The Ancients’ light brought naught blindness, but vision. As white enveloped us, their kaleidoscope rays shot downwards and sent me into a deep slumber. And there, I had a dream.
I found myself in my brother’s lands, in a time before the corruption. Lush fields, nestled within the saddle of a valley, kissed by the coast. From the ocean came a beckoning call. It was a sign. We ought to place Cinder Vessels beyond our own shores, no matter the cost. Upon sharing my vision with the Ancients, I learnt that words were of no use. They already understood where we had to go. So we went, streaks of faint light still dancing among the stars.
This bridge facilitates the fastest route to the Veilwater Basin, but it’s in disarray. My fellow travelers deem it possible to stroll eastward and then loop around the thicket’s border until we reach the sea. I shudder at the thought.
By now, my Brother Lord Vorgoth would’ve set forth towards the risen Islands… the home of the Ancients. Despite this, I fear seeing him. Behind a brush of branches, in the twisted shadow of a Monstera leaf, as a reflection of my own features while submerging into a lake, in my deepest sleep…
He and I are of the same blood. Sometimes I fear we are closer than I’d like.
I pray that my dream shan’t turn into a nightmare.
— Queen JezminaAs much as it pains me, we must halt our journey briefly.
Supplies are running low, though at times I seem to be the only one eating. At least the horrors of this new world haven’t tamed my appetite… Though I admit, the stale bread and bitter fruits that fill my belly hardly satisfy. Oh, how I yearn for some grilled, spiced yucca… for the honey to run down my lips and fingers, for the even sweeter scent of lovely company – It’s hard to clear one’s head whilst the heart is aching.
Once we’ve regained our strength, we will leave the cover of this Ancient structure. There’s no telling what surprises the domain of Lord Vorgoth may hold. Are you still there, brother? Does your ghost haunt these wilds? As I linger on the edge of tomorrow, memories I thought buried rush back. A throbbing pain rips at my cheek. I feel the impact of your armored hand, as if it never left me. I remember the fall that followed, the cold alabaster floors, blood seeping from my nose and lip.
Wherever you go, you leave traces… in the rivers, the winds, the people – My deepest desire is to make mine matter.
— Queen JezminaWe trekked through mud, stalks, and marshland until we reached a clearing. Beyond, the tur turned to water, and the reeds gave way to bamboo and palm trees.
I lowered myself to wash my hands by a pond lined with daylilies, which reached towards vines and mossy stumps further out. Their vibrancy and scent reminded me of my love. Perhaps this moment of carelessness spelled my demise.
A family of frogs sprang from the thicket, each more panicked than the last. I looked up, and my gaze was met by a spear’s tip that rushed from the shadowy undergrowth - its reflection below broken by the water’s wake. The rumors rang true. The Drak had returned… and in this moment, I was facing their hunger for blood.
As I held my breath, the spearwielding Drak let his eyes wander. When his gaze found that of the Ancients around, he straightened his stance, shouted, and dropped his weapon with a splash. His body coiled into a prayer pose, sinking to his knees in the tarn before me. I rushed backwards, grasping a sharp rock as a makeshift defense tool as I stumbled – needlessly, for the beasts revere my fellow travellers as messengers of their gods, and gatekeepers of Ark Morgo, their land of the dead.
How this fateful misconception was born, I am not privy to. But today, it saved me from crossing into Ark Morgo myself. Had I been alone, I wouldn’t have been so lucky.
— Queen JezminaWith the Drak’Dal present, I don’t think it is right to place any Cinder Vessels down. Its inhabitants may not be saved, but imprisoned by a metal cocoon. They could be pried open too easily, falling prey to these beasts… and their Ancient encasing won’t save them, then.
Therefore, we’re setting our sights on the horizon, as planned. I hope to find a ship in Stillwater Bay to charter… perhaps then, we’ll see how far the rot has spread, and will trace its path on a map.
I wonder if it’s right… not to turn around, not to ride towards the flying islands atop which the Elder Ancients linger… not to defend them despite their rigidity, not to bring my brother to his keens before he barges through their gates. But with what army? With what might?
We ought to live. For the future, and for everyone who depends on us. On me. For you, Emily.
When I come back, I will weave daylilies into your hair, and serenade you with my lyre until my voice grows hoarse. One day, I promise.
— Queen Jezmina
