Cataclysm War | Chapter 101: To the Future (First Draft)

Sunday, August 14, 4 S.E.

Leonidas walked into the meeting room with Aylar on his arm, crowns atop their heads, and formal attire donned. He wore his usual suit for the occasion, while his wife had chosen the same dress she’d worn the day he proposed to her, diaphanous silks hanging from her gold-clasped biceps, and sapphirine gems inlaid across its expanse.

The room rose when they entered, and he cast his gaze across the assembled.

Matriarch Yvrain sat at the end of the table of ten, with Xarina beside her, and a swarthy-looking pair of Svartfenn women opposite them. He noted, vaguely, that both of the other women had orange eyes, whereas Xarina and Yvrain both had red—and were notably taller.

Ceruviel and Uriel were in attendance, with Ceruviel one seat down from him, and Uriel one seat down from Aylar. Sinalthria was next to Ceruviel, and Legion-Master Colquen was opposite her, beside Uriel. Synthra was seated next to her mother, with Legion-Master Endymion opposite her. The Royal Guard was represented by Mernyn and Leona, though they stood instead of sitting, positioned behind the twin seats that Leonidas and Aylar were to take and close to the back wall—silent, armed, and indomitable.

To that effect, he pulled out the Queen’s chair for his wife, allowing her to sit before taking his own seat, and motioning the table to resume their own.

“Good afternoon, everyone,” Leonidas said finally, his eyes roving over the table as nine pairs looked back at him. “It’s been quite a hectic two days, what with preparations made for the Cemetery and the many funerals that had to be conducted. I trust our guests have found their chance to see to their own rites?”

His gaze was directed toward the Svartfenn when he spoke, and the Matriarch inclined her head while the others remained silent.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said in a demurring voice, husky in a way one might expect from someone more used to singing than speaking. “Your kindness in allowing us that time was most appreciated.”

Leonidas smiled faintly at her words and nodded in acceptance of the thanks.

“I am not one for standing on ceremony,” he said thereafter, and bridged his fingers together on the table, peering down at the four Svartfenn. “Still, it would be rude not to ask after the names of your two companions, Matriarch. I know Xarina, of course.”

Xarina grimaced at his words but said nothing, and Yvrain didn’t look at her, instead gesturing to the two officers, both adorned in the black that the Svartfenn seemed to prefer, highlighted in gold.

“I have here Maidenguard Commander Parna Svern, and Heartwarden Commander Tulya Ithicos. They are the two most senior officers I was able to bring with me, given the limitation on numbers.”

Leonidas simply nodded to the two women, who stood and bowed low to him, their orange eyes fearful as they did, before resuming their seats.

He dismissed the religious fear in their eyes as a necessary evil a moment later and turned back to the Matriarch.

“You are already familiar with the others in this room, I wager,” he said calmly, “but I will introduce them regardless. To my left is my wife and Queen, Aylar Taleria Lux Fortuna Altera Pendragon,” he said, smiling to the Swordmaiden, who dipped her head in greeting.

The idea of Leonidas talked had been her idea, though he still hated it.

“Next, we have our Venerates, the Dawn-Lord Uriel Indomitus Aventus, Duke of Morning, Knight of the Luxan Spear—” Uriel inclined his head with polite silence, “—and my mentor, Dusk-Lord Ceruviel Invicta Latherian, Duchess of Twilight, Last Archon of Altera.”

Ceruviel smiled showed teeth when she gave it at her introduction.

“We’ve met,” she said coolly, locking eyes with Yvrain, who met her gaze with remarkable courage despite the steeliness in his teacher’s mien.

Leonidas sighed quietly, but moved on without addressing it.

“Next to Duke Aventus is Marquis Malovan Colquen, Legion-Master of the First Legion of Avalon—” the Marquis nodded in kind, and Leonidas turned to Sinalthria, “—and opposite him is Sinalthria, Guild Mistress of the Adventurers’ Guild, Avalon Branch.”

Sinalthria wiggled her taloned fingers politely and otherwise stayed silent.

“Beside the Marquis is Viscount Randul Endymion, Legion-Master of the Second Legion of Avalon—” the Viscount dipped his head formally, “—and opposite him is Synthra of the Everflame, my future intended.”

Synthra blushed faintly at his introduction, but lifted her chin silently, nodding to the Svartfenn who regarded her with interest.

“Finally, of course, we have Matriarch Yvrain of the [Starhold of Talrinar], and Xarina, Scion of Lyrin, of the Blades of Nocturne.”

Both the Matriarch and Xarina inclined their heads, though in Xarina’s case, it looked almost jerky when she did.

“Now that that is out of the way,” Leonidas said wearily. “We can proceed to business. As you know, Matriarch, I asked you here to negotiate the official terms of your surrender. Given that you have been remarkably cooperative with all that my Kingdom has asked of you, I would like to hear your thoughts on what you believe would be equitable—bearing in mind I may not agree with your assessment.”

Aylar silently placed her hand on his thigh beneath the table and squeezed gently in support when Leonidas leaned back, and he dropped his hands down, taking her right in his left and linking their fingers together while the Matriarch gathered herself.

“To be clear, Your Majesty, honored Venerates, Officers, and Friends,” the Matriarch began steadily, “I must clear up a matter of misunderstanding. This is not a negotiation of surrender,” Yvrain clarified calmly, while her eyes roved the table and then settled on Leonidas. “This is a determination of capitulation.”

Eyebrows rose around the table, and Leonidas frowned faintly, but it was Aylar who spoke.

“Please elaborate, Matriarch,” the Swordmaiden said calmly, squeezing Leonidas’ hand when she did.

“Certainly, Your Majesty,” Yvrain said, seemingly waiting for that cue to continue. “What you all may not know is that this defeat was not purely martial; it was spiritual. By revealing himself as the Cataclysm, King Leonidas did not simply defer the desire for combat in our people; he staked a claim that transcends all other considerations.”

Ceruviel folded her arms at the words, and Uriel leaned forward, while the Legion-Masters exchanged glances, Sinalthria arched an eyebrow, and Synthra frowned.

“On Talrinar,” Yvrain continued a moment later into the silence, “we dwell in a place called the Nightlands—a realm under the Evernight, caused by the orbit of our homeworld to another planetary body. This phenomenon is not natural. It was actioned with intent, by a Saint rank Cultivator.”

Surprise and disbelief met her words, and Yvrain smiled thinly.

“I know,” the Matriarch conceded calmly. “It sounds insane, but it is the truth. This event, known as the Darkening, was curated by a singular existence: the Talrinar Cataclysm. We have extensive records that detail this beyond doubt.”

Eyes shifted toward Leonidas at the revelation, but it was Uriel who spoke.

“The power required to affect the orbit of planetary bodies is not implausible for a Saint rank Cultivator, but it would require a very precise type of Affinity to undertake,” the Dawn-Lord said in a steady rumble.

“That would normally be true, honored Venerate,” the Matriarch said with calm certainty, “save that there is a secret inherent to a [Cataclysm Core] that I believe the King can confirm for me, here.”

Leonidas narrowed his eyes, but gestured for Yvrain to continue.

“A [Cataclysm Core],” the Matriarch said after his gesture, “is connected to the primordial forces of nature—all forces. Including Space and Time. There is a saying where we are from: the Cataclysm is one with the World, and the World is one with the Cataclysm.”

Aylar shifted at his side, but Leonidas didn’t look at her, not wanting to intrude on her thoughts as eyes invariably drifted toward him.

“It’s true,” he said finally, his voice faintly resigned. “Ceruviel and Uriel know this, as does my wife, and Sythra. I have a natural affinity for elemental power, though I haven’t manifested any control over them, not really.”

Expressions shifted around the table, from hungry curiosity on Sinalthria’s features, to militant contemplation on the Legion-Masters. The two orange-eyed Svartfenn simply stared at him with awe mixed with terror, and Xarina seemed to be avoiding everyone’s gaze as she stared resolutely at the table.

“That is because you are not an Ascendant, as of yet,” Yvrain said confidently. “That is when our knowledge tells us the [Cataclysm Core] truly awakens and gains a more holistic plethora of attunements. It varies from Cataclysm to Cataclysm, but invariably, you will command the forces of reality, Your Majesty. That is not in question, based on our knowledge.”

Leonidas pursed his lips at her words, and Aylar spoke again in his stead.

“We appreciate this information, Matriarch,” she said formally, “but none of this explains the point you started with. You mentioned capitulation?”

Yvrain nodded again, and her expression grew faintly more grave.

“I am afraid that, in the time between our arrival here and departure from the Starhold, we have suffered our own calamity,” the Matriarch said with a faint grimace. “We drew away the great majority of our strongest Cultivators in this assault, and as a result, the Starhold was left far less protected than we should have liked. It appears that someone leaked that information to particularly predatory native forces, and others besides. Our home, Your Majesty, has been raided and razed. We received the news this morning.”

Leonidas immediately glanced at Ceruviel, who simply nodded, her tone neutral.

“Truth,” she said calmly, her lavender eyes faintly aglow. “She’s hiding it well, but our dear Matriarch is seething. It appears that this entire excursion has been a rather immense blunder on her part.”

Yvrain’s features tightened at Ceruviel’s words, and the Archon smiled mirthlessly.

“Come off it, woman,” she said coolly. “Ask what you want to ask. We’re past the point of playing keepaway with the truth, and your mind, despite your impressive defenses, is no match for my abilities. Tell our King what you came here to beg for, and let’s put aside the pretense. He prefers candor.”

Yvrain’s eyes flashed and narrowed, the two Svartfenn with her grimaced and looked at the table, and Xarina’s eyes closed in anger—but other than the Matriarch twitching her fingers, she did not react beyond the physical tells, taking in a steadying breath.

“Very well,” Yvrain finally said, her voice mildly resigned. “The truth is, Your Majesties, we are bereft. The Starhold has been sacked, countless numbers of our people have been slain or captured, and the non-Svartfenn population has rioted. Of the Starhold’s original strength, I am only confident that perhaps forty percent remains, including our civilian population.”

Aylar’s expression twisted into empathetic grief, and even the Legion-Masters looked at Yvrain with pity, while Uriel frowned quietly, Ceruviel smiled in satisfaction, and Sinalthria’s tail lazily waved through the air while Synthra stared at her hands in thought.

“To that effect,” Yvrain continued, her voice blunt. “We are not here to discuss surrender, Your Majesties. We are here to request capitulation—our capitulation, and our acceptance into the [Kingdom of Avalon].”

Aylar turned to Leonidas at her words, and he met her gaze steadily, smiling at her tightly and nodding for her to take the floor. This was not his strongpoint, and they both knew it.

With a tight smile of her own, his wife turned back to the Matriarch.

“We asked you here to discuss reparations and non-aggression, Matriarch,” Aylar began calmly, her voice faintly empathetic still. “I am sorry to hear what has occurred to your people, though you will forgive us if we are distrustful of your offer. Two days prior, your forces were poised to do the very same to Dawnhaven—aided and abetted by a genocidal murderer that was only defeated by my husband’s intimate knowledge of his mind. You are asking us to shelter people who would have killed us or enslaved us without hesitation two sunrises prior.”

The Matriarch inclined her head.

“I am, Your Majesty,” she said steadily. “And we are asking only for one reason: the King. The Starhold is a matrilineal society. Men do not rule us. We have learned the cost of that in the past, and we abhor it to our core—but this is the sole and singular exception. No child of Talrinar would accept a male ruler, let alone one of a different species; save that in this case, that ruler would be a Cataclysm.”

Her eyes glanced over Leonidas, and then shifted back to Aylar, her voice grave. “That, and that alone, transcends all other considerations. To the people of Talrinar, Queen Aylar, the King is not simply a man—he is an Apocalypse wearing flesh, a world-killer, a myth made tangible. To my people, Your Majesty, your husband is a nascent god.”

Aylar sat back at that, looking troubled, and the expressions around the table were the same. Leonidas couldn’t blame them. It was one thing to parley with your former enemies in good faith; it was something else entirely to welcome them into your home with open arms, so soon after a fractious war. It would cause bedlam and unrest within the week, to say nothing of the impact on his [Divine Path].

“This is a monumental ask,” Leonidas said finally, leaning forward as he looked over the Svartfenn. “I’ll be candid, since I suck at all this political discourse: you tried to kill and sack my home. My people will be out for blood. How the hell do you think this would work? Christ, how can we even trust you?”

Yvrain smiled thinly at his words, not in offense, but instead in understanding.

“The lesser party often has little to negotiate with, King Leonidas. In this case, that is not entirely the case. As the seniormost surviving Matriarch, I possess the full account of the Starhold’s [Aetherium], over 25,000 in total, and the authority to speak for all of its people,” Yvrain said confidently, clearly in full belief of her words. “If you agree to accept us under your aegis, I will offer you this: System Oaths, from every single soul that joins you, pledging fealty to the Kingdom of Avalon and your direct descendants, in perpetuity—with three conditions.”

Leonidas glanced at Ceruviel, who shrugged at him, and then at Aylar, who nodded once, briefly, for him to hear her out. With a sigh, he turned back to Yvrain.

“Very generous, Matriarch, but what are the conditions? Bearing in mind, this does not ameliorate the antipathy my citizens will feel toward your people.”

Yvrain inclined her head in understanding.

“I am aware of that,” she said candidly. “But I have faith that such can be overcome, once we prove our use to your Kingdom, and time soothes the rage that accompanies our trespass. The conditions, however, are thankfully not onerous—a mere formality, to assure my people will not be left to rot as lesser elements in the future.”

Aylar sat up at her words, and her hand tightened on Leonidas’ as she focused.

“Those being?” he asked warily.

“First, you must pledge to recapture the Starhold within ten years and bring it under the banner of the Kingdom,” Yvrain said steadily, drawing thoughtful looks from the table.

“That is doable,” Leonidas decided finally, glancing around at his advisors, who nodded in turn.

“We could probably do that far sooner,” Ceruviel said flatly, “with the number of citizens that are clamoring about making the Shield-Hosts permanent, defense will not be an issue within the next two years after their strength grows.”

 “It will benefit us to have a fortified holdfast outside of Dawnhaven,” Aylar concurred, “and a new branch for the Guild, as well,” she added, which Sinalthria grinned at.

“Very well, Matriarch,” Leonidas said. “What is the second condition?”

Yvrain inclined her head and licked her lips for a moment.

“The second condition is that you will not surrender overlordship of your Dominion for so long as you live, and that you will be succeeded only by a child conceived from your own seed.”

Leonidas raised his eyebrows at that and blushed faintly, glancing at Aylar, who smiled at him wryly.

“Yeah, okay, sure,” he said gruffly, seeking to hurry past that graphic description. “That works. Next?”

“The last condition,” Yvrain said, her hands sliding together subconsciously to tighten on the table, “is that you will appoint an intermediary as the leader of the Starhold once it is reclaimed, and make it a self-governing city-state, ruled by Avalon’s crown, but permitted to have its own culture and laws.”

Leonidas stared at her, and Ceruviel laughed openly.

“No,” he said before anyone else could speak. “Not a chance in hell. That’s no different from bleeding my nation just to give you back your playground. Not happening, Matriarch.”

Yvrain smiled thinly at his refusal and inclined her head.

“I anticipated you would refuse, despite the insistence of my Council, so I have an alternate condition for you.”

Leonidas arched his eyebrow, feeling his patience fraying.

“Go on, Matriarch,” Aylar said in his stead, gently squeezing his hand to calm his temper. “State your final condition, but please bear in mind it cannot be changed again.”

Yvrain glanced at Aylar and then inclined her head.

“Thank you, Queen Aylar. Truthfully, the reason for the original condition was a fear over Haelfenn hegemony eroding our identity—but I have an alternative I believe would be suitable, for both the Kingdom’s future and my own people’s concerns.”

Ceruviel narrowed her eyes at the words but leaned back in silence, an unreadable expression on her face, while Aylar eyed the Matriarch carefully, and Leonidas frowned impatiently. The Legion-Masters and Sinalthria seemed content to simply observe, while Synthra eyed the woman suspiciously.

“In order to secure the future of the Svartfenn,” Yvrain explained carefully, “and in accordance with your desire to keep the nation under a single rule of law, our third condition is thus: the King will make an Oath of Intent to take a bride from among the eligible Matrilines, and within ten years, sire a daughter of Svartfenn and Terran blood that may act as the future leader of the Starhold under your authority. This will reassure my people they will not be forgotten, strengthen our joint sense of identity within the Kingdom, and advocate for unity among the common citizens.”

Leonidas stared at her and opened his mouth to tell her to shove it up her ass, until Aylar abruptly gripped his arm. He turned to her in confusion, and the Queen looked at Yvrain directly, not meeting his gaze as she spoke.

“How many Svartfenn remain of the Starhold, Matriarch?”

Yvrain turned to Aylar and then spoke after a second of contemplation.

“Approximately sixty thousand,” she answered carefully.

“How many of those are martially capable?” the Queen pressed.

“All of them,” Yvrain said after a second of hesitation. “That is our way.”

Aylar nodded firmly and then spoke again, her voice unyielding.

“Then we will accept your condition, with these clarifications: It will not be any woman who has already borne children, nor a woman over the age of thirty-five,” the Queen said firmly, her eyes narrowed in contemplative intensity, “nor will it be a woman who indulges in hedonistic passions without restraint. The King has specific beliefs around the sanctity of Marriage, and those beliefs will be respected. He already struggles with plurality; infidelity will not be tolerated—and if this marriage occurs, it must do so based on mutual consent, without an artificial time constraint. An Oath of Intent is fine, but I won’t tolerate him being rushed.”

Yvrain’s mouth opened, but Aylar rolled over her like a force of nature.

“Furthermore, the bride in question will not aspire to the mantle of Queen, but will content herself to be a Grand Duchess, and will accept the roles, responsibilities, and requirements that come with being married to the King of Avalon, and part of the Royal Plurality with the Queen at its head. Your people will have their Svartfenn Princess, Matriarch, but it will be on our terms. Avalon’s terms. That is our first and final offer.”

Leonidas stared at his wife in stunned disbelief, and Aylar finally turned to him, her gaze intent.

“If you find a woman who consents, Leonidas, it is worth trying. We can always discuss dissolution agreements if things fall through, and you know I won’t force your hand, but it’s worth trying, my love. We cannot build a nation if we do not grow our population.”

Leonidas opened his mouth, then closed it, and turned back to Yvrain, who was watching them silently. Eventually, he just motioned her to go ahead, sighing quietly. Aylar was right, to an extent: he had a responsibility as King, and it wasn’t as if he wasn’t prepared for something like this—but the whole idea of it just rankled him. He felt like a prize being sold at auction, no matter how noble the intentions.

At least his wife had clearly designated the consent clause. Thank God for that.

“Very well, Your Majesty,” the Matriarch said finally while Leonidas brooded. “I accept your terms, though I fear to say, there were many lost in the sacking of the Starhold, and the Scions fought fiercely, and to their deaths, to protect it. Of your conditions, only one remains that fulfills each one—the singular Scion that did not indulge in the privilege of her position, has never borne children, and was not caught up in the slaughter of her peers in the Heartwall.”

Yvrain’s gaze shifted and alighted squarely on Xarina, who looked up at her with narrowed eyes.

“Xarina, the Blood of Lyrin, is the only Svartfar Scion left alive, following the massacre of our kin, who matches your terms. The rest of the surviving Scions are either mothers, too old, or slaves to their own passions. She has requested that I find a way to free her conscience of a capital trespass she committed during the battle. I believe this duty will align with her desires.”

Leonidas looked at Xarina, and she glared right back at him as if he’d kicked her favorite dog, her red eyes burning with shame and anger in equal amounts.

“I won’t be party to someone being coerced,” he said finally, speaking up before he could be stopped and looking between them. “This world has enough evil. She should be free to decide her own fate. I won’t—”

“Do not presume to know my will, Cataclysm,” Xarina cut in abruptly, her voice coiled with tightly controlled anger. “I decide my fate, and everyone else can be damned. I am a Scion of the Starhold. If this is the path that Nocturne has set for me, then I will weather it.”

Ceruviel chuckled abruptly at his side and glanced at Leonidas, her lavender eyes amused.

“I like her,” the Venerate said simply.

“You, of course, have a say in this,” Aylar said to Xarina thereafter, squeezing Leonidas’ arm reassuringly. “Nobody wants you to be robbed of your right to choose, Xarina.”

Xarina met Aylar’s gaze levelly and then turned to Leonidas, her eyes narrowing in thought. Something seemed to pass behind her stare, and eventually, she looked away—jaw locked stubbornly as she spoke.

“We will see how things progress,” she stated finally. “But I promise nothing.”

Aylar nodded again and turned to Yvrain.

“Does that satisfy you, Matriarch?”

The elder Svartfenn eyed Aylar, turned her gaze toward Xarina, and then looked at Leonidas—gaze flashing with assessment, before she finally nodded.

“Then it is agreed,” the Matriarch stated at last. “I avow my consent before the System, as the seniormost remaining leader of the [Starhold of Talrinar].”

A System chime echoed her proclamation, and it was done.

“Excellent,” Ceruviel said into the silence that followed. “Now, I believe it’s tradition to have a feast, is it not?”

Leonidas stared at his Mentor incredulously, and she grinned at him.

“What, Your Majesty?” Ceruviel asked with a twinkle in her eyes. “Not feeling like a hotdog?”

All Leonidas could do was laugh at her words a second later, as the weight of his responsibility threatened to drown him.

God help me, he thought hysterically, I’m totally screwed.