Beyond the Rabbit Hole

Crashing Waves

In a circular room with three distinct layers and one hundred ornate chairs positioned neatly throughout, one hundred men in noble attire discussed with and debated each other. Indigo tapestry auspicious with swirling white-gold embroidery lined the walls of the room. Suddenly, the door swung open, and a man burst into the open space in the center of the room. The man struggled to catch his breath as the discussions came to an end and a sudden silence ensued. The noblemen began to murmur as tension thickened the stale air, and eyes were directed toward the large chair opposite the door. The young, handsome man sitting upon that chair, glanced down at the sweat-covered messenger with cold indifference.

The messenger took a deep breath and straightened his back, but his eyes widened as he met the gaze of the young man above him. He quickly knelt and lowered his head. "Your Majesty! I had. . . I wasn't aware you were attending the congress today. My apologies, Your Majesty, I-" His face flushed.

"It is no matter," the emperor spoke. His voice remained calm yet boomed throughout the room. "I trust your words carry great import. Speak them now."

The messenger's breath caught in his throat, and he gulped. "It's about Herongrand, Your Majesty. . ."

In a room at the back of a towering cathedral, a woman in a modest, white dress was kneeling beneath two massive idols—a golden and silver moon. There was an empty space beside the two where a third idol once sat. The stained-glass windows depicted colorful stories up to the spiral ceiling almost five hundred feet above. Gentle breaths of light shone through the windows, giving a dull radiance to the dark room. The woman's face was covered by a white veil, ornate with golden circular designs.

"What. . . did you just say?" The woman's hands trembled.

The two old clergymen behind her traded glances as they attempted to soften their words. "Isaaik is dead. He rests in the moonmeadows now."

Though they poured their sympathies into them, it could not lessen the wound their words left upon the woman's heart.

She bent over as if she were going to vomit.

"It seems now isn't a good time," a smooth voice echoed through the cathedral as a youthful man stepped into the light. The tail of his form-fitting white coat fluttered gently as he walked down the dimly lit aisle.

"Ah, Saint apostle Cyren!" One of the clergymen smiled.

"May the moons bless your name." Both clergymen lowered their heads in prayer.

"Is it true that Isaaik has passed?" Cyren stood tall in the room. His stern gaze pierced the priests' souls as he questioned them.

"We received a message from Golden Disciple Serana." One of the priests spoke up.

"In Althis?" Cyren's eyes narrowed.

"She used a moon shard, Your Holiness." The clergyman sighed. "I believe she speaks true."

Cyren glanced at the veiled woman who knelt in silence. "You know how Saintess Rosalia felt about him." He turned around and headed for the door. "My business can wait. We shall let her grieve in peace."

"May the moons bless her name." The clergymen prayed as they followed the saint apostle out of the room.

Rosalia trembled beneath the light refracting off the golden idol as gentle tears hit the floor. "How? Why?"

"Apparently it was the Bull who did him in." A paunch man slammed an empty mug onto the bar top. "That arrogant bastard finally got what was coming to him."