Hierophant's Agdora: The Floating Island of Fire of the Arctic Circle

Chapter 2: The search for the betrothed

Loneliness helps man to find himself, to discover which feeling forms the basis of his soul. However, it is only for a short time.

After nine years of my travels and the construction of Agdora, on its ninth anniversary, loneliness seemed to attack me with ferocious claws and sought to sicken my soul. However, my spirit, soberly, eloquently convinced me that a companion was necessary for the next step of the foundation of this new world. I sought my little advisor of light, Hilla, the Belfa-Lía, who instructed me about the promised one. In her own words, she said: "According to your apophthegm, there is a woman, human, promised to ascend, by your side, the steps of Alcácer, and become the mother of the eminent species of pure mages: the Extrisseiros." Apophthegms are oracles uttered by the fairies of light and serve as significant temporal points in the history of each being, be it man, creature, or mage.

Despite all the magnificence of my mind, this vision did not come to me, and I noticed that occupying my mind meant less time, even for the visions. Therefore, I started reserving a few hours of my early mornings for meditation.

Hilla was precise in her use of words, indicating that out of the thousands of women in the world, only one was capable of bringing forth the lineage of the Extrisseiros, and the weight of responsibility had never been so profound for me. I didn't know where to begin the search; the field of search was not infinite, but it would take decades to cover it. Hilla also did not inform me of the time of her birth, and as far as my knowledge elucidated, I would live forever.

My time had no end, and the end for me was a new beginning. The days were interconnected, and the years together. I learned as each one of them passed by that the feeling should flourish in the gaze, and that love could indeed sprout from the first sight, and that once it existed, it would manifest.

This was the year of 1692, and the American man spoke again of witches, sorcery, and the hunting of the species. What they did not understand was that sorcerers were far from what they preached, and what was practiced were only beginner's magic by self-proclaimed witch women. However, the truth was that they feared what they could not control, and this lack of control and knowledge led to the death of hundreds of people, mostly women. The accusers, Christians, had among them a fearless and audacious young woman named Elizabeth Parris. "Betty," as she was socially known, at just nine years old, was one of the main responsible for hanging approximately twenty people in Salem, Massachusetts, and the only one my eyes have never forgotten. It is strange how one of your main hunters would hypothetically be the lady of your soul.

I followed Betty for a decade. I visited every church she attended, every square, every social or protestant meeting. Everything and in everywhere I could imagine. For ten years, I studied and learned everything about her. Her methodical routine, her family, her beliefs, her peculiar tastes, her displeasures... Everything. And yet, standing before her, being stared at by her black and enchanting eyes for the first time, felt truly like the first time.

"What is a noble count doing in this region of Salem? I don't recall having seen your countenance before..." I had never heard her sweet voice directed at me before.

"Miss Elizabeth, I have come to rescue your soul." She looked at me with a certain astonishment, for I already knew her title. However, a count could know many things, including her simple name.

I spent so many years searching for her and so many others studying her, and I never thought about what this first encounter would be like. Finally, she smiled, covering her delicate lips with hands adorned with pure white gloves. I extended my right hand, subtly bowing my body as a sign of respect and reverence, and invited her into the carriage from which I had descended. Of course, I didn't need a carriage to move around, but I deemed it necessary so that she wouldn't be alarmed by the supernatural abilities I had mastered.

Our vehicle, pulled by four beautiful white French trotters, galloped along the dirt roads until they reached the paved streets and, in a few minutes, far enough from civilization, they revealed their long wings, carrying us towards Agdora, in the Arctic Circle.