Legends of Kepler: Age of Erin

CHAPTER II: NOSTALGIA FOR THE NIGHT (6)

CHAPTER II: NOSTALGIA FOR THE NIGHT (6)  

The elves began to chant the names of Leyra and Gėovan, into the rhythm of the anthem from victory and pride. The fortress shone, the meadows were lightening above. The mist fled, and the honor of the people returned to their home spirits. The ceaseless fire endured as the eulogy of the great nation; saved once again, from the clutch of misery around impassive beasts of doom.

The five members of the Royal Council, unbarred the seals of the caves, and arrived promptly into the scene; they idolized the sorcerers, and announced everyone a great event. An act of beloved recognition for the heroes, among the banks of delightful roaming elves. The courage of an unstoppable woman, and the heroism of a new mayor clarice. A nostalgic advent, for the magical night. And all the surroundings covered the place with joy and happiness, those who shouts spread to the vicinity of all the homes of the kingdom. And although the light of the star shone on everyone's lively face, upon the woman's gaze, the light bounced off, and a disturbed reflection lay all around her exhausted complexions. Something was wrong, within the depths of her mind.

Thereby, upon the bright of late afternoon, Leyra lay pensive on nearby lagoons´ brims from the realm. She wore a beautiful light blue dress, embroidered with precious copper and cobalt garments, designed by the most heedful elves of the south. Arranged with long and delirious braids, which accompanied the dance style of her beautiful long, saffron hair. Meditating, with her gaze fixed upon the uncertain horizon; among the coldest and highest mountains around the void of north.

She was looking for a respite, before receiving the great ceremony. Her mind had hovered in disquiet and disdain all day. Her conscience did not fall asleep, for her short naps quickly turned into nightmares of the untamed. In premonitions of the impossible. The disturbing images had been fixed within her confound imagination. The anxious waves of the past rolled over the clergy of her troubled vision. With her watery eyes, she raised her reddish flute, and began to provoke the sigh of a long melody, as she became an instrument of air. As she lost depressingly in the emptiness of the great valley. Acclaiming a call of sadness, for the distant Mountain of Fëhler, the greatest of the great continent, around the concussive fog, around deluged anxiety.

She fell exhausted, amid the heaviness of a deep note. Slumped under the laurels of the cold meadow. She had her hands covering her face, trying to release weight, in her only moment where she could. The delirium of traumatic shadows still haunted her, since the day of the great tragedy. The day of the eternal decline. The day the flames devoured the structures of her former home, taking with them the strength and benevolence that lay once in the first heart of the woman.

Frantic, she wiped her face flooded with vivid tears, with the cold water of the springs. On her knees; in the gloom of her cursed memories. Of times unassailable to forget. Of intensity and chaos that gnawed at her. Images of pain and terrible omens, blazing in battlefield once erased in the solid corners of her mind, but rekindled upon the previous onslaught of the beasts from the unnamed. The dark nature of the shadows was the same, and their spirit was once again contaminated with the chains of misery from the lost confines of all hells.

"Amalia"

A sweet voice slipped through the woman's nerves. She looked around, quickly, but saw nothing, and the whisper of mystery ran between the walls of frozen silence.

"Amalia." whispers the soft voice. "Lorianne."

"Who the hell is there?!" the woman yells. "I'm not playing!"

A frightening silence followed again, and although the woman's mind did not want to recognize the dreams she was sensing, her heart was beating as it had not done it in years. She couldn't deny it; she knew exactly who it was.

"This is not funny!" the woman shouts. "Who’s there?!"

Rapid premonitions of fire and darkness crossed the woman's thoughts; lost in the painting of a strange mysticism. Between dreams burning in front of unknown voices. And in the resounding of their sighs, a strange silhouette was suddenly perceived at the end of the lake.

She sat down; looking at the giant frozen Mountains of Fëhler; she continued to sing softly through the waters, as she tried to calm down at the presence of confusion. Her voice flooding with fear, and cold nervousness consuming her throat followed, as the figure formed gradually in the distance.

Suddenly, the woman threw a stone that ran between the surface of the lagoon, and the waves of the lake began to distort immediately. The strange figure was accentuated as a vivid presence; the rock crossed the seemingly ghost nature. And when it rearranges its gnarled form before the woman's eyes, it prostrated like a standing man, turning his back on her. Hooded from head to toe, with a golden robe, which was deliriously blurred in its edge among the deceptive waters; while she sees the figure, and perceives it from the shore, the currents floated around the man as if he were a legitimate son of legends written in divine words. As if the vision of a man was lost at the end of the lake, and recovered itself at the presence of a chosen king.

"Argon?" says Leyra.

"The time has come, effulgence of dawn." the voice responds. "The time, has come."

Leyra was petrified; nervous, she paralyzed her own spirit’s will, for she could not process what she was seeing.

"Is it, you?" asks Leyra.

"He’s alive." says the being. "We are alive."

"Who?" says the agitated woman.

"Head towards the frozen mountain," the voice exclaims. “And there your perish will be known. There, your concern will be answered. That one witness will reign there, whom will bring back the light that seeks the emptiness of your heart.”

"Wait, please" says the woman. "Argon, please tell me, is it you?"

“Time has vanished,” exclaims the voice. “The coasts are not what they used to be. The sea becomes unbalanced, and the daughter of truth must return to herself to find her own way. The day has come for both of us to leave. Follow the journey, princess; follow the great mountain. "

The image began to blur; the air carried with it, the small instant t that the woman had been dreaming for fourteen rimmers. The more the voice resounded its final message, the more it got lost in the sunset plans. Among the echoes of unresolved themes. The face of the figure prostrated itself in the reflection of the lagoon; the woman began to beat the waters, trying to catch them in vain. Trying to get the reflection, and never letting it go again.

"Don’t leave me!” shouts Leyra. “Please wait!"

The energy lost itself at last, and Leyra was left crying on the ground again. Surrendered, dying within, for she couldn’t understand why life made her suffer that way. Because she couldn’t understand why life did not respect her grief. Not knowing what to do, not knowing how to proceed. And amid the loss of her faith and her resilience, a name of an angelic hope shone above her head.

"Athair, where are you?" shouts Leyra. "I need you. I need you here."

Leyra had her hands on her face, when suddenly, a fragile upward thrust grabbed her jaw, and delicately raised it above pain.

"Why is the daughter of all rivers, so distraught?" the spectrum asks.

"Athäir, what is happening?" asks Leyra. "Why am I having these visions again?"

"The time to leave the land of the elves, has arrived." says the light spectrum.

"What?!" exclaims the woman.

"Exactly how you hear it."

"That’s insane!" responds Leyra. "Where am I supposed to go?!"

"Forward." responds Athäir. “Your lessons here have come to an end. You must go to Fëhler; it is your father's will."

"I can't do that," the woman replies. “I can't just leave, it's not as easy as that; I have a commitment to this city, I have a position to represent. What am I supposed to tell them?"

"Leyra, your main commitment, is with the creator, for this is the reflection of the commitment with yourself. The compromise of your fate." exclaims Athäir. “Don't lie to yourself, you know the time has come. You are scared of what you are going to find further."

"Well, of course!" exclaims the woman. "These things come out of nowhere, andyou expect me to just accept it! Look at me! Look how I am here, Athäir. I’m comfortable, I’m okay, I’m familiar."

"And for that same reasons, you are stuck" answers the angel. “You asked for this yourself, don’t you remember? In the best gleaming of your dreams. This is progress, towards your light. You must renew yourself, to achieve what you want. To obtain what you need."

"But this just doesn't make sense," says the woman. "Did you see those reflections? Could you explain to me was that about?”

"'We are alive'? He is alive'?" the woman continues. "What the hell does this mean?"

There was an instant silence, while both creatures tried to decipher the message inside their minds, and the light surrounded from place to place in search of answers.

"Athäir?!"

"When you get there, you will know." answers the spectrum. “You will not be alone in this, you never are. Your guides are with you. In the depths of the forest, you will tame a Norkel*; you must ride through the deep valley for twenty-five days, until you reach the ascending path of the mountain range. I will show you the way up the mountain, until you reach the top of it, where a hidden chamber lies freely. Here, an energy will be waiting for you."

"Don't make any illusions, though," continues the specter. "Your father's purpose goes beyond what you think."

Leyra felt anguish and confusion, but in the midst of them, she felt something she was looking for years and couldn’t encounter until this precise moment: hope. Her heart began to flutter as it had not in a long time. She felt like alive, she felt like it was real. The ideas of how he had escaped, of how he had managed to survive, raved in her head with anxiety. She wanted to see him. She wanted her soul to feel him. And everything indicated that in Fëhler, the hope will have its chance.  

"When should I leave?" asks Leyra.

"Tonight"

"Are you serious?" asks Leyra. "I don't think I'm ready to do this today."

"You are," responds Athäir. “Your magic has grown infinitely. Your powers have expanded, and your intended ability has been exceeded. Your abilities are stronger than ever, and they overflow from your being as a fountain of miracles."

"How do you know that?" asks Leyra.

“Because I have not been talking with you directly,” responds Athäir, “I’ve been speaking all this time with your reflection of the lake. You haven't even noticed. "

The woman turns around, and sees an identical silhouette of her floating above the water, that moved according to what she said and did; it scared rapidly when it saw the woman’s turn. Leyra emanated a few words, made a movement with her fingers, and the ghostly replica clung hastily to the inside of the waters again.

"Ïnmâeh's magic is exploring new paths with you." exclaims Athäir. “You know well that you need this moment. This new adventure does you good. This is a new age of life; we must be careful in what we do with our hands. You have to do your own divine things, and detached from them. I believe in you. We believe in you, and you shall not doubt yourself so much; not any longer. You are more than you could ever imagine, Leyra. You are more than you can ever comprehend. I know you will do well. Just take the step."

The woman stood still. Silently carrying each of her burdens. All of her glory, all of her pain. Throughout the complexion of irreplaceable eyes. Throughout the powerful vision of gratitude, showing timelines which otherwise were inaccessible. Unattainable before, for the feeble face of sweetness. Upon the liability of a woman’s fate, a journey to the preciousness of a mystery. Upon the fall of a chosen angel, whom does not deserve to suffocate in the thinner air. It’ll remain in her hands, to decide whether to face the fall, or drown into the shades of doom. Her mind pretends she won’t survive, but if she does, she knew her spirit will rise higher than ever. She knew her voice would resonate louder than the echoes of truth. Her soul will shine above the heights of our valleys, as a blessed guardian, endowed with talent and hope, like the renewing light for the hearts of all these people from the south and the north. The triumph of justice is near, and the victory that savors the corners of honor and joy, just for choosing to prevail in the arms of love.