Private Tales Answers With the Ancestors

[Trista]

As dawn's first light began to creep over the horizon, Trista stirred from her sleep, a quiet sigh escaping her lips as she turned in the dimming warmth of the blanket. A lingering sense of presence filled the air, though it wasn’t enough to keep her from the inevitable realisation that Talmanes was gone. His absence was both comforting and aching, a reminder of the distance she’d put between herself and the others. The remnants of his touch—his warmth—still lingered on her skin, a subtle but undeniable imprint.

With a soft exhale, Trista began to rouse herself, moving quietly as she packed away her belongings, trying to banish the lingering heaviness in her chest. She refused to acknowledge it, pushing thoughts of the Prince and his kindness away as she prepared for the day ahead. Their journey wasn’t over, the challenges were just beginning, and she had to focus her mind.

Trista walked in silence, as did most of the caravan. The moment Talmanes fell to his knees, her breath caught in her throat. His body, stiff with purpose only moments ago, now sagged with the weight of what he had seen. It was as though the very ground beneath him had given way, and the gravity of their mission had finally hit him in full force. She paused, watching from behind, as the wind stirred his hair, the dust of the valley swirling at his feet. The Prince, usually so sure and composed, seemed smaller in that moment—vulnerable, caught between hope and something heavier.

"Tal...?" Trista murmured, her voice barely audible in the stillness, though it felt louder to her than it had any right to be. Her heart thudded in her chest, and for a brief moment, the space between them seemed vast. She knew what it had cost him to bring them this far, but she could never have fully understood the weight he carried until now.

As the others moved forward, she pushed the thought aside and walked up beside him. Her boots crunched over the ground, a sound that felt like an intrusion on his silence. When she reached the crest of the hill, the scene before her unfolded like a living thing—like an impossible dream coming to life.

The city.

Far in the distance, tall black towers rose from the earth, crowned by the rivers of lava snaking their way through the land, marking the terrain like old scars. The sight was both awe-inspiring and terrifying. She swallowed hard, her throat tight with something she couldn't name. Her fingers gripped the hilt of her dagger, not in fear but in readiness. For what? She wasn’t sure yet.

Talmanes had seen this place in his dreams, in his memories—this city of their ancestors—but now, standing at the top of the hill, Trista could feel its pull too.

She looked down at him, her yellow eyes burning. "It’s real.."

 

[Tigris]

Tigris had always kept a keen eye on Talmanes. There were no secrets between them—at least, there hadn't been until recently. She had seen the unease that had simmered beneath his calm exterior over the past few days. But this—this moment was different. When Talmanes fell to his knees, the shift in him was palpable, a visible release of years of tension, of all the years of exile and longing. Even she could feel it, though she remained still, watching from where she stood, her posture unwavering.

It was as if he had come to the final point of no return, and the sight of the city—so close yet so far—had laid him bare in a way no words could describe. The city, the land they had been chasing for so long, had finally appeared on the horizon, but it was still distant. She had expected this reaction from him, but witnessing it firsthand still carried an unexpected weight.

She said nothing as she passed him, her steps quiet but firm. As she crested the hill and saw the city unfold before her, she felt a flicker of something she hadn't allowed herself to feel in years—something like hope, perhaps, or something more dangerous. It was the ancient city of their ancient people, the place that had long been lost to time, the place they had been searching for, and it stood before her like a forgotten god awakening after eons.

Yet, for Tigris, the moment wasn’t about the city. It wasn’t about what they had found, but about what they would do with it once they got there. She narrowed her eyes against the wind, studying the landscape, calculating what lay ahead, even as her chest tightened with an emotion she couldn't quite place.

 

[Tal]

Tal did not move from where he knelt. His body shaking with relief, the tension of decades now gone.

He could have laughed. He could have cried. He could have sung to the heavens and opened them with the joy he felt within his heart. There were miles still yet to walk. Mountains to overcome and rivers of magma to cross, but it mattered not.

The second of doubt which he had allowed within his heart was vanquished, and as each of his band stepped to the crest Tal felt his strength grow. Trista came first, then Tigris, and more and more came with. Some of those of the Wilds wept, while others stood as stoic as their new Matron. For they knew the story was just beginning.

Slowly, he reached up, his fingers curling within Trista's. Yellow eyes met their mirror, and a smile pulled at his lips. "It is."

The Prince said as he slowly stood. Rising until he towered over Trista once more.

"It's all real." The words seemed to carry a weight to them, an assurance. The renewal of a promise that had been made, not to Trista, not to their people, but to himself. Over the decade he had spent away, his resolve had wavered more than once.

He was a man of confidence, of power, but a journey such as his was one bound in pain and death. More than half of it, wrought by his own hand. Yet he had come this way for a reason, and that reason now lay bare before him. Fingers squeezed Trista's as he looked down into the valley, his steps slowly starting once more.

Talmanes said not a word as he began to walk down the slope of the hill. Catching up to Tigris and those others who had stepped beyond him where they had fallen. As he reached her, Talmanes' hands gently folded over the small of her back. "Come with me."

The Prince said softly. His hand drawing over her skin and towards her palm as well. He allowed his fingers to brush over hers before seizing them, and then with the two women at his side Talmanes began to ascend. For a moment the others in the Caravan seemed to hesitate, as though unsure if he were leading them, or if the journey was one only for them.

He said nothing as they descended into the valley, yet both women would feel something. A light blooming upon his arms, slowly erupting as magics were called forth, and the earth began to shake. He felt Trista at his side, he felt Tigris there too. Their hands intertwined with his would feel the spread of goosebumps crawling over their skin.

Hairs beginning to stand, and a crackle forming in the air. "Don't be afraid."

Talmanes said softly to the two of them, head turning left, and then right. Hands slowly folding inwards as he pulled them close. The air so thick it was nearly choking, the crackles of red running from nothing to nothing as though a thunderstorm were forming.

"We're simply coming home." The Prince said with a smile, as a massive CRACK suddenly exploded from the valley below. All at once the earth and the cliffs hanging above seem to shatter. The air around Talmanes, Tigris, and Trista burst, exploding from it's tension as the world itself seem to come apart. A clatter of rock, stone and dust casting into the air as the valley below exploded into a thousand pieces.

Cries of fear and terror echoed from the caravan behind them, but Talmanes paid no mind as another pulse swept forward.

It seemed to rush down the valley, the air itself bending and sweeping away the dust which had exploded outward. Cutting through to reveal a path, and at the end of it where a cliff once stood; now a massive doorway of black stone.

 

[Tigris]

Tigris had been watching the city in silence, her thoughts as unyielding as the black towers in the distance. She didn’t flinch when Talmanes touched her, his hand sliding to her back before seeking hers. She glanced at him, her brow furrowing in mild surprise but not rejection as his fingers intertwined with hers. His touch felt different—deliberate, almost reverent—but she didn’t pull away.

The descent began, and with every step, the air grew heavier. Tigris could feel the weight of the magic building, the tension in the atmosphere crackling like a storm about to break. She stiffened as the light began to bloom across Talmanes’ arms, her sharp eyes narrowing as she watched him.

The crack of the earth shattering sent a jolt through her. She tightened her grip on his hand as the ground shook, her lips pressing into a thin line as she braced herself. Dust swirled, rocks fell, and the cries of the caravan filled the air, but Tigris didn’t flinch. She stood firm, her expression unreadable, though her heart raced.

When the dust cleared, and the doorway stood revealed, Tigris exhaled slowly, her gaze fixed on the path ahead. Her eyes darted to Talmanes, taking in the renewed fire in his expression, the power radiating from him like a beacon. It was dangerous, she knew, but she also knew there was no turning back now.

With a steadying breath, she nodded, her voice low and steady. “Seems home has been expecting us.” Though her tone was calm, her fingers twitched slightly against his, betraying the small knot of unease that had formed in her stomach. Still, she stood ready, her chin lifted and her gaze unwavering.

 

[Trista]

Trista’s breath hitched when Talmanes took her hand. She glanced up at him as he rose, his yellow eyes fierce yet alight with something rare—a joy she had never seen in him before. His words, simple yet weighted, sent a shudder down her spine. It’s all real.

As they began their descent, her heart pounded in her chest, each step feeling heavier than the last. She felt his magic before she saw it, a familiar hum that made her blood sing and her skin prickle. The light that spread across his arms filled her with a strange blend of awe and unease, her grip tightening on his hand as the air grew thick with power.

When the earth began to tremble, her instincts screamed at her to pull away, to run, but his words held her fast. “Don’t be afraid,” he said, and somehow, she wasn’t. Instead, she leaned into the storm, her eyes wide as the valley shattered before them. The sheer force of the explosion sent a rush of wind against her face, her hair whipping wildly as she staggered, but she didn’t fall. Her gaze locked onto the path now laid bare before them, and the looming black doorway as though summoned from myth.

She barely registered the cries of the others behind them, her focus entirely on the figure at her side. Talmanes stood unshaken, his presence commanding, and in that moment, Trista felt the weight of what they were about to do.

Her eyes flickered to Tigris, and for a moment, the shared weight of what lay before them settled unspoken between them.

At Tigris’ words, Trista finally found her voice, though it came quieter than she intended. “Let's not keep it waiting..” Her gaze shifted to Talmanes, his towering form radiating confidence and determination. The sight of him stirred something within her—a flicker of hope, maybe, or fear—but she clung to it all the same.

When they reached the stone itself, she stopped abruptly, her eyes catching on the intricate patterns carved into its surface. Her stomach turned cold.

She’d seen these markings before.

The runes glowed faintly in the dim light, shifting between hues of deep crimson and molten gold, as though alive and waiting. They were unmistakably the same as those she’d encountered in the tunnels weeks before, etched into the walls that had barred their path. She recalled the sharp tang of blood in the air, the sound of her heartbeat thundering in her ears, and the terrible knowledge of what it had taken to move forward. Her hands clenched instinctively, her nails digging into her palm.

Swallowing hard, she watched Tigris, who ran her hand over the stone’s surface with cautious curiosity, the faintest trace of wonder flickering in her expression.

"I've seen markings like those before.." she commented and looked to Talmanes, her unspoken question clear in her gaze.

 

[Tal]

As Tigris' fingers brushed over the surface of the runes, Talmanes watched in silence. A small smile touching his lips as her heard the flicker of Trista's words. "Yes."

There was a reverence to his tone, but confirmation too.

"This is the gate of Teloth." The furthest outpost of the old city. Closed by the Blood Witches of Old by the sundering of a mountain. Blocked in hope to keep the great enemy at bay. As they stood beneath it's expanse, Talmanes drew in a long breath. "Once a fortress that protected us, but now the door to home. The door we must open."

Together, they began to ascend the black steps which for so many years had been left with naught but memories. Behind them, the caravan moved down the slope, following the trio as they began to climb.

As they drew closer to the doorway looming above, the black gates seemed to stand ever taller. Dwarving the three as they came to the final step, landing upon a plateau of onyx stone, carved within it deep wells of runic script. Etched in intricate mazelike patterns. Within the center, before the doors themselves stood a chalice standing plane as though untouched for centuries.

Talmanes approached it first, the soft sound of his leather soles echoing against the bulwark of stone ahead.

His hand slowly touched the rim, his chest swelling with breath as a knife slipped into his other palm and his gaze turned to his companions. Releasing the chalice, and slowly extending his palm towards theirs.

 

[Trista]

Trista’s breath caught as her eyes fell on the chalice. She didn’t need to ask its purpose; the runes carved into the stone told her everything she needed to know. The intricate patterns were too similar to the ones she’d seen before, the ones that had demanded blood to open the way. Her stomach churned, and her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

When Talmanes turned, his outstretched hand inviting, her gaze darted to the blade in his palm. Her throat tightened.

Trista stepped forward, her boots scuffing against the smooth onyx stone. She avoided Talmanes’ eyes, focusing instead on the chalice and the knife. For a moment, her vision swam, memories of the tunnels flooding her mind—the sharp sting of a blade, the warmth of blood spilling across her skin, the cold, unyielding stone beneath her fingertips.

She raised her head then, forcing herself to meet Talmanes’ gaze. There was no fear in his eyes, no hesitation. It steadied her, even as her heart threatened to thunder out of her chest. She swallowed hard, extending her hand.

Her yellow eyes flicked briefly to Tigris, silently wondering if she felt the same pull of duty, the same mingling of dread and acceptance.

 

[Tigris]

Tigris' eyes darted to the chalice, her lips pressed into a tight line as she considered the implications.

“How much blood?” she asked sharply, her voice breaking the silence. Her grip on her knife tightened as her gaze flicked to Talmanes. “Because if it’s anything like the tunnels, we can’t afford to weaken ourselves here. Not now.”

She turned her head, casting a glance over her shoulder at the others who had followed them from the city. The caravan stood below the plateau, waiting for the leaders to open the way. Her brows furrowed as she looked back at Talmanes.

“If we’re walking into something worse on the other side, we need to be at full strength. Whatever this place requires, it has to be worth the risk.”

Her golden eyes shifted briefly to Trista, gauging her reaction before returning to the Prince.

 

[Tal]

For a moment, he watched Trista as she extended her hand. The faith which she showed him, the trust that lay within her very soul. It gladdened him, pressed into him and drew his grip tighter upon the blade. His hand began to extend, reaching towards hers, only to pause as Tigris spoke.

"I don't know." The words felt foreign on his tongue, distant.

He had not spoken them often, loathe as he was to reveal any of the ignorance he had left. Yet here, with the two of them, Talmanes admitted his faults readily. Trista and Tigris saw him, knew him, had seen his very soul. There was no point in keeping the truth from them.

"But, they did not close these doors as they did the tunnels." Talmanes said softly. "There was still hope then."

A belief that one day the people of the ancient city would return. Before the final death knell of their pilgrimage, before the walking of the Giants and the scorching of wyrms. There was no way to be sure, but faith had brought them this far.

It would bring them further. "I'm not yet ready for what the alternative might mea-"

"Prince." A voice echoed from down the steps, familiar, though distant as a face that he had once called friend approached. A warrior, older than even Saen, approached. Talmanes knew him; Ferrin. They had hunted together, after he'd recovered in the care of those in still in the Wylds. "I would open the door."

The prince seemed to stiffen. "I have lost much since you have been gone. My wife, my daughters."

He glanced at Tigris for a moment, trusting she would know the truth of his words.

"Allow me this honor." The Tyrian begged. "Allow me to open the door home."

 

[Tigris]

Tigris moved instinctively, stepping between Ferrin and the blade, her chest tight with the offer he'd made. She had known Ferrin all her life—his wife, his daughters, they had been her family as much as his. She had watched him grieve for everything that he had lost, and the thought of him offering what little he had left was unbearable.

"No," she said firmly, her voice a low growl as she faced him. "We're not even there yet."

Her gaze softened, just for a moment, as she met Ferrin’s eyes. "You should see it, Ferrin. You deserve to see it."

She turned then, her expression hardening once more as her attention shifted to Talmanes. With a jerk of her chin, she gestured toward the group who had come with him from the new city. "Let one of them do it," she said, her voice sharp with scorn. "They’ve followed you this far—surely one of them can bleed for their prince."

"Tigris..." Ferrin began, his tone measured, a quiet plea in his voice.

"No!" she snapped, cutting him off before he could say more.

Her boots echoed against the stone as she strode toward the edge of the steps, turning her piercing gaze on the gathered men and women below. Her voice rang out, commanding and unyielding.

"Well? Which of you will bleed to open the way?!"

The question echoed down the steps, biting into the air like a whip. Behind her, Ferrin’s slowly approached Talmanes, his arm extending, resolute despite her protest.

 

[Tal]

Talmanes looked to Ferrin as he stepped up, his featured tightening as the blade in his hand steadied, and then was placed on the side of the Chalice.

Voices began to raise, dozens of Tyrian's speaking all at once. Some stepping forward, some stepping back. Even some of the Caravan stepped forward. Those who were devoted clamored to offer themselves just as Tigris would ask, but Talmanes' voice silenced them all.

"TIGRIS!" He called from the steps, his eyes flickering towards Ferrin for just a brief moment.

Quietly he whispered for Trista to stay at Ferrin's side. His face a mask of shame and concern as the woman he nearly saw as his Chief strode to keep him alive. His steps echoed against the bastion behind them as he stepped towards Tigris', his voice softening as he approached.

"Tigris." Talmanes repeated once more. "You know it has to be a choice."

He said softly. "It is his choice."

The Prince's voice was stern, but carried with the weight of empathy.

Talmanes knew the pain of those words, the weight they would carry. The path forward required sacrifice. From him, from them. From all of them. He would not stand in the way of someone making the choice for themselves.

For it was a choice he had made long ago. "If this is Ferrin's wis-"

Before he could finish, Talmanes heard a voice echo out behind him.

"TAL!"

Trista shouted, and in an instant the Prince turned. As he did, he watched Ferrin place the knife against his throat, the former slave reaching to stop him, but a two words passing from his lips as he cut his own throat. "Valar Arkhys."

The prayer echoed out, and Ferrin's body slumped. His knees crashing against the ground as his body fell forward and crimson spilled into the chalice below. Blood flooding over stone, and then in a great crashing wave suffusing through the very essence of the doorway beneath their feet.

Within seconds crimson lines began to sprawl over the black stone. Like rivers of magma blood flowed through Onyx regards. Coloring the great doorway and rushing over the black carved stone in a subtle wave that could not only be seen, but felt.

An echo of power pulsing out from the gateway. Washing over them.

Not just Talmanes, Tigris, and Trista, but by every Tyrian within the valley. Those who had lingered behind to aid the Caravan, those who had stayed for just a moment more to give the Prince and his heralds a second of reverence.

And then it swept beyond them.

Over the mountains and beneath their spires, across the lands of Sheketh and through the very seas. Every Tyrian felt it.

A rush of magic, an ancient herald set forth by their answer. A call that would be heard around the world; They had come home.

 

[Tigris]

Tigris flinched when Talmanes barked her name, her body tensing as though struck. She stopped mid-step, her hands balling into fists at her sides. She didn’t turn to face him, her jaw clenching so tightly it hurt. The words he was about to say were already a familiar ache in her chest, one she had braced for. Yet knowing them didn’t make the sting any less sharp.

The softness in Talmanes’ voice as he approached only deepened the weight pressing on her shoulders. Even if she wanted to argue, even if every fiber of her being begged to rail against what was happening, she couldn’t—not here. Not in front of everyone.

Her breath came fast and shallow, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the steps, as if staring hard enough might undo the moment unfolding.

Then Trista’s voice cut through the heavy air like the crack of a whip and Tigris’ head snapped around, her wide eyes locking onto the old warrior as the blade met his throat.

“No! Ferrin, wait—” The words tumbled from her lips, frantic and desperate. She surged forward, managing only two steps before crimson spilled out.

Tigris stopped dead, the sound of her gasp sharp and raw. Her hands flew to her face, muffling the shattered cry that tore free. Her knees gave out, and she sank to the ground as the first pulse of energy rolled through the gateway.

She felt it in her very core, an ancient power that coursed through her veins like fire and ice all at once. It stole her breath, her chest rising and falling in ragged heaves as she stared at the gates. Crimson light traced the intricate carvings, a terrible beauty that burned its way into her memory.

Her tear-filled gaze flickered back to Ferrin’s lifeless form, her lips trembling as she whispered in a voice thick with sorrow.

“Rhaal se’vaithrin. Verhal siéth dra'korr.”

The ancient words flowed like a hymn, carrying her gratitude to his spirit. "Your blood lights the path. Your sacrifice brings us home."

She lowered her head, her hands brushing against the ground as though to anchor herself, her voice barely audible now. “May you find peace, my friend.”

 

[Tal]

Talmanes fell to his knees.

The power washing over him like a tidal wave. It suffused every muscle and bone in his body. Pushing him down as though the gods themselves had sought to bring him low. A gasping breath drew into his lungs as the intensity of it passed.

Pin-pricks and needles stabbed into his skin, vision swam, and he found himself hardly able to move. Tension coiling him like a spring, until finally he heard the call of Tigris' prayer.

The words seemed to echo in his ears as though they had been shouted, and as his vision cleared he could see the red lines of blood running through the black stone. For a moment he sat there, lingering as he watched the spread of crimson power.

Another breath flowed into his lungs, and the Prince forced himself to stand.

He did not look back at those behind him. The confused crowd of the Caravan still standing, the Wild Tyrian's pulling themselves together.

Instead his eyes lay upon the chalice, the body hanging over it, and Tigris sprawled onto the ground. His gaze flickered briefly to Trista, to make sure she was still moving, catching breath. Then, slowly he stepped forward. His boots echoed in the quiet of the ravine, falling steadily until he stopped besides her.

There he knelt, and said nothing, as gently his hand stroked across her back.

 

[Tigris]

Tigris fought for breath, the intensity of pain and power coursing through her body like a tempest, leaving her trembling. Ignited. She didn’t look up when Talmanes knelt beside her, his touch soft against the trembling curve of her back. The weight of everything—the choice she couldn’t stop, the loss, the power now thrumming through her veins—kept her head bowed low.

Her breath hitched as she swallowed the sob that threatened to break free. “I'm sorry,” she murmured, her voice thick with guilt and sorrow. She had always known what was at stake, but she had shown weakness.

She turned her head just enough to look at Ferrin’s lifeless body, her throat tightening painfully at the sight. “He was my family,” she whispered, watching the line of blood coursing a path toward her hand, her words barely audible over the quiet hum of power in the air.

Her hand trembled as the warm, crimson offering reached the tip of her fingers. She tried to steady herself, but the ache in her chest was relentless. She closed her eyes tightly, as though willing herself to hold together as she lifted her fingers to her face, and drew two lines of blood from her forehead to her chin before opening her eyes.

Tigris leaned slightly into Talmanes’ touch, seeking solace in his silent presence. “Onward." she frowned, and got to her feet.

 

[Trista]

Trista's cry tore from her throat as the power surged through her, raw and unrelenting. It was like nothing she had ever felt—lightning coursing through her veins, fire burning away every shadow of weakness that had ever clung to her. It wasn’t just a pulse; it was an awakening.

Her body convulsed as it hit her, her hands clawing into the stone beneath her, nails cracking against the unyielding surface. Her back arched, and the cry wrenched free, filled with equal parts pain and triumph. She had spent what had felt like a lifetime bound, a slave stripped of her will, but now? Now the very essence of Tyr flooded her. She was no longer powerless, no longer invisible.

For so long, she had been afraid to hope, to dream of anything beyond survival. But now, the energy thrumming through her burned away the chains she still carried in her soul. It burned away her doubts. The power wasn’t just in her—it was her, and for the first time, she understood what it meant to be free.

Her vision blurred, not from the pain, but from the sheer intensity of her own emotion. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mixing with the sweat and spatters of blood that smeared her face. She pressed her forehead to the stone, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she fought to find herself in the storm.

Then, slowly, she raised her head. Her shoulders trembled, but she forced herself to her knees, then to her feet. Her body swayed, but she planted her feet firmly on the ground, her hands curling into fists as she stood tall.

The air around her seemed to hum, her blood thrumming with the same power that had built the gates before them. She turned her face toward the Prince, then toward Tigris, her chest heaving as she tried to steady herself. Her gaze flickered to Ferrin, her heart clenching, but there was no room for despair. It had been his choice, and she only wished she knew the proper words to pay her respects to him for that. Instead, she quietly whispered her thanks to him as she knelt by the body's side, and gently closed his eyes.

Her fingers grazed the blood-streaked stone, and her lips pressed into a grim line as she whispered, “I will not waste this gift.”

 

[Tal]

"There is nothing to apologize for." He told her softly. His words whispered so quiet that only she would hear.

He knew the burden of loss. The weight of death. For it was his choice to have taken them here. It was his will that had seen them to this path. Ferrin had been her family, and Talmanes had sentenced him to death the moment he joined the Pilgrimage.

The Prince knew it, and deep down Tigris knew it too.

There was nothing for her to apologize for, because the choice was never theirs. The burden only his. "He was family."

He repeated her words as she slipped against him, and gently his own strength helped lift her up. Behind them the teeming mass of their followers began to move as well. Some Tyrian's aided by those in the Caravan, and others simply standing on their own will.

Slowly, they began to ascend the steps once more. Now thrumming with crimson power. Red lines etched into black Onyx seeming to echo with Ferrin's lifeblood. As they rose up to the dias, Talmanes stopped by the Chalice.

There he knelt once more, opposite Trista.

A small rueful smile touched his lips as he looked at his fallen friend. For a second, his lips seemed to move, but no sound found its way passed his tongue. It almost seemed a prayer, though as silent as the setting of the sun.

Talmanes drew in a long breath, and then offered his hand to Trista as he pulled himself up once more. Taking her with them, as they entered the city of their ancestors.

 

[Tigris]

Tigris leaned heavily against Talmanes as his whispered words washed over her, soft yet unyielding, like the tide pulling her back from the abyss of her grief. He was family. The echo of her own words on his lips made her throat tighten, but she forced herself to swallow the lump that threatened to steal her voice.

She hadn’t expected his understanding. His absolution. Yet as he bore her weight, both physical and emotional, she felt the faintest flicker of relief. It didn’t lessen the ache in her chest or the sting of Ferrin’s absence, but it steadied her. Anchored her in a moment she might have otherwise lost herself to.

As they climbed the steps together, she dared to glance back at the followers below. The sight of them—worn, wounded, yet rising—reminded her of their purpose. Of what she'd already known. Ferrin’s sacrifice had not been in vain. His blood now fueled not just the Chalice, but the will of all who climbed behind them.

When Talmanes stopped by the Chalice, kneeling before it, she lingered a step behind. Her eyes lingered on him, catching the ghost of his silent prayer. She wondered what it cost him. The weight of the crown, the burden of their lives.

Her voice was soft, almost hesitant, as she broke the silence between them. “We will make this worth it, Talmanes. For him. For all of them.” Her hand trembled as she touched the edge of the Chalice, blood still smearing her fingertips.

When he stood, she stood beside him, no longer leaning. Her legs were steady now, her shoulders squared. The tears had dried, leaving only the smudged streaks of blood and determination on her face as they prepared to enter the city. She went to her people then, to lend strength to the others grieving the man they'd known their whole lives, just as she had, and together they followed.

 

[Trista]

Trista’s chest still heaved with shallow breaths, the power coursing through her making every nerve feel alive, every inch of her body thrumming with purpose. As Talmanes knelt opposite her, the quiet weight of his presence made her lift her gaze to meet his.

She hadn’t expected his hand.

For a long moment, she stared at it, her mind flashing back to countless times in her past when hands had been offered, not in kindness, but with chains. Yet this was different. His hand was steady, unwavering, and it wasn’t an offer of pity. It was recognition. Acknowledgment.

She took it.

The strength in his grip steadied her as she rose, the hum of power beneath her feet vibrating through her bones. The weight of the city’s gaze, the pulsing of ancient magic, made her stand taller.

Her fingers tightened briefly around his as they turned toward the city’s gates. She felt the weight of her past slip further behind her with every step. She walked beside him now—not behind, not as a servant or a slave—but as someone reborn. "Thank you.." she whispered.

The black onyx beneath their boots shimmered faintly, the crimson veins running through it pulsing like a heartbeat in the silence. The followers below them moved in hushed awe, their footsteps a fractured echo of the leaders’ steady ascent.

The massive gates loomed ahead, carved from black stone as dark as a moonless night. Etched into their surface the intricate runes, symbols older than memory, glowed faintly as though awakened by the blood sacrifice that had stained the Chalice. The light of the runes danced and flickered, casting an eerie crimson glow across the steps as the group approached.

The gates stood open just a fraction, the gap wide enough for two to pass side by side. Beyond, the city of their ancestors lay shrouded in shadow.

 

[Tal]

Miles yet they still had to go before they would reach the home of their ancient kindred. The city proper stretching beneath mountains and through ancient dormant volcanoes until it eventually crested into the tall black towers that stood as an echo of how Tyr itself was now built.

Yet the Gates of Teloth still stood as an entrance to their ancient home.

A fact which became readily apparent as Trista and Talmanes were the first to step through the ancient doors. As their boots thudded softly against the onyx floors, a path of crimson lines drew beneath their feet. Slowly pulling up to the walls, until a spark erupted over the sconces there.

Dozens of lanterns seemed to jump to life all on their own, the same sacrificing that had opened the door now lighting their way. As the darkness of Teloth began to fade away, the path of their ancestors began revealed, and so was the devastation their pursuers.

The inside of the once great gate, wreathed in onyx stood stood shattered and broken.

Sections of the walls lay caved in an torn, small buildings that might have once been homes were all but destroyed. Scorch marks still marred the wall, rubble and ruin strewn about the ancient highway that would take them home.

Teloth had been an entrance, a rest stop, but it had also been the door that had stopped the hunt. This was where the Giant's had ceased their pursuit, and where the legends say the old gods of The Blood had kept the hunters at bay.

Talmanes stepped forward through the ruin with reverence. Flickering lights seeming to pull at him like a moth. His gaze drawing over the destruction, and the beauty that still remained. Echoes of their ancestors sparking everywhere. Statues decorated the sides of the highway, some broken, some still whole. In the distance, he could see the soft red glow not of torch-light, but magma.

The warm glow so familiar that it felt like home.

It was home. "We'll have to clear the way."

The Prince said, though joy was the only emotion that played through his voice. The smile on his face growing as gently he pulled Trista to the side of the great path before them. His fingers crackling with that same red light before suddenly a rumble of earth echoed from one of the shattered buildings to the side.

Boulders began to slide, stones shifted, and dust kicked into the air as Talmanes raised a hand and swept away the debris. Clearing not their path, but the way to a small home that had perhaps once been a Waystation here at the gates of Teloth. The sound echoing and echoing down the tunnels, even dampened by his magics.

Without a word, Talmanes stepped towards the now open doorway. His touch on Trista's palm soft enough that she could pull away, or join him in a relic of their past.