The Beginning After The End Chapter 528: A Wisp of Aether

INTERLUDE

Pressure. Constraint. Control.

Building and building and building...

And then...release. Not sudden and explosive, no violent eruption, but...an easing of the unnatural force. Slow and soothing. A gentle step toward the discordance of natural order. Comforting movement forward, back into and through time. Decay. Entropy. Expansion.

The pressure eases, then builds, then eases again. The hole is so small, and as it approaches, the pressure grows and grows.

A wisp of amethyst motes spills from the Everburn Fountain, finding knowledge and names out in the wider world. At first, it is caught in a sharp pull like a current, drawn up through the Relictombs Spire. There is more aether, too, a river of dense particles moving in a constant flow from the void back into physical space, and the mechanisms of the Relictombs draw on it constantly.

But the wisp darts around and past the hungry, consuming machinery. It whirls, cuts, and dances like a leaf on the surface of a swift-moving river, except this river is pushing up through mile after mile of the tower. The Spire is familiar but not pleasant, like a forgotten nightmare after waking.

The wisp passes through aethereal spaces of twisted physics and defied gravity, of unreality given form. Life seethes within the tower; the wisp can feel the echoes of old hatred and the confusion of new birth. Towering trees, deep waters, rolling dunes of sand and snow. Zone after zone. Chapter after chapter.

The wisp swirls through a huge white dome past Shadow Claws and Ghost Bears-people of the Relictombs, born outside of physical reality, tinged with the constricted chaos of the void-but lingers on an aging, white-furred woman. She creeps up rough-hewn steps out of her snowy tundra home toward another zone she won't and can't understand.

The wisp passes out of the Spire's highest doorway into a landscape of climbing mountains. It flutters over sharp, rocky outcroppings, past high nests filled with bright birds, through the pink leaves of trees clinging to the peaks, and across a gemstone bridge reflecting a rainbow of colors. The halls and chambers through which it tumbles, gusts, and whirls on the other side are empty and lifeless. A grand castle, reaching for the very edge of this world's atmosphere, now empty as a tomb.

Nearby, there is a call. A plea for the aether to take shape. Curious, the wisp flits out a window and catches a downward draft, plunging back down the mountainside toward the pull. All around, other bundles of aether are doing the same.

The wisp dips into a crack in the mountain, sneaking like wind into the depths of crushing stone. Geolus is stirring, waking-or perhaps just dreaming, tossing in its sleep-deep, deep down. Closer, the pull of the pleading presence is stronger.

A cave opens up around it, lit by the blue glow of a life-preserving pool. The pool has its own gravity, pulling at the wisp, but the pleading is stronger. A woman-a dragon, the queen of dragons, Myre Indrath- kneels in front of the pool, glowing with aether. Her voice and her will are trying to weave a spell on the pool. No, not the pool, but what's in it. Life after life...death. The dead.

The wisp flits closer, swirling first around Myre then around...Kezess

Indrath. But not. A body. Meat and bone and decay.

The wisp listens. Part plea, part guidance, the spell is one of...dissolution. Release. A returning. It feels right and good and natural, and so the wisp answers, joining the rest of the aether, sinking into the life-giving waters, which turn purple but brighten. Agitated, ripples break the surface of the pool, lapping at the decomposing flesh. It begins to break down, its components feeding and revitalizing the vivum influence of the pool.

"Peace, dear husband, and rest, at long last. For too long you were asked to hold the weight of a world on your conscience. I have tried to share your burden, but what we did to protect our people..."

Myre Indrath trails her fingers through the bright blue pool, tears shining on her cheeks.

"Forgive me for saying so, my love, but I am glad to finally lay down this burden. If the sharp eyes of predators do turn on our people, they will know the price of your sacrifice. I can only hope that the generation you have left behind will be able to protect them."

Within the pool, the aether swarms around the woman's fingers, but now, the wisp hesitates. This is different. Not dissolution, but destruction. It recoils, leaving the pool, but more aether is arriving, drawn by the previous plea. There is anger in it. Hatred. The destruction calls to it. And so the wisp catches a breath of wind and rides it back out of the cave and high up into the air to where it can look down on the wide expanse of slowly curving land ringing the world below.

Geolus shifts. The castle-Indrath Castle-ruptures as if made of sand, collapsing into the ravine between the two peaks in an impenetrable cloud of dust. A high tower crashes through the rainbow bridge. In moments, the castle is gone.

The wisp catches onto the edge of a reflected sunbeam and is whisked across the width of the ring. It dances and mingles with the aether forming the bubble of atmosphere around the ring, then spills through it and tumbles down miles to the next ring.

A powerful wind blows across tall blue-green grass toward a simple but sprawling village. The wisp is carried into the center of the village, bucking and tumbling through the air, until it whirls circuitously around a series of progressively thinner and taller posts that rise from the very heart of the village. Battle's End.

Two figures occupy the posts, although a dozen more watch without appearing to do so from the ground. One, a lean, muscular asura- pantheon, trainer, brother, Kordri Thyestes-and the other, a young human woman. Eleanor Leywin.

The wisp spirals around the pair, woven into a cloud of aether that neither can sense.

They both maintain an identical posture, supporting themselves atop the thin pillars on the toes of their left foot, left knee bent, right ankle resting atop it, back straight. The pantheon holds a wooden beam across his shoulders, his arms stretched out along its length, while the human girl holds a length of silver light-metal. She trembles but does not fall.

"Yes, I sensed it on my journey to the surface," Kordri was saying, his

speech doing nothing to disrupt his exacting posture.

"I guess I...hadn't noticed," Ellie answers, straining to maintain her

position.

"I expect you to pay closer attention to your surroundings, Eleanor," Kordri scolds gently. "When you return to the surface, take time to feel the movement of the mana. It is shifting dramatically. Thinning. If it has something to do with the Relictombs Spire or Epheotus, your brother should know."

"Well, I can ask," Ellie says, her tone pitching up. Kordri answers with a heavy stare, and she winces, the tightening of her muscles making her wobble on her post. "I mean, I will pay attention, Master Kordri, and will of course speak to my brother."

The wisp dips in, brushing across the girl's hands and the length of silver, then is whisked away again, passing over the edge of the second ring and falling in long, lazy circles down to the third and lowest. It touches the tips of foam-topped waves that lap the shore of another village. Children play in the water, and the wisp swirls past them before rushing away again.

The Spire-the Relictombs-rises again, and the aether is drawn back into it. There are dozens-hundreds-thousands of receptacles drawing in aether, and other clusters of motes react eagerly, flitting into crystals and runes to empower them. But the wisp is drawn past them, continuing down the length of the Spire, past zone after zone after zone, familiar and uncomfortable.

Near the base of the Spire, the zones give way to populated construction. People. Thousands of people. The wisp flutters through hair and

whispers past ears, making the small hairs on them stand up. It stops at a small group of life sparks, one of which has the draw. A girl, shorn blonde hair, ascender. Ada Granbehl.

Her companions watch her uncertainly. All young. All afraid. "Are you sure, Ada? We don't have to-"

"If you're scared to ascend, you're in the wrong place." Her words cut off her companion's. They leave her tongue like sparks from a fire. "He took everything from me. I won't let him take the Relictombs, too. I'm going."

"We're with you, of course," another says, and then they are moving.

Rising.

A gravitational force pulls the wisp away from them, toward the center of the Spire, where a crystalline structure ringed by orbiting, rune-carved stones weaves a web through the entire Relictombs Spire. Threads of aether connect the disembodied mind within all throughout the structure. Ji-ae. Djinn. The keeper. She reaches for the wisp, but it bobs away. Other aether answers instead, being drawn into her machinery.

But the wisp shoots away, out the door and across the town now ringing the Spire's base. The flow of aether here is strong, a current that whirls through the peaks of the Basilisk Fang mountains, themselves now also a ring that cuts off Alacrya's dominions from the Spire.

Caravans of people are cutting unnaturally straight lines across the flat expanse of land between the mountains and the Spire, like spokes on a wheel. All their little sparks burn bright, and for a time, the wisp joins in the current that flows through the mountains.

When it moves on, it is pulled south along a cool wind, passing through the city of Cargidan. The city bustles with life, all drawn to a towering library, and the wisp follows. Inside, people-Alacryans, humans with basilisk blood-debate and shout and cheer. The wisp is drawn to one in particular, around which aether clings as if watching with interest.

Dark horns frame her head like a crown through her navy blue hair. Red

eyes stare around seriously, thoughtfully. She lacks the call, but her draw is strong. Caera Denoir. Sister, daughter, companion. Rich with the blood of the Vritra clan of asuras.

"I accept your nomination to support and represent Cargidan City in the new Alacryan Assembly. I appreciate your trust, and am intent on proving myself worthy of it."

The wisp is tossed by a sudden fluttering of so many other motes of aether as they are all buffeted by a swelling of mana. Beams and rays and bursts shoot into the sky all around the library, and the wisp tumbles out a window and then up into the sky, riding on the concussive waves of mana.

Swelling, it flashes away, burning like a violet gleam around the edges of the yellows, reds, and blues of the mana.

Cool wind and the interplay of water- and air-attribute mana carry it down the river to the borders of Sehz Clar. It follows along the echoes of where the great shield once was until it reaches a patch of cliff on which a large estate is currently being rebuilt.

All around the estate, workers are busy channeling mana and wielding tools. But amidst the bustle, a single woman stands unmoving. Except for the subtle motion of clicking her nails together, which she does in stops and starts, clicking, noticing, forcing stillness, then repeating. The wisp joins the rest of the aether lingering near the woman: horned and pearl-haired, severe, a hand in the shadows, Scythe Seris Vritra.

Mana moves through the air, a sort of cascade, and Seris reaches for a half-rolled parchment. She lets out a breath, then smiles and nods. Scribbling something onto the scroll with a quill dipped in ink, she creates another small cascade of mana, and the wisp zips after it.

Please pass on my congratulations to Representative Denoir, the scroll says. Its words echo within the mana. I shall take great joy in watching her continued rise in the political circles as I pursue my much-deserved retirement. I have no doubt she will be President of the Assembly very soon.

Wheeling around the swiftly shifting mana, the wisp peels off and instead follows a stray stream of aether trickling eastward into Etril around the widest feet of the mountains, over the city of Nirmala, and far toward the coast. The aether descended on the small town of Maerin, where a woman-retainer, the Black Rose of Etril, Mawar Vritra- conjures mana like shadows to repair a building.

Many life sparks join in the rebuilding, where a structure-a school for mages-has half collapsed. The aether gathers around two young laborers, encircling them and prodding at their markings-spellforms. They pause in their work, looking at one another. The boy-brother, survivor, Shield, Seth Milview-leans down and presses a sweaty and dirt-stained forehead to the girl's-sister, survivor, Sentry, Mayla Fairweather. She smiles and gives the boy a quick, secret kiss before returning to work. The streaming aether encircles them before continuing on toward the distant sea, but the wisp lingers.

Heavy earth-attribute mana clings to the rubble of an Epheotan boulder that has already been removed from the crater containing half the small school. It tumbles and rolls along the ground as the young couple shift stone and haul rock.

Soon enough, the pull is too strong to ignore, and the wisp leaves Maerin Town behind, following the streaming aether out over the coast and into the slipstreams of wind and mana that chart a course between continents. Transformed leviathans swim in the ocean below, where once their ancient homes might have been.

Alacrya vanishes behind, and Dicathen approaches from ahead.

The aetheric streams split, some heading east, the rest south. The wisp follows the coast eastward, tumbling in cliffside winds, wafting back and forth across the coast along the shifting air pressure and competing pockets of atmospheric mana.

Little fishing villages pass by below, along with the scars of past battles, and a sprawling, walled city approaches in the distance. The wisp dips down into Etistin Bay, whirling on the circular currents, drifting through the sails of small shipping vessels before catching in a steam plume from

a single large ship and launching high into the air. There is a strong pull from the palace below, and the wisp flutters down to dance over the sharp peaks before blowing like a leaf through an open window.

Aether has gathered around a scarred old dragon. Charon Indrath. He stands by quietly as five others sit around an oval table, deep in conversation. The wisp is likewise drawn to him, momentarily wrapped up in the larger stream of aether.

Around the table, others gather aether as well, some more than the rest.

"Shall we take roll?" asks Lilia Helstea, expression serious and eyes bright. The wisp flutters over the stack of papers in front of her. "Kathyln Glayder, representing Etistin."

Kathyln's dark hair frames a pale, steadfast face as she raises a delicate

hand.

"Kaspian Bladeheart, representing Blackburn."

A thin man with sharp features, a pencil mustache, and rimless glasses raises a hand and a brow simultaneously. The wisp rides a gust of wind that ruffles his dark hair.

"Astera Alderman, Kalberk City."

Madam Astera knocks her knuckles on the table. The wisp scoots past her, whirling around the wooden leg that rests beneath it.

Lilia continues down her list, and representatives from cities all over Sapin continue to raise their hands. The wisp rotates back to Charon, whose pull is stronger than the rest.

"And of course, myself, Lilia Helstea, representing Xyrus. Welcome to the third official meeting of the High Council of Sapin," Lilia says, looking around with a nervous smile. "We have a special guest with us today: Charon of Clan Indrath."

The dragon steps forward, but the wisp zips back out the window,

streaking over the city and then south. It flashes over Mirror Lake and the city of Carn, but slows as the forests and fields of Sapin give way to rolling dunes and miles of endless sand and craggy ravines. Aether pools under the desert, penned in by the thick earth-attribute mana.

The draw is strong here. Streams of aether collect from all over the continent and burrow down into the tunnels.

The wisp shoots out one of these tunnels and into the inverted beehive that is the city of Vildorial. Life sparks cram in together, filling every road, every terrace, even the roofs of houses and floating banisters of stone, all focused inward toward the city's center.

A gladiatorial arena has been erected in the open air of the cavern. Mana- conjured beams and chains support it, but it still shudders with each powerful impact. In the center of the arena, two dwarves face each other-Daymor Silvershale, young and dark-haired, spellform-gifted, and Skarn Earthborn, slightly older, blond-bearded, scowling.

The arena glows with lava, boiling through cracks in its surface. Skarn's legs are wrapped in stone, a heavy obsidian axe clutched in his fists. He flings it, and it curves outward, spinning around and around as it curves through the air and toward Daymor, who deflects it with a sudden geyser of mana and heat, then sinks down into one of the crevices. As Skarn spins to search for him, Daymor erupts back up through a different crevice and slams Skarn in the back with a gleaming steel hammer. Skarn collapses, and Daymor holds the hammer over Skarn's head.

"After a brutal but technically fascinating battle, the ninety-third combat of the King's Trial goes to Daymor of Clan Silvershale, who has defeated his opponent, Skarn of Clan Earthborn!" an announcer's voice booms throughout the cavern. "Daymor will move on to the next round, while Skarn has been eliminated."

Roars fill the city, the cheers and angry booing coming in equal measure. The wisp lingers, drawn to the heavy presence of aether in the city, as several more battles take place beneath it. Then, catching a sudden rising pressure-a combination of hot air and mana-it rides up through a series of cracks and back to the surface. Cooler winds catch it, and it is

again pulled eastward, passing over the Grand Mountains just south of the Relictombs Spire before diving down into the Beast Glades.

Dense forest extends out before it, rich with aether emanating from the Spire. Dipping down below the boughs of the interwoven canopy, the wisp follows in the trail of a pack of forest hounds. The creatures twitch with every faint movement of air or sharp noise. Drawn past them, the wisp swirls around the base of a dead tree, joining a congregation of aetheric motes. Just as the pack of forest hounds draws level with the spot, one forest hound-itself host t