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Retribution: Prologue

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The darkness of the forest's canopy gave way to the moonlit road. A carriage sat waiting, its banners waving in the slight breeze—a rampant golden crowned stag on a field of green, House Oraen. Worry filled Yaenfiera's core, though she cared little about what would soon become her. Her mind went to the novice she sent away thirty-seven years back, still but a child. The gods had given Yaenfiera a command, and she obeyed. Had Yaenfiera known what would come, she would have held onto the child as long as time permitted. Perhaps the gods knew that, omitting what would become of the child, her child. It mattered not anymore. King Daenil of House Oraen had found her. The time of trials and tribulation was over, ushering in a new era of empyrean and inferno.

The rusted chains bit into Yaenfiera's wrists. The wretched bitch of a leader had put them on too tight, mocking Yaenfiera's discomfort. The Leader of the band of rebels had welcomed Yaenfiera into their makeshift fortress, though not with much hospitality. She openly voiced her distaste for the High Priestess, as if Zeneir's towers stood high and untouched by war. Yaenfiera might have stayed accustomed to feather-down mattresses and dining on mutton in another life. But not this one, never this one. "As promised. High Priestess Yaenfiera, Descendant Of Asteae, Sovereign of Zenier, Antidoted Envoy of the Divines, and Protector of The Zaetiraeal." The prickly woman spoke, every word an attempt to wound Yaenfiera. The three men looked Yaenfiera over with disinterest. With one wave of a gloved hand, a chest drops to the ground in a heavy thud. "Very well then," The Commander replies, "Ten thousand golden leviathans." "Is that the cost of damnation?" Yaenfiera spits, "The Realm will forever be changed and by your greed alone." "No, it is the cost of whatever befalls you." The seasoned Leader spun on her heel to face the High Priestess, "Was it not you who agreed to raise and mentor Ivaenia's heir? Then, conveniently lost said heir when the King called for her? Kings and Queens have done far worse for far less." "You speak of what you do not know." Yaenfiera's tone fell somber, "For every truth spoken into this world, deception takes root." "And for every tale, there are two sides—Atlir's teaching. Had you shared your side, the public might have cast the blame differently. But Zenier fell, and you vanished when your people needed you most. Any respect I might have had for the tales of your good deeds has long since soured. They say the gods make no mistakes, but I believe you were their first." The woman's eyes narrowed as they met Yaenfiera's. She and her scoundrels leave the clearing, chest in tow. The King's men grab Yaenfiera, escorting her to the carriage. The runes on her cuffs glow once, twice, thrice. A tear fled down her cheek; only the Forge of Avernus could've created such a monstrosity. All weaponry and artifacts granted from the Divine, or the Infernal, are born in its fires. And only there could such powerful runes be inscribed. Even if she were to drink from the Collision and obtain power that rivaled the gods, she could conjure no magic. Once in the carriage, she could no longer maintain her poise. Yaenfiera wept. She wept for her lover, for whatever became of her old friend turned foe, for all of Zenier and the Zaetiraeal. Most of all, she cried for the young girl from so many years ago. Where would she be in this moment? How far she'd gotten on her quest? Who had she become so far away from a mother's love? Her name came close to escaping Yaenfiera's lips like prayer, a plea for mercy. The girl would not go by that name, even if she had remembered it. She would've been born anew when she woke from the amnesia. If the gods were kind, someone would've named her in her stead. To bestow a name onto oneself is a sign of ill fortune.

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[wavvie]

Retribution: Prologue

Part 2 of 2

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The congregation parted for Yaenfiera, the choir echoing throughout the grand cathedral. All of it was foreign to her; marriage was something few priestesses agreed to—those who did never married a human, let alone the last King of Dawn.

Daenil looked upon Yaenfiera with an unpleasant leer. The infernals had done their work, and they did it well. Yaenfiera had seen such looks before from him but never at her. "We gather here to submit to the will of the gods." The priest's words begin as the choir quiets to a harmonizing hum, "Through them, His Grace, King Daenil, and Her Holiness, High Priestess Yaenfiera, are to be bound in marriage. With flesh against flesh and hearts to beat as one, their souls are forever intertwined from this day until the end of their days." "As Atlir vows to Ielia, I, too, pledge to you," Daenil's voice wavers; he pauses for a moment and winces before continuing, "I will forever walk by your side, bring light to your darkest days, shield you from harm, and worship and adore you." Yaenfiera looks to Daenil, and sorrow settles in her heart. The last time they were in this chapel, he was young and in love. Perhaps she, too, had loved him and him her. Those days were gone. Any ounce of love they could muster was lost out at sea. And here they both stood again, wanting to regain what was taken from them. As if a sham marriage would return those they loved and lost.

Screams erupt throughout the cathedral, hell fire engulfing all but Yaenfiera and Daenil. Yaenfiera could all but watch in horror as Daenil's subjects grew disfigured and grotesque. They're screams of agony turning to ones of pleasure. A pit from the depths of the hells opens, and three pairs of red eyes watch from within. Two make their way out of the fiery abyss, leaving the third to watch from afar. Tall, slender, horned beings make their way to the altar. "Lovely good show, if only the mouthy wretch could've seen. Alas, I don't dare trust her on the mortal plane. As tempting as it would be to toy further with you both." The one with more grandeur horns spoke first. "Pitty, pitty. I tried to make my father wait until the consummation; how the horrendous display of breaking a holy vow would anger my ever beloathed grandfather." The less grandeur shook his head in disappointment. "Guards!" Daenil calls out on instinct. "Be grateful, Your Highness, we've only taken the souls of your esteemed keep and the city below. We are not but merciful; it would be wise of you to remember that in the coming months." The figures give a flash of teeth, sharpened to pointed ends. "It was you. You were the one entering my conscience." Daenil looks on in horror. The more grandeur rushes the King, grasping his neck and lifting him off the ground. The King struggles to breathe. "Yes. I am the first of my kind, but far from the last. The first Rising Sun, the first Fallen Moon. Unlike my parents, mortal hood is all but a mystery to me. To be so… disposable, to break so easily, why I could never." The grandeur spoke. "Let him go, Dostrin." Yaenfiera tries with her might to sound strong, pulling from every essence of priesthood, of sovereignty. Her voice cracks, filled with fear. Dostrin, son of Atlir and Ielia. The first to be born a god, the first to have had his godhood denounced. "There's a fourth piece we require that you so carefully absconded with, High Priestess." The less grandeur draws Yaenfiera's attention to him. Estrus, the son of Dostrin and the Goddess Ola. Dostrin's key to leaving the hells without the divine's leave. "She's hidden under whatever cloak of protection you weaved. Perhaps it's better this way: let her find my grandfather's champion, so once she's in our possession, I can gut the bastard where he stands." "No," Yaenfiera says, earning a burning glare from the half-demon-half-god. "No?" Estrus mocks. Yaenfiera stands her ground. "She will do what was entrusted to her. If you are here, the fated encounter is nigh. She will deliver the Rhae'zeil, and he will be your reckoning." Yaenfiera holds her head high; the words she spoke to her daughter coming to her. 'Hold fast. When despair sets in, and all seems lost, hold fast and remember who you are.' Yaenfiera brought the child in her mind's eye. "Your unwavering servitude is aw-inspiring, High Priestess. Now, someone waits for you both; I found her wandering around on the seafloor." And with that, the world became a sweltering inferno around them.

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