Chapter Summary
The Goddess Reborn of Eos sees a new vision of a man who might be the key to ending the Great War once and for all, or maybe he was an ominous symbol of ruin and destruction and not the savior she was looking for.
X-xx-X
The Sacred Creed of the Holy Cathedral of the Gentle Mother, Larentia
O Beloved Mother of the Heights Unseen,
and of the Deep Earth Ever-Bearing—
Thou who art the First Mercy and the Last Refuge,
Keeper of the Unfading Light,
Sustainer of All Breath that Walks, Crawls, and Soars.
By Thy Radiant Light are the Paths Revealed,
and by those Paths are we led into Stillness and Peace.
In Thy Eternal Peace are we cradled and made gentle,
and in that Gentleness is Love kindled without end.
Through Thy Boundless Love do our eyes open to Wisdom,
old as the stars and patient as stone.
Through Thy Holy Wisdom are we girded with Strength,
not of cruelty, but of endurance and resolve.
Through Thy Divine Strength are we brought low in Acceptance,
knowing our place within Thy Great Design.
Thus, within the Sacred Turning of Thy Blessings,
we are gathered, mended, and made whole.
Let the Warmth of the Gentle Mother Larentia
fall upon us as dawn upon frost.
Fill our hearts with steadfast devotion,
our souls with quiet grace,
and our mortal bodies with purpose made sacred.
By Thy Hand do we walk the world.
By Thy Breath do we live and rise again.
By Thy Mercy are we unbound from despair
and restored to the Light.
Here do we vow, in reverence unbroken and truth unshaken:
to serve Thee in deed and silence,
to honor Thee in word and memory,
to love Thee in all seasons of being.
O Gentle Mother Eternal,
Root of Heaven, Womb of Earth,
now, at the turning of this age,
and forever beyond the counting of years.
So is it spoken.
So is it bound.
Amen.
X-xx-X
Celestine Lucross dreamed in fire and ash.
At first, it came as a whisper—wind moving through broken marble, the sound of banners tearing loose from their poles. Then the sky darkened, not with stormclouds, but with smoke so thick it swallowed the sun. Eos burned.
Her kingdom—her people—were everywhere and nowhere at once. Towers she had blessed with her own hands collapsed like rotted trees. Temples cracked open, their sanctified stones defiled by blood and soot. Streets once filled with laughter now ran red, choked with bodies.
Men and demons walked together.
Not allies of convenience, but brothers in cruelty.
Horned shapes dragged screaming civilians from their homes while armored soldiers laughed, torches raised high. The air reeked of iron, burning flesh, and something fouler still with joy taken in suffering. Celestine tried to move, to speak, to command the vision to stop, but her feet were rooted, her voice trapped in her throat.
She saw herself then—no longer distant, no longer untouchable.
Hands seized her. Cold steel pressed close. A towering figure loomed, encased in brutal armor dark with soot and old blood. His presence crushed the air from her lungs, and the world narrowed to the sound of her own heart hammering in panic—
Then the world shattered.
A roar split the heavens.
Not a cry. Not a scream.
A command.
The sound was ancient, draconic, and absolute—a Thu'um that tore through the battlefield like a divine hammer. Stone cracked. Flames guttered and died. Demons were hurled aside as if struck by an unseen god, their bodies breaking against the earth.
Celestine's ears rang painfully as the roar echoed, deep and thunderous, leaving silence in its wake.
Between her and the armored giant now stood another figure.
Tall—impossibly so—clad in heavy full plate unlike anything she had ever seen. The armor looked forged from winter itself: ice-like metal veined with pale blue light, layered with bone-white plates shaped like the remains of ancient beasts. Frost steamed from his presence, crystallizing blood on the ground beneath his boots.
In one hand, he wielded a massive axe, its edge rimmed with glacial light. In the other, a blade of pure ice shimmered, singing softly as if alive.
He did not speak.
He acted.
With brutal efficiency, he struck down the armored giant, then turned upon the battlefield. Each step forward brought annihilation. Demons fell. Men fled or froze where they stood, their courage broken by the warrior's advance. Another roar thundered from him—shorter, sharper—and the remaining forces scattered like leaves before a blizzard.
For a moment, the warrior turned toward Celestine.
She could not see his face—only the glowing eyes behind his helm, cold and searching, as if weighing her soul. Savior…or harbinger.
The vision collapsed.
X-xx-X
The chill from the dream clung to her skin, not just a memory, but a palpable presence. Her breath plumed faintly in the pre-dawn air of her chambers, a phenomenon she had never witnessed before within the warmth of her sanctuary. The fine silk of her nightgown felt like rough linen against her hypersensitive skin, every rustle a jarring reminder of the tearing banners and crumbling stone.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet meeting not the usual plush rug, but a patch of marble that still held a faint, almost imperceptible frost. It melted beneath her touch, leaving only a damp coolness, but the message was clear. The dream had bled into reality.
Her eyes, usually serene and clear, were wide with a frantic light, searching the familiar tapestries and ornate carvings as if expecting a horned shadow to detach itself from the wall. The silence of her room, once a comfort, now felt heavy, pregnant with unspoken threats.
Eos burned.
The words echoed in her mind, a death knell. She had seen countless visions, received countless prophecies, but never one so stark, so utterly devoid of metaphor or veiled meaning. It was a direct assault, a glimpse into an abyss she was sworn to prevent. And at its heart, the horrifying truth: men and demons, brothers in cruelty. The very foundation of her faith, her rule, her kingdom, shattered by that image.
But then, the roar. The Thu'um. The ancient tongue of the extinct dragon race.
Celestine stood, walking slowly to the window, her gaze fixed on the nascent light painting the eastern sky. The first blush of rose and gold promised a new day, but for her, it was tainted by the smoke and ash of her nightmare.
"A Thu'um," she whispered, her voice hoarse, "a Dragon's Tongue." Such power was legendary, spoken of in ancient texts, a force thought long dormant, if not entirely mythical. Who wielded such a voice? And the warrior…
Ice and bone. Glacial light. A silent, brutal savior who cleaved through damnation with the cold fury of winter itself. His eyes, glowing behind the helm, had peered into her, an appraisal that felt less like rescue and more like a grim reckoning. Was he her salvation, or merely the herald of a different kind of apocalypse? Another force of nature, perhaps equally indifferent to the fragile lives of mortals, but directed against the greater horror?
A shiver traced its way down her spine, unrelated to the lingering chill. The Dark Queen's war had cast a long shadow, but this dream, this vision, revealed a darkness far deeper, a corruption that gnawed at the very soul of the world.
She pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window, seeing her own reflection superimposed over the awakening city. Her face was pale, etched with a new kind of weariness. The weight of her crown felt heavier than ever, now burdened not just by the impending war, but by the chilling possibility of an ally she did not understand, a power that could save or destroy with equal ease.
The dream offered no answer. Only a profound, terrifying question that thrummed beneath her skin:
Could she trust a savior forged from ice and bone, whose voice tore the heavens asunder, to save a world that now seemed destined to burn? Or was he merely the colder reflection of the fire she so desperately sought to extinguish?
The dawn broke fully, washing her chambers in pale light, but the shadows in Celestine's mind remained, long and unyielding. The prophecy had deepened, the stakes had risen, and the path forward was shrouded in a mist of terror and uncertain hope. She was no longer just fighting a war; she was navigating a nightmare that had begun to breathe.
Her whisper was a raw, sharp sound that seemed to absorb the dim light, leaving the room colder than before. It was a statement of intent born not of hope, but of absolute, terrifying necessity.
"I… I need to talk to the rest of the Shield about the vision… and to seek out the warrior with the power of the Thu'um."
She straightened, the movement slow and deliberate, as if she were a marionette whose strings were only now being pulled by a ruthless master. The uncertainty about the man who wielded the feared, dreaded power of the Thu'um was a cold knot in her stomach. He might be the savior… or he might be the destroyer. But either way, he was the fulcrum upon which the fate of Eos now turned.
She pushed away from the window, the image of the burning city, the laughing soldiers, and the man forged from ice seared into her mind's eye. The dream had been a gift, a terrifying blueprint, and she could not afford to let the details fade.
She reached for the bell cord, her fingers trembling slightly, summoning her personal attendant. The search could not wait for the formal council; the Shield, her most trusted inner circle of advisors and protectors, needed to be convened immediately, under the highest secrecy.
As she dressed in the somber, heavy silks befitting a ruler facing an imminent crisis, her mind raced, cataloging the implications. How could she explain this?
We are looking for a man who wears the bones of winter, who speaks the language of dragons, and who leaves frost where he walks.
The description sounded like the raving of a madwoman, a dark fairy tale spun from fear. Yet, the physical evidence of the lingering cold, the visceral terror still gripping her chest, was undeniable proof of the vision's truth. The Shield were practical men and women, accustomed to political intrigue and battlefield logistics. They would demand facts, maps, strategies.
She would give them prophecy.
The warrior's power—the Thu'um—was the most dangerous variable. It was a force of nature, a mythological weapon of mass destruction. If he was truly aligned against the darkness, he was the only hope of stopping the encroaching tide of men and demons. But if his loyalty was capricious, if his power was merely another chaotic element introduced to the collapsing kingdom, then seeking him out was akin to reaching into a nest of vipers.
The attendant arrived, bowing low, his eyes avoiding her own—a habit born of years of service, knowing when his Queen was deep in thought.
"Send immediate, discreet summons to the Shield. Tell them the matter is one of absolute security and prophetic urgency. They are to meet in the Crypt Library within the hour," Celestine commanded, her voice regaining its familiar, authoritative timbre, though layered now with a deep, ominous resonance.
As the attendant hurried away, Celestine looked down at her hands. They felt alien, still vibrating faintly from the shockwave of the dragon's roar.
She was about to commit her kingdom's remaining resources to chasing a ghost—a brutal, silent warrior who might flay the skin from the world just as easily as he might save it. It was the ultimate gamble, guided solely by a nightmare that had left frost on her marble floor.
Ice and bone. A dragon's voice.
Celestine took a deep, steadying breath. She had seen the worst the darkness had to offer. Now, she would seek out the only thing powerful enough to stand against it, praying to every silent god that the cold, searching eyes she saw behind that helm belonged to a savior, and not merely another, greater harbinger of the end.