Sōn's Tale
Sōn opened their eyes to near-total darkness and unbearable heat. They were confused, uncertain of where they were or why. Figures swam before them, and as Sōn gathered their wits, they recognized these others: Caius, Nulk, Thomas, Chris, they were all here, even Syvren himself.
“Sōn.” Caius was speaking their name. The sailor had his hand on Sōn’s shoulder and was gently nudging them back and forth. “Sōn.” He repeated.
“I…” Sōn began, struggling to make sense of the world around them and fighting against the tremendous heat. That heat told them something important, but Sōn’s mind refused to recognize what it meant.
“Sōn.” Caius said again and finally Sōn’s eyes fixed on the sea captain.
Memories returned then, a dark hole hanging in the air high atop a mountain. That had been so long ago. Sōn was certain of that, but everything was jumbled in their mind. “Caius.” Sōn replied, their voice uncertain. “You don’t look a day older than when I last saw you.”
Caius laughed, “A day or two maybe, it’s been little more since we arrived. But you, how did you get here?”
Caius’ words broke loose memories of that day, one of the worst of Sōn’s life.
Sōn watched as the black tear closed about the Rashenar. So much had gone wrong so quickly. Opening their hand, Sōn looked down to where they had briefly held the object of their quest, the Divine Seed. Syvren needed it and the Harbingers of Destruction, with Sōn counted among them, had traveled thousands of miles to recover. Now it was gone, and with it those Sōn had begun to think of as friends. The thought saddened the Luminar, who had not felt such emotion in a long time, and for the briefest of moments their shoulders sagged. Then, with a quick shake of their head, Sōn shrugged, and began the long journey off the mountaintop.
In the weeks that followed the disappearance of Sōn’s friends, Sōn drifted west, coming at length to the city of Lumière and the palace of King Virelais. There, they learned the rest of the story: on the very day the Harbingers had been drawn into the rift, Syvren was attacked by Rashenar. The young deity’s home was destroyed and Syvren had not been seen since.
Though they had never known Syvren, Sōn had believed. They had believed that Syvren was Anara reborn and that Syvren would change the world. And now, that was all undone. Rashenar, a voidreaver of Morithal, had come and taken Syvren, and all of the Harbingers, away. Despondant, Sōn left the palace and went into the city.
For months, Sōn simply existed. Their purpose extinguished, their friends lost or dead, Sōn drifted. The humans indulged in vices when all else was lost, so it was first to such vices Sōn turned. Drink had no effect on the Luminar. Carousing, gambling, whoring, while all novel and briefly enjoyable experiences, did not scratch the itch the way the time among the Harbingers had. At length, Sōn turned to fighting. Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, as they fought opponent after opponent. Most bouts were easily won, and though a few managed to mar or crack their crystalline form, over time the delight Sōn typically felt in battle waned. Fights became shorter, more brutal, more often fatal for Sōn’s foes, and over time it grew boring. Rest then. Sōn’s usual brightness, of both mind and spirit, had faded, their emotion spent. At last, Sōn simply found a dark place in the gutters of Lumière and sat down, intending never to move again.
Sōn’s mind came back to the present. That they were in Dawn’s Basin was clear. All about Sōn other Luminar hung suspended in stasis pods much like the one from which they had just emerged. But this heat was wrong. “The heat.” Sōn said, “What is happening in Dawn’s Basin?”
“As best we can tell,” Caius said, “we’re somewhere in the distant future and…”
“Our distant future,” Nulk cut in, “but not yours. You came here by another path.”
Another path. Even as Nulk said it, Sōn saw it.
How long they had sat unmoving Sōn could not say. Years perhaps? Long enough that all light had abandoned the Luminar. So when the Light fell across them, cutting through the grime accumulated from months of neglect, Sōn felt it warming their crystalline body. Then a touch upon their cheek, soft, filled with concern, and a voice whispered in their ears, “My child.”
A figure was there, its body outlined from a brilliant light somewhere beyond it. Sōn could see the figure only in its outline but they knew. “Anara?”
Fingers, long and thin, cupped their face, and Sōn could sense her nearness as she spoke. “Do not despair beloved. A new season is upon you. Rise, and go into the land from whence they came, to the very home of the maker, there to find the truth.”
Sōn’s eyes opened for the first time in months. The figure was gone, but Sōn did not doubt in its reality. Emotion returned, the weight of the world seemed to lift once more, the despair forgotten as though it had never existed. Debris fell and dust eddied away as Sōn hopped up lightly and began to walk, leaving the city of Lumière behind. As the pain of the past months seemed to fall away, Sōn smiled and stepped into the sunlight, feeling its warmth in particular on their face, where the touch of Anara had wiped away the dust.
After seeing Anara, Sōn traveled east, over the Echoing Crests to arrive in Strykara near the city of Alder. They found the region was swarming with Legion of Strykara soldiers locked in endless skirmishes with the monstrous creatures called Dreadhusk. Sōn knew of these creatures from conversations with the Harbingers. The Luminar played a dangerous game of hide-and-seek, avoiding both sides, and made their way south to the voidscar that had once been the village of Cyrinth, home of the children who would become the Harbingers of Destruction.
As they had expected, northing remained of Cyrinth beyond a black scar. A voidscar. The first created in as long as anyone alive could remember.
Sōn shook their head, struggling to clear the fog. “Yes,” they replied to Nulk, “a different path. You were all gone,” the Luminar said, “and, for a time, I lost hope.” Sōn’s eyes sought out Syvren as they spoke, regret heavy in the gaze.
Syvren came forward, laying a hand on Sōn’s shoulder, “Do not despair my friend,” he said, “I too have felt hope abandon me.”
Sōn smiled. “I tried despair. It didn’t suit me.”
A low rumble echoed through the halls of the chamber and a tremor passed through the ground. “Maybe we catch up another time?” Chris quipped. “More pressing matters now.”
“Indeed,” Nulk said, turning back to Sōn, “you were placed here,” and as he spoke, Nulk gestured to the thousands of pods in the chamber, “after an encounter with someone called The Architect. What can you tell us about him?”
“The Architect,” Sōn repeated, then trailed off as memories broke free.
Looking down at the ruined remains of Cyrinth, Sōn felt a moment of confusion and doubt. What could possibly be here? At that moment, the threat of despair loomed, but Sōn reached up and touched hand to cheek. “Of course.” Sōn said aloud with a smile, “To the very home of the maker.” Their gaze turned west, to the foothills of the mountains where once a voidscar had lain.
Quietly, Sōn withdrew from their place overlooking Cyrinth and traveled west. When the Harbingers had been driven from Cyrinth, they had entered an ancient voidscar and there, in that forsaken place, both Donnil and Nulk had shown signs of their destiny. But Sōn knew something more. That voidscar was the first. And it had stood at the very place where their maker—Mason Calder—had lived.
It was only a short journey west, and Sōn found the area empty of Dreadhusk and Strykaran soldiers alike. Where once a dull gray dust had covered everything, lush green grass now grew. Sōn smiled, considering his friends who had believed themselves to be only bringers of destruction. Here they had broken the voidscar’s hold on the land and left behind new life. “Harbingers of Destruction indeed.” Sōn muttered quietly.
“The Architect,” Sōn repeated once more, “yes, I know him. He is our maker. You called him Mason Calder.” As Sōn said the name, something inside him screamed and Sōn’s crystalline body began to shake. “Mason.” He mumbled, “The Maker.”
“Sōn?” Caius questioned, concern in his voice.
“There is something,” Sōn began, “something that…”
Standing amidst the lush green grass that had been a voidscar, Sōn saw it. The purpose Anara had set before them. Quickly the Luminar walked to where a great rock stood behind a weathered gravestone. Sōn looked down at the stone and their eyes widened with surprise, “Impossible.” Sōn muttered.
“A name.” Sōn said. “There was a name on the stone but I cannot remember it. I can see the words engraved there, but I cannot read them.” As the Luminar spoke, their body began to shake and quiver. “Everything from the moment I looked at that grave to now is a blur. I have fragments.”
The shaking grew worse until Syvren laid his hand on Sōn’s chest, “Be still my friend.” and as he spoke, a soft light surrounded the pair. With the light, Sōn’s body calmed, the tremors quieted.
“Yes,” Sōn said, “I remember. I went to see The Architect. To confront him with what I had seen. I told him that I would share it with all Luminar”
Sōn was in the Axis, the very heart of Dawn’s Basin, where the Architect lived. He was there and he was angry.
“No.” The Architect said. “That will not happen.”
“You have no right to do this.” Sōn protested. “No right at all.
Anger smoldered in the Architect’s eyes as he looked at Sōn, “I will decide what is my right.“ he spat the words at Sōn.
“I will tell the Six.” Sōn said definitely.
“You will obey me.” the Architect said.
“I will not.” Sōn replied.
The Architect looked at Sōn for a long moment before calming, and turning away. “No, I suppose you will not.” He said quietly. “I suppose you will not.”
Whatever else he said was lost to Sōn as a wave of weakness came over them. “What have you…” Sōn tried to ask as their knees buckling. Black spots exploded before their vision, “Whatdidyou…” Sōn asked, words slurring together. “Iwi…” they tried to say, but Sōn pitched forward, hitting the ground hard.
And then there was only darkness. Until there was unbearable heat.