Private Legends Written in Ruins

[Varin Mortifer]

He listened to her words as he felt her presence draw closer to him. His fists slowly relaxed as she spoke. No, he did not know what all he had gone through. And he dared call Varin a traitor? A coward? After he slaughtered any man he could to protect his sister?

A fury began to ignite in Varin’s eyes. He slowly stepped up to Lord Mortifer. Seeing him as the ruler he was and not the father he had been.

“I drenched our planet’s soil in the blood of our invaders, just as you did.”

He ground his teeth together as he stepped closer, the heat of the throne room building around him.

“I only survived because I was hungrier than you. Even now to this day, my loyalty lies in the betterment of Carcosa!”

His voice echoed off the walls as he began to draw the hilt of his saber.

“I would still see the banners of our enemy burn no matter where or how they hide. Ruin will find them.”

The saber ignited with a roar, the crimson blade springing to life as flame itself also engulfed its shape.

“It is no longer YOUR kingdom, father. You have no hold or claim to it.”

Lord Mortifer stood in silence as he looked down at him. His eyes looked into him and through him. As if to burn away any secret intent behind his back. He took a deep breath before He spoke.

Dzis ri ckabiradi iw Carcosa. Ki shahkû. Tu'iyia shahkû.

He lifted his weapon with effortless ease as he pointed it towards Varin, not in warning, but in recognition.

Kitshija ri wisûtis, zudyti ri tsosûtojona, tsiti ani diyi mukda iw zo katwa dro ri zûtadani iw kûts. Nisosûti Ki kraujas, Tu'iyia kraujas, shuriji.

Varin did not respond verbally. He gave the visage of his Father a slow nod, never leaving his sight.

Lord Mortifer sheathed the mighty blade before walking back to His throne and taking His seat.

“Do this, not as an order. But to right our wrongs, son.”

The visage slowly began to dissipate back into the familiar walls of the caverns, the hot feeling of the flames around them now cooled. The last thing to disappear were Lord Mortifer’s eyes.

Varin’s saber disengaged as he fell back into the wall of the cavern with a heavy breath.

Seren Gwyn​

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren did not move until the last of Lord Mortifer's gaze dissolved into stone.

Only when the heat fully bled from the chamber—when the cavern returned to itself, cold and ancient and indifferent—did she step forward. Not hurried. Not cautious. Measured, as she always was when something important had just ended.

She stopped beside Varin as his saber disengaged, close enough that her presence was unmistakable, but she did not touch him yet. She let him breathe. Let the weight settle where it needed to.

"That was not submission," she said quietly, breaking the silence without shattering it. "And it was not defiance."

Her eyes lingered on the space where the throne had been, where authority had chosen to withdraw rather than be broken.

"You did something rarer than either," Seren continued. "You redefined the terms." She finally turned to him then, studying his expression—not the fury that had carried him forward, but what remained after it burned away.

"He did not strip you of your claim," she said. "He acknowledged it." A pause. "Not as a father. As a king recognizing a successor who survived what he did not." She lowered herself slightly, enough that her voice was unmistakably meant for him, not the cavern, not Malachor, not whatever watched from deeper still.

"The trial did not ask you to kill him," Seren said. "Because your past no longer requires violence to release you." Her gaze softened—not with pity, but with something closer to respect. "You faced him without kneeling," she added. "And without running."

At last, she reached out—briefly, grounding—her fingers resting against his forearm, steady and real. "That was the lesson," Seren said simply. "Endurance without erasure." She withdrew her hand, giving him space again, but her presence did not recede.

"Malachor has what it needed from you here," she said. "What comes next will not be a vision." Her eyes lifted to the cavern ahead, where the path waited—changed.

"When you are ready," Seren finished, calm and certain, "we move on." Not because he was ordered to. But because he had earned the choice.

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

He spoke softly.

“Theres always a third option when faced with ultimatums.”

He looked back at her finally after he was certain the visage was gone. He looked down at his hands as they finally finished shaking.

“I don't think I could have killed Him if that was the challenge. I don’t know how I would overcome defeating Him. He was such an unstoppable force in the kingdom. The very foundation of Carcosa itself. The wind and forests bowed to Him, mountains groaned as they strained to avert their gaze at Him. He was not just a force of nature and power He was The force of nature and power.”

He looked back at her into her eyes.

“I feel that I must become that and more in order to take back my home and keep it.”

He looked down at her hand as she touched his forearm, a light simple touch.

He slowly pulled himself back up with a groan as she spoke of what Malachor had to offer him. His trials were all completed, all that was left was to enter the next area. Already it looked and felt different. Like the previous caverns were stuck on a loop until some breaking point happened. This room felt heavier. The very presence of the darkside was thick here. It sat deep into his bones, whispers fell to him, not promises or temptations, but whispers of those who had come before him and have either made it or did not make it. Echoes of former wanderers that still haunted these chambers. The center was a pool of black thin liquid, similar to water. Every now and then a drip could be heard as it echoed off the wall.

In the center of the pool, sat a palantir. The orb looked to be made of obsidian glass hovering a mere inch or two over its slotted platform. It hummed and vibrated with power.

He stepped into the pool slowly. The water enveloping his ankles, then his calves and finally up to his waist. The chill was sharper than anything he had come across, as if the pool were stripping him of his heat, causing his breath to hitch. His breathing was rapid and shaky before it slowly deepened as he took in the area. Sinew sat staying just out of bounds of the room, panting and waiting for him to return. She was nervous, but she did not run away, she just waited.

The runes on Varin’s back pulsed brightly, sending ripples of glow towards the runes that ran down his back around his ribs and down his arms, only the glow was not its normal orange, but a neutral white. He was quiet. Just breathing. As if waiting for what was to come.

His shivered breathing echoed from the walls as he stared into the orb.

Seren Gwyn​

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren stopped at the edge of the pool.

She did not cross the boundary, not out of fear, but understanding. Whatever waited within that water, whatever truth the palantír was prepared to reveal, was not meant to be shared. Some knowledge demanded solitude—not secrecy, but ownership.

Her eyes moved from the black surface of the pool to the hovering orb, then back to Varin. The change in the runes on his back did not escape her notice.

White. Not resolution. Not surrender. But suspension.

"This is not another trial," Seren said quietly, her voice measured, careful not to echo too loudly in the chamber. "Not in the way the others were."

She took a slow breath. "You did not come here to be tested," she continued. "You came here because you asked a question that could not be answered anywhere else."

Her gaze lingered on the palantír, respectful rather than wary. "That device does not judge," Seren said. "It does not instruct. It reveals."

She looked back at him then, meeting his eyes steadily. "And it will not show me anything."

The whispers in the chamber pressed closer, but she did not acknowledge them.

"Whatever you learn about Ignati," she said, deliberately naming the truth he sought, "will be given to you alone. Not as doctrine. Not as a command."

A pause—enough to let the weight of it settle. "Information without context can be dangerous," Seren added. "But information without ownership is worse."

She shifted slightly, grounding herself at the pool's edge.

"Do not try to confront him here," she advised gently. "And do not try to define him." Not yet. "Observe," Seren said. "Listen. Let the vision tell you what he is… and what he is not."

Her voice softened, not with doubt, but with trust. "You have already endured enough to earn this," she finished. "Whatever comes next is not something to overcome."

She stepped back a half pace, deliberately giving him space. "It is something to understand."

And then Seren fell silent—watchful, steady, and fully aware that the answers Varin sought were finally within reach, but could only be taken by his hand alone.

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Her words found his ears as he took a deep breath.

“Don’t fight, only observe. I…I think I understand.”

He slowly reached his hands around the orb, not touching it yet. His fingers flexed as the pulse of not only power or knowledge pressed to his fingertips, but memory. Memory so deep it remembers each drop of blood amongst the galaxy’s planets.

His brow furrowed as he brought his hands closer.

Finally they made contact. An instant shift happened in the room. His body lurched as if being shocked, muscles and tendons stiffened around his body like a full bodied cramp. His head shot back, unable to remove his hands as a yell of agony left him. The white runes now pulsed a dark crimson red. A snarl erupted from his throat as he tried to loosen his body, tried to refrain from fighting. This thing was trying to invade him, his first instinct to fight back did not bode well.

He forced his head to look down at the orb, his eyes searching into its black expanse before his body began to loosen. His breathing was deep and harsh as the shooting pain began to fade.

Finally…

It opened. The eye of knowledge and memory opened its gates to him.

It felt as if his subconscious was sucked in, his physical body relaxed, staring as if entranced, but inside Varin was floating in a mighty expanse of stars. Searching around he noticed a lone planet with a crimson sun. Unknown of the planet's name or origin.

His vision plummeted to its surface where he witnessed wars, civilizations, kingdoms, utopias, ruins. A life long timeline that spanned the planet changing ever constantly, but one thing remained. The citizens worshipped the planet. Sacrificed to the planet. Words in his mind spoke of Bogan’s Chosen. Varin watched as years went by and sacrifices were still made.

Hundreds of years spanned over the course of these rituals tithed in blood, even through technological advancements. They called to the planet. Until it finally answered.

His vision was torn back to space as he heard mass panic planet wide, countless voices screaming as the planet began to crack. Orange glows spilling across the lands as if it were splitting. The cracks snaked along the surface and over seas, developing the same runic shapes as Varin’s brands.

A flash of crimson spilled over the cracks before the planet burst. Pulling himself from the remains of the rock and ruin that floated aimlessly in the expanded void was a creature of mass that seemed far to big to measure. Wings outstretched like solar flares from the sun. Its head pulled back to release a massive roar from its draconic body. This new birth of a creature was hungry.

Its star-like eyes fell upon the crimson sun from a distance, before opening its maw. The being inhaled sucking anything into the blackhole expanse of its mouth, pulling bits of the sun towards it. Slowly those bits turned to streams of solar energy, feeding this being. Making it grow. Finally, the crimson glare of the sun was snuffed. What was left in the pocketed void was this being, born from the Dark Side, born from blood shed, born from a planet. The Eater of Suns. Ignati’s birth had been revealed.

Varin noticed as Ignati turned its head to look at him. Varin’s fists tightened as it seemed to glide at an increased speed towards him. He concentrated. His fists flexed in his palms as he willed himself out of the vision. Ignati drawing closer, its maw gaping open in a roar, as if to swallow him.

Varin roared back as his hands finally ripped away from the crystal ball sending him falling into the blackened water.

In a panic he quickly pulled himself up looking around, his yells echoing around the chambers until he began to calm down. His breathing still rapid as he caught Seren’s gaze.

Seren Gwyn​

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren felt the moment the vision released him.

It was not the scream, nor the violent recoil of his body that told her—it was the absence. The pressure in the chamber thinned, the whispers collapsed into stillness, and the palantír's hum fell away into something inert and spent. Whatever bargain or exchange had existed was complete.

When Varin slipped beneath the surface, her restraint broke. She stepped into the pool without hesitation.

The water was shockingly cold, but she ignored it, boots splashing as she closed the distance in two long strides. When he surfaced, gasping and disoriented, her hand found his forearm—firm, sure, anchoring him before panic could retake hold.

"It's over," Seren said quietly, close enough that he could hear her even over his breath. "You're here. You're breathing."

She tightened her grip just enough to steady him, guiding him back until his footing found stone beneath the water. "Easy," she murmured, not commanding, just present. "Let the echo pass."

Only when his balance returned did she ease her hold, though she did not step away immediately. Her eyes searched his face—not for answers, not for confirmation, but for continuity. He was still himself. Shaken, yes—but intact.

The chamber around them felt…finished. Empty in a way that was not barren, but resolved.

Seren glanced once at the palantír, now dark and silent. "There is nothing else for you here," she said, certainty in her tone. "Whatever it had to give, it has given."

She turned back to him, her voice softening. "You don't need to tell me anything you're not ready to," Seren added. "Some knowledge needs time before it becomes language. If it ever does." A pause.

"But you shouldn't stay soaked and shaking while you carry it." She offered him her hand again—this time openly, an invitation rather than support.

"Come," Seren said. "I live not far from here. You can dry off, warm up… and breathe somewhere that isn't trying to peel you open."

They left the cavern together. The walk was quiet. Not awkward—intentional.

Seren did not fill the silence with questions or commentary. She matched his pace, adjusted when his steps slowed, and let the path unwind beneath them. The caves behind felt distant already, like a door closed not by force, but by decision.

When they reached her dwelling—simple, lived-in, warm—she ushered him inside without ceremony. Heat wrapped around them as the door sealed shut, cutting off the chill and the weight of Malachor alike.

"There are fresh clothes by the heater," she said gently. "Towels too."

She paused at the threshold of the room, giving him space while still being there.

"When you're ready," Seren added, meeting his eyes once more, "we can talk. Or we can sit in silence. Either is fine." No pressure. No demand.

Just the quiet after revelation—and the choice of what to carry forward, and what to keep to himself.

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

The power that Malachor had pressured him with sapped away most of his body heat and a good bit of his already weakened strength. He tried to pull himself up from the pool only to stumble. Her voice rang to him, pulling him back. He was no longer helpless in the void again. He looked around as the cold liquid washed around him, a shiver left him as his body began to shake.

Her hand gripped his arm as a means to ground him back to the present. A shivered breath forced its way out of his lungs as he gently grasped her arm and used the support to pull himself up better.

“The…The Eater…”

He managed to strain his voice through the cold that had wrapped its embrace around him before she spoke again. He began to control his breathing as she helped him regain footing.

His body was now pale from the wet cold that embraced him moments prior. He listened to her speak. The chamber was finished with him, as was the orb. He slowly looked back at it then back to her and gave a quiet nod.

He spoke with almost a stutter as he shivered.

“I…saw…Him…”

He paused when she offered him a place to warm up and possibly rest. His hand gently wrapped around hers.

“I..would…appreciate that.”

The journey back was still cold. Malachor offered no warmth itself, it seemed fitting. It was a place of harsh survival and tough living…If you lived it. The harsh terrain seemed to make it difficult to even grow anything. But he had been surprised before. He shambled into her abode, the greeting of warmth was instant compared to the oppressive chill and weight of Malachor. He looked down at the clothes and picked them up.

“Thank you.”

He gave her a slight bow before she gave him some privacy to change.

He looked at the towels and begun to dry himself off before removing the wet clothes and finally changed. The clothes seemed a bit small, but he did not complain. Not many creatures had his stature or height. He then met with her outside the room.

“You have a nice place.”

Seren Gwyn​

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren had already moved by the time he emerged.

Her dwelling was modest, but intentional—cut from Malachor's stone rather than imposed upon it. Smooth basalt walls held warmth far better than the caverns outside, etched faintly with old sigils that no longer bit or whispered, only remembered. Low amber lighting glowed from recessed panels, not bright enough to jar the senses, but steady enough to ground them. A narrow hearth hummed quietly along one wall, fed by a contained thermal coil rather than flame—clean, reliable heat.

When Varin stepped out, wrapped in borrowed clothes that sat a little too tight across his shoulders and arms, Seren glanced up from where she had been working and took him in with a brief, assessing look. Not judgment. Confirmation.

"You're steadier," she observed softly.

She crossed the space without hurry and gestured him toward a low table near the hearth. Cushioned seating had been arranged there—not ceremonial, not formal. Lived-in. A place meant for people who needed to sit because standing required effort.

"Sit," Seren said—not an order, just practical.

She turned back toward a small preparation alcove built into the wall. Shelves held neatly arranged tins, cups, and a compact heating unit. She selected one of the darker containers, opening it carefully as steam curled up, fragrant and grounding.

"This is caf," she said as she worked, voice carrying easily. "Not the harsh stimulant most places favor. It's mixed with ground root from the southern wastes. Slower warmth. Less shock to the system."

She poured the liquid into a thick ceramic cup—clearly handmade, its surface warm to the touch by design—and carried it back to him, setting it within easy reach.

"Drink slowly," Seren added. "Your body needs to remember heat before it tolerates it."

Only then did she take her own seat across from him, close enough that conversation did not require raised voices, but not crowding. The quiet between them was deliberate—protective. Outside, Malachor remained what it always was. Inside, the world had narrowed to breath, warmth, and recovery.

She watched him for a moment longer, then spoke again, more quietly now.

"You did well," Seren said—not praise, not consolation. Statement of fact. "Whatever you saw…You came back with it. That matters."

Her gaze did not press for details. It lingered instead on his hands, the way he held the cup, the subtle tremor still fading from his fingers.

"There's no urgency here," she continued. "No trials waiting behind the door. No expectations."

A pause.

"For now," Seren said gently, "just let your body catch up to where your mind has already been."

The hearth hummed on. Steam rose from the cup. And for the first time since the cavern, the silence felt safe.

Varin Mortifer

 

[Varin Mortifer]

He rotated his shoulder just a bit to ease the muscle tension beneath as he quietly sat in his seat. His eye noticed the black container that she opened before pouring it into the mug.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard of Caf.”

The hearth hummed softly in the air, a good bit of white noise to keep the senses here and not anywhere else. Truth be told, he found the space to be…homey. Warm and simple, yet still with personality. He looked at the handmade mug as the steam rose from the liquid inside. His hands still had a bit of a shake to them as he picked up the mug. He gave it a test smell. Earthy, almost like tea.

“I don’t think I remember the last time I truly felt…cold.”

He looked over to her and sipped the liquid. She sat just ahead of him as he tasted the liquid. It was very much bearable. Much more so than most liquids he has had to drink.

“I think what I have brought back may just be a part of me now.”

He was quiet for a moment before tapping the mug gently with his finger. Mulling over and chewing the fat of what he had just witnessed. Not many people witness the birth of a god-like being. He remembered the oppressive darkness that swallowed everything when the sun was devoured. All that remained was the refracting light of the burning scales on the beings body. Like it had absorbed its radiation and it became a part of him.

He did not dwell on the thought. He didn’t want to lose himself again. Especially not in this home.

He took a deep breath before he spoke.

“The Eater of Suns.”

He paused for a moment.

“The name holds up. It was his first meal. But the scariest part about that is…He was still hungry. Insatiable.”

His eyes found hers as he spoke.

“I saw His birth.”

Seren Gwyn​