Soleil Asclepius
"Soleil!"
My name rang through the Nexus Garden like a chorus of bells, thirteen voices calling out in unison, their tones bright with disbelief and dawning joy.
The chicks of the Asclepius Clan—the only remaining Phoenixes of my flock, other than Chul and Lord Eralith—rushed toward me with wide, tear-filled eyes as I glided down from one of the tunnels that lead to this area.
The central chamber of the Hearth was just as verdant and lush as I remembered; a pocket of Epheotus that we had carried with us when we fled, thousands of years ago, pressing it into the stone of Dicathen like a seed buried in dark soil.
The plants here were ancient, some had been saplings when I last walked these paths, and now they towered over me, their branches heavy with leaves that shimmered in the Manatech illumination.
The air was thick with the scent of moss and flower nectar, of living things that had never known the touch of true sun, but only of artificial light.
The chicks surrounded me as I landed at the center of the garden, their bodies pressing against mine, their wings fluttering with barely contained excitement as they transformed into their Narmanakayas in a flourish of light.
Evascir had ordered them to gather here, and they had obeyed, but now their discipline crumbled in the face of something they had not dared to hope for: someone had come back.
The largest room of the Hearth had been designed as a plaza in the original plans of our sanctuary, a place where thousands could gather to hear the Highprince of the Clan speak.
I had seen those plans once, centuries ago, when Lord Mordain had spread them across the table of the Parliament Theatre and traced the lines with his finger, dreaming of a future that never came.
The most the Hearth ever housed was a little less than ten thousand Phoenixes and Djinns combined. Breadcrumbs compared to the dreams of our founders.
"Soleil, Soleil! You are alive!" Little Milo, who was barely taller than Lord Eralith, came running to hug me, his small arms wrapping around my legs, his face buried in my robes.
"Little Milo!" I crouched down, pulling him into my arms, feeling the warmth of his small body against mine. Tears spilled down my cheeks, hot and unchecked. "How I missed you."
Milo Asclepius was my nephew, the son of my sister and her Nesthalf.
His mother had died in Epheotus while we fled, killed by Aldir Thyestes. His father had fallen at Taegrin Caelum, along with so many others.
All these chicks who now surrounded me, calling my name, finally seeing an adult of their race after so long—they had all lost their parental figures.
Some had lost parents they barely remembered. Others had lost aunts, uncles, cousins, mentors. They had been left behind, protected by Evascir's stern vigilance, while the strongest of us marched to our deaths.
"Soleil, w-what happened?" A young girl asked, her voice frantic. She was a teenager by the elven standards I had grown used to while watching over Lord Eralith and the Lady—old enough to understand loss, young enough to still hope.
"Everything is alright now, Chantelle." I reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Everyone."
I looked around the group and felt a cold spike of fear pierce my chest. Someone was missing. "Where is Aurora?"
Aurora Asclepius was the oldest Phoenix who had not gone to fight with us at Taegrin Caelum. In hindsight, that had been the best decision we ever made—she had survived, had stayed to guard the chicks, had become the steady presence that kept this shattered remnant of a Clan from falling apart.
But not seeing her now...
"Lady Aurora did not listen to Lord Evascir!" another chick—Solleandro—said, his voice sharp with accusation. "She disobeyed!"
"Don't use that tone," I admonished him gently.
Solleandro had always been zealous in his obedience to the oldest traditions. He came from a Phoenix Clan that had been a direct vassal of the Indrath Clan, after all: the Amintor Clan, the Phoenixes with no Prince.
The only reason he was not in Epheotus right now, serving the Heaven's Host's imperialist doctrine, was because of Lord Mordain.
The Indrath Clan had a habit—even before the formation of the Great Eight, as far as I was aware of those ancient times—of bringing other Asuras from non-Dragon races under their "protective" wing.
In truth, it was vassalage without rights.
"I can go to call her, Doctor Soleil," Pentival proposed, already half-turned toward the garden's edge. "She must be in her Nest."
"Go and tell her it is urgent." I opened my arms, letting the chicks come closer, pressing against me like chicks seeking warmth from their mother. "Listen to me well. I am not the only one who returned to the Hearth."
The eyes of all thirteen children widened. A wave of questions burst from them—were their parents back? Their aunts, their uncles, the ones they had lost? The hope in their voices was a knife in my heart.
They did not deserve to be separated from those who had cared for them since they were eggs, but that was war. That was the consequence of the Indrath regime. The tyranny of the Heaven's Host.
"It is someone you know well," I said, my voice soft. "Lord Eralith has returned."
The name was not what the chicks expected. For a moment, confusion flickered across their faces. But then recognition dawned, and with it, a complicated wave of emotion—hope, yes, and happiness, but also disappointment.
They had wanted to hear other names. Names of parents, of siblings, of the ones who had held them when they were small.
"Eralith is back?!" Solleandro's voice cracked. "Does that mean we now have a Highprince?"
He and milord had been good friends, I remembered. Their relationship was similar to the one milord currently had with Ashton Auddyr.
"Eralith! Where is he?" Ayden stomped his foot, impatience and hope warring on his face.
His parents had been diplomats for the Clan, managing our relationships with the Thyestes Clan of Pantheons. His relationship with milord had been similar to milord's current one with Albold Chaffer, marked by a friendship that was deep loyalty and easygoing rivalry both.
"He is with Evascir right now," I explained. "He needed to speak with Lord Eralith alone."
"Then he will have to take Lord Mordain's role," Alistazel sighed, and I saw the weight of that realization settle on his young shoulders. "Poor Eralith. He will not be able to play anymore."
"But that means he will be able to officialize marriages!" Palmyra exclaimed, shaking Ran beside her.
I frowned, leaning closer. "And why would you ask?"
"Me and Palmyra..." Ran began, flushing under the expectant gazes of the other chicks.
"Stop staring at Ran like he has to confess a crime in front of the Lord Legislator!" Palmyra shouted, and the others fell silent.
How innocent they were, still believing that authority meant justice, that power meant protection.
"We wanted to marry for a while now," Ran finally said, his voice small but steady.
Chantelle gasped, her eyes lighting up. "I have an awesome idea! With Eralith back, we can throw a party—for Ran and Palmyra's wedding, and for the return of Eralith and you, Lady Soleil!"
"That is an awesome idea! Please, Lady Soleil!" The chicks cried in unison, their voices rising in a chorus of hope that felt almost painful to hear.
"I will tell Lord Eralith," I said, rising to my feet. "You wait here, and make sure Aurora comes as well."
The chicks nodded vigorously, their excitement infectious despite the grief that still lingered at the edges of my heart. After so much pain and sadness, this was a much-needed break for them.
And a marriage, consecrated by our new Highprince, was perfect for that—the only marriage the Asclepius Clan had celebrated since fleeing Epheotus millennia ago was the one between Lady Dawn and her husband. But that had been a Djinnic marriage.
Lady Dawn had refused to follow Phoenix traditions, despite being the best of us, older than even me; she had never fully integrated as a Phoenix, deep down she always remained a peaceseeker.
I stood up and took flight from the center of the Nexus Garden, my wings carrying me upward, away from the children and their fragile hopes.
I had a Highprince to find.
Corvis Eralith
"My father was a phenomenal writer!" Chul exclaimed, holding Avicenna's Vaultlamp aloft like a trophy, his bicolored eyes blazing with pride. "Mother always told me how they used to write together in the main plaza of Faircity Zhoroa of the Pillars, while drinking something called... coffee!"
I grimaced at the mention of coffee. The bitter scent seemed to ghost through my memory, acrid and unwelcome.
I hated it, even though I had never tasted that beverage in this life. Was it a remnant of my life on Earth? Or was it Eralith Asclepius's personal taste bleeding through the fractured boundaries of my reincarnated soul?
I shook my head, trying to dispel the phantom sensation.
'Faircity Zhoroa was a true hub for the Djinns of culture, craft, art, and science,' Avicenna said, his voice warm with nostalgia. 'It was the best of the Faircities for a reason.'
We were going to fetch Berna and Lugano. Me and Evascir walked in silence, our footsteps echoing off the ancient walls, while Chul talked loudly to Avicenna.
Since the Djinn answered mentally only to me and Chul himself, Lady Dawn's son must have looked like he was talking to himself—a large, hybrid man carrying on a one-sided conversation with the air.
I watched him from the corner of my eye, wondering how long he had been alone, how long he had craved someone to speak to like this.
"And he was a musician!" Chul exclaimed, his voice rising with excitement. "Mother always said that his music was his greatest talent!"
'That is very interesting as well,' Avicenna said. 'I wonder if your father ever performed at the famous Sun Theatre during the Dawn Prize awards ceremony.'
"Sun Theatre?" Chul asked, his brow furrowing.
'It was where the Dawn Prizes were given each year,' Avicenna explained patiently. 'In southern Focularsa, in the Legal Body of Orvandal.'
"Lord Eralith is a great musician too," Soleil's voice echoed through the tunnel as the Phoenix woman appeared from the end of the corridor, her long blonde hair swaying behind her.
"Is that so?" Evascir spoke at last, one eye turning toward me with sudden curiosity. "Mordain was also famous for his musical talent. It seems it runs in the family."
I felt the weight of their expectations pressing down on me, a familiar burden. "I just took some lessons," I said, trying to deflect. "From an annoying master."
"Don't be modest, milord!" Soleil said, her tone reproachful but affectionate. "Are you going to deny that every time you practice, you use instruments you craft yourself?"
I sighed inwardly. There was no escaping this.
"This is something that catches my interest," Evascir said, and I could have sworn I saw a glint of genuine curiosity in his stony eyes.
"What do you play, Uncle?" Chul asked, leaning closer.
"Nothing special." I shrugged, hoping they would let it go. "Just some notes. With an Almondling."
"Just notes?" Soleil's voice rose with incredulity. "Lord Eralith writes many songs and melodies himself, and they are always astounding." She paused, her expression turning thoughtful. "Yes, the words are sometimes odd, but I do not understand why you do not share them more."
Maybe because that would be shameless plagiarism? I wanted to ask. In the free time I had, I used to practice songs from Earth—trying to adapt them to Common Dicathian, to make them fit this world's rhythms and rhymes.
Fortunately, we reached the Parliament Theatre before the conversation could continue.
"Berna," I called.
Inside, I saw my Guardian Bear sitting on her haunches, growling something to Evascir's bond while both of them held... sandwiches? Between their massive paws, the bread and fillings looked comically small, almost like toys.
"Where did they get those?" I asked.
"Lugano does not understand the concept of property," Evascir said, his voice flat. "He steals from the Kitchen Halls of the Hearth and Altawolls are his favorite meal; I will let you imagine the rest."
"Altawolls?" I frowned. "Is that what you call a sandwich?"
"I could ask you the same question, milord." Evascir's gaze was steady. "Did elves make a similar type of bread and name it after a place?"
"Ehm... yes. More or less." I had forgotten that the name "sandwich" came from a real place on Earth. Another slip. Another reminder that I did not truly belong here.
Berna, noticing that I had returned, padded toward me after swallowing her meal whole. Lugano followed beside her, making a saddened growl before joining us as well.
"Milord, I have a request for you," Soleil said.
"Yes?"
"The flock would really love it if you would officiate a marriage," Soleil said, her voice tentative.
"Ran and Palmyra?" Chul scoffed. "Uncle has not even met them, and they are already demanding things from him?"
I noticed the way Chul's expression darkened, the way his fists clenched at his sides. He did not seem to like the other members of the Clan.
How strange and how sad.
"It is going to be an occasion to celebrate, Chul," Soleil said gently. "You have been here for so lon—"
"Celebrate what?!" Chul exploded, his voice cracking with sudden, raw fury. "My mother is not here! My grandfather is not here! We are seventeen, Soleil! Seventeen!"
He thrust Avicenna's Vaultlamp back into my hands, then turned and stormed out of the Parliament Theatre. Anger radiated from every line of his massive body, a grief too long suppressed finally breaking free.
"Chul!" I called, but he did not return.
Damn.
"Soleil..." I turned to look at the Phoenix woman. Her expression was dark, sad, mournful—the face of someone who had seen too much loss and had no idea how to heal it.
A glance from Berna and Lugano made me understand the precarious situation here in the Hearth. This "sanctuary" was an emotional powder keg, ready to explode at the slightest spark.
Grief, hope, anger, longing: all of it bottled up for centuries, waiting for someone to set it free.
"I will do it, Soleil," I told the Phoenix. "Do not worry."
These words, for now, were all I had to give.
—
"Here, all done, milord!" Soleil chirped, her voice brimming with satisfaction as she put the finishing touches on my hair.
She passed me a mirror, its handle shaped like a Phoenix talon clenching the reflecting glass; ancient and elegant, clearly crafted by hands that had never known hurry.
We were inside a Nest, one of the personal homes within the Hearth, one that had remained unused for centuries.
Until today.
The room was cozy, intimate, its walls lined with soft fabrics and its floor covered in plush rugs that seemed to grow from the stone itself. When the Djinns and Phoenixes built this place, they had clearly spent much attention on comfort—every surface invited touch, every corner offered warmth.
Soleil had spent the last hour grooming me in her Real Physique, as if I were a hatchling and not a half-elf.
Her beak moved with a precision that no elven, dwarven, or human hand could ever match—each stroke deliberate, each adjustment calculated. I sat still beneath her attention, feeling strangely exposed, strangely cared for.
My burnt copper hair had been cut to a medium length, falling just above my shoulders and a short ponytail was tied around the back of my head, with many strands escaping the tie and curling outward, like the feathers of a bird.
It was a hairstyle that blended Corvis Eralith's usual elegance—suited for royalty—with Finn Warend's practicality.
The Phoenix then dressed me. A stunningly white poet's shirt, with a high collar and voluminous sleeves gathered at the cuffs, the fabric mimicking the feathers of a peacock.
Around my neck, Soleil tied an orange cravat, fastened with a clasp shaped like the Asclepius Clan's emblem.
I put the mirror down and stood up, feeling the clothes shift against my skin. The dark-blue trousers were made from the same silk as the shirt—soft, weightless, impossibly smooth.
What kind of silk was it? The good kind, certainly; it felt like wearing a cloud.
"Where are the boots?" I asked, glancing around the cozy room.
"The Highprince walks barefoot, milord." Soleil's voice was matter-of-fact. "The talons of a Phoenix are their pride."
"And why do you never walk barefoot?" I narrowed my eyes.
"We are not Hamadryads, milord." Soleil transformed back into her humanoid form, her long blonde hair settling around her shoulders. I decided to ignore her comment.
Outside the room, Berna's tongue was immediately on my face—warm, rough, insistent. Soleil excused herself to meet with the rest of the Clan and prepare the ceremony.
"I cannot believe I am about to officiate a marriage," I sighed, sinking my face into Berna's soft fur. The absurdity of it pressed against my chest.
I was ten years old, I was pretending to be the reincarnation of a Phoenix prince. And now I was expected to sanctify a union between two beings who had probably been alive longer than my entire kingdom's history.
"Phoenixes are creatures of impulse and emotion, Eralith," Evascir said, knocking on the door before entering. "They are often carried away by their feelings. I ask you to be patient with them, when this all will be done I can promise to you that the Asclepius Clan will follow you blindly."
"I noticed." I straightened, pulling myself from Berna's warmth. "Did you find Chul?"
"He is training with Suncrusher in the Portal Chamber." Evascir's voice was heavy.
"Does he ever do anything else?"
"No." Evascir confirmed my doubts. "Unfortunately, his time with you and wise Avicenna has been the longest he has been without Suncrusher in centuries."
I thought of Chul's rage, his grief, his desperate need for connection. He had been alone for so long, holding onto his anger because it was the only thing that felt solid.
"I am going to meet him," I said, moving toward the exit. But Evascir stopped me.
"While Soleil was busy making you new, I forged something for you." He pressed a green bracelet into my hands. It was made of jade.
"Is this jade?"
"Yes, Jade worked and refined." Evascir's eyes met mine. "If you wear it, in time, you will cultivate your own, personal, unrepeatable, armor."
My eyes widened. Like Wren Kain IV's acclorite, but for armor instead of weapons! The implications cascaded through my mind: protection, resilience, the ability to withstand blows that would shatter ordinary steel.
I carefully slipped on the bracelet, making it swish down from my good hand to my arm and feeling it settle against my skin like a second wrist."
"I will forge other things for you," Evascir said, turning to leave.
"Thank you!" I called after him.
Evascir smirked, a fleeting expression. "It is my duty. And it is... fun, to stop being a guard for a while."
Then he was gone, striding back toward his Forge Room.
"We really are lucky to have so many people by our side, are we not, Berna?" I asked my Guardian Bear. She growled, rubbing her snout against the bracelet I now wore.
Through our bond, I felt a flicker of jealousy—she was my guardian, not this piece of jewelry. I scratched her neck absently, trying to soothe her.
"Lucky," I repeated, then sighed. "Go tell that to the me who was just reincarnated into this world."
That version of myself—the one who had opened his eyes in the arms of his mother, terrified and alone, drowning in memories of a timeline that no longer existed—had considered himself doomed beyond salvation.
He had cried every day, every night, certain that he was living on borrowed time.
Now? Now I even had a nephew, I was ten years old and I had a nephew and a marriage to validate, and a Clan to lead.
A future to forge, like Evascir in his Forge Room or the dwarves of Burim.
"We have a nephew to speak with and a marriage to validate," I said, and stepped out of the Nest.