♠︎
THE RAVEN
of Vectaeryn
It happens so subtly, he doesn’t notice until it is too late. Between one night-chilled breath and the next, the writhing magic that lurks always within the Illusionist’s avian bones has simply… faded, like a dissipating exhale upon the frosty air.
Which is troubling, because without his spells, Caine is as good as blind. Already, his wavering grasp on Aether’s presence slips, and it won’t be long before he loses his hold on the dragon for good. How so like Agenor to neglect informing his silver-eyed student that the farther he strays from Vectaeryn, the more his magic will slide from his clutches like water.
A stream of white mist curls from his lips as he sighs, and the boy watches in silence as it drifts up, up into the looming heavens above. A place he will never see, he suspects, and a dark smile flickers lightly across fine-hewn features. As a sudden gale whips strands of onyx hair across Caine’s pale eyes, he makes no move to sweep them away. Instead, after one more attempt at resurrecting his now surely lost magic, two sets of raven wings blacker than midnight flare out like flashing silk. A mighty stroke, and he ascends in a gust of wind.
Within seconds, he is gone.
Like a shadow-clad Raziel, he descends upon silent hooves along the edges of a moonlit castle courtyard. It is the last place Caine’s disintegrating magic had sensed Aether’s lingering aura, as frigid as ice and almost as black as his own.
But the surprising beauty of his surroundings shifts his attention away from his jeopardized mission for a long moment, as the boy’s pale gaze flits from dew-soaked flowers to crystalline-carved statues in subdued wonder. The gilded palaces of Sunsyia had been rumored to be as glorious as the sun, as opulent as a dragon’s ruby-encrusted horde. He has never seen it for himself to confirm.
Caine knows Vectaeryn only from the bits he has stolen from books and memories and dreams. The rest, he had quietly observed from the skies with the apathy of a hawk before he had turned his back upon its mist-shrouded shores for good.
He is tempted to stay cloaked in shadows for the rest of the night, piecing together what remains of his meticulously crafted plans that have toppled like dominos. But that is before he sees them. Two figures, as quicksilver sleek as the moon-bathed cobblestones they stand upon, converse quietly beneath a statue of onyx marble that glimmers like a constellation has been inlaid across its surface. It is carved in the shape of a mare, and her frozen stare reminds him of an avenging goddess entombed for eternity in stone. Ironically, Caine finds it unsettling.
So weary is he from his travels, that the boy no longer wishes to hide himself like a slinking hound in every corner. And Agenor is no longer here to snarl at him, otherwise. Amused by the notion, Caine’s mind is made, and he tucks both sets of sleek raven’s wings along his sides as he steps out of the dark and into the gleaming light of the moon.
“I hope I am not interrupting,” he says, angling a pleasant tip of the head towards the two of them as his mesmerizing silver eyes slip from one to the other in an elegant dance. Appraising, judging, memorizing.
"There is someone I seek, and if my... sources are correct, you are sure to know of him."
"WHO ARE YOU? DEATH?"
"SOMETIMES, NOT TODAY."
♤
Which is troubling, because without his spells, Caine is as good as blind. Already, his wavering grasp on Aether’s presence slips, and it won’t be long before he loses his hold on the dragon for good. How so like Agenor to neglect informing his silver-eyed student that the farther he strays from Vectaeryn, the more his magic will slide from his clutches like water.
A stream of white mist curls from his lips as he sighs, and the boy watches in silence as it drifts up, up into the looming heavens above. A place he will never see, he suspects, and a dark smile flickers lightly across fine-hewn features. As a sudden gale whips strands of onyx hair across Caine’s pale eyes, he makes no move to sweep them away. Instead, after one more attempt at resurrecting his now surely lost magic, two sets of raven wings blacker than midnight flare out like flashing silk. A mighty stroke, and he ascends in a gust of wind.
Within seconds, he is gone.
—
Like a shadow-clad Raziel, he descends upon silent hooves along the edges of a moonlit castle courtyard. It is the last place Caine’s disintegrating magic had sensed Aether’s lingering aura, as frigid as ice and almost as black as his own.
But the surprising beauty of his surroundings shifts his attention away from his jeopardized mission for a long moment, as the boy’s pale gaze flits from dew-soaked flowers to crystalline-carved statues in subdued wonder. The gilded palaces of Sunsyia had been rumored to be as glorious as the sun, as opulent as a dragon’s ruby-encrusted horde. He has never seen it for himself to confirm.
Caine knows Vectaeryn only from the bits he has stolen from books and memories and dreams. The rest, he had quietly observed from the skies with the apathy of a hawk before he had turned his back upon its mist-shrouded shores for good.
He is tempted to stay cloaked in shadows for the rest of the night, piecing together what remains of his meticulously crafted plans that have toppled like dominos. But that is before he sees them. Two figures, as quicksilver sleek as the moon-bathed cobblestones they stand upon, converse quietly beneath a statue of onyx marble that glimmers like a constellation has been inlaid across its surface. It is carved in the shape of a mare, and her frozen stare reminds him of an avenging goddess entombed for eternity in stone. Ironically, Caine finds it unsettling.
So weary is he from his travels, that the boy no longer wishes to hide himself like a slinking hound in every corner. And Agenor is no longer here to snarl at him, otherwise. Amused by the notion, Caine’s mind is made, and he tucks both sets of sleek raven’s wings along his sides as he steps out of the dark and into the gleaming light of the moon.
“I hope I am not interrupting,” he says, angling a pleasant tip of the head towards the two of them as his mesmerizing silver eyes slip from one to the other in an elegant dance. Appraising, judging, memorizing.
"There is someone I seek, and if my... sources are correct, you are sure to know of him."
"SOMETIMES, NOT TODAY."
♤
