Chapter Text
Fen'Thora was just as desolate as Missa had been told.
A cracked and hazy wasteland with a few scraggly trees breaking up the landscape and the rare scouting part of Ghostwise folk moving in the distance. Tracking his group but not approaching. It made sense for them to be wary; very few people would ever come to this place willingly, as inhospitable as this place was to outsiders. Only the foolish or the determined, and unfortunately they were the latter.
Missa could feel sweat beading across his face underneath his skull mask, the oppressive heat and humidity feeling like it's own kind of death as he trudged across the cracked grey earth. The group that surrounded him were silent save for their heavy breaths, also adorning their own masks of various dead things and heavy blue robes that marked them out as members of I'hal Sita.
The fact that Missa had even gotten this far still had him reeling a bit; I'hal Sita was a cult known for their reverence toward the giants of old, or the Quondials, as they were known nowadays, beings that had existed since the beginning of time. They stated their mission was to 'preserve their glory', though the people who had built up their cultures around the corpses of those long lost gods knew otherwise. The Quondials who still held some level of life and sentience were able to voice their distrust toward the I'hal Sita's intentions, and over the course of several centuries had become a banned institution in nearly every major city and region across all of Tolamorn.
Of course that didn't mean that I'hal Sita's machinations were thwarted by any means, and many understood that. Which brought Missa here; a trusted member amongst their ranks, following along the path though Fen'Thora to their final destination with his own plan of interrupting the ritual they'd been planning for decades now.
The dragon egg strapped to his back felt like a lead weight as the dark spikes of the Lachrymose Wastes came into view through the fog, making every step forward more and more difficult. The people alongside him gripped his arms tightly, reverently petting at the egg, and as they drew closer, the spires of obsidian towering over all of them, they began to speak in gasping whispers.
The fog curled heavily around their group, their murmurings the only sound to accompany the monotonous marching of their steps, and Missa swallowed heavily, forcing down the worse of his nerves as he forced himself to continue forward.
They were approaching a cavern that had been dug out for this very purpose, at the center of this wasteland, where they'd determined was the closest to the Quondial that had been the end of all the rest, Zen'noch, the Primordial of entropy and death.
Though no one alive today had been there to see it, there were records smuggled out from Al Nyesund of the first elven settlements, where they recorded the movements and actions of several of the Quondial. They had been described as beings of great divine power, kind beings that offered aid when needed, but it was also noted there had been a great shift in behavior taking place at about the same time as the first recorded death, which most historians believed to be the first instance of Zen'noch's existence.
What followed was concluded to be the natural progression of everything; the Quondial eventually succumbed to their own mortality, and when they attempted to prevent it by sealing away the symbol of their demise, their actions just made it that much worse. Entropy was a force nothing could escape, but that didn't prevent them from trying.
Of course I'hal Sita held different beliefs, the first being that the Quondial were considered by the Gods to be too powerful, and thus sent Zen'noch to the material plane to destroy them all. Fast forward a few centuries worth of radicalization and now here they were; a group of the highest officials and trusted members gingerly picking their way through a roughly hewn cave that led right to Zen'noch's sealed corpse, bearing an egg that was meant to carry the savior of the Quondial as a whole.
There had been a lot of attempts to prevent them from making it this far, with Missa being one of the last. The egg he carried had already been taken to every still-present body of the Quondial, or at least the ones that were known, and given a fraction of their stolen power to be carried here. Where it would be tied to Zen'noch and sacrificed, and thus become the end of the thing they believed was robbing the Quondial of their power and vitality.
The cave around them was slick with humidity, looking like a throat of polished obsidian threatening to swallow them all whole. The ground beneath Missa's feet throbbed steadily like a heartbeat, and the heat of the egg he carried pressed against his back felt like a brand the nearer they got to the hastily-erected altar. As they grew closer their crowd surrounded the altar, leaving Missa alone to place the egg atop the pedestal, its mild yellow glow the only source of light besides the few torches scattered along the walls, flickering wildly like they were disturbed by a breath.
It was almost time.
"Missa Sinfonia." The elder prophet boomed, lifting both arms and his staff into the air to beckon him forward. Missa slid the egg off his back carefully, feeling the slight fluttering movement of the child inside against his palms as he removed it from its protective wrappings. He knew what he was meant to do now, even as the thought of it made his stomach clench with revulsion and dread. "Bearer of our chosen one and savior... The time has come."
"I understand." He said with as much confidence as he could muster, his fingers itching with magic. But the moment his lips moved to cast the spell he felt himself freeze, magically bound in place as one of the people who had lingered behind him, unseen, murmured just loud enough for him to hear.
"Stop."
The command locked him into place, stole the breath from his lungs and for one terrifying moment he could feel his heart stutter in his chest-
It was long enough for the crowd to pry the egg from his hands, for the prophet to step forward to wrap a hand around Missa's throat, to steal his voice from him too-
His eyes watered painfully as he tracked their movements, as rough rope was tied around his wrists, as he was forced to his knees, the loose shards of obsidian digging into his skin-
"Did you really think we didn't know of your betrayal?" the old man sneered, his yellow fangs glinting dully in the low light as Missa struggled against his bonds, watching with horror as the egg was placed onto the alter with sickening care, the hands of the disciples surrounding coming out to pet the shell with a crazed awe in their eyes, their murmurings growing louder. "Do you really think we were so stupid that we couldn't tell you for what you truly are? A heretic! A traitor! A saboteur!"
Spittle flew out of his mouth with every word as he curled his claws hand possessively over the egg, shooing the others away. Knives were drawn, palms cut, and runes were drawn with practiced ease. The egg's internal light began to grow, the light of it catching on every uneven cut of the cave walls and giving the crowd of cultists an eerie glow about them. One of the people who still held Missa wrenched his head back by the hair, their breath heavy and eager in his ear.
He fought still, but he was no match for the grip the old priest's magic held on him, on his throat, for the many many hands of the people that still held him down. He could only watch, helpless, as the others pressed their bloody hands on the egg, their blood sizzling against the egg's suddenly heated shell, the smoke of it curling up toward the ceiling as the heartbeat that surrounded them began to quicken, as if the great giant they stood above was frightened.
They began chanting in all variations of ancient and forbidden tongues, and the Prophet raised his hands again, grinning wildly as the wind picked up, tugging at the cloaks and flames as if it was mirroring Missa's own desperation, begging this to come to an end.
"See now!" The Prophet cried, his conviction somehow carrying his voice above all the others. "See as we restore our true Gods to their former glory!"
A fracture spider-webbed its way across the surface of the egg, and Missa could see as a tiny fist punched its way through the soft shell, the rest of the egg deflating around the child inside. The shimmering gold that decorated the skin of the child that emerged, not quite dragon, caught the light like something divine, the broken cries coming from the child's mouth tugging at Missa's heart, but as he looked desperately at the faces of the those around, he saw that he was alone in his dread.
The prophet withdrew an intricate ceremonial knife from his robes, the blade a gleaming mirthral in his hands, and Missa's heart dropped down to his stomach, unable to tear his gaze away even as the man smiled smugly at him, sure of his victory.
"Your efforts were all for naught." The prophet spat, eyeing the child that still struggled, trapped in the soft remains of its shell. "Watch now as a new age dawns for us all!"
The prophet raised his knife and the room exploded in a blaze of blinding light, throwing everyone backwards, and Missa knew no more.
When Missa woke again it was to a pounding headache and a child's wail.
He groaned, the rope still tied around his wrists pulling taut as he pulled himself up as much as he could, gagging at the overwhelming stench of blood, and as he peeled his eye open, he saw why.
All of the people who'd been present were now scattered around the cave floor, limp and lifeless where they lay, their pooling blood lighting up burgundy and mirror-like in the low light of the few surviving torches. The heartbeat below him had settled back into a steady thud, the sound of it somehow in time with the child's breathy wails. There was one other person standing in the midst of the carnage, looming over the child, motionless and stark.
The outline of his enormous black wings was silhouetted by the torchlight behind him, his shoulder-length hair straw gold, his eyes an intense blue. He was staring down at the child, and then after a moment, shifted his gaze to Missa instead.
"A-Angel." Missa croaked, because there was no mistaking him. He was a figure that had been known for decades, a servant of Death herself, only seen when his Lady had come calling. The stench of death that clouded Missa's senses was overwhelming, though he couldn't tell if it was just from the bodies surrounding them or the influence of the angel adding to the cloying atmosphere. He could've choked on it. "Are you here for the child?"
"I was." His voice wasn't what Missa had been expecting at all- softened by some ancient accent Missa couldn't place, lingering at the ends of his words and almost making him sound as though he was crooning. "It looks like we were both a little too late on this one, mate."
Missa shoved himself up against the far wall, staring at the angel with no small amount of fear. "I-I didn't- I tried-"
"No, I know." the angel said, though it clearly wasn't meant as a reassurance rather than a statement of fact. "I just turned up a second too late- no, this kid has ties with Zen'noch now. I can't touch him."
There was a pause as Missa took that in, swallowing around the dryness in his mouth as everything seemed to come crashing around his head. Because Missa had failed, and the ritual had succeeded, or at least in part. The angel had interrupted before the child could be sacrificed, but had also said-
"You- you can't touch them?" Missa choked out, trying to understand, because if that was correct, then- "Death can't touch them?"
The angel wrinkled his nose, shifting his stance as he stroked his chin, considering the child once more before shaking his head.
"No. Neither of us can."
Missa sighed heavily, his breath hitching in his chest, then again, and he took in a breath and laughed, long and loud and a little hysterical. He'd been so worried- they'd been so convinced of their own success, he supposed that somewhere along the way even he'd begun to believe it. He curled over himself in his mirth, gasping for air as the child continued to cry and the angel just watched him.
"Do I need to worry about you?" Missa asked when he finally calmed.
"If I'd gotten here even later then maybe." The angel said after a moment, stepping around the altar and moving toward Missa, and he flinched back, but his hands were gentle on Missa's skin. Frigid too, but gentle, and with a few deft movements the ropes loosened around Missa's wrists, the angel's claws lingering for a moment on the wounds the rough binding had cut into his skin during his brief struggle before withdrawing. "But no. I'm not here for either of you."
Missa held himself in place for a moment, fear making him pause but- there was no reason for the angel of death to lie, surely? Unless he liked playing games, Missa supposed, but- if that were the case then there was still nothing he could do to stop it. He stood on shaky legs, using the wall to keep his balance, blinking when he realized he had a good couple inches on the angel before he leaned to the side, catching sight of the child still set atop the altar.
The angel moved to the side with a nod, and Missa stepped toward the child gracelessly, staring at their small form with wide eyes.
The child was... not what Missa had been expecting, if he were honest.
They were so small, but also strangely humanoid as well, with thin skin scattered with patches of golden scales and the slightest impression of horns coming in from their forehead. They had blond hair that curled soft and wispy about their pointed ears, their toothless mouth open wide as they cried, but their voice was strong, and as they wrapped their hand around Missa's extended finger, so was their grip.
He didn't know much about children, but this one seemed healthy at least.
For now anyways- Missa looked around the cave, at the cooling bodies that littered the floor, at the specter of death that lingered just behind them both. And beyond that- a wasteland he had no knowledge in traversing, leagues away from anything familiar. This group had used a teleportation circle to get this far, had been loaded with rations for only a few days of travel, with just as little water to go around.
His hands went to his own small pouch, and withdrew the small amount of jerky he had left, having been too stressed to finish the meal. He wasn't familiar with Fen'Thora, or the dangers it carried but he doubted a child crying as loud as their lungs could carry was going to be safe for them in the long run. That and he was pretty sure... He bit his lip, suddenly realizing he knew next to nothing about children. Some of his friends back home had been starting families, but he'd left long before he'd had a chance to meet them.
But he had to do something; he would just have to pray that nothing he did would harm the child in the meantime.
He stuck the jerky into his mouth and chewed methodically before feeding them bit by bit. Meat seemed like a reasonable thing for a dragon to eat even at birth, and the child seemed delighted by the food, though whether their eagerness was from hunger or enjoyment, Missa didn't know. They seemed satisfied enough when they finished, suckling at their own fist as they blinked up at Missa with wide golden eyes.
They were actually really-
The thought was cut off as they abruptly wiggled with a little grunt, nearly sending themself toppling off the altar before Missa hurriedly caught them, cradling their heated little body to his chest. They settled down somewhat at being held, burrowing deeper into Missa's arms with a coo that sent something light and fluttering across his skin, had him cradling the child a little closer to him. He huffed half a laugh, sounding helpless even to his own ears.
But he couldn't just stand there- who knew how long this place would be safe for?
He turned, jumping a bit to find the angel still there, still watching them both.
"C-can you...?" Missa hesitated, the child still and silent in his arms and the angel stared at him impassively, waiting for him to continue. He swallowed. "Can you hold them for a moment? Just for a moment. I just need-"
"Yes." The angel said, looking almost surprised at himself as he said it, but reaching out for the child all the same. He cradled them with such skill that Missa wondered if he'd done it before, and then somberly reminded himself that adults were not the only beings who died. This child had simply gotten lucky.
With a sigh he turned back to the bodies littering the floor, and in this he didn't allow himself to pause; he stripped them of everything but their clothes, leaving their bodies in the pools of blood where they lied.
It wasn't much- this group hadn't been expecting to return, and neither had Missa if he were being honest with himself. He wasn't quite sure what to do with himself after this, but he resigned himself to worry about it when both he and the kid were safe. There were a few more rations, just enough water in the canteens to fill one and a half full, the ceremonial knife, which was better than no weapon at all. He ripped the top off one of the robes, where it was still mostly free of blood and turned back to the Angel.
He stood, looming against the threshold of the cave's exit, his icy blue eyes downturned toward the child, who was awake now, their little arms reaching upward. Missa paused as the angel offered the child one clawed finger to grip onto, his slitted pupils growing wider as they burbled curiously up at him. The few surviving torches that still cast yellow light across the walls caught on the gold of the angel's hair, on his sharp nose and cheekbones, and Missa felt something tangle hot and heavy between his ribs.
"Do you have a name for him?" The angel asked abruptly, making Missa jump and lurch forward awkwardly. The angel handed over the child easily, watching with intense eyes as Missa wrapped them with the fabric of the robe.
"H-him?" Missa stuttered, looking around for the bag he'd dropped. It might've been for the egg originally, but it would still have its uses.
"The child."
"Oh." Missa paused again, looking toward the angel in surprise and then down toward the child. They looked back up at him with gold eyes that glittered in the light, and they were worryingly fragile in his hands in the way the egg had never felt. He hadn't expected either of them to make it this far. "I-I don't-"
He thought about it for a second, allowed himself to think of what this child might become, the future they suddenly had sprawling out in front of them. He thought about what this might mean for him too- he had that too now, a future to consider, plans to make, people to see again. He didn't know what he was going to do about any of it- he looked down at the child again, brand new and nonethewiser to their own creation.
"I think maybe... Chayanne. He'll be called Chayanne." Missa looked up at the angel, who was still watching the child flailing in his arms. "It's after-"
"I know where that name comes from." The angel said, and Missa snapped him mouth closed, feeling a little foolish. But the angel finally looked up at him, the smallest of smiles on his lips. "It's a good name."
There was a pause between them, a moment of silence as they both looked down at the child in Missa's arms, nothing but the whistling wind from outside and the crackling of the torches to break up the monotony.
"So... what now?" Missa said after a moment, and the angel hummed contemplatively, stepping a little closer to rest a hand on Chayanne's little head, every inch of him radiating unnatural cold.
"I'll... keep an eye on the two of you. But everything outside that is up to you, mate." Phil said with a clicking chuckle, his wings shuffling open as the breeze picked up. "Good luck. I trust you'll do alright."
Ink-black feathers whirled around them, the wind tugging at Missa's clothes and the flames of the torches, and then Phil disappeared in a swirl of feathers and green, and everything was still and silent again.