Jirini Arisen

Jiriinii sweated profusely as she parried another thrust from Nyrin. His heavy breathing made her smile as she swept her sabre in a wide arc meant to distract instead of attack. Nyrin blocked it easily, but before he could react, Jiriinii had sidled up to him with a dagger against his throat.

“Dead.” She said viciously. “The match is mine.” Nyrin pushed her away, glaring at her for a few moments. Jiriinii tensed; perhaps he intended to continue the bout. She doubted she could pull a trick like that again.

After a few intense seconds, however, Nyrin barked out a deep, throaty laugh. He dropped his broadsword and rushed toward Jiriinii. She tensed even more, unsure of Nyrin’s actions, but she yelped as he swept her up in a large bear hug.

“Ah, little princess!” He cried. “How you have grown!”

“Yes, Nyrin.” She said evenly. “Perhaps I have grown enough to not be held like a little girl?” Nyrin grinned with chagrin and set her gently back down.

“My apologies, Jiriinii.” He said with a smile. “But you cannot deny me the happiness of seeing you progress to the point that you can beat me!”

“I suppose not.” Jiriinii sighed. “Very well. But don’t lift me too high. I don’t want to break a leg on the way down.”

As Nyrin lifted her back up in a manner that should have crushed the lungs of a grown man, Jiriinii silently congratulated herself on reaching the milestone of surpassing Nyrin. In open battle, of course. The large boy’s mind was still far above Jiriinii’s. Some of the things that the Jods taught her, particularly theology and Aia, baffled her. Nyrin, however, was like a linen cloth; he absorbed the information almost faster than the Jods could teach it to him.

Nyrin set Jiriinii down, and she turned the silver dagger over in her hand. “Jijiiku”, the Jods had called it. “The Art of the Snake and Spider”, fighting with a sabre and small dagger. Jiriinii wasn’t sure where the name came from, but she certainly found the style fitting to her abilities. Almost all her opponents in months past had underestimated her; her height, her small physique, her reluctance to fight, it did not matter. The light sword and small knife she wielded only added to her air of inadequacy. They all considered themselves better than her. And they had all fallen to her small knife and whistling blade.

Jiriinii smiled as she realized that she had indeed travelled far in the past months. When she had arrived in the city of the Jods, she had been a poor excuse for a princess. Pouting, throwing tantrums, even screaming at the Seat of Jod. Jiriinii was glad that her parents had not been present for her first outburst on that first day; her father would almost certainly have died of shame.

Oh, if they could see her now! With her defeat of Nyrin, she would now be the top fighter in her group of initiates. Not merely the champion of the girls, but the champion of all. Jijiiku served her well; it was a very flexible fighting style. With the light blade and dagger to compliment, it was very easy for Jiriinii to slip one of the two past her enemy’s defenses.

She had first discovered the art in one of Master Vilvaga’s lesson plans. She had been angry that day, angry at herself for her ineptitude, angry at the others for progressing so well, even angry at Kiinrin for not holding her hand every step of the way. She had slipped past the other children as they left the room and sidled up to Master Vilvaga’s desk. A few papers lay strewn about, and her curiosity compelled her to look.

“Ah, child.” Vilvaga said, slightly amused. She almost hit her head on his arm as she whirled around.

“I wasn’t doing anything.” She spluttered. “I swear.”

“Fear not, child.” Vilvaga said, raising a hand to forestall any explanation. “I am not going to punish you.”

“You aren’t?” Jiriinii said, confused.

“No.” Vilvaga said, picking up one of the papers and handing it to Jiriinii. “In fact, I’m here to congratulate you. The other masters thought it would take longer for you to discover this.”

“Excuse me?” She said, taking the paper and looking at it. “Jijiiku”, it said. The Art of the Snake and Spider. The pictures detailed a man wielding a sabre and a small, silver knife.

“Every student is encouraged to discover a Way that they find comfortable.” Vilvaga said. “You, however, have shown no desire in learning how to fight or wield a blade. So, the masters discovered something that we thought you might be proficient at, even enjoy.”

Jiriinii sheathed the silver knife in a little scabbard at her belt, sheathing the sabre on the other side at the same time. She hadn’t wanted to admit it at the time, but Vilvaga and the other masters had been right. Jijiiku was exactly what she needed. And yes, she enjoyed it.

She looked over at the benches and laughed. Kiinrin was in the same position he always was when he visited the ring: surrounded by a horde adoring young ladies. No matter where he went, they always seemed to follow.

“You alright over there?” She called. “You look a mite uncomfortable.”

Save me. He mouthed, as one of the girls reached up and ran her fingers through his hair before giggling.

Not a chance. She mouthed back, and giggled herself. Kiinrin may have been her older brother, but she could still tease him as much as she wanted. After all, that’s what little sisters did, right?

Then again, she wasn’t truly little anymore. Something was happening to her body, something strange. She got pains in her thighs and shoulders that never seemed to go away, and it seemed as though every day she came a little closer to the top of the doorway. She was afraid that soon she would have to duck under every threshold.

Growing pains, the Jods had called it. Jiriinii was confused when they had first explained it to her. Of course, she might have been confused and even afraid when she had woken up with a large bloodstain on her sheets. The entire complex must have been woken up by her screams. It wasn’t until she had jumped out of bed that she realized that every girl in the initiates’ dormitory was doing the same. On each bed was an enormous crimson pool in the center of the mattress. She wasn’t sure whether it was annoyance or confusion that showed on the matron’s face when fifteen different girls all arrived in her office at the same time.

“It’s alright.” She had said, handing each girl a strange white cloth that closely resembled the cloth babies wore. “It’s something that’s going to happen for the rest of your life, so get used to it.”

“The rest of our life?” The girls had screeched in unison, the blood draining out of every face. Jiriinii even found her knees shaking.

“Yes.” The matron said sternly. “It isn’t dangerous, so stop worrying.” She seemed to be an earthy, no-nonsense kind of woman. She forced each girl to take one of the white cloths. Jiriinii still found it to be uncomfortable, but she had to admit that it did its job very well.

The growing, however, made less sense to her. In fact, she was scarcely able to understand what the Jods were telling her. Like every Jod, they had said, her body’s growth had begun accelerating far beyond the normal rate. According to the Jods, in a few days she would have the body of a twenty-year old woman. As of now, she was an athletic seventeen year-old. Father would have a heart attack.

“What are you thinking of, little one?” Nyrin said, stepping over to Jiriinii and laying a large hand on her shoulder. The boys were going through the same process, shooting upward like giants with the biceps and shoulders to match. Everywhere Jiriinii went, there was a boy who managed to trip over his enlarged feet. It made the hallways feel like a circus.

“Oh, nothing.” Jiriinii said, turning around and smiling. “Just how I finally beat you.”

“Do not hurt your arm, child,” Nyrin staid, waving his finger mockingly. “You may find that patting yourself on the back strains your muscles.”

“Patting myself on the back?” Jiriinii said, furrowing her brow. His words made no sense.

“Its a metaphor.” He explained. “In my country, congratulations are given with a small thump on the back, like this.” He laid a hand gently on her back and slapped it softly. For some reason, his touch made Jiriinii shiver, her cheeks growing warm. Strange.

“Wait,” She said, looking up at him. Aia’s blood, he was tall! “Your country?”

“Yes.” He said, raising an eyebrow. “What is wrong with this?”

“I thought you were Reledanian.” She said slowly, looking him up and down. Yes, that’s what he looked like. The hair, the frame, the skin color. They all matched. Nyrin, however, barked out a laugh that filled Jiriinii’s heart with happiness. Aia above, what was happening to her?

“You are quite wrong, little one.” He said with a grin. “I am not Reledanian; far from it. I am from the Pwolarog Islands, just east of this place.”

“Pwolarog Islands?” She said, tripping over the word. It seemed unfamiliar, foreign. “I didn’t know there was anything east of here.”

“You didn’t?” Nyrin said, startled. “Do your people not have maps, charts?”

Jiriinii shook her head. “The maps all end just west of Valanal, a hundred miles past the Barabak Wall.”

“This is a tragedy.” Nyrin growled, pounding his fist into his hands. “When I get my wings, I will fly to Matrikai and demand the king take a personal journey to Pwolaroga and feast at my father’s table.”

“You forget, Nyrin,” Jiriinii laughed. “My father is the king. I could convince him much more easily. And I could even come with him.”

“Well now,” Nyrin said with a large, sloppy grin. “That would make my father faint with joy. A king and a princess, eating with his family.” His eyes grew distant, as if he were imagining the scene in his mind’s eye. “Perhaps them he would approve…” He trailed off. Jiriinii was about to ask what his father would approve of, but then her was caught on something Nyrin had said earlier.

“Wait, Nyrin,” She said with confusion. “What did you mean, ‘when you get your wings’?” Nyrin gaped at her.

“Ignorance is a passable trait in some areas,” He said. “But you, little one, take it to extremes.” He pointed at one of the Jods who stood watch. “What makes them different from us?”

“Their wings.” She snapped. “But I still don’t understand. Why would we get them?”

“We are going to become Jods, are we not?” He asked. Jiriinii froze, the concept slowly sinking into her brain. With a squeal that was very unbecoming of a princess, she jumped up into Nyrin’s arms and wrapped her arms around his neck, nearly impaling him in the leg with her sheathed sabre. “Whoah!”

“Are you sure?” She said breathlessly. “We’re going to get wings?”

“For certain.” He nodded, patting her awkwardly on the back. Feeling suddenly uncomfortable, Jiriinii let go of him quickly and stood back a few inches. She was blushing furiously. “Lord Valanal himself told me.”

“Flying here was one of the greatest experiences of my life!” Jiriinii yelled, scarcely able to keep herself from dancing around the Ring.

“Whoah now.” Kiinrin said, having managed to extract himself from the rollicking throng of girls. “What has her in a tizzy?” He had managed to pick up the slang of the dormitory with relative ease.

“We’re going to be able to fly!” Jiriinii shouted, drawing a few stares. She ignored them all and continued jumping up and down while screaming. Though her body may have been growing fast, she could still act like a little girl if she wanted to. Kiinrin glanced at Nyrin, perplexed.

“She didn’t know?” He whispered.

“She must have spent all her time studying her Jijiiku.” Nyrin replied, his eyes still on Jiriinii. “Laudable, but it left her ignorant of some of the nuances of our position.”

“Don’t whisper about me!” Jiriinii said, walking over and hitting their arms. They rubbed them furiously, more of out of the embarrassment of being overheard than pain. Jiriinii may have been strong, but she wasn’t that strong.

“Jiriinii,” Kiinrin said in a mollifying tone. “You managed to beat Nyrin in combat.” He grinned mischieviously. “But do you think you can beat me?”

Jiriinii froze, immediately growing wary. She had never seen her brother fight; she had been too busy learning her own skills. Was he bluffing, or was he legitimately able to defeat her?

“Of course.” She replied, her curiosity getting the better of her. She had always wondered if she could beat him. He wasn’t growing as fast as the other initiates; he was by far the oldest. He didn’t have as far to go, and therefore was stronger and bigger by Jiriinii by only a small margin. “I could beat you with my eyes closed.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to inhibit you.” Kiinrin said, still wearing his grin. “You’re going to need all the help you can get.” Jiriinii’s face darkened.

“Quit bluffing, and let’s get this over with.” She said, drawing her sabre and knife. Kiinrin bowed deeply, clasping his hands behind his back as Nyrin quickly moved out of the way.

Wait, what? Jiriinii thought to herself. Why didn’t he draw a weapon?

She and Kiinrin began to circle each other, staring intently into each other’s eyes. Jijiiku proclaimed that to attack first was to die first; one must wait for the other to make a move. If no one did, the fighter must look for an opening, and only then attack. So that’s what Jiriinii did, searching Kiinrin’s footwork and body for any breach in his defenses. Frustratingly, she found none.

Quicker than she could follow, Kiinrin’s hand whipped forward from behind his back. Something came whizzing from his hand, and only reflexes instilled from hours and hours of intense practice dictated where Jiriinii would place her sabre to deflect it. Something small and sharp bounced off the edge of her blade, clattering to the ground inches from her feet. From a quick glance, Jiriinii saw what it was, and it caused a slight chill at the base of her neck.

It was a small, double edged throwing knife.

Still moving incredibly fast, Kiinrin’s hands plunged into the folds of his loose clothing and whipped out other knives faster than Jiriinii could even blink. She could barely move her sabre smoothly enough to block most of them. As it was, one knife grazed her ear, causing more of a bruise than a cut.

They’re blunted. She realized with a sigh of relief. Of course. The realization that she wouldn’t be randomly impaled comforted her, and she could focus more. There was no way Kiinrin could have an infinite supply of knives; he would have to resort to more sustainable tactics soon. That was her opening.

Indeed, as she watched, Kiinrin drew two very thin daggers, almost like pins than blades. They reminded Jiriinii of the end of a pen, and she identified them easily.

Fangblades. She thought, grimacing. They were small, light, and could be wielded with incredible speed. She was going to have to watch herself.

She advanced slowly, closing the distance between the two combatants. She kept her gaze fixed firmly upon the two needles in Kiinrin’s hands, wary of the damage they could do. Like the throwing knives, they would be dulled; however, that wouldn’t stop Kiinrin from trying to give her an extremely vicious bruise.

“Afraid?” Kiinrin laughed, noting her anxiety.

“You wish.” She retorted, tightening the distance even further. They were only a few feet away from each other now: striking distance.

Kiinrin leapt forward, the Fangblades whistling through the air. He slashed from both sides, and Jiriinii yelped as she parried with both hands. She cursed herself for never practicing against an opponent who wielded twin blades. It would have made this fight exponentially easier.

Holding her little silver knife upside-down in her left hand, Jiriinii thrust the sabre toward Kiinrin’s midriff, and, as he parried, she brought the knife around in an attempt to connect with his face. With uncanny speed, however, Kiinrin ducked and countered with a slash of his own. Jiriinii lifted her sabre to deflect it. A fraction of a second later and she wouldn’t have blocked it in time.

Focus, Jiriinii. She thought to herself. You can do this.

She growled, a sound that obviously confused Kiinrin. He furrowed his brow and hesitated for a moment, giving Jiriinii an opening. She slashed with her sabre even as she thrust with her knife; the coordination required for the move was unbearable. Only through intense trial and error had she managed to get it right. Yet, even with all of her effort, Kiinrin blocked it nonchalantly. He swept the knife and sabre aside with the same effort as he would to bat away a fly. At the same time, he lashed out with his foot toward Jiriinii’s stomach. It connected with a muffled grunt from Jiriinii, and she tumbled backward, clutching her stomach.

“Just because you’re my sister doesn’t mean I have to ease up!” Kiinrin shouted, his grin turning malicious. Jiriinii couldn’t tell if he was acting or not.

“I wouldn’t expect you to!” She shouted back, breathing heavily and regaining her balance. She leaped forward with a scream that would shatter glass, beginning the bout anew.

The siblings clashed in a furious storm of blades, steel and edge flashing faster than any spectator could watch. It was as though they were driven by the winds themselves, their knives a blur in the air. Neither could gain the upper hand, for they both fought with the ferocity of twenty men. They thrust, parried, slashed, dodged, over and over again. Nothing connected, even after five minutes. After a long while, they backed away from each other, dripping sweat and breathing heavily.

“What do you say we call it a draw?” Kiinrin called, huffing and puffing. “I think we could do this all day.”

“I’m going to do this all day!” Jiriinii called back, though her legs seemed to wobble underneath her.  “And the next, and the next, until one of us wins!”

“Little one,” Nyrin laughed. “I think you take sibling rivalry to extremes. Most brothers and sisters have shouting matches, not duels. Words are their weapons, not swords.”

“Nyrin?” Jiriinii called.

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

Nyrin laughed again, but he conspicuously stopped talking.

Jiriinii kept taking deep breaths, turning the knife and sabre over in her hands. Her mind spun over the different tactics that Jijiiku dictated, thinking of the perfect one that would allow her to best Kiinrin.

Jiriinii glanced upward, looking to see how many people were staring at them. As she did, she was startled badly, and her legs almost gave out from under her. Ventoros himself stood at the top of the stairs to the Hole, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. Their eyes met, and he smiled, a warm gesture that caused shivers to course through Jiriinii’s body.

In her enthrallment, she failed to notice Kiinrin’s hand reaching down to his leg and removing a final knife. He flicked it out of his hand, and it went speeding toward Jiriinii. She barely had time to notice it before it slammed into her sternum, right above her heart. She fell to the ground, the wind knocked out of her.

“That’s game.” Kiinrin called triumphantly, returning his Fangblades to the sheaths inside his shirt. “Why’d you get so distracted?”

“I didn’t mean to!” Jiriinii coughed, getting back on her feet angrily. “It was his fault!”

“Whose fault?” Kiinrin said, confused. Jiriinii pointed at the top of the stairs, searching for Ventoros. Surprisingly, she didn’t find him. The Seat of Jod had mysteriously, frustratingly disappeared. Jiriinii stood, pointing at empty air like a fool, anger boiling in her ears. She even began to see red in the air, and her breath seethed through clenched teeth.

The whispers began.

Strange, ethereal voices began to sound in her ears, all jumbled together. They rose to an unintelligible cacophony, and she reflexively clamped her hands over her ears. It didn’t help, of course, but it made her feel better.

“Jiriinii!” Nyrin and Kiinrin cried at the same time, rushing over to her. Jiriinii barely noticed- the whispers had grown to such a level that all other senses were starting to shut down. She couldn’t focus on anything except the incredible din that sounded only in her head.

Then, a gentle hand touched her shoulder, and the voices shut off. Jiriinii gasped as the sounds exited her mind, and it took her a moment to get used to the sudden deprivation of sound. She couldn’t hear anything at first, and her other senses likewise took a moment to reboot. When they did, she looked up at her savior, tears falling from her eyes.

Ventoros, the Seat of Jod, stood above her, eyes twinkling. A grimace had formed on his face, but when he say Jiriinii’s eyes, a soft smile appeared.

“Are you alright?” He said quietly, holding out a hand. Jiriinii grasped it firmly and pulled herself up onto wobbly legs. A moment later, she lost her balance and fell before Ventoros caught her. He wrapped his arms around Jiriinii and lifted her off the floor, his powerful arms gently holding her. For some reason, Jiriinii felt wonderful in his arms. She felt… like she was at home.

“It’s alright.” Ventoros said quietly, whispering in her ear. “You’re safe. I’ve got you now.”

Consciousness fled.

* * *

Kiinrin followed Ventoros closely as he carried Jiriinii out of the Hole and through the hallways. As they walked, he couldn’t help himself about worrying about his sister. That’s what brother’s did, and he wasn’t such a bad sibling that he would ignore it. Nyrin was even worrying about her, though Kiinrin wasn’t entirely sure why.

“What do you suppose is happening?” Nyrin whispered as they followed the Seat of Jod. “This whole situation just seems wrong to me.”

“I think it was another one of those Aether attacks.” Kiinrin whispered back, keeping his eyes on Ventoros. “Although, Jiriinii seemed a lot less in control this time.”

“Hold on.” Nyrin said, grabbing Kiinrin’s arm and pulling him to a stop. “What do you mean, an Aether attack?” Kiinrin gaped at him.

“You didn’t know?” He asked, walking again with Nyrin at his side. Nyrin wordlessly shook his head. Keeping an eye on Ventoros, Kiinrin explained what the Jods had told him and Jiriinii about the Aether. There wasn’t much to tell.

“So, they just told you that the Aether was trying to kill her?” Nyrin said in disbelief. “And nothing else?”

“Nothing else.” Kiinrin nodded. “Frustrating, I know, but I guess we figured that they would tell us when the time was right.”

“Which it is.” Ventoros said before stepping into an antechamber to the Hall of Jod. “Come with me.” Kiinrin and Nyrin glanced at each other for a second, but they followed.

Ventoros carried Jiriinii up to his throne and set her down gently, his hand lingering against hers. After a moment, he let go and walked behind the throne to the tapestry that hung there. He ripped it aside and let it fall to the ground.

“What I am about to show you cannot be shown to any other person here.” Ventoros cautioned, looking at the boys in turn. “Not one of your classmates, not one of your guides, not even your masters. This knowledge is exclusive to the Seat of Jod and a chosen few. Is that understood?” Kiinrin and Nyrin bobbed their heads vigorously to show their comprehension. “Good.” Ventoros lifted his hand and knocked against the wall behind the tapestry, three short knocks followed by a rolling beat of six, much like the sounds a horse’s hoofs make.

A moment later, a grating sound began to softly emerge from the wall as cracks appeared on its face. They weren’t haphazard cracks, but straight, neat lines that slowly formed a door as the wall sank back. Wordlessly, Ventoros pushed it aside, retrieved Jiriinii from the throne, and entered with Nyrin and Kiinrin close at his heels.

They found themselves in a dark passage with billowing torches on either side and cobwebs growing on the ceiling. The passage seemed to be in disuse. Kiinrin and Nyrin followed Ventoros down a spiraling staircase that seemed to go for miles. A few steps were cracked and wobbly, and Nyrin and Kiinrin had to catch each other more than once.

“Try to refrain from falling.” Ventoros said. “You would die of starvation before you hit the bottom.” Nyrin and Kiinrin gulped, resolving to watch their step more carefully in the future. After what seemed like hours of careful maneuvering, they reached the bottom. A few steps away lay an iron door that glowed with a pure white light. Kiinrin thought he could feel peace and joy themselves emanating from the door.

“What is that?” He asked, working to keep himself from dashing to the door; the feelings coming from beyond it were more than enticing. They were unbearable.

“You will see, Kiinrin.” Ventoros said with a hint of a smile. “Go open the door, would you?” Kiinrin’s eyes widened, but he nodded and tried to walk at a leisurely pace. His own legs threatened to betray him and run to the door. Barely, he managed to reach the door and open it slowly.

A light such as he had never seen before blinded him, and he turned away from the room with a cry of pain. Ventoros put his hand on Kiinrin’s shoulder for a moment, and the brightness and pain went away.

“That,” Ventoros said with profound reverence, “is the Aether.” He walked inside the room, and Kiinrin and Nyrin moved quickly to avoid being left behind.

The room was an enormous crimson cavern that was larger than any room Kiinrin had ever seen before. It dwarfed his father’s throne room and even the Hall of Jod. The ceiling flew thousands of feet into the air, and Kiinrin could scarcely believe how it was able to stay up there. Logic dictated that it must inevitably collapse from the sheer weight and empty space beneath. The stone looked like solid blood, with little white blotches poking out of the walls every so often. The stalactites on the ceiling and the stalagmites on the floor were perfectly aligned, as if they strained to reach each other.

In the middle of the room, in a massive clearing of stalagmites, there lay a terraced pool of white liquid that roiled and wavered from some unknown source. The liquid was almost like milk in its hue, though characteristics of a pearl would be more accurate. All Kiinrin knew for certain was that it looked exactly like the Blades of the Jods.

The Aether.

Ventoros walked along a polished marble path laid between the stalagmites that wandered down to the Aether pool. He walked surely but cautiously, as if one wrong step could cause damage to the room or the pool. Unsure of themselves, Kiinrin and Nyrin walked in much the same way, careful to avoid touching any stalagmites near them. When they reached the pool, Ventoros set Jiriinii down on a small table that stood a few feet away from the pool.

“Kiinrin.” He commanded, holding out his hand. “I need one of your knives, a sharp one.”

“Why?” Kiinrin asked, confused.

“Now!”

Wordlessly, Kiinrin pulled a knife out from the sash near his chest and handed it, trembling, to the Jod. Ventoros took it gingerly and turned toward Jiriinii. He lifted up her arm with his free hand and slashed at it with the knife. Blood oozed out of the shallow cut on her arm, and Jiriinii groaned in response.

Ventoros lifted up the knife in his hand and walked reverently over to the Aether pool. He held the knife above the liquid, breathing heavily, and allowed a few drops to fall into the roiling waves.

The effect was immediate and so astounding that Kiinrin backpedaled away from the pool as fast as he could possibly could. Something was rising from the Aether. Something was forming out of the milky liquid, and it looked to be human.

A rasping, airy sort of sound began to resonate throughout the entire massive room. It should have been enough to shatter the eardrums of every thing in the room; however, it registered as only a whisper in Kiinrin’s mind. This thing was unnatural. Especially because it sounded like a very, very old man sighing.

“Ventoros.” The voice said, and the white liquid began to solidify into the shape of a toned, perfect man. Details began to form in the whiteness: an ear here, an eye soon after. After a few seconds, an old but seemingly ageless man stood, naked, on top of the Aether.

“My Lord.” Ventoros said, sinking to one knee.

“Thou knowest that I cannot intervene, little one.” The man said, his voice clearing until it became one that soothed the fears and anxiety in Kiinrin’s heart. He could listen to that voice forever.

“I do, my Lord.” Ventoros replied with infinite humility, but he still rose to look the man in the eye.

“Then why hast thou summoned me?” The man said, but no anger or frustration appeared in his voice and face. True curiosity was the only thing Kiinrin and could identify, and he even thought he could see the hints of a smile on the man’s face. Was this man happy that Ventoros apparently disobeyed him?

“Because I seek to know the divine will.” Ventoros said evenly, and he gestured to Jiriinii lying on the stone table. “Why art thou trying to take this girl away from us?”

In that instant, truth came crashing down about Kiinrin’s ears, and he immediately knew who this man was. And no amount of soothing voices or glorifying presences could quiet the intense terror that gripped him.

“She was chosen, Ventoros.” Aia, Lord of Creation and God of Oaiao, said. “She was chosen to be one of thy brethren, but also to be my vessel. She therefore must learn to bear the weight of her predecessors.”

“But she cannot, my lord.” Ventoros pleaded. “She is not strong enough, not yet.”

“What wouldst thou have me do, Ventoros?” Aia asked, slightly amused. “I cannot intervene in the affairs of this world. I cannot help thee when one is chosen. It would be the sundering of my vows, and the world would not be able to bear its destruction.”

“I do not ask you to intervene, my Lord.” Ventoros said sharply. Aia looked surprised at the vehemence of his words, and he cocked a divine eyebrow. “I am demanding that you intervene.”

Aia’s face darkened, but he said nothing. Indeed, no conversation passed between the two men, not for several moments. Kiinrin could scarcely breathe as the tension rose to a suffocating level. Aia’s face softened after a moment, but he still said nothing. A silent conversation was passing between the Jod and his god, and Kiinrin could do nothing to intervene. After several intense seconds, Aia broke the silence.

“Oh my child.” He said softly, walking across the surface of the Aether pool. No ripples or disturbances crossed the now calm face. “Even with all thy experience and knowledge, thou still seekest this path?” He laid a gentle hand on the Seat of Jod’s shoulder, as a father would to a saddened child. Ventoros nodded, two sparkling tears running down his cheek. Aia looked pensive, and he even rubbed his chin in thoughtfulness. “I suppose that…” He looked back at the Aether pool, and he stepped over to the edge. Kneeling down, he extended his hand toward the white pool. A long white tendril began to worm its way toward his hand. As it reached the proffered appendage, it began to coil around Aia, playing about his fingers and wrapping itself around his palm. It was almost like a child in the way it acted.

Aia lifted the playful white tendril and began to whisper to it, quiet words that seemed to accent the pounding in Kiinrin’s chest. The Aether began to shrink and contract, and Kiinrin could almost swear that it looked sullen. It began to slink back to the Aether pool as Aia stood up and turned back to the Seat of Jod.

“The Aether shall not disturb her until she has reached her fullest human potential.” Aia said with finality. “However, it cannot restrain itself completely. It will need someone of her blood to channel its power and its will.” Aia’s eyes turned to Kiinrin, and his breath caught in his throat. Those sparkling red eyes would have seemed incredibly malicious on any other man, but on this one, they were filled with the most infinite love that Kiinrin had ever seen.

“Dost thou accept this judgment, Kiinrin?” Aia said, using the boy’s name with familiarity. He spoke as if they were old friends, and Kiinrin didn’t feel anything the slightest bit wrong about it. “It will not be easy. Thou shalt be required to bear the burden of ancient souls that clamor for a way to be free again. You shall have to restrain them, even as your father restrains the power of the Void.”

“I will, my Lord.” Kiinrin said, sinking to one knee. However, something Aia said didn’t sit right with him. “My Lord, what do you mean about my father and the Void?”

“Thou wilt have to find that out for thine own self.” Aia smiled, walking over and embracing the young man. Tears began to well up unbidden in Kiinrin’s eyes, and he flung his arms around the man with unbridled love, even ferocity. After a moment, they broke apart, and Aia walked slowly but gracefully to the Aether pool.

“My Lord,” Ventoros pleaded. “Must thou leave so soon?”

“It is ever so, Ventoros.” Aia sighed with regret. “I cannot linger, lest all be destroyed. Farewell, my favored one. Do not abhor thine office or thy responsibilities. All will be well soon enough.” Aia turned his loving gaze back to Kiinrin, who stood like a statue with tears running freely down his cheeks. “Do not fear, little one. Thou will not be struck down with thy burden, and it will teach thee far more than any master or mentor.”

With that, the Lord of Creation dissolved into the milky white liquid from whence he came. Kiinrin, Ventoros, and Nyrin all stood with profound reverence as the pool reverted to its former state, though it seemed to have been quieted some amount.

“I have seen the face of God.” Nyrin said quietly. “And I have been satisfied beyond any expectation.” Kiinrin nodded, tears continually streaming down his face.

All at once, the whispers began.