Record of Ashes War

Chapter 3 - A Breathing Star amongst Many Dimmed

"To give, you must take. To take, you must give. Only then can you have. Only then can there be," The Sun recited for what he estimated to be the millionth time. The fingers of the scholar flipped through crackling pages of the old tome and then went back to the front.

It read 'Chronary: The Basics and the Advanced by Ylpha'. The Sun leaned back in his chair, his shoulder length ash hair, greased, stuck to the back of his head. "For all that you narrate here, you didn't explain that which everyone desires most…" He opened the tome again. "To give, you must take. To take, you must give. Only then can you have. Only then can there be."

The Sun looked out the small open window to the left of his desk. Hollowed daylight came through the opening in the stone walls. A sudden flicker, caused by the passing of an eagle. He sighed, glancing back at the book before him. He'd thought of transcribing it on pages anew, to leave behind the rotting and crumpling parchment of ages past, but he couldn't. The sight of it instilled an addictive nostalgia. He was also sentimental of it, having had it for so long. He simply couldn't imagine having a new copy.

Chronary. A magic of some millennia past, from before the ancient War of Ashes even. The art of creating something —anything, at the cost of one's own lifespan. The Sun delicately flipped to the second page of the book. A small corner snapped at the touch of his rough and callused fingertips. Calluses borne from ages of experience. He clicked his tongue, wondering if transcribing was truly a necessity. "No. Preposterous. I've memorized this tome. If the book rots, it rots. This knowledge will end with me."

His own words caused him to smirk. His eyes glazed over the second page. "Chronary was created by the First King of man," he read. "He who was chosen by the Goddess 'XXXXX'." The Goddess' name was scratched out, as if the author had forgotten how to spell the name of Illusterra's creator. "Goddess Trillia," The Sun finished.

He closed the book and recited the next bit from memory. "Chronary is achieved through a written medium, a language of written runes crafted by the First King himself. Merely writing the runes does not entail achieving Chronary. One must craft the perfect sentence to achieve the desired result. Then, they must meditate upon what they have written, feel themselves through their very words, and breathe life into them. Breathe their very own life. The results will reflect the amount of life sacrificed. Thus, one's own blood is the best form of ink. Breathing life into a part of yourself is easier than anything else."

The Sun leaned back in his chair and kept reciting. "Objects created through Chronary can be wielded by the average person at no cost. Typically no cost. There are—" he paused. Some of the words felt unnecessary. Perhaps a rewrite… "There are of course, exceptions. Such as Butter Knife. A sabre of my own making, created through some of the most advanced Chronary. Upon creation, one year's worth of lifespan was poured into it. Should that one year run out whilst using, the user's lifespan gets drained instead. However, for each life taken, Butter Knife consumes the entirety of the slain person's remaining lifespan."

The Sun grimaced. He stood up and paced about in the small room of his tower, hands at his back. He was a scholar. One with experience transcending all others, or so he would have himself believe. Ylpha, on the other hand, was clearly inexperienced. Or at least was at the time of writing. Ylpha reveled at his own creation. A weapon called 'Butter Knife.'

"Who in their right mind names a sword 'butter knife'?" The Sun thought aloud. Or perhaps Ylpha was truly cracked from the beginning as others claimed. Blood Mage Ylpha. One of history's greatest villains along with the corrupted descendants of the Flame Bearers of old. "Corrupted… Doubtful. They were always evil," he said, flexing his fingers repeatedly. Time was often too slow in passing.

The Sun looked over the many smooth scars placed upon the rigid lines of his arm. He had many history books on the topic. Some of his own writing, crafted to utmost perfection after painful, and often humiliating, years of research. Chronary itself wasn't evil. Chronary was knowledge. Knowledge was neither good nor bad. Its traits were dependent on the intent of its use. Ylpha's book was the last remaining text on Chronary. The rest had either been lost in time, or had been burnt some centuries ago during the deposing of the Flame Bearers, House Zz'tai of the Xenarian kingdom.

Despite his gripes with the book, The Sun still couldn't bring himself to rewrite the text; and despite his beliefs on Chronary, he didn't trust others with such knowledge. Its power was too readily abused. Ylpha had earned the title of 'Blood Mage'. A title preceded by 'Ylpha the Immortal'. Blood Mage became the more common name once people realized what he'd done to attain his immortality. Blood Mage Ylpha, Apostle of the Tortured Throne…

The Sun let out an exasperated sigh. He opened the drawers to his desk and looked over a map of Illusterra.

The light of the people, they call me. And yet, he didn't act the part enough. Darkspawn ran rampant throughout the world. He didn't have enough influence to conquer them. To kill them and forever end the last remaining strings of the Tortured Throne's influence in the world.

The Thousand Sun City, his city, was powerful. Powerful enough to be regarded with caution by its neighbors. But The Sun's home was just that. A nation state consisting of a single, solitary city. The city's army, the Astral Union, roamed the lands as an independent justice militia, working to root out and destroy any and all traces of darkspawn. The neighboring nations allowed it. But they never aided The Sun with the task. They saw the Union's inquisition legions as nothing more than a pest.

If only they helped… The Sun looked down at the map once more. The Papillion Forest lay less than a dozen days' worth of marching from his home. A forest rumored to hide ancient Divine Artifacts. Artifacts that could be useful in his mission. Useful in conquering Xenaria, he thought. Xenaria, after all, was the kingdom of the vile Flame Bearers. If evil was to be rooted out forever, Xenaria needed to be felled and renamed.

The first step to that task was conquering the Papillion Forest near its borders. But the forest itself was home to a host of darkspawn. Witches of terrible power. Anyone getting near the forest turned up dead. One name in particular stood out within the history books The Sun had written. Ny'Danis. A devilish creature with silver hair and black wings. The immortal queen of the forest, she was called.

The Sun touched the side of his neck, running his hand along a scar. A scar received from his last attempted invasion of the forest. It was so long ago. And yet he remembered every detail of that battle. A forest of only women. It was impossible for them to exist. No man had ever been seen entering the forest. None had been seen within it. There was only one other way for life to exist. The Sun looked back at the book on Chronary. But whose life is being sacrificed?

That was simple. They were darkspawn. And darkspawn killed for their needs. They needed to be culled. Who knew what ill-mannered plot they thought of hatching? They had been left alone for too long. The Sun could wait no longer. No. Illusterra could wait no longer.

He was glad for the book on Chronary. Deadly though its uses may be, in his hands, they could be used to change the world for the better. But the sheer power of the forest's defenders… He could only hope that it would be enough to put his plans into motion. Enough to fell the forest and obtain the Artifacts of power. Artifacts after all had real power, untainted, not needing of any sacrifice.

Enough to kill Ny'Danis... he thought, fists clenched.