Private Tales In Search of a Soul (Sigil)

[Vyx'aria]

Vyx’aria’s hand moved before his sentences could finish.

The ring vanished from his finger in a single, precise motion, no tug, no warning, just absence. The gem pulsed once in her palm, then settled as she slid it back onto her own finger, as though it had never belonged anywhere else.

She studied him for a moment, eyes cold, unreadable.

A bitter scoff escaped her. “The surface does not change us, does it?”

Whatever fleeting gratitude had existed drained from her expression. She straightened, composure sealing back into place like armor, and turned away from him without another word.

Her steps carried her deeper into the ruin, toward the bridge where the wraith had first taken shape. The green lights flickered faintly as she passed, and the air felt heavier with each stride.

Whatever they had faced had not been destroyed. Not yet.

Rae'twyn Suvalissaere

 

[Rae'twyn Suvalissaere]

From one moment to the next, he lost the ring. Well, shoot. Disappointment bloomed in him like a midnight flower, cursing the fact that he hadn't been able to hide it. But he supposed it would only have been a matter of time before she had noticed its absence -- and inevitably, suspected him.

But he really had liked the look of it on his finger. It near matched his other ruby ornamentation.

He almost felt an inclination to apologise. Perhaps he should have handed the ring back over first chance he got. That would have netted him some gratitude, at least.

But considering the potential power of that ring, he still considered it worth a shot.

Rae'twyn followed after Vyx'aria, and loathe as he was to admit it, he already felt more comfortable about being two rather than one in this cursed place. Would he come to regret this later? Perhaps.

The bitter note in her voice told him his actions hadn't been unexpected. Well, it was true, he supposed. Drow might leave Zar'Ahal, but Zar'Ahal rarely left the drow.

A long lapse of silence, as they climbed broken and corrupted architecture. Then, with a careful tip-toe, he broke that silence:

"You said something before you came back to your senses. What was it now . . ." he snapped his fingers, summoning his memory. "What is born without flesh, breathes without lungs, bleeds without blood, and dies only when forgotten?" He couldn't help but add some overly gloomy tones to his voice at this, imitating the voice that had spoken through her -- a doomed attempt at levity.

"Do you have any memory of this?"

Vyx'aria

 

[Vyx'aria]

Vyx’aria did not slow when he spoke. The ruin groaned beneath them as they crossed warped stone and bone-stitched arches, her boots finding purchase where the architecture seemed intent on breaking beneath them.

A faint smirk touched her lips at his question.

“I do not recall,” she said, tone cool, as if discussing the weather. “But it sounds like a riddle.”

She glanced back at him, eyes sharp. “Think on it. A person dies truly when they are forgotten. In many cultures, that is when the soul leaves this plane at last.” A pause. “Perhaps it implies a soul. Perhaps it is a clue to the nature of the scroll.”

She turned forward again, her silhouette cutting through the sickly green light as she continued deeper into Ztel’Carn.

Then the whispers multiplied.

Not just inside their minds now, but in the stone, the water, the columns. Voices layered atop voices, languages ancient and broken, prayers and curses and half-remembered names. They scraped across thought like knives across glass, each syllable trying to burrow beneath the skin of memory itself.

Vyx’aria’s expression did not change as she walked into the chorus, but her fingers curled slightly at her side.

Rae'twyn Suvalissaere