Chapter One - Sea Holly
Book 3 of The Shattering Archives. Not a standalone. Books 1 and 2 (Forgotten Lover and The Weaver) MUST be read first.
Across the world of Sol on the northern hemishell, deep within North Voldur, lay the long and narrow region of Ondroth, bordered between the Grathgor Deeps, and Sinaht. It was a place of mountains, of lava and ice, for wherein Rothir’s volcanic throne sat deep within the Grathgor Deeps, Vonsyl’s own throne of ice and snow resided upon the frozen peaks of Sinaht.
The Drakan Lord of Ice and Winter was not within his cold palace, however. He sat, wearing his humanoid form, beneath the bare branches of the deceased Eldar Titan of Ondroth. His back rested against the trunk of the Titan, his long and white hair hung down his back and over his shoulders like a cloak of mist. His skin glowed like moonlight. His eyes were closed.
A flower rested loosely between his long and slender, claw-like fingers. Its stem was pale green, as if white powder dusted across its surface. The leaves were the same, yet spiked and sharp. The flower itself was a globular head, blooming tiny blue flowers to make the sphere at its centre.
A sea holly.
Vonsyl listened to the rumble of lava rolling through their rivers deep beneath the ground and between the ravines. He listened to the shrill whisper of the wind and the harsh hiss of ice as it cracked upon the mountain tops. He listened to the distant rumble of thunder in the sky as cold and hot air met and clashed within the high altitudes of the atmosphere, stimulating lightning to flicker behind the dark and purple clouds.
Vonsyl listened to the world. He always listened, hoping, aching for the one voice he longed to hear once again.
“Von! Smile, Von, you grumpy icicle!”
Her warm laughter still echoed within his ears.
Amaurea.
But he knew he would never hear her voice again in this lifetime. Immortality was so long. Too long.
How long had Vonsyl sat there, within the company of the dead Eldar Titan? Days? Weeks? Years?
Time came and went. Mortal lives passed by like the flicker of a candle flame, burning briefly before their lives were expended by the unstoppable decay of time.
Vonsyl turned away from the world, encasing himself within the frozen depths of his element, where time did not exist. He paid no attention to the Archangels invading Tarisail from across the sea on the southern hemishell. He ignored the ripples of Aether clashing through the atmosphere. He blocked out the telepathic voices of his fellow Drakan Lords as they planned their counterstrike.
With Julius away from Onvyr, Tesilon could now reclaim it.
Whatever Archangel was foolish enough to send Kazzad and Gelhim to invade Tarisail together, was a fool. Unlikely it was Julius. Judging from Mistale’s observation of him, the Weaver did not want to be there at all. Julius did not make such miscalculations. He was there to fix someone else’s mistake.
Nevertheless, Vonsyl ignored the booming voices in his mind between Mistale, Kuralion and Rothir. So did Tesilon. Tesilon likewise paid little attention to the other three. He had his own agendas.
As did Vonsyl.
A very different vibration unexpectedly rippled through the Aether of the world. This one was sharp, violent and striking. It was the Weave, cutting through Tesilon’s Aether with a staggering burst of energy.
It was an Archangel.
But not one who was known to the world. Or rather, buried in history with Amaurea’s memory.
“Von, Asel has three more Weavers to come to the world; the Primarch of Existence, the Archangel of Sol, and the Archangel of Destiny. Their Fates and Destinies are connected with mine, the Tower, and the Tree.”
Her words had made little sense back then, for such entities as Angels and Archangels, did not yet exist.
This manipulation of the Weave was not Sudryl’s. Nor was it Julius’s. It was the other, the new one. The one who fell out of the sky.
The Archangel of Destiny.
Her astronomical manipulation of the Weave was not what caused Vonsyl’s icy blue eyes to flicker open, however. It was what the Weave triggered.
The necropolis deep beneath Zyil’s capital city of Kethari, shifted.
A fragment of the prophecy came to light, awakened by the Archangel of Destiny’s power.
So it finally begins, Vonsyl thought to himself in silence, like the slow shifting of a moving glacier through the Ages of the world.
" . . . Von . . . I am . . . sorry. I failed . . . Wait for them, please . . . Don't harm them. Wait for them . . ."
Her final words to him.
Vonsyl shut his eyes, and his cold breath exhaled out slowly.
Because it is you who asked, I will wait. I shall have my revenge. I shall get you your vengeance, Amaurea, for what was done to you.
