L O C A T I O N | The Pivara, The Temple of the Silmä
T A G S |
Adron Malvern
The high priestess waved off his congratulations. “Thank you. Do what you will.” She spoke with a flippant kindness to her tone, in regard to the gift. “It is certainly a blessing.”
It was rare that the Silmä made such obvious displays of emotion toward someone else’s good fortune. They were a selfish type and revelled in their own accomplishments and those belonging to their sisters, not the accomplishments of others. Humans, on the other hand, were much more primitive. They found a reason to celebrate the smallest of things. Despite her years of life, it was one of the few things she still struggled to understand about them. How they could live for so few years yet still share what little emotion they could summon with others? It was amusing to think on, and Nimue often whiled away the endless hours doing just that.
What she did enjoy, however, was the obvious surprise on Adron’s face. Nimue recalled feeling such surprise when she discovered the fact for herself, but Adron’s surprise was ironic. The origins of the child slowly growing in her belly would likely be more of a surprise to him than anything else. There was a burning desire in the pit of her stomach to reveal the secret that would likely shake him to the core. The oracle had not blessed her with a vision of what would happen if she did. Ordinarily, that would have dissuaded Nimue further, but it only spurred the fire on. After all, it was not every day you were afforded the opportunity to confuse the dark lord, and confused he would be, because…
Adron was staring at his own grandchild.
The child was a product of a strange occurrence. A future version of Adron’s own son thrown through a rip between two separate timelines. Nimue had promised to protect him and guide him through a galaxy he did not rightfully belong too, but they had become so much more than that. Adron was entirely clueless about it, of course. Nimue had originally insisted that Aries be the one to tell his alternate parents who he was, and where he had come from. Yet the more time that past the more she found she disagreed with her past self. Anything that could knock Adron off his current path would likely lead to disaster. Not just for Illyria, but for the Silmä themselves.
Nothing was of more importance to Nimue than her coven’s survival. Then her sisters being able to flourish and fulfil the tasks the oracle blessed them with. Not her own humour, not Adron, nor Aries, nor the child growing in her belly. So, as the king and the high priestess made their way toward the Pivara, Nimue refrained from speaking of the child again.
Adron shifted as they walked, which dragged the ancient charcoal gaze Nimue held toward him. “Good.” She responded to his comment. “The Silmä are not widely known for being simple.” That was a forte that belonged to humankind. The high priestess briefly inspected the lightsaber Adron had presented. It was beautiful enough, but beauty would not allow it to withstand the magik they were about to inject it with. It was powerful, much like its master, but it would need more than that. That, however, was where the amethyst crystal would play its part. Adron had done well, up to now. Both of the things he had collected lined up with the prophecies. After that, there was only one thing left. Whether the man himself could hold true.
They finally reached the doors to the closest Pivara, which at their approach swung open on ancient, rusted hinges. There were four of the forges all together in the temple, each designed with specialities in mind. Fortunately for Nimue, the one closest to her chambers was the best of the four. Walking had become particularly arduous thanks to the slowly growing weight on her stomach.
Behind the doors, they were met with a cavernous room, twice the size of any in the temple and carved from the mountain rock itself. The moment Nimue placed a foot over the threshold, several iron scones lining the walls burst into bright orange flames. With light now illuminating the Pivara, Nimue strolled confidently toward the largest of three cauldrons. The rock behind it was lined with dark wooden shelves, filled to the brim with various opaque glass jars. Some contained ingredients, some contained liquids, some merely glowed vibrant rainbow shades, but all were useful. Nimue finally graced Adron with a look, which found itself peering directly into the king’s eyes.
“And you have them by your side, as always.” A smile formed on her lips. “The Silmä would not dare abandon the dark lord in his hour of need, nor would we turn our backs on Illyria. Prosperity and growth will benefit us all. The oracle has told us this much at least.” Both of Nimue’s hands rose then, to hip height where she could easily grasp the lightsaber and the crystal itself. Though instead of leaning forward, another task that was slowly becoming a chore, one of the fingers on her right hand moved slowly. Making a “come hither” motion. The hilt, and the crystal, reacted accordingly. Slipping themselves from the king’s open palms and dancing freely through the air to Nimue’s outstretched hands.
The saber was immediately abandoned on one of the empty shelves behind Nimue. The crystal was her true focus. She rose her arms until the fractals of amethyst light that reflected from the scones danced in her ebony eyes. She smiled again, one of the most genuine smiles she had produced since Adron’s arrival. “You have done very well.” She spoke simply, as though complimenting a child on their first drawing. Adron would know by now, Nimue meant no offence by it. Centuries of life, along with the Silma's natural distaste for outsiders, had lead to the rather unfortunately habbit of condescension. “I believe this will do very nicely.” The crystal joined the lightsaber on the edge of the table, where Nimue abandoned them both in favour of the shelves along the walls. “First, we must protect them both. Construct a foundation to build upon. Once this is complete, I believe the Omnivident will allow us to accomplish what you desire.”
Nimue scooped up several jars, along with various packages wrapped in tight leather. “Tell me…” She asked as set herself to work, her sharp jet-black nails pulled corks from their bottles. “How is your sweet family?”