Zirael cradled the hot cup of kinquinte as she trotted up the snow-dusted steps towards the palace gardens. It was the tenth day this week she had visited the portly merchant for this divine blend of rich cocoa and spices from The Cindercoast. This must be what the gods drink in the Radiant Peaks, she thought to herself, pausing to look out over the lower city. The spice lingered on her lips like little licks of flame as she took a sip of the fiery drink.
The city she looked out upon teemed with life, even in a season that was so unbearably cold. She could make out clumps of people sitting around bonfires, singing songs and making merry. How these people, nestled in the shadow of the floating imperial palace, could enjoy the one hundred days of bitter cold that the season of Folstyre brought, she could never understand.
Zirael's red and white dress swayed as she energetically swooped around the corner, precariously balancing her drink so as not to lose a single drop. The dress was a gift from the Lady Vermillion, the new Duchess of Northvale, who was just a little older than she was. Zirael hoped to thank her in person one day - the dress was truly exquisite. She didn't mind that it was made of the thin spider silks of the north; Zirael's fire magic kept her warm from the inside after all, leaving the cold winter air to bite at her skin.
She knew the imperial palace like the back of her hand these days. It had only taken her a couple of weeks to memorise the layout of the grounds when she first arrived. She came on the pretence of education, both scholarly and courtly. However, she knew her father had moved everyone to the capital for security. To her bemusement, she - the bastard daughter of Duke Krachen Ignissara - was included.
She enjoyed the freedom that the Imperial Palace brought her. In contrast, her family's estate along the Cerulean Cliffs was a veritable prison; she was under constant supervision, and couldn't even walk the gardens after dark. But here, she could wander whenever she wanted. Yes, she had lectures to attend, imperial meetings to study, and scholars to interrogate about the world she had been shut away from, but she no longer felt trapped; after 19 summers, she could finally breathe.
Zirael passed two students of the imperial scholars; they both had straight, dark hair adorned with golden lace - a popular style worn among the feminine nobility of Quintara these days - whereas her voluminous fiery amber hair ran wild, she could never be bothered to style it the proper way. Plus, they seemed to move with such eloquence, almost like they were gliding across the stone ground. Zirael couldn't help but feel childish in comparison.
She recognised them from the odd lecture in Divine Studies, a subject Zirael could tell was only ever scratching the surface. They were only ever taught about the Ascension of the Twins, and their triumph over The Destructions of Old, where they restored peace to the realm after thousands of years of war. Zirael learned not to question the scholars on these matters; they often gave her the cold shoulder or told her to re-read Illunara's Teachings for what felt like the thousandth time.
The students recognised Zirael and bowed in clumsy deference, a nice gesture, Zirael thought, even though the bow was accompanied by side-eye glances, snickering, and sly remarks when they thought she couldn't hear them. Zirael knew she commanded great power, but she was far from earning anybody's respect. She was an Empyrean, an heir to the Empire itself, but she feared that she acted more akin to a Court Fool than a potential ruler.
Zirael ducked beneath the low-hanging archway leading her to the loose gravel path that sliced through the upper garden of blue and yellow flowers. This garden was supposed to resemble the values of the Empire, blue for peace, and gold for divinity. Gold never seemed like a divine colour to her; it was pretty - and quite fashionable, she agreed; but to her, divinity was reds and oranges, and yes, maybe a touch of gold.
Zirael recognised a very particular set of footsteps coming up the steps in front of her.
'Draka, gotta hide.
Zirael panicked, quickly ducking behind some hedges, spilling a few drops of her kinquinte as she awkwardly nestled on the ground. High-Polymath Eilmud and three of his Adeptia walked past with purpose and rhythm, entirely self-righteous in posture, too engaged in conversation to notice her.
Phew.
She wasn't in the mood for an impromptu lecture from the Church of Equinox or any of its sects; she had already spent the entire morning with Sister Kharya learning about courtly politics, wasn't that punishment enough?
Eilmud was dressed in his scholarly white and blue robes, a golden owl insignia woven into the fabric. Meanwhile, his three disciples wore only blue, yet to earn the prestige of white cloth, and their insignia - two an owl, and the other a fox - was only silver. They were still under Eilmud's tutelage, and evidently, he preferred for them to follow him everywhere, even when the winter snows were settling in.
She got back up as they rounded the corner, chatting about the heresy of having a Dominant in the Empire. Dion was nice. What was their problem with him? His magic was golden, wasn't that holy? Zireal didn't understand why the Church was so against Dominants, and no matter how much she inquired, nobody would even shine a speck of light into the matter for her.
Zirael hurried off in a quick step, rounding the eastern corner of the palace gardens, descending towards her project, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Fizr'yeans mating. She had read about these mystical birds in some old scrolls brought to her by the strange, blue-skinned woman from Mysthiere. What was her name again? Beatrice Valk_styre? _Valk-something anyway. Zirael was terrible with names, but she could vividly remember the peculiar jagged and quite frankly huge ears that adorned the woman's head, which reminded her of a wrinkly citrus fruit.
She had spent the last few weeks setting up the garden in secret, following her mess of notes down to the last scratchy glyph. These birds were very particular about which coloured plants they would use in their mating rituals; at least that's what she pieced together through her patchwork of research, which primarily consisted of crude grillings of imperial scholars, coupled with countless nights spent staring at poorly translated draconic texts.
Even after all her due diligence, it took months of excruciating time in court to get the correct plants here, trading favours and gold in equal measure - never knowing if she was getting her leg pulled.
Hopefully, her fellow Empyreans didn't mind her ridiculous expenditure in this scholarly endeavour.
Zirael quietly approached the precisely arranged amber trees and shrubbery, noticing that the grass in this area was starting to turn amber too, almost as if the exotic plants were bleeding into the Quintaran soil. The gentle dusting of snow that fell around her never seemed to settle on her garden - it all seemed to melt as it touched the orange leaves and flowers.
According to the scholars and her own late-night research, this garden should have been an impossibility. Quintaran soil was not the right match for these plants, and even in their natural habitats, they were dying out, but Zirael knew it had to work; she would make it work.
She took out the scrap piece of parchment from the pouch tied to the inside of her left leg. The noblewoman of Quintara used these pouches to keep their most valuable goods.
It was a strange practice that Zirael was afraid she would never get used to - it was just so uncomfortable. Praise the Scions that they were magically woven, however. Otherwise, she wouldn't be able to fit anything in them, plus it would weigh something dreadful. Some pompous tailor found a way to warp space with thread, and only made six of these every year. Not even the imperial spies knew where this man lived - it was always a muttered talking point at the end of every comet.
One of the passages she took out had been crudely translated by an Adept in the Church of the Owl. In its scrawl along the margins, it wrote that one had to make a specific whistle so they could see the birds; otherwise, they would remain invisible to the eye. She had been practising the whistle all morning, much to Sister Kharya's frustration.
But as she looked up into the air, she could see faint trails of red and orange fire dotting the sky, and as her gaze followed the trails, she found them: three birds made of fire, Fizr'yeans, real Fizr'yeans.
She stared in awe at the three birds dancing in the air, swooping and swirling like ribbons of flame, twisting in mesmerising patterns. The warm fire inside Zirael flared with a sense of yearning, of belonging, like this was where she was meant to be, that this was her home.
How could the draconic texts and the church speak of these birds with such fear and disdain? They were marvellous, they were beautiful, they were life itself.
She instinctively ran her hand down her left cheek, caressing the orange feathers that dotted parts of her otherwise smooth face. All of her people carried an aspect of sacred animals - antlers, feathers, scales, some even had beaks - or so she read - Zirael only had the Old Stories to tell her about her ancestors. After all, she was one of the last elves left in the empire.
Zirael twirled beneath the dancing birds, almost tripping over her own feet, focusing solely on the luminescent feathered creatures. These creatures took the form of birds, but they looked much more akin to wings attached to a body of fire. Fizr'yeans had a strange courting dance; it took three birds to create just one offspring, plus they were without gender - formless - as the scholars would put it.
Zirael couldn't help but look up in fascination, mouth wide open, like a child seeing the mirrored waters of the Cerulean Strait for the first time.
The birds swooped from their dance high in the air towards her, continuing their courting ritual at her eye level. Zirael brushed her hair to the side of her head, the long, pointed tip of her elven ear now peeking out from her tangled locks. Her hair shone with an even more fiery glow, now that the Fizr'yeans were dancing around her head.
They were the most beautiful creatures that Zirael had ever seen.
They're terrifying. And beautiful. A wild ferocity leashed into form.
Then all three merged into one.
Zirael froze in complete awe. The birds were no more. Instead, something was looking at her. Something beyond their world was piercing her very soul through the wisps of flame that undulated in a strange, amorphous shape before her. She felt a warm shiver run up her spine, and the feathers dotting her left cheek flared with warmth. Wisps of flame danced around the fire in front of her, greeting her like an old friend.
Then it was gone, and four birds took its place. The birds turned to face Zirael in a pose that portrayed recognition. Then, after a few long seconds, they flew off, vanishing into streams of red and amber light, disappearing into the snowflakes hanging in the cold afternoon air.
Zirael pathetically blew the whistle she had practised. The birds did not return, and she felt sad, as if she had lost a family she had never had.
"So this is where all our money went", said a calm but cold voice, descending the steps into the sunset coloured garden, hands clasped behind his back. Zirael turned to see a young man wearing a loose-fitting, all-black officers' jacket trimmed with gold lace, accompanied by equally dramatic pants and boots. His dark black hair with golden streaks was a mess as usual. Zirael was glad to see she wasn't the only Empyrean who didn't care about their hair.
"Oh..." Zirael said softly, glancing up at the man, taking her eyes away from her notes and papers, which she had taken from her pouch and placed around the crude carvings in the dirt where she sat underneath the large sunset coloured tree. Hours had passed since she saw the Fizr'yeans. She had re-drawn the musical notes of the whistle, trying to decipher why it attracted the birds, and why she didn't need to use it to see them.
"Afternoon, almighty Yuno", Zirael said dryly, mockingly bowing her head.
He let out a snort in response to her rough wit. She wasn't sure if it was a sign of humour, disbelief, or disgust. Yuno was a hard man to read; he was only five summers older than her, but he exuded an air of superiority even around those thrice their age - Zirael had noticed in court that even the most highly-strung nobles tried to please the man. Still, she gathered it was always to their own lofty ambitions, and that is why Yuno swatted them away like they were Rilaenese Gnats.
ins
"Pretty", the young man said with an almost perfectly flat tone. Zirael thought she could sense a drop of sincerity in his voice, but it was masked behind countless layers of formal pretence.
"I'm impressed you got all the correct plants here in such a timely manner", Yuno remarked whilst running his hand down the side of the tree Zirael sat underneath.
The tree's bark was perfectly smooth, streaked with red and golden patterns that resembled cracks in the ground; she had gotten this tree shipped from Lagderbow Island in southern Vesrala, the most expensive of all the plants she had bartered for. The village from which it was taken had to be significantly compensated for its relocation. According to the texts she dug out from the archive, despite the oddly frozen nature of the island the tree was native to, they always remained warm, and fire wisps were drawn to them. The same appeared to be true in her little makeshift garden. The odd bit of flame magic that danced off Zirael's skin flittered towards the tree, dancing up towards the branches of the tree, like a leaf hoisted up by a gentle breeze.
"You know, next time, try not to report these findings to the Adeptia; the church isn't so fond of such heretical practices", Yuno remarked in the tone of his signature blend of sarcasm and authority. Zirael's heart skipped a beat.
By the Scions, I reported these expenses to the Adeptia for mathematical appraisal. I'm an idiot. The panic on her face was easily readable, and Yuno could see it. She knew that the church frowned upon these birds. They were seen as one of the Heralds of Destruction. The fragments of Draconic texts that the Adeptia had translated spoke of the birds as preludes to death and chaos. Plus, the birds were worshipped during The Destructions, which didn't help their reputation either.
If the church has found out I had summoned the birds here, they're going to have my head, Zirael's mind spiralled into a panic.
"Don't worry about the church, I cleaned up the ledgers. It appears you made a great donation to the restoration efforts along the Cerulean Coast."
Zirael calmed. Then slightly panicked again. She was now in Yuno's debt.
"Thank you, Yuno", Zirael said in apprehensive sincerity, then a thought sparked at the front of her mind. "So you knew what I was doing... this whole time?" Zirael tilted her head, frowning towards Yuno. She knew he harboured no great love for the church, but The Church of the Owl had raised him; she thought that maybe he would scold her for these efforts. Why would he support me with these efforts? He should have reported me, scolded me even; now he's in the same boat too. What a strange man, I thought he always looked after number one - himself.
"I was curious to see what you were up to." Yuno had a slight knowing smirk on his face. "I've seen people determined to get something done, and then there was you. Only two summers in court, and already ordering around scholars and other nobles like they were your own little servants." Zirael blushed at the thought; she hadn't viewed it like that. She was constantly terrified in court. "I simply wanted to see what you were up to. Nobles getting exotic plants is commonplace, but this many plants from across the world... Well, I know House Ignissara's chambers are large, but not this large", Yuno gestured towards the sprawling amber garden.
"So, were they real? Did you see the little fiery heretics?" Yuno obviously hadn't seen them, or if he had, he was testing her to see if she would tell the truth. Well, there was no point lying to the man; he did have perfect memory after all, that's what made him so formidable in any battle of wit or intellect.
"Yes!" Zirael squealed, trying to stifle her excitement unsuccessfully; she sounded like a child at a Dutchy Fair banquet. Ahem. "Yes," she said again, settling back down, readjusting her pose to be more proper. Her father would be scoffing at her behaviour.
"They were wonderful! Oh, how I wish I could describe them properly! They were like little fires dancing with zest in the air..." Zirael trailed off, describing them in a tirade of over-descriptive words. After exhausting the common dictionary, she started working through the lyrical Fae'n remarks. Yuno, seemingly amused by her enrapturing, stood up and placed a hand on her shoulder, interrupting the young elven woman's avalanche of descriptions.
Zirael adjusted herself once again, trying to hide her mild embarrassment. She had gotten carried away again. After so long spent trawling the corridors of her family's manor, with only grunts to appease her questions, anyone who showed interest towards her ventures was often met with overzealous responses.
"Well... uhhh..." Zirael carried on more calmly than before. She described the fiery spectres, their flying, their merge, and their departure with an extra bird in tow. She opted to forgo explaining the strange presence she felt from beyond. There was something secretive about it, like it was only for her to know.
"And the song? The whistle to see the birds?" Yuno attempted the whistle as he quizzed her further. It was a decent attempt, but for all his skills in court and the war room, the Saints hadn't blessed him with the ability to hold a tune.
"I..." Zirael hesitated. Should I tell him? It was strange, maybe he has read something? Draka, is he testing me again? "I didn't need to. They were already here, flittering around the trees when I looked up." Zirael spoke in a hush, fearing that what she was saying was somehow heretical. How much more trouble could I get into? She thought to herself.
"Hmmmm" Yuno, for some reason, didn't seem shocked at this revelation. "I read some of the texts you procured during my first years studying with the Adeptia" Of course he had, drakin' know-it-all. "All of them stated that you needed to attune to the songs to see the Heralds.... and yet..." he paused, seemingly waiting for Zirael to fill in the silence. She obliged.
"... and yet", she gazed up, staring at the now empty space where the birds flew hours earlier, "I did not whistle the song." Standing up, Zirael brushed the dirt off her dress. Her attendant was going to have a time in the pits trying to clean this; spider silk wasn't known for being easy to remove stains from.
She tucked her loose papers back into the slim drawstring pouch nestled against the inside of her leg, feeling them lift from her fingertips as they floated into an inexplicable void.
"Strange, isn't it?" the young man remarked in a tone that implied he knew something more. "The arcane is a fickle dance partner, Zirael. I have never been able to court it properly."
He held his right hand up, a series of gold and metallic contraptions adorned it, embedded with gemstones and glyph-marks. She could see wisps of golden magic twirling around the contraption.
"But you, you are different. The arcane treats you like a lover, embracing you completely. Even I can see the fire wisps dancing off your skin" He sounded more earnest now than she had ever heard before.
This was no longer Empyrean Yuno; this was Real Yuno... wasn't it?
"I want your help, Zirael. I... I want to piece together what was lost during The Destructions."