Lyd stood motionless, silence lingering around him. Sunlight, real sunlight, washed over his scales. Warmth bloomed across them, akin to the gentle caress of a mother he had never known.
Yet.
He raised a hand, claws flexing into a fist before slowly opening, watching the muscles tense and relax in his palm.
"The sky? Overrated. Wait till you taste real ale, that's the—"
"Hah! Lyd, if you want to reach the sky, you climb on someone else's shoulders first. Mine, for now."
"Move your feet, Lyd. Left, right. That's all it takes."
Voices echoed in his ears. Rax, Iss, Nyle. Each one a comrade who had rushed ahead to protect others, each one a magic stone he had buried with his own hands.
The sky...
He lifted his head, gaze fixed on endless blue. A gust of wind from a distant shockwave blew that blade of grass into the air.
All those voices in his mind overlapped, collapsing into one. One sentence spoken by all.
"Lyd, the day you look at the sky, you'll know we didn't die for nothing."
His fist closed tight, claws digging into his palm, drawing drops of hot blood that fell down and sizzled against the ground.
... Liars. All of them.
Lyd stood in silence as more shockwaves battered his scales, the sheathed scimitar at his side whipping like a flag in wind.
Time slipped away. He didn't know how much, perhaps a second, or an hour.
A screech of claws raking on marble broke the quiet around him. Shallow, labored breaths followed, and Lyd turned.
Behind him, through that fissure he had climbed to reach the surface, two small blue hands clutched its edge, black claws grinding against marble as she struggled to pull herself up.
Lyd rushed over, dipping his tail into the fissure to wrap around her small waist. With a firm wrench, he pulled Wiene up and out.
Before he could set her down, gusts erupted from inside the fissure. Wings beat against air as a female figure launched upward and through that gap, hovering overhead. Ray.
Wiene swept her gaze across the surroundings, passing over devastated buildings, crumbled streets, and shattered debris. Mid-sweep, the corner of her vision caught a blue expanse, and she jerked her head upward.
"... Ah?"
A mumble slipped from her, lips falling into an 'O', body locking in place. Lyd set her on the ground, yet she remained frozen, neck craning skyward as if she had just laid eyes on something incomprehensible.
Then, she flung an arm sideways and grabbed Lyd's leg. Tugging on it, she pointed a finger overhead with her other hand.
"Lyt! Lyt!" Wiene fumbled with the words, finger jabbing up. "Sky! Sky!"
"... Wiene, it's Lyd, not Lyt," Lyd chided, gently shaking his head, tail twitching slightly.
"Lyt! Sky!" She didn't hear him at all, her eyes shining, bouncing on her toes.
Above, Ray took deep, sharp breaths with each flap of her wings, the corners of her lips lifting higher and higher. "Haah... The surface tastes like freedom."
She descended after a bit, landing beside Lyd.
"Nearly all of our captured people are free and should be on their way to our village. Let's just help Bell tear those bastards to shreds and get back down quickly," Ray said, glancing around as a distant impact ruffled her feathers.
"Yea... let's help Bell-chi out first." Lyd felt something shift at his side and looked over.
Wiene had let his leg go, both arms lifting now, small fingers spread as if she could catch the sky in them and bring it down to keep. She missed, obviously, but tried again anyway.
Lyd gazed at those spread fingers, then glanced down at his own clenched fist, blood had already ceased dripping from it.
Behind him, more figures climbed out from that fissure. One. Five. Ten.
A club-sized silhouette hauled itself over the marble edge first: Four, the same chip missing from his left horn. Then Laura's tail, scales catching light in the same dull blue Lyd had followed through a hundred corridors underground. Then Gros, shoulders scraping the fissure's edge, grunting exactly like he did when he tried to act tough in front of others.
Four halted behind Lyd, dragging his club to a rest. Laura coiled at his side, her tail covered in marble dust. Gros planted himself beside her, arms crossed, steam billowing from his nostrils.
"Lyd, which direction do we head in?" Four asked while sweeping his gigantic club to rest on his shoulder.
"Why are you standing there moping around? Did you get rejected by someone, Lyd?" Laura chuckled while slithering closer, palms rubbing against each other, eager for gossip.
"No, he just can't stand watching his friend, that human Bell Cranel, fight for us while he sits back." Gros grumbled, rolling his shoulders. A sound like stone crunching against stone erupted from him.
Lyd finally unclenched his fists and let them hang at his sides.
He turned toward them, and nearly all of them were stealing peeks at the sky curiously, with Wiene still reaching for it in his peripheral vision.
Maybe... Just maybe...
Every sacrifice was worth something.
A shockwave detonated in the distance, a pressurized burst of air that flung a building behind them three streets over, their clothes fluttering in wind.
"Bell-chi..."
His hand went down to his scimitar, gripping its hilt tight.
"Let's go, everyone." Lyd said, surging forward. His feet slapped the marble, leaving a trail of dust in his wake.
The Xenos surged with him. Ray took flight. Laura slithered ahead. Each of Four's steps shook the earth. Gros bent his knees and exploded off ground, tracing a long arc to their forefront.
Wiene followed right behind Lyd.
And she noticed. One of his hands, the one not holding his scimitar, was spread wide, just like she had spread hers, reaching for the sky.
...
..
.
Folkvangr.
A pool of crimson stretched for roughly fifteen meters across a chamber, set beneath a vaulted ceiling so high its white tiles blurred to flecks, too far for the eye to perceive their true size.
This chamber had no decorations or furniture, only the pool itself, carved into ground like a wound that never closed.
Its surface was still and dark, reflecting the ceiling perfectly. From a distance, it resembled a pool of crimson blood, yet it lacked any metallic scent up close. Instead, the scent of fermented grapes hung in the air.
A pool of wine.
The only visible movement across that wine was a faint pull of liquid against tile where the pool's edge met floor.
Then a ripple. A single pulse of velvet near the pool's centre. The still surface of that wine broke, and concentric rings rolled outward, one after another, red waves catching what little light there was, scattering it around like flakes.
Those ripples reached the edge and lapped gently against stone, then again, and again.
More waves appeared. The pool began to rock gently as something beneath it rose. Wine parted around silver hair that clung together in wet clusters, drops of red sliding down them, strands of hair spreading across the velvet surface like threads dipped in blood.
The back of a neck came next. It looked soft, fragile, a place that could be bruised by a careful hand.
Then pale shoulders, their proportions wrong for a mortal frame, too precise and symmetrical, as if something carved instead of grown.
She reached the pool's edge, and wine swirled around her, some of it stubbornly clinging to her skin, to the smooth and subtly curved shape of her collarbone, refusing to fall.
She pressed one hand against a tile at the pool's edge, her fingers leaving red imprints as she stepped up and out, each footfall producing a soft sound against the dry floor.
Freya stood.
Wine trailed down her in long streaks, pooling again at her feet. Her eyes were half-closed, violet and unbothered.
A new dress lay folded on the floor close to a far wall. She crossed to it without hurrying, her silver hair dragging on tiles behind her.
Her waist was thin, narrow enough that a single ribbon could have circled it twice.
She gathered that dress and slipped on her long black gloves first, damp patches spreading where red still clung to her arms.
A hum slipped out of her, and Freya turned toward a far door.
"Ottar..."
Her voice was velvet. She smelled of wine.
"Goddess."
A voice answered from outside the chamber.
She slid her dress down her neck, settling into its familiar cloth.
"We move out in five minutes."
A pause.
"Is everyone else prepared?"
"They are waiting for your word, Goddess." Ottar's voice was steady, ready.
"Then, let's go."
Freya said, slipping on her black high-heels, hooking them with a single finger.
"Your wish is our command."
Ottar moved, the sound of his footsteps fading in seconds.
"Bell..."
Her voice softened to a whisper, gentle and wrong at the same time.
"Look how far I'm willing to go for you."
Freya mumbled to herself, trailing a finger from her collarbone all the way down to her waist.
Her skin was flushed.
Whether from the wine or something else, only she knew.
...
..
.
***
[300 Power Stones = 1 Bonus Chapter]
[8 chapters ahead on P@tr3on = [email protected]/Not_Aaryan]
...
[Authors Thoughts]
So, how was the idea? Bathing in a pool of wine before something big? It took me a long time to bring my idea on a page without fumbling it.
And was it too much of a tease?
Have fun and take care.