Ylva was quick to stop Aramir from drawing his sword. He glared at her, an obvious question in his eyes, but she simply shook her head and glanced at Nafriel instead.

Nafriel's voice was weary. 'I see you've yet to tire of that form, creature.'

'And I see you've yet to tire of your Seren pet, traitor,' replied Taiten. His golden eyes slid over to Ylva, narrowing slightly as they took note of Aramir beside her. 'Although I see you've managed to collect one of purer blood. Were you not satisfied with the way your kind has diluted hers?' He paused, a thin smile spreading across his lips as he stared the Tyrant down. 'Or perhaps you were dissatisfied with the spawn you two created.'

Ylva glared back, her fist tight around her spear.

Nafriel appeared unmoved, but his wings spread just a little wider to shield Ylva from the prisoner's view. 'Cease your attempts at manipulation. They do not work here.'

'You speak as if you do not intend to keep me here for eternity.'

'And you speak as if you have a choice.'

Taiten sneered, but did not disagree. Instead, he made to sit. Gold irises flickered red. Liquid shadow pooled around his feet. In mere seconds, it had risen and solidified into a small stone throne.

Aramir's skin prickled. Fal'mor, he thought. His fingers trembled, itching to draw his sword, but he forced himself to remain still. This creature was far more sophisticated, far more intelligent, than the one he'd fought during the Rite. Judging from the way Nafriel and Ylva refused to move, refused to show emotion, showing the monster any sign of weakness would be a mistake.

But it could sense his fear. Its eyes darted to meet his, darkening with curiosity as it looked him up and down. Aramir resisted the urge to take a step back as it leered.

Legs spread casually, the Taiten-Fal'mor leaned back in its chair, its chin raised and threaded fingers resting in its lap – the image of a king at ease on their throne as opposed to a prisoner in a cage. 'We have not met, son of Seras. I am the Thirteenth. By what name do you call yourself?'

Aramir frowned, unsure whether he was supposed to know what the number signified, or if it was safe to answer.

'His name is of no matter to you,' said Nafriel, firmly. 'We have brought you before us for a reason.'

The Thirteenth ignored him. It would not listen to Nafriel until its curiosity was indulged. 'The white marks upon your skin,' it said, continuing to address Aramir. 'How did you get them?'

Aramir stiffened. The magic Eliah had used during his Rite had left its mark on him: white scars in the shape of Aeon's Blessing etched into his skin where the magic-infused aeonite warpaint had burnt him. He didn't respond. There was an edge to the Fal'mor's tone that suggested it wasn't really looking for an answer.

'There was a Seren during the Godswar who bore markings like yours,' the Thirteenth continued. It gestured lazily to the white marks that marred the bronze flesh of its borrowed body. 'I am sure you know of him, the warrior said to have been chosen and blessed by Mother Aeon herself, worshipped for his deeds against my kind by the ones who helped our winged friends here steal my mountain – your ancestors.

'He is long dead by now, I am sure. But it begs the question...' The Fal'mor's eyes flickered red, shadows spreading across its skin as the lazy air about the creature gave way to murderous intent. 'Where on that mountain did you find the goddess that blessed you?'

Cold fear spread through the hollow of Aramir's chest at the level of malice that entered the creature's voice as it spat the word goddess. It trickled down his spine. Every instinct he had told him that if the creature found out about Eliah, it wouldn't rest until she was dead. His fingernails dug into his palm as he wrapped his fist around the hilt of his sword and lifted his chin with feigned confidence. 'I am no goddess's blessed. These marks are mine because I am Taitenschild, as decided by Rite.'

'Taiten... Yes, that was his name...' The Thirteenth's bloodlust seemed to disappear, red eyes turning gold once again as its expression turned curious once more. 'Tell me then, Taitenschild, is there one called Valkyrie in your legends?'

Nafriel cut in, determined to gain control of the situation. 'Ylva has answered this. The answer is no.'

The Thirteenth dismissed his words with a wave of its hand. 'The woman has Aeren blood in her. She is like you, your kin, and the god that is your sire – full of manipulations and lies. Seras's children are brutal and honest. The boy will answer.'

Aramir hesitated and glanced at Ylva sidelong. She gave him an almost imperceptible nod.

'No,' he answered truthfully. 'We know of no Valkyrie.'

'What of the Einherjar then, the Aeonari?'

'I know them not. They are absent from the Teachings.'

The Thirteenth was silent as it pondered his answer. It ran a thumb across its chin. 'If children of Seras are here, then your request has to do with the mountain. My mountain.' Its eyes flickered red as it finally looked Nafriel in the eye. The unsettling sound of cracking bones echoed throughout the chamber as the Fal'mor, bored of Taiten's image, let blackblood consume its flesh and shifted to become Nafriel's twin. It smiled, mirthless, red irises stark against black sclera as it spread its wings. 'I will hear your reasons for summoning me, son of Aer.'

Nafriel was unmoved. 'You will give me access to your core and show me the Mountain's runeprints,' he said. The words were a calm command, not a request.

'Why?' asked the Thirteenth, its eyes lighting bright and silver as curiosity overtook it once again. 'What spell of mine did you break?'

Nafriel refused to enlighten him. 'You will show them to me,' was all he said.

The Thirteenth looked amused. 'You and your – ' It glanced at Sathariel and the two other black-robed Aeren standing guard. ' – servants have spent centuries forcibly prying secrets from my core. If you seek knowledge that you have not yet found, then it is knowledge that is buried deep – knowledge related to the Fal'mor.'

Nafriel did not deny it.

The Thirteenth bared its teeth, its eyes flickering red. 'You would have more success if you sought the aid of the First and Amitiel.'

Again, no response.

The Thirteenth sighed, bored from the lack of reaction. 'Very well, traitor. I will acquiesce, only if it is an exchange. I will show you the designs you seek, but they...' It waved a hand lazily in Ylva and Aramir's direction. 'They will show me the Rite by which the boy received his marks.'

The two Seren froze. The back of Aramir's neck prickled with alarm. Ylva's face became a blank mask of horror.

The Tyrant stepped forward. 'We will not – '

Nafriel cut her off. 'Very well. You will watch. But you will do so from your cage and in the guise of an Aeren so as not to alarm their people.'

If Ylva could mind-speak, she would have screamed at him in protest. Knuckles white as they gripped her spear, all she could do was bite down her fury and watch.

'You will bind the agreement by contract.'

'By contract,' echoed Nafriel. The runes on his wings began to glow. White threads burst from his feathers, a tornado weaving around him to draw rune circles above his head and below his feet. More threads flew towards the Fal'mor in the centre of the room, the magical cage holding it captive turning opaque for the briefest of moments as they penetrated its surface to draw an identical spell around the Thirteenth.

The Fal'mor raised his hand, blackblood seeping through his pores to cover it. It pressed its fingertips to his chest. The blackblood bled outwards like black ink on a white cloth. Fist delving into the darkness, the Thirteenth pulled out a perfectly round, glimmering crystal orb. Forged from aeonite, its glassy, translucent surface glinted blue in the white light of the tower, but its depths were filled with a void as black as the one that surrounded that Aerie. Moving red runes shimmered just below the orb's surface, circling a second, smaller sphere of solid, glowing blue that sat within the heart of the Thirteenth's core.

'Your knowledge,' said the Thirteenth. The runes inside the core exploded outwards, forming ribbons of words made from red light. They streamed into the rune circle that surrounded him, disappearing into the circle of white light and reappearing inside the circle around Nafriel.

With a flick of his fingers, Nafriel beckoned the ribbons of knowledge, absorbing them into his wings. Satisfied, he nodded.

The Thirteenth smiled thinly and placed its core back inside its chest.

Nafriel raised his left arm. 'Your promise,' he said. Threads of a light snaked from the spell encircling him and wrapped around his wrist to form a thick silver shackle, etched with glowing red. 'You will see the Rite performed by the Seren.'

The contract now made, he lowered his wings, and the rune circles dissipated.

'Send it back, Sathariel.'

Smoke and white light surrounded the Thirteenth's cage once more.

The Thirteenth locked eyes with Aramir as the smoke consumed him. 'I am keen to greet your goddess, Taitenschild.'

And then he was gone.

─ ☼ ─

'You bastard...' Ylva's cloak swished as she suddenly turned, closing the gap between her and Nafriel in an instant. Tossing her spear at a startled Aramir, her open palm struck Nafriel's cheek with a smack that echoed around the chamber like thunder. 'You're going to summon that creature before the Rite? How could you say yes? My people do not exist just to be sacrificed in the name of the Aeren's endless pursuit of knowledge!'

Nafriel blinked, momentarily stunned. Across the room, Sathariel, Alimon and Amaliel glowered and took to the air, ready to defend their leader.

He held up a hand in a silent order for them to stand down. Instinctively, his eyes sought hers. 'It is alright, Ylva.' He saw her freeze and quickly averted his gaze. 'It will be safe,' he said to the top of her head.

'I know how many measures you take before summoning it here, Nafriel.'

Nafriel grimaced, hesitant to say more. Warnings against further explanation from the other three Aeren whispered in mind.

'Do not reveal too much in front of the boy,' hissed Sathariel in his head.

Nafriel frowned, expression hardening as he glanced at Aramir, and then going soft as they briefly met Ylva's again. He redirected his gaze to her shoulder before she could notice. He could speak the explanation into her mind, but he strongly suspected that if he did that, the woman would never speak to him again, and that was a thought he couldn't tolerate.

'The spell it gave me, it is the key to the creation of the cages. It is the foundation of the ward that surrounds your Arena. The Fal'mor are echoes of the Xaosari. That which binds them also binds the Thirteenth. It will not be able to escape.'

Behind Ylva's head, Nafriel saw Aramir's eyes darken. He was starting to put the pieces together.

Sure enough, the youth spoke up. 'The Aeren didn't make the Cages. That Fal'mor did.'

Nafriel narrowed his eyes. 'Take care not to call it Fal'mor when you are before it. It will not be happy.'

'If it's not a Fal'mor, then what is it?'

Nafriel's jaw clenched. Sathariel's voice spat curses in his mind, snarling that everything they had worked for would be at risk of coming undone if he pushed this too far.

Ylva studied his face. Guessing at his silent conflict, she eyed Sathariel side-long and answered Aramir for him. 'It is the Thirteenth of the Xaosari.'

The smoke-covered Aeren seemed to teleport. In the blink of an eye, he was upon her. White clouds parted and turned stormy grey as he seized the Tyrant by the throat, shoved a thumb beneath her chin and forced her to look into the reflection in his eyes. 'You will speak no more,' he commanded.

She trembled, feeling her throat tighten as the compulsion set in.

Pain ripped through both her head and Sathariel's as Nafriel's voice, laced with fury, invaded their minds. 'That is enough.'

A torrent of angry white threads exploded from Nafriel's right wing, wrapped around Sathariel's head, arms and wings, and wrenched him away from Ylva. With a flick of his arm, Nafriel flung the Aeren summoner bodily out the exit to the staircase and into the endless void.

Stony face expressionless, he turned towards the other two Aeren that served him. 'You will find him and you will placate him so that he is fit to fulfil his duties when we leave for the Mountain.'

Alimon and Amaliel bowed and exited the chamber without question.

Nafriel turned back to the Seren. Aramir had pulled Ylva behind him. Her hand was clasped around her throat, the muscles in her neck straining as she tried to find her voice. The young titan watched Nafriel approach, uncertain. Wary, he raised the Tyrant's spear to Nafriel's chest as the Aeren stopped in front of him.

'If you will let me,' said Nafriel calmly, 'I am going to remove Sathariel's command.'

Placing her hand on Aramir's shoulder, Ylva nodded for him to step aside.

He moved out of the way, but his stance remained ready.

Without much thought, Nafriel gently brushed his fingers against Ylva's jaw. Cupping her cheek, he stared directly into her eyes, silently counting the familiar flecks of silver in her pale gold irises. 'Your voice is your own,' he whispered aloud. 'Sathariel's words will bind you no more.'

He saw her swallow and quickly let go.

To his surprise, she didn't break eye contact. Her fingers brushed her cheek where he'd touched her. She swallowed again. 'Thank you.'

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled back at her. 'You are most welcome.' Remembering himself, he respectfully averted his gaze, resumed a neutral expression and continued, 'I apologise for Sathariel. He, like many others, does not choose his words carefully. As my brother, however, he and I stand on the same level in the hierarchy of the Aeren. In the interest of not drawing his ire, I would ask that we speak no more of the Xaosari.'

'Very well,' murmured Ylva.

'I include you in this too, Taitenschild.'

'It's Aramir,' Aramir replied. He handed Ylva back her spear. 'Valkyrie. Einherjar. Aeonari.' He listed the three things the Thirteenth had asked him about and looked Nafriel in the eye. 'Why would the Thirteenth ask us about them?'

Nafriel smiled once more, the expression cold and polite in comparison to the one he'd shown Ylva before, and pointedly stared off into the space above Aramir's head as he responded. 'Alimon and Amaliel will bring Sathariel back shortly. It would be best if you gathered the other Titans and prepared to depart ere long.'

Ylva sighed. 'I hope you have chosen right.' White cloak billowing behind her, she led the way to the stairs.

Aramir moved to follow her. But as he passed, Nafriel seized his upper arm and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, 'If you wish the goddess that gave you those marks to remain a secret, then you would do well to keep her away from both my people and the Xaosari.'

'There is no goddess,' replied Aramir, attempting to shake the Aeren away.

Nafriel's grip tightened. 'Your people have forgotten their role, so I will remind you, son of Regis – '

Aramir flinched at his father's name, and looked the Aeren in the eye again. He expected to see his own reflection staring back at him, wide-eyed, alarmed, but in the Aeren's full-moon irises he saw only a shadow, a magical wisp of bright, azure blue. As he stared into the light he heard a second voice, a woman's voice, layered beneath Nafriel's own.

' – the Seren of the Mountain are the protectors of the Mortal Realms. Keepers of weapons that are deadlier than the sharpest blades, and more enduring than the strongest shield. If the Thirteenth witnesses einherjar, calamity will be unleashed.'

Aramir glared. 'The weapons Taiten left us are safe, wielded by the Titans alone. And I know not what einherjar is. Speak plainly if you wish me to understand.'

The blue light in Nafriel's eyes seemed to swell. The woman's voice took over, her tone harsh and commanding, 'Taitenschild must not be present at the Rite.'

Again, he felt that hollowness. A trickle of unease. Aramir gritted his teeth, expression steely as he tried to pull away. 'Did you not hear what was said to the Thirteenth? I am Taitenschild, and I will do as I please.' He moved to draw his sword. It refused to budge from its sheath.

The hand wrapped around his bicep tightened even further, Nafriel's fingernails biting into his skin. 'I have seen my daughter, Aramir, son of Regis. Your father is bound to me, and you will tell him that Taitenschild will be kept from the Rite – kept from the eyes of the Thirteenth. Swear it unto me or be frozen in time, in this moment unending, until you do.'

He frowned, confused. Looking over his shoulder, he realised that Ylva had frozen, one foot raised to take the first step off the landing and onto the stair. Yet he and Nafriel were moving. Trapped within the white chamber, in a tower floating in space that had no sense of time, he couldn't tell if the woman, the possessive entity, was bluffing or not. 'Who are you?'

'Valkyrie.'

He glared. 'Why does the Thirteenth ask about you?'

'Taitenschild will be kept from the Rite. Swear unto me.'

'What are the Aeonari?'

'Swear unto me.'

'If I pass on the message, will you give me answers?'

'Regis is bound to me. You may ask him.'

'Bound to you how?'

'You may ask him.'

'It is getting very tiresome asking questions of mysterious, powerful beings and not having them answered,' Aramir grumbled. He sucked in a breath as the nails in his skin dug deeper, drawing blood. 'You can stop that. The threats are not needed. Eliah is my sister and I will protect her. My father and I will keep her from the Rite.'

'Eliah?' The voice seemed to falter as it repeated the name.

'Taitenschild. I won't let her near a monster that calls her "goddess" with such venomous hate. Why else do you think I said that name belonged to me?'

'Eliah...' the voice repeated softly. The blue light in Nafriel's eyes was fading. The hand on Aramir's arm dropped back to Nafriel's side. The entity, Valkyrie, had left him.

A soft thud sounded behind them as Ylva's foot finally hit the stair.

Nafriel stared back at him, blinked, and then averted his gaze. In an action that was almost absent-minded, he touched a hand to his forehead.

'Are you alright?' asked Aramir.

The Aeren's forehead wrinkled, but he did not acknowledge the question. 'Let us leave, else Alimon and Amaliel may bring Sathariel back whilst we are still here.' Hovering slightly above the ground, Nafriel moved to catch up with Ylva.

Hand still wrapped around the sheath of his sword, Aramir rested his thumb against the wolfhead engraved into the guard and gave it an experimental push. The aeonite blade slid out easily, his reflection thrown back at him from the few visible inches of metal, faintly shimmering blue.

Silently, he put it away.

Following behind Ylva and Nafriel, he repeated the words the Thirteenth had asked him about in his head:

Valkyrie.

Einherjar.

Aeonari.

He doubted it was a coincidence that Valkyrie had revealed herself to him then and there, yet the other two words remained a mystery.

Her words echoed within him. 'Regis is bound to me. You may ask him.'

Hit by a sudden burst of anger and frustration as he began to climb the railless stairs, Aramir balled his hands into fists. Everything the Tyrants had taught him about the Clan, the Treaty, and the Titans was a lie, and there was one person who had tried to warn him all along. Who had tried to dissuade him from becoming a Titan. Who had the answers the Thirteenth sought.

And he hadn't bothered to listen.

When Aramir got back, he and his father were going to have to have a talk.

─────────♢─────────

All content and illustrations ©Jax L. P. (@JaxCreation) on 𝑾𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒑𝒂𝒅. All rights reserved. Please contact the author if you are reading this on another site or under a different account name.