Heir of Cinders [FADING EMBERS #1] - ON HOLD

6.1 - Embers Fade

It was never a good omen when one's mother came barreling into the room, shouting one's full name at the top of her lungs.

On that day, Nicolaus Sagan found out that mothers had the prerogative right to enter her children's abode without knocking. She had thrown the door open with the full force of her well-muscled arm, sending the wooden door of the observatory crashing to the wall with a loud bang. Sagan's wrist flew across the page of the notebook he had been writing on, leaving a large smear of black ink across the paper. His owl feather quill slipped out of his fingers, rolling past the edge of the desk and dropping to the ground with a clatter.

The gray-skinned orkhus woman stood in the doorway with fire in her eyes and her muscular arms crossed underneath her breasts. Sagan's small yellow eyes were drawn downwards to her attire. She was still garbed in the layered burnt sienna robes of a Pyre-Tender: an orkhus so gifted with pyromancy that she was tasked to tend to the Primeval Flame. The long skirt of her robes pooled around her ankles. Her head was crowned with an ornate headwear of rubies embedded in silver, which glimmered in the sunlight filtering in from the oculus upon the domed roof.

She wasted no time in marching up to him, who was still seated at his disorganized desk in silent mourning over the destruction of his notes. Her copper plait swished behind her as she made her way up the stairs that spiraled up the side of the circular chamber's walls, leading to the platform Sagan was on. She had to gather up the fabric of her skirt within her large palms. The wooden soles of her sandals made a loud thump each time they connected with the steps.

"Nicolaus Sagan!" his mother bellowed. Sagan swallowed a gulp. It was always an ominous sign whenever she addressed him by his full name. "Get your lazy rear off your seat! You will come with me to the Vault of Embers, and you will do so immediately."

Sagan grimaced at the force behind her voice as he got up from his chair. He spared a glance back towards his messy desk, at the sheets of paper strewn about its mahogany surface. A hint of frustration wormed its way into his heart. He was in the middle of a particularly important research- one that might shed some light on the questions that his entire kind had. For months, years even, he'd been tirelessly charting the celestial objects. Mother just had to pick the most inopportune moment to disturb him.

"Mother, I'm in the middle of a very important resea-"

The words died in his throat at the sight of her wooden sandals. Sagan did not consider himself easy to frighten, but the extraordinary range in which those sandals could fly was something that put a shiver through his spine. They had, more often than not, found their way onto his broad forehead. That very thought effectively killed any vexation he had. Wondering silently if the gods were cursing him, he let out a sigh of submission.

"Alright," he finally relented, letting his broad shoulders sag a little. His research could wait a few hours- Mother's wrath was much more terrifying to deal with.

The orkhus woman raised a thick brow, scrutinizing him with her own yellow eyes. She jutted out her lower lip, which only served to pronounce her underbite and the two small tusks that stuck from her bottom jaw. Sagan knew that she sensed his inner rebellion, but was relieved that a sandal did not come soaring towards his head. She even neglected to mention anything, aside from wordlessly motioning towards the door with a tilt of her head.

There was an urgency in her steps, something that slightly piqued Sagan's interest. The fact that she was still wearing her Pyre-Tender attire indicated that she'd left her post just to go to his observatory and fetch him. He doubted it was merely for sentiment.

Sagan followed his mother down the spiral staircase and out of the observatory chamber. They stepped onto a circular platform. Iron bars rose around the perimeter of the platform, bending inwards towards the top so that they formed a domed roof above them. Standing in the contraption made him feel like a giant wingless bird trapped in a giant birdcage. He pulled the iron bars of the door shut and pulled a lever. The platform slowly descended down the tower, accompanied by the whirring of mechanisms and rattling of chains. Sagan stood next to his mother, awkwardly shifting his weight between his feet. He shot her furtive glances out of the corner of his eyes.