Chapter Fifty-Two Lor
“Lor.” A voice whispers to me, and my eyes peel open. The light is bright yet soft, like it’s being filtered through frosted windowpanes. “Lor. Wake up.”
I groan as I shift, my body tight and achy. I’m lying on a hard floor, and my eyes shift up as someone enters my view and a soft hand gently touches my cheek.
I try to focus, but whoever it is flickers in and out, shifting from the form of a woman with dark hair and pale skin to become a man with a shaved head and an olive complexion. It’s too many people all blurring together, and my head spins as my axis tips sideways.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” the figure says with a voice that ripples in a dozen octaves—high and low, soft and strong. “Let us help you up.”
They take my arm and tow me into a seated position.
“Who are you? Where am I?”
“You are in the Evanescence,” they say, and that fires off every alarm bell in my head.
“Am I… dead?”
The last thing I remember is that putrid black smoke filling my lungs, Nadir yelling, and then Rion’s soldiers tying me up.
“No, you’re not dead,” the figure says. “We are the Empyrium.”
I must’ve hit my head, or Rion gave me hallucinogenic drugs to shut me up, and now I’m dreaming I’m in the Evanescence with some weird ghost or whatever this is.
“Um… okay?”
They smile patiently and then push up to stand, holding out a hand. “Come. We have things to show you.”
My nose wrinkles as I stare at their outstretched fingers, watching them transform from one hand to another’s. “Is this real?”
They nod. “This is real, Lor.”
Corralling my disbelief, I reach out and take their hand before they help pull me up.
We’re standing inside a circular room, the walls and floor covered with pale grey and white marble. Arched windows surround us, glowing with soft sunlight.
Seven people stand in a circle facing one another. I study them, noticing some bear a resemblance to people I’ve met before.
“What’s going on?” I ask. Something tells me this isn’t a dream.
“You are witnessing the Beginning of Days,” says the Empyrium at my side. “Who you see here are the human kings and queens who ruled over Ouranos at the end of the First Age.”
I wait for the Empyrium to continue explaining as they gesture for me to watch.
“Your lands were suffering,” they say. “Curses and plagues. Illnesses without explanation. They all tried to fight for the health of their people, but it was no use.”
I recall the story Nerissa recounted in the living room yesterday about magic going wild. At least, I think it was yesterday. It’s a little hard to tell right now.
“Because the magic was overflowing?” I ask.
The Empyrium nods. “Exactly. It had become too much, so we gathered the seven of them together.”
“And you are?”
“We are your gods,” they say.
“But isn’t Zerra our god?”
They shake their head. “Not exactly. No.”
I wait with my mouth open for more, but the Empyrium stares ahead.
“Look, I’m going to need something more here. What am I doing here? What’s going on? This is all very mysterious, but the last thing I remember is being kidnapped by my mortal enemy, and if I’m not dead, then I really need to get back and deal with that shi—stuff.”
I’m not sure why cursing next to these gods feels wrong, but I correct myself at the last moment.
Their gaze slides to me, and I swear they’re trying not to laugh.
“Understood,” they say. “We assure you that your visit here will be worth your time, Lor. Zerra is not a god in the way your people believe. She became our emissary. Your world is governed by us. We oversee hundreds of continents and worlds and galaxies beyond your wildest imaginings.”
They take my hand to pull me closer as I puzzle at those words. I guess they make sense? I’ve never heard of such a thing, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t common knowledge. What I know about the history of Ouranos could fit into a thimble, and that’s even after learning everything I have in the past few months.
“No, the people of Ouranos do not know who we are,” they say.
“Can you read my mind?”
“No. Not entirely, but we can glean echoes of what you’re thinking.”
“That’s a little creepy.”
Again, they seem to be trying to contain a smile.
“Oh, you will do well, Lor.”
“Do well at what?”
Instead of answering my question, they sweep out a hand. “When we gathered the kings and queens here, we gave each of them a gift. Of course, you are familiar with them. Seven Artefacts used to tether Ouranos to the magic so it could come under their control and would no longer consume them.”
“That’s what they do?”
“Amongst a few other things, but their main function was to bind the humans to the magic and ascend them to High Fae, and that has been their main role for generations.”
“So then what?”
“For the magic to transfer, each ruler was asked to bind themselves to their Artefact. Their life would become one with it, and when they passed on, they would remain with it forever.”
I allow that thought to settle. “That’s why they talk to me. They’re alive.”
They tip their head, the movement feline in its elegance.
“In a manner of speaking. Their bodies are long gone, but their minds remain.”
“That sounds… uncomfortable.”
They shrug. “We wouldn’t know.”
“So, who is everyone?” I glance around the circle, noting a woman in gold underwear with bronzed skin. “She’s from Aphelion?”
They nod. “She was. They were experiencing a heat wave of unprecedented proportions when she was taken and brought here.”
“What about the others? What about Heart?” I ask just as seven objects appear above their heads spinning slowly. A woman with dark hair, wearing a red gown, stands under the Heart Crown.
“Queen Amara’s people were plagued by a disease they called the Sleepness. People would fall into a deep sleep and never wake up.”
“That’s horrible.”
“It was,” they agree.
“So she’s who lives inside my Crown?”
This is getting weirder and weirder.
“In essence,” the Empyrium says, “though their memories are not of their mortal lives.”
“Now what’s happening?” I ask.
“One of them was asked to lead. We requested that someone volunteer to remain in the Evanescence and become the symbol of divine worship for Ouranos and its people, living here for an indefinite time that would stretch beyond memory. The others would be free to return home with their objects of power and enjoy their lives until their natural ends.
“As you can imagine, few jumped at the chance to become the sacrifice. They were being offered near immortality and magic not only for themselves but for their people. And no one wanted to abandon their homes.”
I watch the seven rulers standing around the circle. They’re alternately eyeing one another and staring at the Empyrium, who stands in the center of the circle. I can’t hear anything, but I get the sense this was the moment the Empyrium asked one of them to sacrifice themselves.
Even without the benefit of sound, I feel the tension reaching between them.
Finally, one of the men steps forward and lifts his hand. He’s wearing a long black cloak and has dark hair and eyes that are so achingly familiar a burr of emotion sticks in my chest.
“King Herric of The Aurora,” the Empyrium whispers. “He was drawn to the power. The promise of what it would mean to be worshipped as a god, even if he wasn’t technically one.”
We watch as everyone listens to Herric speak, his mouth moving with voiceless sound.
“But we rejected him,” they say.
“Why?” I ask, keeping my gaze focused on the seven rulers.
“He was needed on the surface.” The Empyrium pauses. “And we did not think he was suitable for the role.”
“Why not?”
“His heart was… dark.”
I recall the Aurora Torch told me the same thing about Rion.
I watch as rage flashes over Herric’s expression—visceral with anger. He looks around the circle, but no one can meet his accusing stare. He storms back to his place and then spins around to face the room as a shiver rolls down my back. I see the promise of war in the depths of his eyes.
Everyone goes back to staring at one another, when finally, the queen from Aphelion slowly raises her hand. It’s clear she’s unsure of herself, her shoulders rounded and her arm covering her stomach in a posture of self-consciousness.
I watch the relief on everyone else’s faces as she quickly drops her arm again, but Herric stares at her with that same promise of bloodshed in his eyes.
The woman speaks to the Empyrium, her spine straightening as I watch her find her confidence.
“Is that Zerra?” I ask. “Zerra was from Aphelion?”
The Empyrium nods.
“Why her and not King Herric?”
The Empyrium pauses, debating what to say next.
“She was not a good queen. When the other rulers laid down everything to help their lands, Zerra turned away, preferring to indulge in only her wants and needs.”
“So why would you want someone like that leading everyone?”
“We sensed she wanted to be better, and we saw in her the ability to rise to the challenge. Besides, like Herric, the others were needed at home. Her queendom would not miss her. Another was assigned in Zerra’s stead, and King Cyrus went on to rule for many years.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, having trouble absorbing everything I’m hearing. This is how it all went down?
“The rulers were sent away, and Herric returned home, but he was not to be content with the hand he’d been dealt. And so he set out to counter the magic of the Artefacts by creating objects of opposing power. After years of research and hunting, he found a material that he called virulence.”
“What’s virulence?”
“It is the antithesis of the magic in the realms. If your magic is the light, then it is the dark.”
“That’s the black stone?” I ask.
They nod. “Indeed. He made six arks in Zerra’s image, such was his loathing of her. He dug into the deepest recesses of the mountains to retrieve it, pushing his workers to death, his kingdom nearly to ruin. It twisted him, made him into something other.
“And so, he fell, inadvertently trapping himself in a world of shadow and ash, where he rules over his lonely, empty dominion. He sought the power of a god but was reduced to nothing but a caretaker of the souls of the damned. Those of you on the surface refer to him as the Lord of the Underworld.”
I gape at the Empyrium, struggling to arrange these pieces of knowledge.
“But the arks were left behind—he had sent one to each of the rulers, claiming they would help control and amplify the magic of their homes. In the early days, they’d had trouble containing it. The magic was wild and untethered, and things got worse before they got better. So they reached for this lifeline, using the arks with impunity. Six coffins made to contain the effigy of Zerra’s form. And every time the rulers channeled their magic through the arks, they would slowly kill her.”
“Six arks,” I say, recalling Nerissa’s research. “Not seven.”
“Herric had no need of one for himself,” they say. “He had mountains of virulence at his disposal.”
I nod and then ask, “But why didn’t you do something about this?”
“By then, we’d moved on. We had other things to attend to, and you are only a mere speck of dust in the vastness of our existence.”
I make a sound of derision. “Oh, how nice.”
They almost smile again.
“So then what?” I ask, hanging on every word.
“So Zerra sought to find and destroy them. It became her singular focus. She was interested only in saving herself. We had misjudged her desire to do better. Never underestimate how hard old habits die.
“When she realized she couldn’t get to the arks herself, she selected a group of High Fae to help find them.”
“The priestesses,” I say.
“Yes. She created the sisterhood in her image, giving them a form of magic that would help them seek out the arks.” Their mouth presses together. “But she manipulated their devotion, and they quickly spun out of control in their quest. She’d given them too much power, and it poisoned their minds.”
I remember the stories Nadir told me about how the priestesses had carried out horrific acts in her name.
“Oh,” I say.
“She made so many mistakes,” the Empyrium says with a disappointed tone.
“You kind of forced her into this, though, didn’t you?”
That earns me a side-eye, but no further comment.
“And now? Why are you telling me all this?”
“Her time in this role has passed. She has proven herself unworthy and is no longer strong enough to keep the magic under control.”
“So someone else needs to become Zerra?” I ask.
The Empyrium tips their head. “Well, they’d be free to use their own name.”
“Who?” I ask, a sense of foreboding prickling in the abyss of my subconscious.
They turn to face me, and I see the depths of an entire universe in their shifting eyes. The years and worlds and lifetimes beyond this moment.
They are infinite, and I am only a speck of dust tossing about the cosmos.
“Someone with a better heart than hers. Someone who would have fought for her people and who would fight for Ouranos and against the evil that roots deep in its darkest corners. Someone with only the shadow of a crown, long since tarnished by the sins of their ancestors.”
They pause, and the air stills around me, coalescing into a vague destiny that gathers like billows of dark smoke, as they give me a sad smile.
“Perhaps… a queen without a queendom.”