grace and speed – but in its wake, it left a black and purple scar. Tendrils sprawled out, and from within the darkness, steel rose. Spiked and deadly, the last of her left-handed flesh was swallowed by the dark gauntlet.
Spires and shards of power erupted at the growth. Lightning, black as night's vale, tore and seared its way through the hall. Charred craters were left in the wake of the darkness. The amethyst jewel buried at the back of her palm spread – like a tumour – across all that her hand had been.
The power, her hand, was all that could move. So she decided to lift but a finger, and then her wrist, then her hand, then her whole marked arm.
She swatted the blade aside and wound her arm back and loosed the hardest punch she had ever given.
It was a crack of thunder, with the black lightning to back it. The cunt was sent back a half dozen paces, only, he forgot to take his teeth with him.
The sounds of him wailing and crying out in agony were as close to orgasmic as he had likely ever gotten a woman. She was ready to give him a hundred more punches like the last, until her legs gave out from under her, and the world turned dark.
"Ashtik?" a gentle summer wind begged. It made her name sound like a masterpiece. Like some universal love song, sung through the ages. She peeled her eyes open to find the tear-filled Golden woman fussing over her wound. She mumbled some incantation, and a divine warmth filled Ashtik. She felt her wounds fuse and her bones set. It was like Evara's power, only infinitely more potent.
"Do I get any of that?" A man groaned from the far end of the room.
"I've been waiting twenty years for you to get a smack in the teeth, enjoy it while it lasts," the woman spat back. Even in a foul tone, her voice was so calming. It could have sent Ash back to sleep, had she not remembered the fight for her life.
The huntress jolted up as quickly as she could and scrambled for a weapon. When she found none, she instead turned to the Golden woman in hopes she could steal her weapon. Ash looked the woman over with no regard for propriety and even spun her around to see if she had hidden her blade at her back. The woman didn't resist but did let out a strangely shocked yelp.
"Bid each noise be still. Bid peace to the torrent within, that the flood may settle, and the woman might be known," the woman whispered, and again, Ash was impossibly calm. "Come, Ashtik. You are safe, the trials are over. Nobody will hurt you anymore, I swear it on my life."
Ash was yet in a daze from her battle, though something of the words registered within her. A mindless shuffle urged her on, and wordless voices carried in the distance she forded. The textureless air, perfectly temperate to her skin, felt all too thick and all too thin. Then she was back in her seat of judgment, and the mothers returned to their arguments as though no deathly struggle had just been fought.
"It's not possible," the crimson mother declared.
"It's self-evident!" the golden woman retorted as she helped Ash into a wooden throne.
"This must be some sort of mistake," the orange mother scoffed, complete surety in her sneer.
"The only mistake is your treatment of the girl. Cast off your arrogance, mothers. This is a new day! It calls for new minds. We all know what this means." The golden woman placed a hand on Ash's shoulder. "She is the usher of the dusk, and we are no more than mere candles feigning starlight."
There was nearly wrath in her eyes, but it melted away as she looked to the white-haired huntress. "Ashtik, right? Can I call you Ash?" she whispered, no longer performing for the mothers.
"-Yes," Ash managed.
"My name is Siobahn – Siobahn Fell," the golden beauty said. "Are you still hurt?"
"No," Ash lied.
Siobahn smiled. Her hand rounded Ash's cheek and all pain was numbed at the action. "I'm sorry, Ash." She forced Ash's gaze with no more than a glance. Her gentle hand moved through her own wine-red hair and bundled it behind her shoulder. It revealed something truly spectacular. At the corner of the woman's neck, above a cluster of freckles and beneath her jaw, she presented the mark of a golden flame. It flickered back and forth as a joyous candle might under an autumn breeze.
"My mark," she said with a dreamy sigh. She allowed her hair to fall over the mark again and sat on the cold marble before Ash's splinter throne. The woman said nothing more, but her searching asked the questions her lips never loosed.
Ashtik held her left hand in her right and rubbed over the gauntlet like some fresh ache. It was near enough her whole arm by that point. Black and oily steel which seemed to consume all light which touched it. The golden woman stroked a gentle finger over the purple crystal atop her hand.
The steel shrunk beneath her skin at the golden touch. Only the crystal remained – that, and the smoky little mark fluttering along her arm. What had been a whisp once, was alive now. A sparrow, obviously and beautifully, took flight across her hand and elbow.
Siobahn closed the marked hand within her own. "She's beautiful. But more than that... She's real."
-- "So... I really am the Champion?"
"You really are," she smiled. "I am so sorry."
-- "Sorry?"
-- "The charters have been scoured and ensured; the Champion's council is already complete. The Goden of your patronage is no Goden of our pantheon."
"He's the forgotten one," Ash whispered.
"Yes," Siobahn said, and the word was tragic on her lips.
-- "People keep telling me that's a bad thing – that I'm some dark harbinger, the scion of some end. I- I keep having these dreams, every night, and then they're just gone come the morning. I can't remember what they say, but they scare me. W- What does it mean?"
"There was a prophecy," Siobahn began, "It's... about you; about what you'll do. Ash, I'm sorry but it doesn't have a happy ending."
"What is the prophecy?" Ash begged.
She had nearly forgotten that she and Siobhan weren't alone in the great hall, until the Golden Champion stood and walked to the council of mothers. Ash noticed the three empty seats directly before her, and Siobhan pointed to each. To the right, sat a seat of steel. Jagged blades and rounded armour. A crown of blooded daggers sat atop of it. To the middle, a sunburst throne. Golden and opulent in its material, though functional and meek in its design. To the left, sat a simple seat of black velvet. A coat of dust settled atop of it. It seemed as though none had taken to its arms in a very long time.
"Mothers, summon the trinity," Siobahn ordered.
"Very well, Champion," the crimson mother seethed.
All came to prayer and summoned upon them, a silver shimmer. A strand, like a single ancient hair, joined between the mothers and connected them at their hearts.
The huntress had expected some great spectacle. Instead, before her appeared in a blink, a woman with a gown of gold and eyes of steel. To her right, a woman with eyes of gold and a gown of steel. No mother came to be at their left.
"Siobahn, my love," said the mother at the centre.
"My bishop of Gold," Siobahn bowed, "you know why you are summoned?"
"Probably," the divine mother chuckled. "You are quite the topic of conversation in the halls, Sparrow," she said as though it were the same as being gossiped about by the village daughters.
"The halls?" Ash repeated in awe.
"The trinity reside within the embrace of their patrons," Siobahn said. "At least until they are needed here."
"Then... Then you know my patron?" Ash realised.
-- "I... Do not. Nobody, not man nor goden, can claim to know your patron. My lady, the Golden Goddess, is his own progeny – and yet she knows nearly as little of him as I or you."
-- "Then... What? Why has he chosen me?"
-- "That, my friend, is the issue. He did not."
"What?" Ash choked. "But they said I'm his Champion?"
"You are... but you are not his chosen," she sighed. "There was an order from you patron, bestowed upon your previous guardian goddess.
"I didn't have a guardian goddess," Ash insisted.
-- "All mortals are guided by one god or another. It's often a point of contention between the divines. Battles rage between them over mortals of note. Taeva – blessed of the hunters – won the battle for your soul. I believe the goddess of beauty and the goden of silence both strove against her for your claim."
-- "They squabbled over my soul like it's some toy?"
"They fought to prove who most capable of protecting you from the darkness," the divine calmly corrected. "But that is not of consequence. Taeva was ordered to bestow upon his chosen, the Black mark. It seems that she did not aim for you."
"The goddess of accuracy and hunting missed?" The white-haired man scoffed.
"Be silent, Aarov," the steel clad divine barked from the Golden's side. He bowed his head and stepped away without a word.
"But, yes, she did," the Golden divine chuckled.
"Then who was chosen?" Ash demanded.
"There were many prophecies about the first Champion of Black, most terrible. We believe now that we know which of them to be true: With fluttered wings and the kiss of hellfire shall the first Champion of the Forgotten cast down the darkness. With a healing heart and a glance of steel, shall the first Chosen of the Dreamer cast out the dark one. With pure sorrow, begotten of pure love, shall the stars be freed and the winds be made unstill."
There was power to the words, to the prophecy. The world shook underfoot as each syllable was uttered. The vile will wrought fear from all amongst them. None had expected it, even the divines feared the violence of it. The dome cracked above them and a thousand shards of glass fell like drops of rain. They cut, and sliced and tore at everyone there, but not Ashtik. It seemed the glass feared her as the mother's feared her patron.
The chaos of dark fate subdued and settled. The panic of first blood simmered, but didn't boil over. She watched this crowd of her betters as they picked shards of rainbowed glass from their flesh and garbs.
"What was that?" Siobahn stammered.
"A sign," the steel divine said.
"Sparrow, Ashtik, there are other prophesies," the Golden divine urged. "Tales of war and darkness. Of a consuming abyss, and the only person who can stop it."
Ash jolted up from her throne. "Me?" she demanded. "How can it be me? You said it yourself: I wasn't chosen! I'm not the chosen one!"
"No, but you are the Champion. You are all we have," the steel divine seemed to regret.
A rush of wind came then and made off with the breath Ash had reserved for her thousand questions. The strand of silver broke from the council of mothers, and the divines were nought but echoes in the halls.
---- "Ash," Siobahn whispered, though she didn't get any closer. "I'm sorry but there's... more."
"More?" Ash sighed.
"We-"
"-We have to hunt you," the white-haired man interupted. Siobahn didn't deny it. Shame flooded her cheeks.
They both turned to the man. His black eye still dripped with blood. He didn't look to be handling the pain of it well. "I'm sorry, Black. I really am."
"What's he talking about?" Ash demanded.
Siobahn couldn't even look her in the eyes. "I- I'm sorry, Ash. We really don't have a choice."
"It'll be me and the Veytors," the white-hair added.
-- "Who the fuck even are you?"
"I'm Aarov Martins, the Champion of White," he answered without pride. "I'm the Champion killer."
"Try it," Ash spat, though she knew it was a bluff.
"No!" Siobahn shouted. "Not now! We will take every second of peace we can afford, and right now peace is cheap. White, behave. Ash, sit down," she ordered.
Ash sat without thought while Aarov deigned to leave the room all together.
"Why?" Ash pled once the man had left them. "Why must you hunt me?"
"Because you'll be declared as a heretic," the crimson mother professed, just as vain and arrogant as she had been earlier.
-- "Why? I've been confirmed! What more proof do you need?"
"There is no burden of proof," the mother of azure bemoaned. "You are the harbinger of the last days. The prophecy is not known to all, but enough will understand what it means that you live."
"Should we confirm you as the Black Champion, it would be the same as telling all that the world is at an end," the orange mother continued.
"Panic would grip the lands," the lime mother whispered.
"The prophecy would fulfil its own oath before any true darkness could come about us," said she in the teal gown.
"But the world is ending! Surely they should prepare? Surely helping me would be wiser than fighting me?" Ash cried, though she could see the decision had been made long before this meeting had been planned. "You offer them a calm death rather than a chance to fight," she realised. "You expect me to lose."
"We offer them hope in a time where hope shall be all too scarce," the lilac mother said in a frail way.
-- "False hope."
"All hope is false, tis' the nature of the thing. It is faith in the unlikely, the impossible. You. So long as you live; so long as you fight for them, the hope stands true," Lilac continued.
"Ash," Siobahn whispered. "I know it isn't fair. I can't imagine how hard it'll be... But this is the only way. You will save the world; we'll make sure there's still a world to save."
"This is insane. Where would I even start?" Ash had to lower her voice as she spoke. Each plea came as a thunderbolt and shout.
The mothers rose and, in one silent flight, made for the chamber's exit.
"We cannot know; ask of your fellows," the crimson mother said with her back to Ash.
"Know this, Champion," Lilac whispered as she was last to exit. "We will support you as we can. Every chapel on your path is yours to plunder. Every tithe is yours to relinquish. You need not want for anything as you battle."
-- "I'm supposed to raid churches? I can't imagine the gods will take kindly to that, nor their worshippers."
"Tough," Siobahn sniffed. "Your quest is vital; the pride of some god is irrelevant."
Ash didn't see the mother's leave. She didn't hear the great doors seal shut, nor did she notice when Aarov appeared at her back.
"Black," he said as greetings. She spun to meet his gaze, half ready to loose an attack. He raised his hands in pre-emptive as a nearly apologetic smile caught his bloody cheeks.
"You," Ash growled, backing a step.
"Play nice," Siobahn ordered. She pressed Ash back into her splinter throne as the two great Champions stood over her. "Now that they're gone, we can talk frankly."
-- "About what?"
"About your plan," Aarov answered. "You need friends, allies and armies. I know where you can find all three."
-- "Why would I trust you? Aren't you the one who's going to hunt me down?"
"I'm certainly supposed to," he sighed lazily. "But I don't think it would be wise to succeed. I'll lead the Veytors off your trail as best I can. But if they catch you, Black, I'll have no choice but to fight you."
"Please, Ash. Just listen to him," Siobahn pled. The Golden Champion knelt as Ash's side, taking her unmarked hand in her own.
"Look," Aarov groaned, "You need to go somewhere that the Veytors can't. Somewhere independent from the conclave. Luckily, that place exists. It's called the Forgelands."
"And these 'Veytors' can't go there?" Ash questioned.
"Nah," was all he said.
"Their fortress exists in the Bloodlands. Donaleaf – the King of the Forgelands – is at war with them," Siobahn elaborated.
-- "I don't understand. I thought the Veytors belonged to the Conclave. Why would they be involved in a war?"
-- "They are banished from the Forgelands because they aided the Blood queen in a past war. But they don't belong to the Conclave. They're just grey monks, cultists of the god of truth. They obey nothing but their own version of the truth. They have often resisted the Conclave when they felt the mothers were acting dishonestly... It's why they can't know about you. They would all die before keeping the lie."
"So go to the Forgelands and build an army," Aarov glibly finished.
"You make it sound so easy," Ash groaned. Her face fell behind her marked hand as the world seemed to spin around her. "Why would this king even help me?"
"He's the Champion of the Forge," Siobahn answered. "And... He's a good man. Once you prove who you are, he'll know he needs to help you. I know you're scared Ash. Gods know I am, but I swear, you'll survive this."