Chapter IV

The Chamber of Amaranthine’s Stars.

This room is a room that is held together by thirteen cylinder pillars, creating a perfect circle with the thirteenth pillar standing the tallest in the center. The pillars are crafted by stained glass with each pillar telling a separate intriguing story about the thirteen astrological houses.

            Even through the obscured afternoon clouds, the center pillar, which gives the explanations about the thirteenth astrological house the Ophiucus, is still able to capture and reflect enough light to give off a very enchanting imagery of its structure. In the ring of the thirteenth house lays a glass casket that is outfitted by every exotic flower one could imagine. Inside the fully opened elegant coffin is someone who is just as exotic and unimaginable… the Glass Being, Sera Gellius.

            Kneeling before Sera’s coffin, in a silent prayer, is Lady Emilia. Her grey curly hair bounces freely around her slim shoulders. The passionate-red shoulder-less gown she wears reflects wondrous embedded scribes in the original text as it waves slightly with the current breeze. Although elderly, Lady Emilia still displays an uncanny beauty.

            As she finishes her prayer, another appears from the entrance doors.

“Good afternoon, Roen,” Lady Emilia welcomes as she stands up from prayer.

            “Good afternoon,” he echoes, bowing just enough to seem respectful. He soon straightens and takes a few steps forward. “I needed to see her one last time.”

            “As did I,” Lady Emilia replies. “Come kneel next to me.”

            He does as she requests of him and slowly begins to walk towards her direction.

His pace invigorates the many astrological energies of the room, becoming increasingly suffocating to him. The self-centered ways of the Aries, the lethargy of the Taurus, the fickleness of the Gemini, the resentfulness of the Cancer, the arrogance of the Leo, the forbidden neuroticism of the Virgo, the vainness of the Libra, the frustrating secretiveness of the Scorpio, the uncaring bluntness of the Sagittarius, the loathing spontaneity of the Capricorn. Each house exuding horrid blasphemes, which he can now see like a peaceful blind man whom has finally gained chaotic sight. Then, as he steps into the House of the Ophiuchus he feels the overbearing demand to be superior above all others.

            Roen flares his nostrils in disgust but only in a way that he alone can notice. By the time he reaches Lady Emilia and kneels next to her, he lets go of his loathing ways and exhales with intent to return his presence to what the Lady knows of him.

“I will tell you something that I have never told you before,” Lady Emilia mutters, somberly. “For many of years, I and I alone… would frequently visit your mother.”

She cuffs her hands while resting her forearm against the grand casket, in elegant prayer.

Roen mimics her posture. “What was the purpose of the occasional visits?”

“She was so wise, Roen,” she began, attempting to contain mournful emotions. “Her soundness for all things was absolutely astounding to me… euphoric even. And whenever she spoke to me, her words were always filled with delight and appreciation. Her foundation exuded validity and righteousness.”

            Roen takes in Lady Emilia’s words. “My mother’s wisdom and soundness of all things, how could Lady Emilia be so drawn into it? Her wisdom is built upon a foundation of lies and deceit. Then again, Lady Emilia is webbed into that intolerant foundation and helped mature the treachery. I should expect nothing less of words from her mouth.”

            “Indeed, she possessed a lot of knowledge,” Roen replies, relinquishing thought once more.

            “Recently though, her delight and appreciation began to fade,” Lady Emilia grits, trying but not succeeding in holding back escaping tears. “It was almost as if she knew that this tragic event was nearing for her.

            “Tragic,” he clamors, but clears his throat to calm himself as he realizes the emphatic emotion behind his tone. “I would certainly agree.”

            Emilia turns her face to him, observing. She watches the creases in between Roen’s thick eyebrows deepen as his jaws tighten with strained frustration. The underline tone within his words is sharp and sends a nervous chill throughout her body.

            “I shall leave you to your mother,” she tells, rising to her feet while struggling to regain her diplomatic state of sense. “I am currently not myself.”

            Roen closes his eyes and bows his head, placing his forehead into the pocket of his overlapped hands. “I have offended you.”

            “No you have not. Forgive me, you have lost your mother and whatever definition you may have for her death, is for you… and you alone,” Lady Emilia retorts, swallowing hard. “Everyone should be arriving very soon for the Burial March. I will send for you when it is time.”

            Roen nods and the two share no additional words.

Lady Emilia departs with a few glides. Her movements are so swift, and with such minimum effort that it is as if she had never been in the room at all. But Roen cares nothing for her brief display of speed though. He simply returns his focus back to his purpose.

            “She asked me, what would be my single word to depict such an event for you, mother. You want to know what my response to her is? Deserving,” Roen reveals in a most spiteful tone, while staring down at his mother’s coffin. “To be candid with you mother, I never wanted this. But what I have seen with my own eyes, the things that I know now, I cannot just be oblivious to it. I refuse to tighten the cloth around the sight of worlds. To become an instrument of blasphemy and deceit is not who you raised me to be and therefore, I am not sorry for what I have done to you. The ruin, the silence… the emptiness… I will not be sorry for what will transpire from my actions. I will not be sorry for the actions of those that will become my testimony. Most of all, I will not be sorry for redefining the intentions you all placed upon Amaranthine. You all will get what you so deserve.”

            “Rune Roen,” Lius calls on him from a distance. “It is time.”

            Roen does not divert his attention to Lius but he is pleased for his preferred pupil, above all others, to have come to inform him of the quick passing time.

            “Thank you, Lius,” he acknowledges, appreciatively. Lius nods with respect to his teacher and disappears from sight. Roen stands, taking in and releasing out a tremendous breath. He stares down at the wondrous casket once more, placing a heavy hand atop. “I will see you soon, mother.”

Roen departs the room and prepares for the ceremonial burial….

 

The storm has come, raining viciously down against the entire demesne of Angellius with merciless hail and tearing winds. The three crescents shun themselves from the sight as they turn their mournful gaze against all that is happening. There are no whispers of plea or attempts to warn, the moons understand that they currently have no weight upon these actions, and for that they are fuming and uncommitted.

            Those that were suppose to attend, which were at least thirty people, are finally present. This night, all have stripped off their titles and significances and has put on the simplest white robes so that they may shine brightest against the dreadful storm.

            With six bearers, three on the left side and three on the right, the casket for the Glass Being, Sera Gellius, is lifted. The six bearers are guided by a seventh, one who matters the most to the being who is inside the casket, Roen Angellius. He is also in a white robe but his is clear and possesses multiple layers, including a clear white overcoat, while his six glass wings pinned well against his back. Even through the black atmosphere and torturous hail, Roen’s three glass halos light up vividly above his head and his eyes display the energy of a Glass Being. Then, as everyone settles, the son of Sera Gellius commands the six bearers to proceed.

            The Funeral March… begins.

            Through rampant lightning and swearing winds, the blaring harmony of four piercing trumpets can be heard through the entire Angellius demesne. The many that walk with Sera’s casket sing a joyful noise and march with unison rhythm as they drown out the rumbles of the blackened clouds.

            The march lasts for hours upon end yet no one displays any sign of fatigue. Even as the demonstration begins to calm from it’s climax not one person wavers from their strength. Upon reaching their destined location, the four trumpets become silent, the singing and rhythmic marching cease, and the rumbling blackened clouds have quieted.

The Funeral March concludes... and the Glass Burial commences.

In front of everyone is the Glass Sanctuary. The thick rains beat heavily against its purity. The threatening scene of the massive cloudburst above reflects a hollow coldness within the glass structure. Roen is the first to be in front of the sanctioned dome structure. Tears swell in the scenic gold eyes of Roen as he reads the original text that is scribed upon the double entrance doors…

 

Entwined to the destiny hour, all things are revealed. Lies become forfeit, deceit dissolves through genuineness, and paths to a rightful future are immaculately revealed.

 

He smiles an ironic smile, realizing that the destiny hour… is now.

A boisterous combination of lightning and thunder interrupts everyone’s momentary thoughts. Roen walks up to the glass entrance doors and without complaint, the two vast doors open. He takes a step to the side and allows everyone else to enter the Glass Sanctuary before him. As the last few enter, Roen closes the doors behind them all while taking one long gaze to the furthest his eyes can see. Every past memory he can think of flashes before him, until he is returned back to the current state of the immediate and the gasping sound of the noiseless entrance doors, shut.

In this moment, Roen falls well into his own thoughts. “I told myself that I was prepared for this… for the end. Yet my hands are sweaty and feverishly cold, and my mind raises doubt and suspension against my resolve. Even my soul refuses to let go of the images toward my wife and child, soon to be child, and my underlings that love me as if I were their father.”

Roen pauses his internal tellings as everyone he presently knows the truth of, surrounds his mother’s casket and has kneeled… all but two… he and Crown Quince.

The Crown stands on the opposite side of him, adjacent, staring at him with emotion-filled eyes.

Without removing eye contact, Crown Quince is the first to speak. “A couple of days ago, I was given the most devastating news. One of the absolute treasured essences to ever walk along this plane was removed from us. She was a guardian to us all, loved everything unconditionally. She was my voice of reason and a shelter for my trialing divergences �" ”

Roen cuts off Crown Quince’s words with his return toward his own mental voice. “His words are all lies! This path that I have chosen, the resolve that I must hold strong to, they will all understand. Those that are loyal to my beliefs will not only grasp my genuineness but also realize that their own destinies are directly connected to it… and they will appreciate my reasons. I dare not have any further doubt, my mind is at peace, my body is steadfast, and my soul is filled with purpose.”

Roen brings his attention back to the present.

He quickly comes to see that Crown Quince has fallen silent and that everyone around him are taking turns laying rare exquisite flowers around Sera’s casket. Some share a few words before allowing the next to take their turn. With each one that passes him to show their love and adoration for his mother, Roen only becomes angrier.

Lady Emilia, who is closest to the wondrous casket, stands. “Roen, before we close your mother’s casket and put her to rest, are there any final words you would like to give?”

He returns his sights to the extraordinary casket and gazes deeply at the magical scribes that circle around it, ready to be lowered below the glass floor of the sanctuary. Roen inhales heavily and holds his breath as he walks over and stops, oh so close, to the prepared casket. Before doing anything, he silences his thoughts once more and gazes over his shoulder with narrowed eyes in the direction of all that he cares nothing for. He exhales, just as immensely, before shifting his attention back to the purpose… his destiny.

Roen kneels and humbly bows his head next to his mother’s. “Sera Angellius, wife to Fiileroth Angellius, mother to Roen Angellius, and grandmother to Kuun Angellius… I must tell you… as a youngling you were my life. No form of warmth was ever more comforting than your words, your smile, your love. I could have been born into any other family, raised with a completely different purpose in life, and destiny for me may have meant something entirely different than it does currently. Yet, it was not… and I am left with indignant truths.”

The rush of sorrow and regret immediately overcomes the one who is paying closest attention to Roen… Crown Quince. As a destined destiny initiates, Quince’s heart begins to accelerate, the blood coursing through his veins cautiously increases as well, and his mind hurries to figure out what is Roen planning to do in the midst of all his nearby enemies.

“Do not do this Roen… please,” Quince mouths the appeal.

Roen raises his head slightly and cuts his eyes to aim directly at the one who petitions him. He removes his overcoat and as he does so, Roen reveals his truest appearance. Six thick and exaggeratedly long glass wings flare out high above, causing everyone in the Glass Sanctuary to jump back with great confusion. The glass halo nearest the crown of his head unexpectedly grows extraordinarily large, greatly alarming all that is around him by the sight.

“Your words, your smile, your love… are no longer what comforts me. Instead, I am nauseated. You have belittled me… this world… all worlds,” Roen details, his eyes becoming glass and a second halo, a few inches above the first, forms. “Quince, Emilia, and everyone in this Sanctuary, I want you to see me for who I truly am… I am unsealed!”

“This cannot be,” Emilia lets out, completely lost for words.

“It can, Emilia!” Roen seethes through gritted teeth. The third halo lengthens and matures like the other halos. This emergence though, seems to incite his arms and legs to become glass as well. “And I see you all for who you are recognized to be… betrayers, murderers, and absolute condemners.”

With the exception of Crown Quince, everyone’s confusion dissipates and they are left with no other choice than to let go of their everyday persona. They show Roen their unsealed forms and illustrate their destined selves. Within the room, the definitions of all heavens and hells, the meanings of day and night, and the understanding of stars, moons, and worlds are wholly reflected.

Roen reveals his mother’s glass sword, Heaphin.

At the same time, a fourth and smallest halo forms a few inches above his third halo, and Roen’s entire body becomes of energy. The entirety of his glass physique exhibits is a clear aura of black words in the original text. The energies of the three crescents and the immense sun unmistakably pulsate throughout the clear aura, creating a growing ball of an incomparable essence.

Quince cannot hold back the tears as he takes a few emotionally filled steps toward his sincerely considered friend whom he loves without question. With each agonizing step he takes, his soul trembles, his heart horribly thumps, and his mind swells with only thoughts of saving Roen.

By the time Quince reaches the opposite side of the burial casket, he has slowly begun to strip himself bare for Roen to witness. Four vibrantly blue rings shape around his, just as vivid, blue pupils inside his eyes. His aged exasperated face becomes an image of unthinkable wisdom and calmed expression. Scribes, in the eldest text, take residence atop the skin of his entirety. The gravity of Quince’s revealing presence confesses pronounced weight against the Glass Sanctuary, forcing the sanctuary to shudder with uncertainty and distress.

“I am one who writes, who creates the lies and deceit you antagonize, Roen… I am a Signet being,” Quince cries, inconsolably. “Please, I beg you my loving friend, kill me… the one who has hurt you most. I assure you, you will be given free passage to leave this place with your life and you can dictate your end in peace. No one else will need to lose their existence.”

Roen pauses.

He takes in Quince’s every word and soon permits his thoughts to orchestrate his expression without saying anything aloud. “He speaks to me with inclinations that I will surrender to his appeal. I have loved a false version of you. Do you not understand that? I believed in every bit that made you… you. Kuun… I embedded everything that is you into my own child. I have had countless arguments with my wife, my pupils, and my own self for you! And yet, here I am and here you are. Standing before one another as the true definition of a Glass Being and �".”

“The actual meaning of a Signet Being. You are one who scribes the world, defines what everyone is sanctioned to see. Then tell me Quince,” Roen spits out, angry beyond belief. It is obvious that his emotions have taken grip of his entire being. He takes a defiant step toward his adversary. “Why could you not have the ability to write a more compelling, peaceful, devoted ending for us?”

Quince is at a loss for words. He is beyond saddened, devastated, by the words his dearest friend lashes out with. No matter what he desires to reply with, his lips refuses to let any rational sentence escape. All that he is able to do is extend a grief-stricken hand.

Roen spins Heaphin within his hand before aiming the blade downward at the dead body of his mother. Just as he plunges the renowned weapon, two magically scribed air bubbles suddenly wrap around him, constricting him, and halting his movements. Symbols of the Gemini house form against Roen’s essence, limiting him further. Roen then feels the energy-filled bull of the Taurus house thrust its hooves into his back, shattering three of his six glass wings and propelling him into the air. As he spirals upward immobilized, resonant sounds from one of the four revelation trumpets can be heard throughout the Glass Sanctuary, removing sight from Roen, taking away his left arm, and cracking all three of his halos.

Even with all the traumatic damage though, the surging pain is of no consequence to Roen nor is the suffering, and certainly not the insinuation of death. His resolve clears all warrants toward everything except his destiny. Suddenly, a loud sound like a ferocious thrash of lightning can be heard intensely inside the entire Glass Sanctuary as Roen breaks out of the hold from the Gemini house. He dares not pant from exhaustion for his resolve cares nothing for it. His mind returns to a state of exceptional clarity. Even though he is no longer able to see, Roen uses his own flaring Archaic energy to guide him. Layer upon layer, he covers himself with his own energy and quickly angles his body. With one booming whip from his remaining three wings, he dives. The speed in which he descends is astoundingly fast and everyone is in disbelief by his extraordinary movements. It does not take long for him to land, and without any bit of hesitation, Roen flashes past his enemies, slicing, cutting, and using damaging magical scribes along the way.

Upon him reaching his mother’s body once more, Roen’s destiny can be seen reaching its climax.

Heaphin is stabbed well into the heart of his mother as he is on one knee beside her casket. His glass wings and three-cracked glass halos begin to emit an energy that reimagines the coloration of the three crescents actuality. So too does his eyes.

In the swiftest and most precise tone, Roen whispers his planned destructive magical scribe. “Mother’s Touch… Silence.”

The euphoric energy from Roen’s glass wings and halos shoot out in every direction. All who are around him hurry to maneuver and dodge the spewing energy, but that is exactly what Roen wants. The Glass Sanctuary grunts from the horrid weight of the catastrophic energy as it begins to overwhelm the glass floor, walls, and ceiling.

Soon, around them all… is an absolute blackness.

The rays from the three crescents cannot be seen anymore, and the warning weather can no longer be heard. Not even the numerous books can be perceived through the thickness of this horrid blackness. Only the radiating essence from each of Roen’s enemies is visible.

Roen fades into the blackness and in doing so, his unforgiving assault is finally on full display. His movements are like raindrops falling assuredly pleasant against a pond, rippling with disparaging softness. The cries of his enemies echo throughout, like delicate chimes swaying from a temperate breeze. Variant colors of energy are wildly bright, fighting against the blackness, but Roen’s destiny is fervent and his resolve is incomparable. Now, the brightness stemming from each unique energy of his enemies lessen and emptiness is beginning to form definition.

Once more, tears fill within the eyes of the one who is most hurt from Roen’s spectacle, Crown Quince. He knows that he must reach into his dearest friend’s darkness before it is too late and everyone around him fall into the merciless grasp of death. Therefore, the words he never wished to speak in the direction of the one he glorifies above all others are finally spoken.

“I will always love you my brother,” the Signet Quince assures, crying uncontrollably. “Roen Angellius, with all that I am… I denounce you.”

Against the remorseless obscurity of Roen’s resolution, the Signet Being permits his true essence to fully flourish. The pupils and rings in his eyes fill to a black that is darker than the darkest of nights. The tiniest of words, in the eldest text, etch upon them. Colors of all descriptions wrap around him like a ball. As his aura erects, the signet being holds out his hands. Upon filling out completely to make a full ball of euphoric colors, various shades of gold and black form a pen filled with ink in his left hand and all sights of white create paper in the right.

 The Signet Being steps into Roen’s darkness and begins to scribe.

 

Let emptiness not find its place upon defined destiny. Darkness must shatter so truth may endure. We, who protect the seven sealed seals, need saving. I beseech, permit me to be the redeemer. Only script my death, so that they may live. Now read to me the ending of Roen Angellius… as well as myself.

 

The existence of the Signet Being does what he demands and only the words of his scribes can be heard. All that is inside the Glass Sanctuary are suddenly cloaked by his incredibly beautiful array of energies. Returning forms of color to the surrounding darkness. The pending meaning of Roen’s emptiness gradually and stubbornly recedes. The scribes of the Signet Being reads the appeasing rays from the three crescents to break through the callous darkness and so, it does. The ray’s stream in, one by one, some thick and others thin, but nevertheless they progressively shatter the dome of darkness.

As the Glass Sanctuary turns to its normal imagery, Roen is seen standing in front of the Signet Being. His three remaining glass wings are no more, the three halos are in fragments on the glass floor around him, and he is barely able to stand. Yet, there is still an immense amount of energy enveloped tightly, held firmly in place around his body, ensuring his firmness. Roen’s right hand rest firmly against the bare chest of the Signet Being, directly over his heart, and the Signet Being is doing the same.

“Your heart, beats calmly,” the Signet Being assures, smiling.

Roen returns the smile. “So does yours.”

Their smiles, although presented as such, are smiles that are smiles, which tell a saddened tale. The two never wished such a moment to be placed on the other. They desire wholeheartedly to change every aspect of their destiny yet they know, that is not so. Therefore, their smiles are short lived.

And smiles become a definition for something else.

That something else is a frown.  It is a form of submission and recognition to an unfortunate moment. The Crown of the Angellius demesne is left with nothing more than to crumble its pride and reflect proper meaning.

“As a Signet Being, a Crown, a husband, a father, an absolute loving best friend… in the end… I protected nothing, did I?” Quince asks removing his smile through a heavy sigh.

“As a Signet Being, a Crown, a husband, a father, an absolute loving best friend… in the end… No, you protected nothing,” Roen replies, emotions filling every syllable of his words. The darkness, which Roen created, slithers around his right arm. It grows, feverishly, prepared to end Quince’s life in an instant. The energy of his existence succumbs to the moment and combines itself with the darkness. His arm radiates a black aura of devastating nothingness, yearning to cause a remorseless death. “Then again, I protected nothing as well.”

The world around them, cries out.

The petitions of those who understand the gravity of what will soon happen are ignored. In the destined eyes of Archaic and Signet beings, focus on the ones behind them becomes blurred. These two has come to a mutual settlement, and although it opposes everything that each wish to accomplish, they are left with displaying one last bit of affection for one another.

Quince smiles his most genuine smile. “Therefore, let us leave fate into the hands of the ones we love and want to protect so much.”

Roen returns the smile. “Yes… lets.”

Everything and everyone falls silent as the two release their entirety of energy through the chest and heart of the other. They collapse immediately, falling face in front of face.

With their last sense of things the two inch as close as they can to one another.

Roen stretches out his hand and overlaps Quince’s. “Farewell my brother, I love.”

Quince grabs Roen’s hand. “Goodbye my friend, I love you as well.”

Most precious of friends exhale their last breath.

The Glass Sanctuary instantly fills with an air of calm. As if purposes, whether good or bad, has been completed. There is no need for a response by anyone, no sadness, no tears, no anger, or even remorse. Time for these feelings to exist has passed. All that remains is one question, and one question only, and there is simply one single person who is willing enough to ask it amongst all those who stand in the Glass Sanctuary.

Emilia, the Lady of the Angellius demesne, the wife to the Signet Being, and the Astrological house of the Scorpio, raises her head and brings voice to a deafly still sanctuary. “How shall we end the lives of those whose destinies are now realized to bring everything we cherished… to ruin?”