A Prophecy of Tainted Silver

This story is a direct sequel to A Scandal of a Magical Sort, so if you haven't, I'd highly recommend you read through that story before reading through this one. You can also refer to the reader's guide for some foundational lore for the universe, though that isn't necessary.

Chapter 1 - Into the Night

The warmth from the hearth licked at Ythlan's skin as he perused his collection. Being prisoner to his brother was many things, but at least it wasn't monotonous, being allowed his library of books, collected over the decades he'd traversed Asisai. As he looked over them, his eye caught a particular volume he recognized as one of his oldest, one he hadn't read in a while. And one that did not belong to him, but to his father.

Just as he went to take it off the shelf, the doors to the chambers opened.

"Ah, how convenient!" Ythlan said, turning to the visit. "Ythli, did you put this here for me?"

The brother heir, wrapped in matching pale blue robes, smirked as he closed the door behind him. "When would I have been able to do that? You spend most of your time in this room."

That observation made Ythlan chuckle. "True, I suppose. But that isn't a no."

Ythli took a seat in a chair by the fire. He stared at it as his imprisoned brother sat at the lounging couch before the hearth, opening the book.

"In that case, let me clarify," Ythli began. "I didn't put it there, but it's from father's collection. So it must have manifested from his half-world."

"Fascinating," Ythlan responded. "Have you read it?"

Ythli shook his head. "Only a little bit. I recall it was about the wedding of Alwys and Imyra. Or maybe the lead up to it? It's been so long."

"Ah yes, the fabled nymph king and queen. A shame we couldn't see them in their prime. Should be a rather interesting story then."

Ythli remained quiet for a bit, unsure of whether to speak his thoughts. "Do you think there's a reason the book manifested now?"

Ythlan dismissed the question with a scoff. "Our father was always paranoid. Whatever security he assured for us before Alwys' fall is almost certainly useless."

"Maybe its not for us."

That got Yhtlan to look at his brother, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "Care to explain?"

"Have some intuition, dear brother. Why else would he have instructed me to imprison you here? Why be so certain of the king and queen's corruption? It's for the sake of the mortals."

Ythaln pondered on the statement before chuckling. "Guess he always had a thing for mortals. Can't blame him, though. They can be quite creative."

"This isn't a joke, Yhtlan!" he rebuked, standing up from his seat.

"Calm down," the dark haired brother said mockingly. "You've already imprisoned me. And the mortals overthrew the demon king long ago. What's left to threaten them, other than the lingering fear of a short, mundane life?"

"The Eye of Oblivion."

Ythlan looked up to his brother for any hint of sarcasm, but found none, causing him to scoff again. "You mean the 'prophecy' that drove the entire nymph court into disarray over nothing? You really are our father's lap dog."

Ythli, offended by his brother's words, started to exit the room, but stopped as he placed a hand on the door. He looked back to see if his brother was looking at him, but found him seemingly engrossed in his book. That, or it was his method of ignoring him. Ythli turned the handle, but only took one step out the room before he was compelled to say something to Ythlan, even if he would not hear it.

"Ythlan, the reason I even came here in the first place was to say sorry. I don't know what compelled me to say it, I'm not even sure what I'm apologizing for. But ever since that Owlith came here, I've felt uneasy about the future. About us. I can't shake the feeling that something big is coming. And wanted to assure that even though you're a prisoner here, I will be here as well. So I guess, I'm apologizing for the wasted years I would stand sentry above you, as if you were nothing but my shadow."

Ythli carefully looked at the back of Ythlan's head for any response, but he remained still as he flipped through the book. The pale brother sighed.

"Perhaps someday, when the world is whole, we can be a proper family again. Even if it's just you and me."

Ythlan dared not turn to reveal his tearing eyes as he heard his brother exit his bed chambers.

***

On a list of things he expected to learn at the House of Sorisancta, how to dance certainly wasn't on it.

Though, as it was taught to Mels, the methodology made sense. It was done to teach focus, a demonstration of the unification of one's mind and body. It was called the "Flight of the Heron," best described as slow and sensual. That, at least, was predictable. Among the many optional apprenticeships he could accept at the House, this one was surprisingly delightful, and as he danced with three others before the reverend Mother, rewarding as well.

He danced in perfect sync with his brothers and sisters of silver, a melody of strings accompanying their performance. He was unfazed by the audience of armored guards, scholars, mages, blades, and knights filling the inner sanctum, standing within the lazy river that encircled the room. In his graceful turns, he managed a few glances at Aylala, the wisened, owlith mage smiling at him proudly from her seat. Yet he remained focused as he continued to dance among the group of thrones. Five out of the six of them were filled by the Argentsori Council, of which Aylala was a member. On her left was a pale nymphling with a smooth face, wavy brown hair, and an androgynous figure. They sat lazily in their chair, leaning on their hands with a neutral expression. Meanwhile, the man on Aylala's right seemed seconds away from bursting from his seat, his caramel skin gleaming in the sunlight. His toned body filled out his mage's uniform enticingly. His buzz cut was immaculate, complimented by many golden, facial piercings, clinking in his excitement.

Mels continued to dance and weave before the council, his dancing dress flowing as he glanced at the rest of the members. Opposite of Aylala was an armored woman, sitting so still as to be almost confused with an statue. Her hair, black as obsidian, fell across her olive skin and to her breastplate like a waterfall, covering one of her eyes. She seemed to watch the performance extremely closely, yet despite her cold demeanor, Mels always felt comfortable around her. The same could be said for the centaur on her right, despite being the largest he'd ever seen. His horse's body's coat was nearly blood red, fading into a dark brown at his hooves. Just like his fellow knight beside him, he wore armor, yet seemingly in spite of it, his muscular, fair upper body was exposed, complimented by his fiery auburn hair and ram horns.

That left a mysteriously empty seat beside the muscular woman. However, like everything else, Mels could seldom give it any thought as he continued to dance. He started to feel exhaustion set in, though with a well-maintained channel of holy magic flowing through his body, it hardly affected him. As he heard the final measures of the music being played, he positioned himself with his fellow dancers in an elaborately posed diamond as the song concluded.

The sanctum was filled with polite applause as he and others bowed and stood to the side. Mother Madelyne held up a hand and the room fell to silence. "We thank you, Melyssi, Garrett, Maude, and Besse for your elegant performance, an important reminder of the traditions we protect here as holy brothers and sisters, and a perfect lead-in for the reason we celebrate this day." At that statement, she stood before the congregation, and Mels, now unburdened from the stress of dancing, became as giddy as the mage beside Aylala.

This is it!

"This ceremony, as it has many times before, commemorates the accomplishments of a sister amongst us, which are a culmination of her strength, tenacity, and wisdom! It is with great honor that I present to you: Christine of Willowgale!"

Mels was confident he was clapping harder and faster than anyone there as everyone's attention was drawn to the entrance. He beamed as he watched his partner of nearly a year walk into the sanctum, clad in an opulent cape of silver embroidery. Her golden hair, which he had helped to braid that morning, was shining in the sun, as were her silver eyes. He fiddled with his own three large braids as she walked by, utterly entrancing him. As she walked by, she met his gaze, the gaze of her lover, and she herself beamed. Her eyes shifted from silver to purple as she waved enthusiastically at him as if worried he would somehow miss her. Mels reciprocated with a simple wave as she continued between the thrones of the Council, slowly coming to a stop to kneel before Mother Madelyne.

"Christine," she announced, both to her and to the congregation. "We at the House seek to find and train those who can burn as bright as the sun. You have proven that you are capable of such a feat! We are blessed that the Lord of Silver Grass has presented us with such a determined and capable woman of his will!" She paused as she took a deep breath. Mels could swear that the sun itself grew brighter as she placed a hand on her exposed chest. In spite of everything, he could not deny her beauty, her lustful and curvy body presented in her elaborate dress. Slowly, she produced a long, thin sword from between her heaving breasts. As she removed it fully, its unsheathing produced a sound akin to a thunderclap, as the blade burned golden for a few seconds, alluring all those who saw it, just as its wielder did. The holy magic that filled the room was nearly overwhelming, yet Mels stood proud as she brought the sword to Christi's shoulders.

"Christine! Your oath to the cause of the Sorisancta is not to be questioned! Rather, I ask, are you prepared to carry the gift of power the Lord of Silver Grass shall gift you? A weight that, while burdensome, will be a shining beacon against the wielders of the darkness, so that the whole of Asisai may be bathed in his holy light?!"

Christi looked up with determined silver eyes. "I am!"

Madelyne simply smiled. "Then I as Madelyne, the fourth reverend mother of the House of Sorisancta, bastion against evil, and Bride of Asisai, promote you from a Silver Scholar to a Silver Mage!"

The chamber erupted in applause as Madelyne's blade touched Christi's crown. Mels felt no sense of embarrassment as he sought to clap harder and faster than anyone else in that room. He looked over to see Aylala applauding in a polite manner, with a quick movement to wipe at her tearing eyes.

Mother Madelyne, with her sword now magically disappeared from her hand, sat gracefully at her throne. "Rise!" she commanded the new Silver Mage.

Christi, just as gracefully, stood with her head bowed. "The path before me is clear, Mother," she said.

"Then follow it into the mountain, that you may find the warmth of the sun," Madelyne responded. Despite the coded language, Mels understood perfectly as Christi walked back the way she came, a dead serious look on her face, not glancing at either Mels or Aylala. In any case, Mels couldn't stop beaming, even as Christi exited the chamber.

"Our dear Christine is now on a pilgrimage into the Silver Heights," the Reverend Mother announced to the crowd, regaining their attention. "We hope that, within the mountain, she finds her inner fire."

With that, everyone was dismissed, and guards and fellow members exited, including those who were dancing with Mels. As for himself, he walked over to Aylala, who remained seated, along with the rest of the Argentsori.

"My my, Melyssi," the owlith said, greeting him with a bright smile. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that you're about to break out into dance again."

The observation was mildly embarrassing but true, as Mels had a hard time standing still. "Yeah, I think some of her energy might've rubbed off on me when she was telling me about the ceremony last night," he clarified. Aylala winked in response, knowing that the "her" in that statement was referring to the bubbly Crystal.

"I can tell," replied the dark-skinned mage sitting to the Owlith's left. "You danced beautifully, Melyssi."

"Thanks, Master Hamon," Mels replied politely.

"I mean it!" Hamon said, sitting up in excitement. "It's downright tragic that Christine couldn't be in the room to see it! I think she would've forgone the ceremony entirely and ask you marry her right then and there!"

Mels could only respond with a nervous chuckle, but thankfully, the nymphling mage to Aylala's right intervened.

"Always the romantic, aren't you Master Hamon?" they said, resting their head on their palm. "If you ask me, no grand gesture was needed. Their love for one another is palpable."

"Don't condescend me, Master Elaran" Hamon replied slyly. "What else do we do here but foster moments for grand gestures of magic and love?"

"I knew it was a mistake to gift you that book of poems for our anniversary," said the centaur, letting out a good-natured chuckle. "You're embarrassing the poor boy. And the rest of us, really."

"Oh please, like I could embarrass you, Inite," Hamon responded in a husky voice, punctuating the sentence by blowing a kiss. In the mist of the conversation, Mels simply stood still, hands clasped in front of him, exchanging knowing glances with Aylala.

The knight beside Inite the centaur decided to speak up. "Well, as long as we're all in a scrutinizing mood," said the well-built woman. "Melyssi, make sure to work on your footwork on measures sixteen through twenty. Otherwise, great performance"

"Thank you, Master Murienne," Mels replied, giving her a simple nod.

"Alright, I think that's enough," Aylala announced in a sort of protective tone. "Melyssi, I know you're eager to await Christine's return, so feel free to return to your chambers." With that comment she looked past him to Murrienne, and following her gaze, Mels was met with Murrienne's militaristic nod, dismissing him. With that, Mels left, though he was careful to leave with a graceful stride. His only lingering thought as he crossed over the creek was Mother Madelyne's stoic silence.

Once he was alone in the hallway, Mels allowed himself a bit more exuberance as he broke into a jog. As he made his way through the ivory halls of the House, his mind went back to his conversation with Christine that morning before the ceremony. He smiled, remembering how Christi's eyes kept changing from silver to purple and back again as she explained the proceedings to him. After being promoted from scholar to mage, she would then follow a path inside the mountain to find a deposit of silver, at which point she would return and melt it down into an orb to affix into a staff. She was just so giddy.

And yet so indomitable, he thought wistfully, recalling her orderly proceeding during the promotion. Going through the house, he paid no attention to other scholars and blades, archives and training rooms, museums for tapestries and other pieces of ancient art as he passed. All that was on his mind was Christi, his lover for the past year since he joined the House with her. Everything about today was a culmination, and to celebrate it, he had the perfect plan.

Eventually, he arrived at the barracks reserved for mages and knights. Aylala had informed him ahead of time that he would be allowed to sleep within Christi's chambers, and so he had already moved into her new room. He strode through the entrance, closing it gingerly behind him. Their chambers could be characterized as simple yet cozy. The bed, fit for a king, sat beneath a tapestry of a nude nymph man, sitting on a shore beside a waterfall, bathed in sunlight. Mels chuckled to himself. I can't believe they took her request seriously he thought. The rest of the room, as pale as the rest of the grounds, was broken up by rugs of white fur, a gray lounging couch before an empty fire, and a fully stocked shelf of books on the right wall. To the left, past the couch, was a small alcove allowing a small garden with a spiraling tree, reaching up to a large ceiling window, allowing the oranges of a setting sun to fill the room.

Mels took a deep breath. He didn't know how much time he had before she returned, but he had to move fast regardless. He entered the personal garden, kneeling beside the base of the tree. A flower of blood-red petals had grown along roots, having fully bloomed. Perfect he thought as he plucked the flower head. He took it to a desk that sat against the wall opposite of the fireplace, and using a string of parchment and an inked pen, created a quick spell to wrap around the flower's stem. Channeling magic through his body, he activates the spell. He then proceeded to pluck petals from the flower, sprinkling them around the room. As he plucked them, they were replaced, as per the effect of the spell, which allowed him to generously spread flower petals around the room and on the bed. With a satisfied nod, he placed the flower head back by the tree and walked over to the fireplace. With a spell inscribed inside its walls, he quickly ignited it, creating a floating ball of fire behind a silver cage.

The soft oranges pouring through the garden alcove slowly disappeared, leaving only the lit fireplace for ambiance.

Perfect.

With a flair of his hands he watches as his top unraveled itself and fell to the floor, leaving his torso bare. Being alone, he allowed himself a moment to appreciate his toned musculature, a result of his training over the past year. Similarly, he wove his pants off his toned legs, leaving him in nothing but his undergarments.

He walked over to the work desk, picking up an apple he had set there earlier, and sat on the foot of the bed, legs spread, watching the door. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, allowing a river of Holy Magic to flow through his body. In a short meditation he felt like a giant, standing at a cliff and looking over his domain. And he was horny.

All that was left was for Christi to enter. Leaning back on a hand, he bit into the apple.

An hour later, Mels sat up onto the bed, sitting on crossed legs. He twirled the apple core in the air in an effort to distract himself, though he couldn't stop glancing at the door.

She has to be getting back soon, he reassured himself. He went over his discussion with her in the morning before the promotion, trying to think of what more could be part of her magehood. An unsettling realization creeps into his mind: could she have gotten hurt in the mountain?

Immediately he dismissed it. No, she's too powerfu, she'll be fine. What kind of promotion ceremony exists that could hurt their candidates. With that, the certainty of her safety was etched into stone, but the question of why she was taking so long was still unanswered. And it remained unanswered for several more minutes until Mels heard footsteps from the hallway outside the door.

He perked up immediately, impressively tossing the apple core past the silver cage into the fireplace, remaining at the foot of the bed. In the few seconds he had, he levitated a random book from the shelf, and flipped towards its end. He did not look up as he heard the chamber door open and close, instead focusing on her heavy breathing.

"I don't like to be kept waiting, slut," he said in a low voice, flipping a page. "Whatever excuse you have, pray that it's enough to persuade me from punishing you."

Mes paused so that she could respond, though he continued to fake read his book. When he didn't get one, he looked up, prepared to degrade her. However, he held his tongue, seeing her for the first time since early afternoon.

She was swaying on her feet, bow-legged and slumped forward. Her mage's uniform - the recognizable shoulderless crop top, skimpy shorts, loincloth, stockings, and heels, all covered in silver embroidery - was disheveled and caked in dust and dirt. Similarly, her fair skin was tarnished by another coat of dirt and sweat. And her blonde braids were undone and frizzeled. She was struggling to keep her silver eyes open.