Strawberry Scream
I bite
Inner Sanctum Nobility
"I was not born of storms, yet I have the essence of thunder in my blood;
the power of lightning and mist in my hands.
I was not born of the Arcane, yet I was chosen to become Her child.
I was not born of royalty or power, yet I was Called to be Covenhead.
Where I stand, I see all.
Where I stand, I will protect, honor, and serve.
As She wills it, so mote it be."
the power of lightning and mist in my hands.
I was not born of the Arcane, yet I was chosen to become Her child.
I was not born of royalty or power, yet I was Called to be Covenhead.
Where I stand, I see all.
Where I stand, I will protect, honor, and serve.
As She wills it, so mote it be."
Akasha is a man of incredible power, but he was not always the man he is now - he was not always Akasha, Hand to Azaziel, God of Sky and Storms.
Twenty-six and a half years ago - a hundred and six seasons, as the Coven would count - a boy was born. He was average for his nomadic people - dusty hair, brown eyes, pale but sun-tanned skin, growing into a tall, willowy body packed with lean muscle. Raised as any child in his tribe, the boy was joined by a sister a little over nine years - thirty-seven seasons - later. She was much the same as him in appearance and childhood, and they were inseparable the moment she learned to run after him.
Few of his nomadic tribe held Desert Magic, a common form of magic that was often seen in desert tribes like theirs. With an ability to harden sand, carve paths through dunes, and tame sandstorms, the tribal leaders were well-respected. The boy's father, the Chief of the tribe, tried to teach his son and daughter the Ways of Sand, but to no avail, as his wife's non-magical genetics had outweighed his own. Magic, after all, was a recessive trait.
As the boy reached the age of fourteen years and some months, fifty-seven seasons, tragedy struck the tribe. Bandits were, of course, a known predator in the deserts, but the boy's tribe was rich with warriors. Never before had bandits been a threat - until they came together. As blood was shed and warriors were culled, the boy ran after his mother with his five-year-old - twenty-two seasons old - sister in his arms, her little legs incapable of keeping up with her long-legged family. Their father shouted in pain behind them, and after looking over his shoulder, the boy covered his sister's eyes and ran faster.
"Ride!" Their mother gasped, hauling her sobbing, wailing daughter onto the broad, powerful desert horse. The sand-colored beast tossed his head, rearing onto his rear legs. The boy clung onto the reins and his sister in front of him, pressing his feet against the braces that provided balance. The saddle had no stiff seat, only a thin, flexible cushion. "Go!" She cried, thrusting a bow and quiver into the boy's hands.
"What of you?" He protested as he strung the bow across his body, and blood splattered his face as a blade drove through her chest. Shielding his sister with his body, preventing her eyes from seeing what he had seen, he kicked the horse's sides and started to sail over the sand, his abnormally broad hooves preventing his sinking into the loose grains. The cold desert night air lashed against them, drying the blood on the boy's face and chest, decorated in layered necklaces of charms and tokens. Tears cascaded down his cheeks as he rode is stoic silence, refusing to let himself sob so he didn't further scare his sister, who was hiccuping as she cried.
No bandit seemed to care if two children escaped, as none followed them. The bandits were not, after all, after lives, though they clearly had no qualms of taking them in order to get the resources they wanted. So, alone, they rode, covering their mouths and noses with cloth as the wind kicked up sand, protecting their eyes with thin glasses. The horse tired, as did they. An oasis, common in this desert, offered them a brief chance to rest. The boy tried to get his sister to eat some of the fruits that grew on the lush trees, but she refused, her eyes wide with fresh trauma as she only drank the clean water. He couldn't say he blamed her - he, too, struggled to eat but knew that they must in order to continue on strongly. They spent the day hidden in the brush and trees, giving the horse time to rest and eat, before making their way through the desert once again with fruit packed in the bags thrown over the horses' flanks.
During the days, they rested and replenished their food where water pooled and trees guarded them, and at night, they continued to ride. Occasionally, the boy risked hunting the beasts of the desert, his arrows flying straight and true so they could sell meat for coin in traveling markets. For months, they traveled, slowly falling into a routine as they traveled West toward... toward anything. Anything but the past.
Eventually, for the first time in their lives, they reached the edge of the desert. The horse was stopped at the sudden treeline, both children nervous and guarded as they stared at the trees they had never seen before. The nomadic tribes of the desert stayed with the sand, finding their peace within the shifting grains, but winter was nigh, and the nights were beginning to become chilled. "Èyöka," the little girl whispered, using their native tongue for brother, "what is over there?"
The boy clenched his jaw, brown eyes hardening. "Our future."
And so the siblings left the desert, finding a somewhat wide path just broad enough for them to travel through on the horse, slowly eeking their way into the forest. Nervous and silent, the boy and girl rationed their water and dry provisions, not sure what they could hunt or forage in this new world. Thankfully, the days were no longer as hot, so they switched to resting at night and continuing in the day. They built no fires.
After a week of travel, they both sensed something vaguely familiar. Tensing up at first, the boy let out a breath of relief when the feeling became known. Magic. They were close to magic. "Táoka," he told the girl, the word for sister, "do you feel that?"
The girl shifted her shoulders back slightly, their native gesture for yes. "It feels like... like Daddy," she whispered, her voice hoarse from lack of water as she twisted to look up at him. His voice was rough as well. "Are we going there, Èyöka?" He hesitated, then flexed his shoulders back as well. The girl turned back around, clinging to the horse's brown mane. The horse snorted gently.
Another three days passed before they reached the sensation that called to them. The closer they got, the less familiar it became, and yet the more familiar it felt. The boy was suspicious but continued to follow the path, winding through the lush and green forest. Some trees were dappled with colors they had never seen on trees before: reds and golds and oranges, colors they had only seen on animals and dyed fabric. And they they broke through.
The horse suddenly reared up on his hind legs, letting out a loud whinny as the boy braced himself against the footrests and held onto the reigns with one hand and his sister with the other arm. "Calm!" He cried, and the horse thudded back to the earth. The boy was startled not only by the horse's outburst but also by the lack of what could have caused it. Looking up from his sister after making sure she was fine, he blinked at what he saw.
There was a huge open area, a perfect circle amidst the forest, big enough to fit the village, farmland, barns, an orchard, and a building larger than he had ever seen before, complete with a tall stone tower that reached into the sky. He had never seen solid, permanent homes before, nor farms, so confusion was written all over his face. But what he recognized were people, although those people definitely didn't recognize them.
There was a girl near them, no older than himself, who dropped her basket full of apples and shrieked when she saw them. Turning around, she ran for the village, shouting in a language the boy didn't know or recognize. Startled, the boy froze, although his sister started to become frantic. He wanted nothing more than to turn and leave, but... their water was dry, their provisions were low, and they still did not know how to survive in this new land. These people... they very well may be the ones who saved them.
He dropped down from the horse and reached up for his little sister, lifting her down onto the ground, where she immediately hid behind him and softly cried. He, too, was frightened but put on a brave, stoic face, just the way their father taught him. He was not his sister's only family, her only protector, and he would do anything to make sure she survived.
Soon, the girl was coming back with a woman. The closer they got, the stranger they became. While the boy was no stranger to ink - as he had the desert tribal markings etched onto his back when he turned twelve, forty-eight seasons old, these were not tattoos. The woman wore flowing brown pants and a green shirt with thin sleeves, showing her slender, tan arms marked with stark, pale purple markings. They curled up her arms, across her shoulders, slightly up her neck, and down her chest - and the boy marveled at them, seeing them glisten in the light like metal; they looked like... well, they looked like magic, winding across her skin and forming vague patterns of eyes. Her long, dreamy blonde hair was twisted up and pierced with a slim stick to accentuate her slim, sharply angular face.
The girl wore long sleeves and a long skirt, so the boy didn't see any strange markings on her skin, but other things caught his attention. For one, her ears were long and pointed, sticking out slightly from her midnight-black hair. Her eyes were green - but bright green, vivid green, like the venom of the giant snakes that dug through desert sand. She had no pupils, and short, black horns were beginning to grow from the top of her head.
The woman looked shocked right up until she stopped a few paces away from the boy and girl, but her expression softened when she, the boy assumed, saw that they were only children. She spoke in a language, and he flexed his shoulders forward, trying to show he didn't understand. She tried another, then another, then one more, and he indeed did understand the fourth she spoke. "Who are you, and how did you get here?"
The boy glanced from her to the girl, who was wringing her hands, and then back to the woman. "I - we're from the desert tribes," he said, voice hoarse and breaking from thirst. "Bandits stormed our tribe, killed our people, and our..." he trailed off, but the woman's lips thinned, and she seemed to understand without him saying much more. "Please - we've never been out of the desert. This place, this world, it's unfamiliar. We are out of water and running low on meat; we do not know how to survive outside the desert. I will do whatever you wish, but please, help her."
The woman turned her gaze to his sister, who cowered behind him with a whimper. Slowly, the woman took a knee, looking calmly at the girl who peeked around her brother's side. The woman's pale purple eyes suddenly swirled with light, making the boy jolt in surprise as a wave of magic washed over and through both him and his sister. After a moment, the woman softened, standing back up after smiling softly at his sister, who was slowly easing out from behind him, reaching out to grab his hand.
"Welcome to Kuethadore. I am Taia, Covenhead of Trinity Coven, and this is Faera. Come with me. We will take care of you."
The boy did not eat what was on his plate until his sister began eating at the table Taia had sat them at in one of the small structures. He tried to pay no mind to the stares they had been subjected to as they entered the village from the people - each of them as strange and beautiful as the two strangers who approached them. He swore there was a man with hooves for feet. Grateful for the water, he drank four cups until he was satisfied, making sure his sister drank before him. Taia and the girl, Faera, were sitting across from them, concern in both of their expressions as the boy laid out all the details of their travels, how the recognized the feeling of magic and followed the call.
"How interesting," Taia said softly when the boy finished both his story and his plate. She placed another serving of herbed, roasted chicken on his sister's plate, who tucked right in, holding her fork clumsily as they were used to two-pointed prongs with curved handles. "You have suffered quite an ordeal. And you're so young."
The boy lowered his eyes. "We lost everything. Everyone. I... I didn't know where to go or what to do. The other tribes and merchants we encountered didn't want us to stay with them. Bad luck. So, I decided we needed to leave the desert. It's my job to take care of her now. She's all that matters to me. She is all I have."
Faerie blinked owlishly and said her first words to him. "I know what it's like to lose parents. I also have a little sister I take care of. But I - I had help. I can't imagine..." She trailed off. Her voice was soft and sweet. "And I never went hungry or thirsty. None of us do. I grieve for you."
The boy's eyes filled with tears as he slowly lowered his fork, swallowing hard and not saying a word. Taia's purple eyes softened greatly. "When you are finished with your food, I have a place to take you and someone to introduce you to. The call from our magic was no coincidence. It is called the Arcane, and she is picky with who she chooses."
"Chooses?" He managed through his closing throat, and Taia nodded but did not explain. He assumed the gesture meant yes.
Dishes were cleared, and the boy held his sister's hand as they left the cottage, letting her cower against him. Taia led them through the tidy village. The boy stared at the Covenhead's back, pointedly ignoring the stares from the other coven members as they followed a heavily trodden cobblestone path, squeezing his sister's hand gently whenever a stifled noise of confusion or distress left her. "Who are you?" He asked Faera, who walked on his sister's other side. "All of you?" He studied the pale purple marking on the back of Taia's neck, the whisps winding together to create an open eye.
Faera offered him a small smile on her pretty face. Unlike Taia, who was all sharp angles and points, the horned girl was soft and delicate, with a heart-shaped face and almond eyes. "We are the Arcane's Children," she answered lightly, "chosen by the deities of old. We are the last to practice the Old Ways."
The boy had never heard of the Old Ways, and the only deities he ever knew were the Gods and Goddesses of Sun, Stars, and Moon; the three deities who led their tribe's ways. Nothing Faera told him made sense in his mind, but there was this feeling in his chest that whatever she said was meant to include him and his sister. He didn't mention that part, but from the look in her pupiless, venom-green eyes when he looked over at her, she already knew. Her second little smile, this one knowing, confirmed his suspicion.
Taia continued to lead them through the village until they turned down another main path, passing a gaggle of three girls about the boy's and Faera's age. After taking a few glances at the boy, the three of them turned to each other and giggled, looking through their lashes at him. He couldn't help but stare at one; with her desert flower-pink hair, brows, and lashes, combined with ebony skin, she was a sight to behold. Tearing his eyes away before his looking became rude, he continued to follow Taia, holding onto his sister's hand a bit tighter.
The path split into three, and Taia turned down the left, through an orchard of lush trees. Some of them were dripping with fruit he had never seen before, and Faera reached up to pick a low-hanging, vibrant green orb off of a branch. With another small smile, he offered it to him. Confused, he took it. "Take a bite."
He hesitated, then did as she told, the thin skin of the fruit easily pierced until he found a sweetly sour, crisp white flesh underneath. He made a noise in the back of his throat - he had never tasted something so sugary before in his life. He chewed slowly, then swallowed. "What is it?"
"It's called an apple."
"Aw-pel?"
Faera giggled lightly. "Ah-pul."
The boy looked at her for a moment, then offered the tiniest, most hesitant smile of his life. It was the first time he had smiled in... he couldn't even remember. Turning his attention to his little sister, he offered her the small green apple. "Take a bite," he echoed Faera's suggestion, and she chomped down obediently. Her brown eyes went wide as she looked back up at him, the little fruit looking huge in her petite hand. Faera giggled again when the little girl continued to devour the fruit.
"I take it you didn't have apples in the desert?"
"We had a bit from an oasis here and there, but we mostly hunted. Some cacti had fruit, but only sometimes, in the right season." He was distracted as they veered out of the orchard, passing a large barn with a huge chicken coop connected to it. He stared at the large fowl with confusion, visible through the chicken wire, and at the man collecting eggs in a large basket. His skin was black as Faera's hair, but his large eyes were pale blue, as were his own tattoos. His were harsh verticle strokes up his arms and shoulders, hashing out images he couldn't quite see past the wire. Then they passed the barn and coop, reminding the boy to look straight ahead at Taia's straight back.
They continued briskly, though not at a difficult pace for the little one, through farmland. Head-sized orange things Faera called pumpkins were growing in a small patch: orange and yellow flowers the size of serving platters were being harvested. Bushes of tiny fruits, roots from the damp soil, herbs and medicinal plants he had no knowledge on. He found himself stopping in his tracks, slack-jawed, as a pale-skinned woman with dark green vines tattooed on her skin held out her hand and made ten bushes bloom and produce tiny fruits within seconds with a glimmer of green magic surrounding them. Faera nudged his arm and he continued walking with his sister.
Eventually, they passed the farmland and the paved path widened again, but this time, it was paved with pure white pebbles imbedded in the earth. His sister stared at the ground in wonder - neither of them had ever seen such perfectly round stones before, nevermind with that iridescent sheen. "Pearls," Faera explained. "Come along."
The followed the pearl path until they reached the edge of the clearing, but the path continued into the trees. Magic hummed in the air, and the boy could taste it, feel it between his fingers and in his hair. It was on the tip of his tongue, so he didn't dare speak, and neither did his sister, who had gasped and then fallen perfectly silent. Her little hand was squeezing his as hard as she could, which wasn't very hard. The boy let her.
"We are almost there," Taia announced. Faera took the apple core from his sister and tossed it into the trees, where a fat squirrel immediately claimed it and scurried away.
Somehow, the boy already knew. The trees were dripping and connected with strands of pearls, glittering and glowing with soft white magic as the sun started to set below the horizon. Specks of white light floated in the air, somehow hovering inches away from skin without ever touching, even when the boy's sister reached for one curiously. Tongue caught by a cat, the boy continued on, not noticing how Faera's eyes were soft as she watched his expression of wonder and awe.
Finally, the path ended, but not without a show. Having been distracted by the draping strands of glowing pearls and floating lights, the boy and his sister were brought back to the present by Taia clearing her throat. "We are at the gates to the Black Lake. Behold our most sacred place, children, and listen to what is said within."
The path paused, but the gates were so beautiful that the boy hardly noticed. His breath hitched, eyes wide, as he took in the sight. More pearls, of course, flickering with pure white magic, built and bound together with white crystal points and sheer iridescent metal that glinted with rainbows in the dying sunlight. Like a prism, rainbows swirled in that semi-clear metal, and the delicate swirls and shapes of waves decorating the top of the double gates a few feet taller than Taia were impossibly beautiful. The 'bars' were made of strands of pearls rather than metal, and they tapped together softly as Taia waved her hand, the gates swinging open inward. "Come along, children," she bade, and the boy automatically obeyed, his sister close to his side. Both of them felt they were hardly breathing air, the magic was so thick in the atmosphere.
He didn't expect what was to come next. As if it had been invisible outside the gates, a small lake of mirror-like, pitch-black water laid in a perfect circle before them, not even a ripple on its surface. The shores surrounding the lake were not sand, but rather loose pearls and white, iridescent crystal points and clusters. A bridge of dark wood arched over the lake in the center, the railing and sides covered in trailing, dark green vines growing huge, gorgeous white flowers, the tips of each petal slowly turning transparent from their opaque centers.
Taia allowed a few moments for the two newcomers to take in the sights, silent with a close-lipped smile on her face. "This," she said softly, trying not to break their trance of amazement and shock, "is sacred, holy ground. Here, we bless life and say goodbye to the dead. Here, our purposes begin and end. The Black Lake is the heart of Trinity Coven, and you shall soon hear it beat within your own chests."
"I don't get it," the boy's little sister whispered, and Faera smiled gently down at her.
"You will," the green-eyed girl assured softly. The boy had a feeling he knew what would happen, but for some reason, it was not overwhelming or intimidating. Rather, there was a sense of rightness in his heart, as if he had finally found where they belonged.
As if they had finally found home.
Across the Black Lake, over the bridge, there was a building half-over the water, hovering just inches above it and the pearly, crystal shore on stilts with the other half resting on a foundation in the short, dark green grass. It was build of that semi-opaque, iridescent metal, yet the boy couldn't see through it to the inside. There were two stories, he could tell, but that was all. The clear glass of the windows allowed a peek inside as they slowly walked across the bridge in silence, the trees surrounding the round clearing still draped with glowing pearls that gave a soft light as the sun nearly vanished in totality.
"This," Taia said as she stepped off the bridge back onto the pearly path, "is the Black Lake Temple. This is where we are given our Calling."
"Calling?" The boy repeated, the word feeling thick on his tongue as if magic caused his voice to swell. Taia paused, staring at him critically for a moment, and the boy wondered if it was because she knew how he felt a soft whisper in the wind, a soft voice trying to tell him something he didn't yet understand.
"Yes," Faera said softly. "Our Calling is... well, it's when a deity chooses you. It's when your Matron, Patron, or Vatron declares you as their Hand. Their child."
"How many are there?" The boy breathed the question as they slowly walked toward the iridescent Temple, watching Taia reach for the crystal door handle.
Faera smiled. "Too many to count."
The door to the Temple opened, and the force of the wave of sheer magical energy had both siblings gasping and stumbling back, the girl nearly losing her footing before her brother caught her. He wheezed, the magic pressing against his chest and swelling his throat, stinging his eyes, pulsating with his heart. Taia watched with an intense look in her eyes, and Faera's jaw was dropped open, her pupiless eyes wide. But she snapped her mouth shut quickly, forcing her expression to relax. She didn't fool the boy, but he ignored it in favor of the woman stepping down the stairs that led to the door of the Temple.
She was beautiful. Ethereal, even, with wenge-colored skin and white, branch like markings that delicately framed her eyes, down her lips and chin, chest, arms, and hands. Her ears were pointed; hair was pitch black, intricately braided with pearl beads, crystal charms, and iridescnt metal rings. Wearing a plain white dress with flowing skirts, the mysterious, graceful woman stepped down the stairs, her hand trailing along the metal handrail until she was on the last step, where she stopped. Then he inclined her head to Taia respectfully, her hair falling forward as she placed her hand over her chest, right between and bellow her collarbones. "Merry Met again, Taia," she practically sang in a musical voice, light and airy, and Taia smiled at her. Her eyes, soft hazel, landed on the strange children. "Ah. They are here." Her smile was kindly. "Welcome home, children."
The boy was speechless, staring openly, his sister's jaw open as she gawked. Taia chuckled warmly. "Children, this is Shepherd Dahli. She is our connection to our deities, the one who translates our Callings and gives us our Tokens."
He didn't know what a Token was, but the boy didn't question it. Dahli smiled gently at him and his sister, turning to the side and gesturing with her free hand to the open Temple door. "Come inside," she said in her delicate voice. "I will see to tour Callings."
Finally, the boy managed to choke out some words. "Our - our Callings? But we - we're not - we're human." And the coven members, from what he had seen, were not. He didn't know what they were, but human? No. Plus, they all seemed to have magic, and he and his sister did not.
Dahli looked amused. "Darling, so were we. Come."
Were? The boy thought in a haze, but as if he were a puppet on a string, he led his sister to her. When they were close, she turned and stepped up the stairs, speaking to them as Taia and Faera stayed outside.
"The deities have been calling you two home for some time," she said softly as she shut the door behind them. "I am glad that you have come now. I have been waiting for some odd years to meet you two. Yes, yes; your presences have long feen fortold to me through the Arcane." She swept into the Temple, which was seemingly a perfectly normal cottage interior. It threw the boy and his sister for a headspin, going from beauty beyond comprehension to sudden normalcy. But there were hints: strands of pearls decorating the ceiling, a few specks of glowing light floating about, and a large crystal cluster on the ceiling glowing brightly to shed light in the room. Dahli motioned to a round wooden table with four seats, and the boy sat his sister down on one before sitting down himself. "Tea?"
"What's tea?" The girl asked, and Dahli smiled in amusement.
"Then no tea," she decided, sitting across from the children and folding her hands on the edge of the table, crossing one leg over the other. A large, wide bowl was filled with black water from the lake, reflective and completely still even as she slid it from the center of the table closer to the children. "We shall commune. Your Callings may be late by many, many seasons, but it is never too late to find it." She raised her hand and motioned with a curling of her fingers, and two small cups floated through the air off a dark wood shelf and twirled elegantly onto the table. The boy's jaw dropped. "Please, take water from the Black Lake into your cups. Drink."
The girl sniffed slightly. "But it looks dangerous," she whispered to her brother, but a child's whisper is rarely quiet, and Dahli chuckled warmly.
"You are no longer in the desert, where black water is deadly," she explained. He didn't know how she knew, but he didn't question it. "You are in Kuethadore, the land of Trinity Coven. You are safe here, with us. You are home."
The siblings sat quite still for a moment, then the boy reached for his sister's smaller cup - better suited for a young child's hands - and dipped it shallowly into the bowl, marveling how disturbing the surface didn't cause a single ripple. He draw the cup back up and set it before his sister, then dipped the lip of his own wood cup into the liquid. Dahli nodded in encouragement, and the siblings glanced at each other. His sister reached for her cup, and at once, they drank. It's... sweet? The boy thought in wonder. It tasted like the apple he had tried on the way to the Black Lake.
A moment later, the cups tapped back against the table, empty. The Shepherd smiled yet again. "Close your eyes," she whispered, "and listen."
They boy obeyed. For a moment, all he saw was darkness, and all he felt was the chair he sat on and the floor underneath his feet, one hand in his lap and the other once again holding his sister's. But that slowly began to fade. First, the floor vanished - then the chair, then, finally, his sister's hand. That made him panic, and his eyes flew open to try and see where she had gone-
And was faced with darkness. He was standing in darkness, despite not having been standing a moment ago, and the black ground reflected his image. Confused, and yet strangely not frightened, the boy looked around, slowly turning in a half-circle. Then he heard a soft call from behind him, and he whipped around with wide eyes to see their mother.
"Táokla!" He cried, breaking into a sprint and colliding with her. She openly wept, crushing him in her embrace, rocking them side to side as she kissed his temple, stroked his hair, all while he shed his own tears. "Táokla," he sobbed, "how are - I saw you d-die!" He choked. "How are you here?"
"I was in the Soft," she whispered through her tears, referencing the nomadic tribe's paradise afterlife. "I was - I was there. But then this - this woman came to me, claiming to be a deity from another way. The Old Ways. She said - she said she chose you to be her... her Hand, I think. She was so kind, so warm - she brought me here so I could see you one last time before going back to the Soft. One last time to tell you how much I love you and your sister."
"Is she seeing you, too?"
"Your father is with her," his mother murmured to him, pulling away and framing his face with her hands. Tears were in her soft tawny eyes, her smile as genuine and watery as they came. She even smelled the same; like hot sand and fire smoke. "Another deity came for him."
The boy sniffed and wiped his eyes, his other hand clinging to one of hers on his face. "I miss you," he said in a crackling voice. "We both miss you, so much."
"I see you," she whispered, sinking to her knees to look up at him. "I see you every moment. I see how you care for your sister, how brave and strong you have been. Oh, Èyöjei-" their native word for son "-I am so proud." The boy cried harder at these words, trembling under her hands and falling forward to embrace her again. "I cannot stay," she whispered. "Not much longer. The Soft is calling me back."
"No!" The boy cried, clinging on tighter, but he felt her form begin to dissolve. "Táokla, don't go! I need you! Your daughter needs you!"
"You have each other." Her voice was turning fainter, as if she were further and further away. "And you have a new home, a new family. The Old Ways call to you, Èyöjei. Listen to them. I love you so much, my brave, brave boy." Her hands felt faint against his back where she held him. "I love you. I love you."
"I love you, too," He sobbed out, and then she was gone, and he collapsed onto his hands from where he had been leaning on her. A scream ripped from his chest, brutal and raw, finally releasing all the pain, the sorrow, the loss, the grief and anger - everything he had been holding back in order to care for and protect his little sister. Eventually, his scream tapered out, leaving his breathing raggedly with tears coursing down his face.
"You will see her again."
He jolted up onto his feet and whipped around on his knees. There, standing behind him, was yet another woman. She was tall and narrow, with storm cloud grey hair that fell in thick, wavy sheets and buttery pale skin, her eyes blue as the sky and even more vibrant. She was dressed in black, with thin leather armor studded with grey metal, a long hunting dagger on her left hip, and a tall staff in her right hand, the end resting on the black reflective floor. The air filled with static as the intimidating woman strode toward him, then offered him her free hand. Her fingers were decorated with black rings. The boy stared at her for a moment, wide-eyed, tears on his cheeks, before shakily and slowly reaching up to accept her offer. With shocking ease, she pulled him to his feet. Now that she was close, he could see lean muscle underneath her tight black clothes and armor. Her staff, black metal, had a striking, sparking glass topper that looked like the glass monuments lightning left in sand in the desert.
"Who are you?" He asked as he got to his feet with her aid, gaze flicking to her eyes to her staff, back to her eyes. "Are you the deity that brought my mother to me?"
"I am," she confirmed in her strong, commanding voice. Then she bowed her head, lowering her eyes respectfully. "I grieve your loss alongside you, my newfound son. To lose a mother so young is to lose a guiding light. I cannot replace her, but I can offer you guidance." She raised her head again, and he saw electricity in her sky-like eyes. "I am Azaziel, Goddess of Storms and Sky. I bring rain, I bring thunder, I bring chaos. I have chosen you to be my Hand - my first Hand in many, many generations." She tapped her staff against the ground and turned her head to look at the glass sculpture. "Not many can handle what I offer." Her eyes returned to him. "But there is a strength inside of you that calls to me, and I, in turn, Call to you. If you will have me."
The boy looked at her, waiting to feel overwhelmed - but it didn't come. Instead, that same sense of rightness was in his chest, and it was only growing, as was the strange pressure inside that was reacting to the magic that surrounded him. Silent for long moments, he simply held eye contact with her, his own eyes wide with awe, his grief momentarily lessened by his racing thoughts. "What - what does that entail?"
Azaziel smiled, and he swore he heard thunder in the distance. "You will become a new person," she informed. "You will lose your humanity and become a full-fledged member of the Old Ways, and of those that follow - Trinity Coven. You will have a new name, a new identity, a new life. Gone will be your days of loneliness and powerlessness. If you accept me, if you accept my Call, you will grow to become one of the most powerful men in history." Static sparked between the jagged edges of her staff's topper, miniature lightning bolts that charged the air with the scent of storms. "You will have a great and important future on your shoulders." She lowered her chin slightly, leveling an even more intense stare at him. "I must warn you: if you accept my Call, there will be no turning back."
The boy was silent for a moment longer, his thoughts and heart racing. For a long, long while, he said nothing, eyes studying the Goddess before him with critical intensity. Then, he shifted his foot slightly closer, his brown eyes sparking with strength. "I accept your Call."
Her sky-blue eyes turned thunderous, darkening like a great storm on the horizon. "Do you pledge yourself to me, boy?"
"I pledge myself to you," he echoed, suddenly eager. "I vow myself to you. I will learn all that you have to teach me, and I will accept the responsibility your Call bestows."
Her eyes suddenly burst with lightning light, and her smile turned feral, showing she had a set of short, metallic silver fangs. Wordlessly, she held out her hand, and he held out his. Grasping each other's forearms, Azaziel leaned down and purred something into his ear. "Welcome home, Akasha Nyxm, Son of Skies and Chaos."
The boy - Akasha - jolted awake, gasping, with a racing heart. It beat erratically, his lungs aching, his skin stinging all over. Dahli sat across from his still, watching calmly, although with a much more serious look in her hazel eyes. What's happening to me?! He wanted to ask, but he couldn't form the words. His tongue moved, but his breath was frozen. Akasha felt his canines against his tongue in a whole new way - they were longer, sharper, and tasted like steel. A shooting sensation bolted through him and he staggered to his feet, leaning his hands against the table as he took ragged breaths. A silent shout left him when he saw his tanned skin was no longer bronze, but almost paper white, like snow had been scorched into his body.
"You are letting go of your humanity," Dahli said softly, seriously. "You have accepted your Calling. Your Arcane gifts are unlocking inside of you, revealing who you truly are. Don't fight it. Let it happen."
Akasha collapsed back in his chair, finally managing to gasp in air. He could taste static on his tongue - static and steel - and his entire body shuddered viciously, his eyes rolling back as a wave of pure Arcane pulsed through him, generated from the top center of his chest, right below his collarbones. This happened several times - over and over again, strange discomfort - but not pain - wracking through his twitching body, until-
With one last gasp, Akasha bolted upright, panting, feeling... normal. New, and yet normal. Feeling his hands shaking, he looked down at them, brows furrowing as he realized his vision was much sharper than normal, as if everything was in hyperfocus. His skin was pale, too pale to be human, and there was no color or shade difference between the backs and the palms of his hands as he turned them over curiously.
Dahli slid the bowl of Black Lake water closer. "Look at yourself."
Nervous, but excited, Akasha leaned over the bowl. Jaw dropping open, he reached up with a trembling hand to touch below his left eye. His eyes were no longer brown and human. Rather, they were reptilian, no whites to be seen, and brilliantly yellow - like desert lightning. His pupils were fine black slits. His hair was just as pale as his skin. Shocked, he looked up at Dahli, who smiled in pride. "You are Arcanian now - a witch." She lowered her head respectfully. "Hand to Azaziel, I welcome you to Trinity Coven. I welcome you home." Then he lifted her head again and smiled once more, although this time rather knowingly. "Try sitting back."
Confused, Akasha tried to do what she said - only to feel something new between his back and the chair. Jumping, he whipped his head around, and his eyes widened in shock when he saw the edge of a metallic white-feathered wing. "Wi-" he started, made a strangled sound, then jerked his head back forward. "Wings?!" They flexed behind him, feeling new but, somehow, natural and easy.
She laughed, the sound cheerful and bright. "You are the Hand of the Goddess of the Skies!" She exclaimed as if it were only the most obvious thing he would have wings. "It is your birthright to have access to Azaziel's domain."
A soft sound to his side suddenly reminded Akasha that his sister was there, and he whipped around, only to reel back in shock. She was clearly just coming out from her own change, her eyes hazy and her expression a little lost. The Hand to Azaziel gawked at her, although he supposed her new appearance only made sense. After all, they had looked nigh the same as humans - it would only be right if they followed the pattern as Arcanians. Her skin was so fair it was practically translucent, her hair like spiderwebs - but her eyes. Her eyes unnerved him a bit, as they were jet black, no sclera just like his. They were so black he couldn't see a pupil if he tried. He reached out automatically for her hands and jolted slightly when a pricking sensation tickled his own. Looking down, he noticed her fingernails were longer, sharper, and made of pitch-black metal. His eyes wide, he looked back up at the same time she looked at him, and unbelievably, she smiled. She had human-like, flat teeth before her canines, but her canines and premolars were sharp and a bit short than his own fangs, and the rest of the back teeth he could see were also sharp.
She giggled and took her hands back, slapping them onto either side of his face. "I saw Daddy!" She squealed. "And I get to talk with dead people!"
Dahli jumped in before Akasha could finish his wheeze of shock. "Xezial is the God of the Dead and Lord of the Afterlife. He has not had a Hand in generations." Her eyes were serious again. "You are both burdened with incredible purpose, but that is in the future. What is your name, child?"
"Oh! Avalon. Avalon Nyxm." Her pale brown furrowed in thought. "I don't think I can spell that yet."
Dalhi laughed softly. "No, child, considering you have yet to learn Arcanic. With time and lessons, you will. Same with you..." She pointedly trailed off, staring at Akasha expectantly.
"Akasha," he said, as if he was introducing himself. "Akasha Nyxm."
She nodded in understanding. "Reach into the bowl, Akasha," she commanded, pushing the bowl of black water toward him. "Azaziel has left you her Token. Keep it close."
Akasha blinked his strange snake-like yellow eyes and glanced at the water, seeing his own pale face reflected back to him. Then, lips curving up slightly, he dipped his hand into the water and his fingers soon curled around what he assumed to be his Token. Slowly, he withdrew it, turning his dripping hand over and uncurling his snowy fingers. It was a small glass sphere, about the size of his palm, and inside was a fluctuating bolt of electricity. He could sense the static against his hand. "Incredible," he breathed as Dahli pushed the bowl toward Avalon. She didn't need to be told, just eagerly splashed her hand in - making the Shepherd chuckle - and whipped it back out with a big grin. Then her face turned puzzled. It was a rather large black velvet bag, but it was... rattling?
"Open it," Akasha suggested, and when Avalon did, she shrieked in excitement.
"Dáo!" She cried, floundering onto the floor as the skeleton kitten finally came together, its bone jaw opening to meow despite having no flesh and, therefore, no vocal chords. Akasha watched with an open mouth as the undead kitten launched herself at Avalon, letting the little girl hug her tightly with a loud purr. "I missed you!"
"How can you tell it's Dáo?" Akasha asked incredulously. If anyone asked him, the undead cat looked like any other feline skeleton. Avalon gave him a strange look.
"It is!" She said strongly, almost pouting, and Akasha just nodded in agreement because, well, what else was he supposed to do?
Dahli chuckled, slowly standing up from her seat. "Xezial must have decided to give her back her old companion," she explained to Akasha, who just nodded silently, still watching his sister cling to her formerly deceased pet. "The undead are extraordinarily rare in the coven, but we shall adjust. After all, Dáo will be with us as long as Avalon is. Now," she clapped her hands together with a broad smile as Avalon stood up, the skeleton kitten in one arm as one little pale hand clung onto Akasha's much larger one. "Shall we find a cottage for you two?"
And so Akasha and Avalon were welcomed into Trinity Coven with open arms, given a quaint two-bedroom cottage to live in, and enrolled in the Academy of Witches. As they grew, their lives became entwined with those already there. Akasha's skin became etched with his first black tattoos within the week of becoming a witch - although he had learned early on that they were called markes and that they symbolized the powers of the one who wore them. His were jet black, and by the time he was an adult, they looked like electricity shooting up and down his arms, across his chest, and crawling up his neck.
When Akasha was nineteen, the Matefinder suggested that he and Faera - who then had spiraling, curled horns and delicate, pale green markes that took the shape of healing herbs to represent her healing magic - spend time together. They were Handfasted within a season - and he accepted her little sister, Ophelia, with wide open arms, loving her as he loved his own. Soon, he was practically a father.
Life was joyous. He learned the magic of storms of chaos, flew through the skies, and aided in the village where he could. He grew into a tall, narrow, strong man, built with lean muscle and rumbling laughter. Soon, he was asked to teach at the Academy of Witches as one of the professors. He taught the next generation of witches to control their magic - and in some cases, playfully shocked them with mild static when they tried to sneak in a few broken rules.
And then Faera died - and so did their first child.
Childbirth was dangerous, even with healing magic.
He brought Ophelia to his side and continued to raise her alone, with occasional help from his sister. They had been orphans, taken into Kuethadore when Faera was twelve - forty-eight seasons - and Ophelia was an infant. He had been in Ophelia's life since she was two, and she was only ten when his only living relative died tragically. Akasha became her surrogate father, and he vowed to love her as his own and treat her with utter kindness, just as his deceased mate did.
Taia aged. She had already had dreamy grey hair when Akasha first met her, and her time to cross soon came. As times were peaceful, she had been the only Covenhead at the time, and her death brought a wave of sorrow and celebration of life. Less than a week after her passing, the Arcane chose Akasha to be the next Light Covenhead at the age of twenty-five, one hundred seasons. Avalon was just past sixteen, sixty-five seasons at the time.
Tension began to rise when Avalon was then Called to be next to him as the Dark Covenhead. She was only half past sixteen - sixty-six seasons old, and the youngest Covenhead of any branch to be called. Not yet an adult, but no longer a child, she took the burden well. Whispers began to spread as Seekers came home with more magic-users who wished to join their safe haven, and Akasha knew trouble was afoot when more and more witches - at least ten over four seasons, a massive change from the typical one or two - came into their lives. He consulted Dahli and prayed to the deities at both the community altar and his own in the cottage he and Avalon shared, but only whispers came to him. Whispers and reminders that he was now the protector of the coven, reminders that he was the one who was Called to end threats to his people.
And then the letter from the King came, and he knew what he had to do.
Build: Tall and willowy, Akasha is packed with lean muscle from years of hard manual labor from early childhood, first in a desert nomadic tribe, then in Kuethadore. He's been described as long on multiple occasions.
Markes: His markes are lightning patterns starting on his fingers, traveling up his hands and arms, crossing his shoulders and inching slightly up his neck. They also cross over his chest and down his sides.
Clothes: When Akasha is in Kuethadore, he wears casual black clothing that moves and breathes, allowing him the ability to work without much restriction. When he is outside Trinity Coven's protected territory, he wears far more formal - and protective - clothing. All sharp lines, his formal attire consists of both well-tailored clothing and thin leather armor similar to Azaziel's. It's studded with steel along the seams and is strategically placed to look fashionable while still being protective. The leather is treated by a fellow covenmate who can enchant leather to become impenetrable, creating armor any Knight would be envious of.
Jewelry: Akasha wears several pieces of jewelry regularly. Around his neck is a reminder of his past life, a leather cord with the smallest fang of the most dangerous of desert predators, a basilisk, as a pendant. The fang is stark white after being bleached in the sun over time. It is about two inches long and carved with desert nomadic symbols of honor. He also wears several black rings on his fingers, three bracelets made of woven cord dyed black on his left hand, and another thin bracelet made of black metal and shatter-proof glass on his right. That bracelet cannot come off without him specifically speaking the enchantment word, which then transforms it into a carbon copy of Azaziel's staff, complete with the glass topper that crackles with electricity when he so desires.
General Appearance: With an unnaturally even, snowy-pale skin tone and hair just as pale, Akasha is a ghost in a living body. Between his black markes and phantom-like skin and hair, the only color on him is his eyes, which are glaringly yellow like charged lightning striking the earth. They are reptilian in nature with no sclera, the iris taking up the whole eye with a fine-slit pupil in the center. On his back are strong, metallic white feathered wings, capable of taking him to the sky and soaring for long distances. To accentuate his Arcanian appearance, he has two short, silver fangs in place of his canine teeth, which glint when he speaks or smiles.
- Honesty: Akasha appreciates people who are open and honest about what they need or want. Having been partially raised in Trinity Coven, he was taught how to communicate thoroughly slightly later in life, which only makes him appreciate it all the more. As Covenhead, it is vital to him that his people are honest so that he knows how to best care for and protect them.
- Children: Even though he was the main and sole caregiver of his little sister since he was fifty-seven seasons (fourteen and a quarter years) old, Akasha still has and has always had a great fondness for the youth. He feels a great need to keep them safe and there is no end to how far he will go to protect any lost or hurt child he sees - even if it is outside his own people, which is relatively infrequent considering he rarely leaves Kuethadore.
- Religion/The Old Ways: Although not raised in the Old Ways, Akasha took to them like a moth to a flame. He sees great value in worship and not only worships with the coven but also on his own at his personal altar in his room, which is dedicated to Azaziel, the Goddess who Called him. Seeing rituals, prayer, and tradition as cornerstones of his life, he holds the coven's religion to a firm standard, and he can often be found with the Shepherd, Dahli, asking questions to further prompt his faith.
- Familiars and wildlife: Every witch has at least one familiar, and the bond between a witch and their familiar/s is seen as something special. Akasha's familiar, like his sister, is a cat - although his is not undead. Her name is Ghast, and she is a pure-white cat with yellow eyes, truly a feline mirror image of himself. While familiars hold a special place in his heart, wildlife does as well. The witches of Trinity Coven and the wildlife in their territory have a symbiotic relationship, and he holds all in high regard.
- Archery: Having been raised in a hunting nomadic tribe, Akasha was trained in archery since he could hold a bow. He holds great pride in his skills and talent in practice (as he should) and is frequently seen teaching the children of Trinity Coven how to shoot a bow and arrow. Archery holds many powerful memories of his -, and it doesn't hurt that he can now charge his metal arrows with lightning, creating a rather explosive effect upon impact, depending on the material of the target.
- Loyalty and trust: Akasha relies heavily on his people remaining loyal to him and trusting him as their leader and friend. He truly has the best in mind for Kuethadore and often has plans to improve their village or land, so he depends on his people to listen and either speak up about their concerns or help him with these improvements, although he is not one to skirt around physical labor. He is often seen getting his hands dirty to improve the lives of his covenmates.
- Music and dance: Although one may not expect it from calm, stoic Akasha, he is quite fond of the musical and dancing aspect of celebrations. He knows how to play a variety of instruments and is fond of several different styles of dance, which he will rarely initiate but will indulge in if someone asks him.
- Flying: Not only is flying enjoyable to him, but it's useful. While Kuethadore is guarded by a magic barrier that turns people around and erases their memory while also implanting a sense of terror about that area, he finds comfort in flying above the forest Trinity Coven lives in and marking anything he sees as suspicious. On more than one occasion, people have tried to set fire to the forest - but he caught all three instances early (twice before he was Covenhead, once after he was Called) and summoned great torrents of rain from the sky, putting out the fires before they could do too much damage - and striking the offenders down with well-struck bolts of lightning.
- Survival skills: He would never admit it, but after finding Kuethadore after so long of not knowing how to survive in a new world with his sister, Akasha is paranoid about being unable to survive if he's ever stranded or lost. He has learned how to hunt, forage, heal, build, and other necessary survival skills without his magic or wings, even though there will likely never be a time he won't have one or the other. It comforts him to know he could take care of not only himself but of anyone else trapped with him as well.
- Fresh produce: While his lifestyle requires an unholy amount of protein and far more calories than an average person, Akasha is also fond of fresh fruit and vegetables. After living in the desert where almost ninety percent of their diet was meat, one of his fondest memories of coming into Trinity Coven was his late wife (then stranger) having him try a sweet and sour Granny Smith apple. He treasures the privilege to have year-round fresh produce and will never deny an offered apple.
Dislikes:
- Too-sweet foods: Having grown up in a nomadic tribe that did not have any sweeteners other than only semi-sweet cacti sap, the sweetest things Akasha can tolerate are overripe fruits. Sugar not only tastes too sweet, but it gives him a sugar rush that leaves him tired after, a sensation he hates both sides of. Thankfully, the coven has picked up on this, and he is rarely obligated or asked to eat anything with additional sugar.
- The Outside: Akasha has very little patience for people outside of the coven. The closest nation to them is Liren, so naturally, it is usually from there that they rescue wayward witches. From what he has heard of Liren's King and Prince, it is a death sentence to just have magic there, even if one doesn't use it. Akasha has taken these stories to heart and has a burning, passionate hatred for not only Liren, but also other nations that abuse witches and magic in any form. To him, magic (not just the Arcane form) is sacred and should be protected and held to a high standard. From what he has seen and been told, very few nations follow his opinions.
- Excuses: There is a fine line between a reason and an excuse, but Akasha is excellent at finding that line and drawing it. While he is a reasonable man, he cannot stand when someone offers a lackluster excuse, although his patience varies between person to person.
- Vulnerability: While Akasha allows himself to be vulnerable with his people, and while he encourages his people to be vulnerable with him, he does not wish for either party to become exposed to an outside force. He has poured strength into the protective barrier around Kuethadore and has also set up a rotation of watchmen to keep an eye on things from the ground. Not only that, but he tasked whose who can commune with animals in the coven to ask wildlife to report if anything strange or amiss was afoot.
- Trophy hunting: It's a very simple belief: animals are sentient creatures with lives to live and families to care for. While he sees hunting for food as appropriate, as long as the whole animal is used to some capacity, trophy hunting is barbaric and pathetic.
- Bargaining: Akasha hates it when those who tried to harm his people try to bargain for their safety or lives. As a man with zero tolerance for threats to his people, he either culls them without listening or forces them against the barrier, turning them around with the sense of doom and fear that keeps them and others away.
- Abuse: Ever since he was the one raising his sister, Akasha knew that physical punishments never worked. He didn't need to 'try' it to know that. Hearing about a child being hurt makes his blood boil and tends to send him into a rage if it's recent. While he does not like the Outside, he does still pity its children and would do anything to prevent the cycle of abuse from continuing. Note: Akasha does not know about Eddis' past and ongoing abuse.
General Personality: Being fiercely loyal, violently protective, unyieldingly stubborn, and devastatingly soft for those one loves is a dangerous combination. Akasha will go to the ends of the world to protect those he loves, and he has ended several lives he deemed to be threats to his people. Those lives were always taken when they were actively trying to hurt or invade Kuethadore, especially if they knew about the barrier and tried sabotaging them in other ways, such as setting the forest on fire. His patience is nonexistent for those he deems unworthy, and he will not hesitate to cull those who would cull his loved ones.
While his rage is legendary, if not mysterious to the Outside people, Akasha is a stoic individual who prefers to have control over situations he is in when it comes to non-leadership matters. As a leader, he is very generous and giving to his people: he listens well and takes their advice and concerns seriously. However, when it comes to personal relationships or dealing with Outside forces, he desires control anywhere between soft control and complete domination, depending on the situation and people in it. His serious, occasionally dryly sarcastic, strangely calm façade does not tend to break around those he doesn't trust, and he refuses to ever let that happen.
But when it comes to people he loves, Akasha would do anything for them. If they asked him to jump, he'd ask how high, and if they asked him for help, he'd be there in half a second. He's soft with his adopted daughter and his sister, now fellow Covenhead despite her young age, loves them deeply, and would give them the world if they asked for it. He's still relatively straight-faced and calm, but he's also heart-achingly tender with them and anyone else who he deeply cares for - especially the young children of the coven. It is not rare to see him being pulled into playing with them, and it is rare to see him deny them their wants.
Calling Details:
- Matron: Azaziel, Goddess of Sky, Storms, and Chaos.
- Titles: Hand of the Goddess of the Skies, Hand of Chaos.
- Powers: Electrokinesis, summoning and commanding weather changes, flight, and communing with birds of prey.
- Duties: Preventing natural weather from harming Home, summoning rain during droughts, flying to scope the border when it is triggered, and electrocuting those who try to harm the Coven.
- Token: A small clear glass sphere, about the size of his palm, with a fluctuating bolt of yellow electricity inside.
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