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Something shifted in the dark as a whispering ran across the space. The fluttering of powerful wings drowned out any other sound.
“It is not time.”
“He needs us”.
“Not yet.”
“Not now.”
“It is not time.”
The voices repeated the same sentence over and over again until its meaning blurred in the same darkness. Shades piled up like leaves in autumn.
Was it Autumn already?
The impatient shadow made itself visible, its features slowly took shape. The others went silent. “It is time. He has the mark of the Wyvern.”
A murmur followed. “Not possible.”
“Too soon.”
“It is not time,” they repeated.
He frowned. A stern amber gaze shone. “I felt it too.”
A new shadow stepped up, and this time all the others opened the way. His blond hair and golden eyes quickly materialized.
The last Wyvern.
He sat in front of his namesake, whom he called Walden, as the right to the name Rhadamanthys had long been lost.
“We’re not the only ones,” Rhadamanthys continued in his previous declaration, looking behind his shoulder. “I could feel the Harpy leaving. Something is wrong.”
“So others are awakening, too,” declared Walden to reaffirm his worth.
The shades agitated, their duty fired again in them. An unwavering loyalty that refused to be dimmed among everything else.
“It is time,” they hummed now. “It is time.”
The chorus echoed the new song, chanting the same words incessantly, chaos emerging until a fist slammed on a suddenly materialized desk, silencing them all.
The shadows flickered.
The biggest of them all –the only one with unfaded features– came forth, his presence too unsettling.
Rhadamanthus had been his name once, back in the Era of Myth, when the gods walked among mortals and heroes arose every other day. When he was a king, brother of a yet more powerful king, and son of the king of all gods. Before he was a Judge of the dead.
He stood among those souls with no memory but sharing at least one feature, at least the deep desire to serve their Lord. His silver locks, a testimony of his age when he died, shone in the darkness with a light emanating from within, his amber eyes searching for the one with the impossible request.
“What is all this about? Speak, Walden.”
The other blond approached Rhadamanthus, reacting to the mention of his last name. Although much younger, he shared the same fierce gaze.
“We all felt it; you surely did, too. The call. A new Wyvern needs to arise.”
Rhadamanthus squinted. “You speak impossible things. There are over two centuries for the Wyvern to be needed.”
“I do not lie,” Radamanthys replied as if the Judge had talked to him, his mind starting to merge with the others. “You surely can feel something is different.”
Whispers raised, all Wyverns by their own merit, all Wyverns now fading into the depths of the Evil Star’s collective consciousness. Only those three remained, and the Judge knew the other two would be soon lost as well, too old to remember who they had been.
He drummed his fingers. “Could be a Saints’ trick for all we know. I haven’t heard Lord Hades’ voice. Have any of you heard it?”
The two Rhadamanthys exchanged a relentless gaze. Of course, they weren’t going to drop the matter.
“Our duty-”
“Our duty is to serve Lord Hades. And he is not the one calling our name.”
“If the others are awakening, we should-”
The Judge slammed his fist on the immense desk again as he sat on a huge throne of delicate craft that had instantly emerged for his convenience. “You are obsessed because you lost your fights against two impulsive kids,” he pointed his index to Walden, who lowered his head, the dishonor growing in him. “And that led to your successor being equally fixated on getting a fight he was worthy of. This won’t change the shame you brought to our Star.”
Rhadamanthys scoffed undisturbed, not ready to let go. “The call was real, the mark is real,” he insisted. “We should at least look. If it’s not our Lord, we lost nothing. But if it’s him and the Wyvern doesn’t respond…”
He let his phrase linger, knowing the other wouldn’t risk disobeying the summoning of the Unseen One. And certainly Rhadamanthus winced, his hands now tense at the mere thought of his Lord calling in vain. Oh, the idea of Lord Hades believing his mightiest Specter was oblivious to his voice…!
“Fine,” he muttered with a bored expression, his fingers drawing half a circle in midair so the window to this so-called new Wyvern could be opened. They all looked upwards, they all looked through the eyes of the Wyvern at the vision slowly taking form.
A blond teenager rested on a bed. A dead teenager. Puny. Kind, even, too innocent looking. But what was unsettling was the place where he was.
Elysium!
And Pandora on his side!
“This will not do,” Rhadamanthus whispered. “It simply cannot be!”
“She’s there.”
“Lady Pandora is there. We need to protect her.”
“It is time!” the shadows shouted in awe. Both Walden and Rhadamanthys were stunned, even when they knew they were in the right. But this– This!
“It has to be the work of another god,” stated the Judge without taking his eyes off the kid. A kid! He shook his head. “It is not normal, it cannot be our Lord.”
“Whatever it is, the call can only come from a vessel, and we must oblige.”
The Judge took his time to reply. “Do we know if he's worthy?”
More images came to them, a swift retelling of the kid’s life. His fears and beliefs, his concerns, and his beloved ones. Those the Wyverns looked at, too, as they needed to make sure no other deity was involved, that no trick was being played. The images froze suddenly, a collective gasp running through the shadows.
“Saint’s brother! Saint’s brother!”
“Cannot be!”
“Cannot be!”
“Gemini!”
“No, not Gemini. Gemini’s twin.” Walden gulped, thinking of his own time. He had never seen them, but he knew. They all knew the risk, a story repeated enough times not to be overlooked.
The Judge was furious. “Why has the Wyvern picked the twin of the Gemini Saint this time?”
“That’s on him,” Walden quickly replied, his head pointing to the blond at the opposite side of the desk. “He got a bit attached to the last one.”
Rhadamanthys rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t left the Wyvern obsessed with a fair fight. That is of no importance. He has died first, he cannot take the Cloth of his brother. Can we focus here?”
“Lord Hades looked… weak.” They all turned their heads to Rhadamanthus, now silently pondering, his chin on his right hand. No one had wanted to mention it; no one wanted to admit how strange it was for the apparent next Wyvern to be laid down in Elysium, not less, care by Lady Pandora herself.
Something ached inside Walden, something twitched inside Rhadamanthys. They both looked at the Judge.
“He has the mark of the Wyvern. He needs us.”
“Pandora needs us.”
“Lord Hades needs us.”
“It is time.”
Rhadamanthus closed his eyes to mute all voices and all possible influences. To better contemplate his decision and be fair and impartial, as he always did. When he opened his eyes, all the shadows were expectantly awaiting his –inflexible– verdict.
Finally, he nodded.
“IT IS TIME!”
* * *
It all happened too fast.
The explosion, the screams, and Yoruhime falling from the desk of the ship.
Shoichiro didn’t really think . He jumped, caught her in his arms, and threw the cat to his brother. He dedicated him an apologetic smile.
As the waters covered them and the darkness came, Shoichiro prayed for strength enough to save her. For mighty wings to protect her.
He closed his eyes.
Fierce wings.
He tightened his grip on Yoruhime.
The fluttering of powerful wings drowned out any other sound.