"Men must bleed. They caused the pain of my sisters and I. United we are Goddesses, apart we are queens."
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Made from the souls of a thousand, the daughter of the earth is made to be one of the many rulers in a l...
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Old magic is back.
The excitement that rises in the confidence of Olori doesn't do the same for me. She can feel it alive as her mother goddess passes it to her straight from the wall to her soul.
For she knows every word as if it has been a piece of her since the beginning. Yet, for me, it fails as I know no new language, no symbol to draw into stone and parchment to bring alive magic, or the right way to draw blood. Even Kirabo only knew blood magic because of her collection of ancient scrolls stolen from Abus years prior by men and women who dreamed of this day before dying.
I bite my lip and listen to her brag about the feeling of having ice and sparks of life rush up her body. The old magic was the magic of humans that connected all man to the goddesses, it was the power that all could learn but only those with the strongest connection to their mother goddesses could call on.
"Thank Mother Moon." Olori whispers before dropping her grip on my arm and moving into a crowd of people who greet her as a person that she isn't.
She was born from the sands of the mountains kissed by the sea and peaked by clouds and snow. Only a few children born from those sands survive before the scouts found them, making the Moon's children the rarest. Rarer than a seer.
More powerful than one born by Sun. Olori is perfect in blood, magic, and skill. She may as well snatch the crown off King Abus's head after his death and call herself queen. Who would object?
I finish my bitter wine and pass through glass walls that reflect hundreds of rooms with less than three people in a few, some empty but full of ancient paintings of long-dead rulers and sparkling trinkets that are for looking but not touching.
I lose Olori in the fray of fast tongues and colorful hair. Few mounts appear, mostly creatures of hooves. Zebras with violet and teal stripes and gazelles with horns that shimmer white in the light of one hundred flames prance around the room with the flag of Ve'hra hanging from their long necks.
Wishing for Zexo, I take a staircase that leads away from the main area where gold and teal steps lead up to an overfilled balcony. More people, more mounts, more expensive alcohols exported from all over the most well-hidden part of Ve'hra, yet nothing here calls me to duty.
I keep walking, moving past unfamiliar faces that stop to give me calls in my stolen name which I fail at times to knowledge. I move with no particular place in mind, just a want to find something. Something more than just the same outrageous outfits
Two seers call to me, their eyes wide with panic as they rush forward.
One, a particularly thin young woman rushes to my side with a sudden bow stiffens me.
"Have you seen General Anada, Messenger Mer?" The seer questions, her thick white locks pulled back into thick braids quivering on her shoulders.
