[P] Still, like dust, I rise

[Raum]

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

 
The whispers of gods accompany their every stride up and up and up. Verenor ascends, a sword set to pierce the sky and Raum climbs its side like light along its hilt.
 
Do the gods lay wicked words upon him? Are they there in the hiss of the wind – in its wild howls as it corners the mountain and throws from it leaves and rocks that fall and fall into darkness and despair. If they were, Raum had long ago learned that the gods cared little for the deeds of individuals. So onwards he ascends, until the stars reach down to him and the moon trembles as clouds flee before it. The Ghost climbs until the sky is a ceiling, brought low enough to brush his silver crown.
 
Days had drifted idly by since he stole the Denoctian queen. Stars had fallen and suns had risen and moons had hung in lament. Their eerie light pooled like tears. It drowned Raum in poison mercury and as a fish he swam through the grim midnight.
 
Abel was ever a shadow beside him, his body helping to bear the limp torso of a bested queen. Long ago the skies had fallen silent and the wail of a dragon swallowed up by silence and distance. The sight, or cry, of such a monster should have filled him with terror, but how long had it been since the Crow felt any amount of fear or trembling at the sight of such a beast? Distaste was all he felt and it had been as bitter as ash as he watched dragons burn Denocte’s Mountain Pass. Was that the day that turned his heart as cold and firm as stone?
The place he brings Isra to is old and forgotten. It’s stone mouth is crumbled and partially shut. Inside its weathered maw is darkness upon darkness. Silence reigns and only silence speaks. Shadows keep their secrets here and they are old as time. A forgotten altar is cleaved in two, exposed bones tumbling forth, strung together by dusted cobwebs, heavy and thick.
 
Raum lets Denocte’s queen go and she falls to the cold stone, her body, black as ink, pouring out like a libation before the ruptured altar. The moon peers in through the small hole at the cave’s entrance and its light reaches for the poisoned unicorn. But if it found her, Raum wonders, who would come to the call of the moon?
 
The wind begins to roar and from the mountain’s peak, where Calligo’s altar rests, the Crow wonders if he hears her vehemence as her appointed queen lies broken and still at his feet.
 
In silence Raum moves to where Isra lies so still. Upon her lips he tips a vial, purple and potent. It is an antidote to the poison that laughs and sings in her veins. No longer will it numb her mind but fall away like clouds before the sun. Raum waits beside her, his electric gaze steady as a knife upon her skin. He waits for Denocte’s queen to rouse, like the sun after eternal night.

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@Isra @Abel

[I have forgotten how to write, I am sorry