Uvodell: The Lost Princess of Yggdrasil [Draft]

1 || 𝔞𝔫 𝔞𝔠𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢

Keep her safe from us. I'm sorry.

Those were the only words on the paper. Front, and back. Written in silver ink that speckled beneath the moonlight, on ebony colored paper as dark as the night sky above them. It was perfumed in morning dew and the anticipation of winter.

Thalion's breath caught in his throat, unable to look away. The words glistened a moment more, then began to dissolve into an unintelligible mess that ran down the paper like tears. They sank into his skin where they touched his palm, sinking beneath it. The ink swirled and coiled in on itself, one end biting into the other, drawing and stretching itself out until it'd marked a full moon at the center of his hand. A promise—bestowed on him by the magick and will of the gods below. An unbreakable oath seared into his skin.

He stood there, motionless. Letting the cool night breeze wash over him. Allowing himself to feel the prickles and thorns of a new made vow settling over– into– his person. These tasks– the gods' promises– were the closest mortals could hope to feel a touch of the divine. They were usually afforded to the high priests and priestesses, to be relayed for whom they were designed.

To receive one directly....

Thalion's gaze settled on the basket, heart sinking in his chest.The words rang in his ears- keep her safe from us. His mind raced with possibilities of what waited inside; an unholy aberration, an ancient relic to level mountains, a godling fleeing from them–anything, anyone, between the heavens and hells. He thought of finding many things – he hadn't expected to find a child. No older than six moons at best, small enough still to fit in the palm of his hand.

"... a baby?"

It didn't look quite like any avariel baby he'd seen before, with its big round eyes more like an owl than a child, and slitted pupils the color of rusted gold set into silver irises. A chill passed over him as the little creature looked up at him, a deep uncomfortableness settling at the pit of his stomach. It looked like him. With eyes like a dragon, and white fuzz-covered wings flapping behind it as white as the snow falling around them. The little wings that grew at either of its temples– an avariel's h'alo– came up to cover its face as it adjusted to the moonlight. It wiggled and tossed, this way and that, groaning and mewling- tossing the blanket from itself. The little creature had bird legs, too, like other avariel children, and a tail tufted at the end with fur resembling a feather, but he couldn't place where it'd gotten that tuft of reddish-amber hair on its head.

It looked at him once more, then opened its mouth and began to cry– to wail, like some manner of dying bird at the end of all the worlds. If he hadn't been looking directly at it, he'd have assumed one of the peafowl or swans that made this garden their home met a rather unfortunate cat. The same that now began to draw closer, lured by the crying.

Besides the promise, he found nothing else of note with the child. No family crest, or name, or any indication of who or what it could belong to. Only the blanket it was hastily covered in, embroidered with silver stars. Thalion placed his hand on the side of the basket, rocking it gently back and forth until the cries simmered down to whimpers and whines. It clawed at his hand with its talons, snagging on the hem of his sleeve. It furrowed its brow and made a noise like a kitten spitting up at him, pulling his arm closer. He smiled, amused by its antics, and allowed it his arm. It bit him almost immediately- or rather, tried; its teeth hadn't grown in yet.

"Hungry, are we?" Aberration or god, perhaps something else entirely, he was sure they could find the little creature something to eat. "I'll need my hand back, little bird. Then we can get you inside, and warm you up."