The Divine Shallows

Chapter 5Night Omens

5

Night Omens

On the eve of the Ceremony, under the glow of a full moon, Elowyn found herself ensnared in a fever dream. Her body tossed and turned, trapped in the grip of haunting memories from seven years prior.

In her restless slumber, she relived the moment when the High Priestess had announced Elyria’s candidacy on the Seventh Day of last season’s Trial.

The dream began with Elowyn fidgeting uncomfortably in the ornate dress her mother had insisted she wear for the evening’s event. Throughout the past six days of the Ceremony, she had been confined to similarly restrictive outfits, despite only attending the First and Seventh Day this season. She could still hear her mother’s words echoing in her mind, “Dressing well is a form of power and stature, Elowyn. Present yourself as a statement to be remembered.”

Standing behind her mother and father near the Divine Shallows, Elowyn was in a winsome gown. The skirts of her dress boasted rich hues of burgundy, maroon, and crimson, cascading down her form like silk petals and pooling around her feet in layers of fabric.

Beside her, stood Elyria, dressed in a gown twin to her own, but the fabric was a shade of dark obsidian. The dress was powerful, haunting even, as it seemed to extinguish the light that surrounded it. Both sisters wore silver circlets on their heads embellished with a singular opal at the crest.

Draped over their shoulders and down their backs were golden cloaks embroidered with dragon scales, known as aureum in Neramyr. These cloaks, a customary attire for royalty, served to distinguish them as descendants of the seven founding fey.

At the young age of twelve, Elowyn was witnessing the Ceremony of Caena for the first time. Her mother had explained that today marked the final and most important day of the Ceremony—the day where the chosen candidates would traverse across the Bridge Between Worlds.

Elowyn surveyed the hallowed Temple that surrounded her. It was crowded and filled with noblefolk and distinguished members of the seven courts. Yet, her attention was captivated by the other royal fey that possessed divine markings upon the surface of their skin.

Standing quietly, Elowyn observed the kings and queens that ruled the seven realms of Neramyr.

First among them was a striking sorceress with sharp, angular features and hair as dark as midnight. Her porcelain skin and eyes akin to radiant rubies commanded attention as she moved gracefully. Beside her stood a male of taller stature, sharing her shade of hair, skin, and eyes.

Adorning their heads were intricate crowns embellished with garnets, symbols of their kingdom’s wealth from the Iron Hollows. Both monarchs wore aureum cloaks decorated with patterns resembling basilisk scales, while the iridescent markings etched onto their skin shared a similar pattern. These two monarchs were King Wilden and Queen Irena of House Bloodweaver .

Shifting her gaze, Elowyn observed the regal figures of King Dren and Queen Maeva of House Mirthwood, rulers of Lochwald. Standing proudly beside them was their son, the prince of Mirthwood.

All three royal fey exuded their own unique beauty. Their umber skin radiated warmth, complemented by eyes of bold and assured charcoal hues. Queen Maeva wore a silver circlet atop her head, her tight curls fell in small ringlets down her back. Beside her, King Dren possessed the robust physique of a seasoned warrior.

House Mirthwood was known for their skill in combat and abjuration magic. The monarchs bore shimmering ivory markings resembling crawling vines and leaves, gracefully patterning their arms in curls. Their son, akin to Elowyn, bore no moonlight ink upon his skin save for his palms. Despite his youth, he carried an air of maturity beyond his years. All three wore golden aureum emblazoned with a grimwolf encircled by coiling vines.

Next in line were the rulers of Prymont, from House Skyborn. Elowyn had always harbored a hint of envy toward those born into this house—if lucky enough to inherit it, fey of House Skyborn possessed wings. The wings varied in length, size, and shape, with females typically bearing smaller, more ethereal wings, while males boasted wider, robust ones. Elowyn’s gaze fixed upon Queen Emilyn Skyborn, whose honeyed hair fell between her silver wings. Her eyes, a brilliant amethyst, gleamed against her complexion.

Beside her, King Nolas Skyborn possessed a formidable pair of gray wings, nearly touching the ground even in their tucked position. His brown hair was paired with emerald-green eyes, a complement to his markings resembling rippling clouds and streaks of lightning. Standing between the two rulers was their daughter, Princess Syrilla Skyborn.

Elowyn’s first encounter with the Skyborn princess occurred during a visit to the kingdom of Prymont as a feyling. The same age as Syrilla, Elowyn cried to her mother and father, longing for wings to soar among the mountain peaks like Bane and Stryx. Though older now, Elowyn still felt a pang of envy for the Skyborn lineage’s aerial gift. Clasped from the Skyborn monarch’s shoulders, draped golden aureum depicting an embroidered sky, their cloaks curving deeply at the small of their back to accommodate their wings.

Continuing her observations, Elowyn spotted the monarchs of Erimead: King Balt and Queen Nyra of House Blackbane. Their kingdom, adjacent to Eriden, shared a similar mountainous terrain, separated only by a vast channel of water. Elowyn was familiar with the tales of their twin sons, Lox and Llyr Blackbane, often glimpsing them riding ophis across the Erimead ranges. These ophis, winged serpents, were smaller than Eriden’s firedrakes. They piqued Elowyn’s curiosity, fueling her desire to one day ride one. However, her parents remained cautious about her visiting Erimead without a formal invitation.

The Blackbane twins, with their silken onyx hair, bore a striking resemblance to one another save for one distinguishing feature: one set of eyes were a heterochromic sapphire blue and emerald green. Each member of the Blackbane royalty outfitted themselves with golden aureum depicting a baleful ophis with outstretched wings.

Then, her gaze fell upon the monarchs of the Elune Isles, King Tydred and Queen Aletta Driftmoor. Their tanned complexion radiated with the glow of their coastal realm. The Driftmoor royals had a single daughter, the princess of Driftmoor, whom Elowyn had yet to acquaint herself with. Stories of the Elune Isles’ marvels had reached Elowyn’s ears, and perhaps these very stories influenced her uncle’s departure from Eriden to the Isles three years ago.

Legend had it that in the Elune Isles, the sun never waned, and the sea stretched endlessly in crystal blue. The king and queen bore ivory markings reminiscent of rolling ocean waves. Elowyn hoped to one day visit their sun-drenched kingdom. The Driftmoor royals wore golden aureum depicting the ocean and a surfacing loch hydra—a sinister sea serpent.

Lastly, her attention turned to the monarchs of Orwyn, King Kyrus and Queen Nikoletta of House Darkmaw. The Darkmaw lineage was distinguished by their deep claret-red hair, akin to the Fangwrights’ snow-colored locks. Elowyn observed as the king and queen engaged in a quiet, intimate exchange, their skin covered with moonlit strokes resembling wisps of smoke. Their aureum were embroidered with the feathers of wicked winged griffons, a symbol of their lineage’s power and prowess.

Their son, the prince of Orwyn, was spectating the royalty in the Temple just as Elowyn was. She observed him fidgeting with his hands, and noticed the two crescent moons inked on his palms. Suddenly, as if sensing her gaze, the prince looked up, locking eyes with Elowyn. Startled, she quickly averted her gaze to the floor, feeling a flush of embarrassment wash over her. When she dared to glance up again, she found him still looking at her. With a friendly dimpled smile, the prince waved, prompting Elowyn to timidly return the gesture, her cheeks still tinged with embarrassment.

Her attention shifted as the claret-haired prince turned his focus to the High Priestess. Stepping into the Divine Shallows, the High Priestess waded to the center of the celestial waters, commanding the attention of all those present in the temple.

“Kings and queens, princes and princesses, fey of Neramyr,” she began, her voice echoing through the sacred space, “We are gathered here today on this next iteration of the seventh year to witness the Trial of Caena once more. Today marks the Seventh Day, a sacred day upon which Caena opens the gates to her realm to accept seven children of the moon into her Trial.

“These seven candidates are granted the opportunity to traverse the Bridge Between Worlds and seek divine judgment. Should they prove successful in their quest for ascendancy, the Goddess will bestow upon them her sacred Mark and grant them divine magic to wield in Neramyr. May we ask the Goddess for her benevolence to guide them across the Bridge Between Worlds and welcome them safely into her realm.”

The High Priestess pivoted towards the audience encircling the Divine Shallows, acknowledging each monarch of the seven realms with a nod. Her gaze returned forward, her eyes turning a translucent white hue, veiled by a mystical force. Motionless, she stood amidst the thrumming energy of the Temple, her ivory markings glowing faintly along her arms.

As the divine waters at her feet stirred, the air within the Temple crackled with energy.

“It’s time. We must begin,” the High Priestess declared.

In unison, the kings and queens of the seven realms advanced towards the Divine Shallows, their upturned palms radiating with power. Their unique markings upon their skin shimmered with intensity, mirroring the luminosity of the High Priestess’ own.

From her vantage point behind them, Elowyn beheld the transformation of her parents’ markings as they illuminated. The opalescent dragon scales adorning their skin bloomed with moonlit radiance, enveloping them in a brilliant aura. She watched in awe as a profound sense of belonging washed over her, permeating the air with pure divine energy.

Amidst the chanting of the High Priestess in the ancient tongue of the original fey, the waters beneath her grew turbulent, swirling and rippling around her feet. Within the Temple, anticipation mounted as the assembled fey witnessed the High Priestess and the monarchs of Neramyr channeling their divine magic towards the waters.

Elowyn found herself captivated by the display of magic, her breath catching in her throat as she watched. The High Priestess’ incantations ceased with the swirling and seething of the Divine Shallows, signaling the opening of the gates to Caena’s realm.

The High Priestess announced, “It is time for the chosen to cross the Bridge Between Worlds! The seven candidates must step forward into the Divine Shallows.”

As the High Priestess’ words echoed through the temple, Elowyn witnessed seven warlocks and sorceresses, barely older than herself, stepping into the Divine Shallows. Each candidate positioned themselves on a circular tile within the sacred waters, their moon-blessed palms glowing with energy. Forming an outer circle around the High Priestess, they awaited her command.

With the candidates settled into place, the High Priestess addressed them once more. “You seven have been chosen by the Moon Goddess to participate in her divine Trial, and the gates between our realms are now open. The time to cross the Bridge Between Worlds and face Caena’s judgment has arrived!”

Elowyn watched as the candidates exchanged tense glances. Suddenly, she noticed one of the warlocks’ tiles swelling with water, and before she could blink, he darted forward with a wicked grin. With a swift movement, he disappeared into the shimmering depths of the Divine Shallows, vanishing from sight.

Elowyn could no longer see the warlock’s form, but she felt his presence fade from Neramyr.

“Let us celebrate the first candidate to traverse the Bridge Between Worlds! It is with great pride that I announce your primis , Prince Thomys Bloodweaver of the Iron Hollows!” The temple echoed with cheers, and Elowyn glimpsed the elation on King Wilden and Queen Irena’s faces as their son achieved this feat.

As the remaining candidates awaited their turns, Elowyn observed them vanish one by one into the Divine Shallows, until a single sorceress remained. She watched as panic flickered in the sorceress’s eyes, realizing she was the last to cross into Caena’s realm. With bated breath, Elowyn witnessed the sorceress lunge forward as the water stirred beneath her, disappearing alongside her companions .

Even after the candidates had vanished, Elowyn’s gaze remained fixed on the Divine Shallows.

The High Priestess’ palms glowed as she began to speak. Upturning her palms and raising them slightly, moonlight crept along her arms in glowing vines, illuminating the eight phases of the moon etched on her time-worn skin. The stream of moonlight continued to inch up her arms and gently trailed around her throat, encircling it, the light halting right before her lips.

“As the Seventh Day draws to a close, the Moon Goddess has made her choice. It is time for me to reveal her selection for the next seven candidates worthy of partaking in the following Trial of Caena.”

Once more, the High Priestess’ eyes veiled behind a translucent film, and a soft stream of moonlight fell from her lips. The current flowed down her body and illuminated the waters of the Divine Shallows below.

Though the High Priestess’ lips remained still, her voice was joined with another as it echoed within Elowyn’s mind. She felt a profound sense of power emanating from it. It spoke in the ancient tongue of Neramyr, in harmony with the High Priestess.

“Since the dawn of the New Age, every seventh year brings forth seven candidates chosen to face Caena’s judgment in her divine Trial. The Goddess of the Moon has made her selection, with one candidate hailing from each kingdom.”

Eager feet shuffled and tense shoulders awaited the announcement. Elowyn understood the rarity of this opportunity; to wield divine magic set one apart, transforming them from merely mundane to truly exceptional.

Once more, the resonant voice filled Elowyn’s mind, announcing, “We shall now reveal the seven candidates chosen for the upcoming Trial of Caena.”

Across from Elowyn, she observed a slender figure with soft lavender hair, her eyes widening as her palms began to glow.

The voice continued, “Iva Rosefall, sworn to House Skyborn, step forth into the Divine Shallows and claim your candidacy.”

With a trace of surprise, the lavender-haired fey made her way toward the Divine Shallows. Gracefully, she extended one foot over the edge of the stone, dipping it into the shimmering waters. As she advanced toward a circular stone depicting the sigil of House Skyborn, a phoenix, the waters rippled in her wake. Approaching the stone, Iva gazed at the intricate tiled phoenix, inhaling deeply before stepping within its circular border. At her touch, the tile shimmered in acknowledgment.

Cheers erupted from House Skyborn, celebrating their chosen candidate. Beaming with joy, Iva acknowledged her folk and the gathered fey in the Temple. Elowyn couldn’t help but share in her happiness, a smile gracing her lips as she witnessed the celebration.

As the cheers began to fade, the next candidate’s name echoed through the Temple.

“Galen Wolfspire, sworn to House Darkmaw, step forth into the Divine Shallows and claim your candidacy.”

Once more, Elowyn watched as a claret-haired warlock entered the Divine Shallows, standing upon the stone-tile sigil of House Darkmaw. Beneath him, a black and gray gryphon lit up brilliantly, acknowledging his candidacy.

With each announcement, Elowyn observed as the chosen candidates, with their marked palms aglow, stepped forward to claim their candidacy by finding their sworn House’s sigil. The candidates named thus far were Iva Rosefall sworn to House Skyborn, Galen Wolfspire sworn to House Darkmaw, Kerrick Graylon sworn to House Driftmoor, Lillia Sagebrook sworn to House Mirthwood, Lynora Lionwind sworn to House Blackbane, and Sylas Fenhart sworn to House Bloodweaver.

As the candidates from six Houses were selected, Elowyn realized that only House Fangwright remained .

Then, the ancient voice echoed once more in her mind.

“Princess Elyria Fangwright of House Fangwright, please step forward into the Divine Shallows and claim your candidacy.”

Elowyn’s excitement surged as she turned towards Elyria beside her, almost unable to contain herself at the mention of her older sister’s name. However, her excitement waned as she noticed Elyria’s clenched fists, muted and dark, devoid of the moon’s blessing.

With a slow and hesitant stride, Elyria made her way over the ledge and into the Divine Shallows. An air of uncertainty surrounded her as she sought out the sigil of House Fangwright, a firedrake. Stepping onto the tiled dragon, she waited expectantly. However, to her dismay, the stone remained dull and lifeless.

A collective gasp filled the Temple as Elyria stood there in silence, her apprehension palpable.

The primordial voice echoed in Elowyn’s mind one last time. “Fey of Neramyr, this marks the conclusion of the Seventh Day, let us welcome the candidates for the next season’s Trial of Caena.”

The memory from seven years past ripped away from Elowyn’s mind, jolting her awake with a gasp, her hand instinctively reaching for her chest. She struggled to catch her breath, a throbbing headache pulsating in her temples. Tossing aside the covers, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, the cool marble floor offering a momentary relief to her clammy skin. With a series of rapid blinks, she attempted to dispel the lingering fog that obscured her thoughts.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, a knot of unease twisted in Elowyn’s stomach. She was not one to often dream, especially not in Neramyr where dreams held weighty implications. The vivid recollection of the memory unsettled her deeply—it was a day she had tried hard to bury in the recesses of her mind. It was the day she realized that while she had idolized her sister Elyria, the rest of Neramyr held a vastly different opinion.

The memory of that day flooded back, vivid and unwelcome. Elowyn remembered the deafening silence that engulfed the Temple after her sister’s candidacy was announced. Whispers, like venomous serpents, slithered through the air, poisoning every corner of the room. The pity once reserved for Elyria morphed into shock and disdain as the fey within the temple turned their scornful gazes towards her.

On that fateful day, Elowyn recalled how her sister stood frozen in the Divine Shallows, the weight of the crowd’s judgment bearing down on her. The air crackled with disbelief. In the face of the growing chorus of insults and jeers, Elyria remained silent, her fear apparent amidst the sea of hostility that surrounded her.

The Cursed Princess.

The Heir of Nothing.

The Unmarked Fangwright.

The Unblessed.

Despite the scorn of the seven realms, Elyria maintained a stoic disposition. It was only when their father, the king of Eriden, cast his gaze upon Elyria with disgust that her mask finally crumbled. A solitary tear escaped her eye, then another, until her cheeks were streaked with sorrow. Elyria’s head fell to her chest as her aura shattered from the force of an entire realm against her.

Elowyn’s heart shattered alongside it as she witnessed her sister’s anguish. The cries of injustice caught in her throat. The fey in the temple had no right to judge her sister so harshly. They didn’t know Elyria. None of them did. Elyria was Elowyn’s sun, her stars, her entire world—her older sister.

Elowyn yearned to rush to Elyria’s side, to shield her as Elyria had always done for her. But their father’s grip held her back, leaving her powerless as she watched her sister wither under the weight of her kingdom’s ire .

That night, back in Eriden, Elowyn climbed into Elyria’s bed and held her as she wept. She clung to her sister, wishing she could bear some of her pain. But Elyria’s tears seemed endless.

Elowyn could do nothing as she watched her older sister ache and fade into despair.

Sighing wearily, Elowyn felt this dream could only serve as an ill omen on the eve of this season’s First Day.

In the night sky outside Elyria’s window, moonlight cast its gentle glow upon the feylands. She lay in the darkness of her bedchamber, awaiting the embrace of slumber. Her gaze drifted to the silk drapes enveloping the pillars of her four-poster bed, lost in thought.

Tomorrow marked the beginning of the Ceremony of Caena. Her fingers idly traced the opal teardrop pendant adorning her neck, while she focused on the rhythmic rise and fall of her breath. Hours slipped by unnoticed as she waited for sleep to claim her, but it remained elusive.

Unsure if minutes or hours had passed, she finally broke her stoicism. Turning her head towards the window, she noticed the gentle rays of dawn filtering through the curtains.

Releasing a sigh so soft, not even a fey with golden ears could hear, Elyria sat up and swung her legs over the side of her bed and began to dress.

The First Day had begun.