Nott, sensing Elara's confusion, signed, "Our mother… she fled our father. She altered our memories, Vidar’s and mine, so we wouldn't feel abandoned. She raised Torren, and I only recently learned the truth." Her hands moved with a renewed urgency, conveying the weight of this revelation. The confession hung in the air, a new layer of complexity added to Nott's already shadowed past.
Kallen, still somewhat bewildered by meeting Nott, mumbled to himself, "A living bard song... I never thought I'd meet a living bard song."
Nott let out a silent giggle, a faint rasp escaping her throat due to her muteness. She signed, "It was actually my wife, Errin, who penned the song. She deserves some of the credit for the tale of Varashroova."
Elara's attention snapped back to Nott, a flicker of something new in her weary eyes. "And your powers?" she asked, her voice hushed. "Are you still Soot/Emma's conduit?"
Nott nodded slowly, her expression grim. "Yes, I still hold that considerable burden."
A profound weight settled over Elara's features. She turned to Asha. "Is there a more secure place we can speak, Your Majesty?"
In the secured chamber of the Lore Ashen Military Academy, the air hung heavy, thick with the scent of old parchment and the unspoken weight of newly revealed truths. A massive circular table of polished cherry wood dominated the room, its surface reflecting the flickering candlelight. Around it sat Nott, a young wolfkin woman, her black hair, usually vibrant in its braids, seeming dull in the dim light. Across from her sat Torren, Nott's half-sister, her expression a mix of concern for Nott and apprehension for the revelation. Beside Torren sat Asha, the Second Queen and Director of the Academy, her regal posture unwavering, though her gaze was intently fixed on the ancient tome. Beside Asha sat Elara, an Avienkin of the nightingale breed and a revered scholar of the Scholarium Noctis, her sharp, intelligent eyes, usually alight with curiosity, now clouded with a profound unease. Next to Elara, her student, Kallen, a young man with a perpetual furrow in his brow, listened intently, his gaze darting between the adults.
"I don't understand," Asha began, her voice soft, almost a whisper, her gaze fixed on the ancient tome open before Elara. "You said this text… it completely upends everything we know about Emma?"
Elara nodded slowly, her fingers tracing a line of script on the aged page. "It does, Your Majesty. It's from the Vault of Whispers, and it predates almost every other religious text we possess. It speaks of a time before Emma. Before creation, as we understand it."
Nott shifted uneasily in her seat, her wolf ears twitching. The scent of unease was palpable in the room.
"Before Emma?" Asha repeated, a hint of disbelief in her tone. "But she is the beginning, the creator. How can there be a 'before'?"
"This tome refers to a being it calls Void, the Forgotten Mother," Elara explained, her voice gaining a scholar's precise cadence, even as a tremor of unease ran through it. "And Emma… wasn't born from Void. The text states she was a violent rending. A cosmic accident, as it describes it."
Nott flinched, a low growl rumbling in her chest, quickly stifled. Her wolf ears flattened against her head, and her eyes, usually so fierce, widened with dawning horror.
"A cosmic accident?" Kallen murmured, his brow furrowed deeper. "So, not a deliberate creation?"
"No," Elara confirmed, looking up from the tome, her gaze meeting Asha's. "More like a cosmic scar. A tear in the fabric of existence, from which Emma emerged."
Asha absorbed this, her expression a mixture of shock and profound contemplation. "And Soot? The other presence within Emma's mind… what does the text say about her?"
Elara's gaze drifted to Nott, a profound sorrow etched on her features. "This is where it becomes… deeply disturbing. The tome describes Soot not as a counterpart, but as Void's revenge. A being of pure destruction, manifested as a direct retribution for Emma's very existence. A constant thorn in the fabric of creation."
Nott's breath hitched. She already viewed her powers, the uncontrollable bursts of chaos and devastation, as a curse. She'd always felt like a monster, a broken thing, a danger to everyone she cared about. This revelation didn't just confirm her fears; it amplified them into a terrifying, cosmic truth. Her claws, usually retracted, subtly extended and dug into the cherry wood beneath the table, leaving faint indentations. Her wolf tail, usually expressive, tucked tightly between her legs. She was shrinking, not physically, but spiritually, withdrawing into a dark corner of her own mind.
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Kallen, his voice trembling, finally voiced the chilling implication. "And… and Nott's powers. The destructive aspect of them… are they connected to Soot?"
Elara nodded, her eyes filled with a deep weariness as she looked at Nott. "The tome suggests that the destructive nature of your abilities, Nott, are a direct manifestation of Soot. Not just a fragment, but a conduit for a being of pure, unadulterated annihilation."
Nott didn't respond. Her eyes were unfocused, staring at some point beyond the walls, beyond the room, beyond even their current understanding of reality. Her breathing is shallow, rapid. The others continued to discuss the implications of Elara's discovery – the shattering of their theological beliefs, the potential impact on their understanding of the world, the sheer, overwhelming power of Void and Soot. But their words were distant, muffled, like echoes in a cavern for Nott. She was adrift, adrift in a sea of self-loathing and cosmic dread, convinced more than ever that she was not just a monster, but a weapon wielded by a forgotten vengeful god.
It was twenty minutes before anyone noticed. Nott, being mute, had always been quietly present, a shadow on the periphery of their bustling lives. She couldn't interject, couldn't raise her voice above the rising tide of conversation to assert her presence. Her absence was a silent, gradual subtraction, easily overlooked when minds were alight with unprecedented cosmic truths. Torren, however, possessed a sister's intuitive vigilance. A prickle of unease had been steadily growing within her as Nott's quiet withdrawal deepened. Finally, she tore her gaze from the animated discussion, her eyes seeking the familiar silhouette of her half-sister. The space where Nott had been sitting was empty. A cold dread, sudden and sharp, pierced through Torren's growing apprehension.
"Nott?" Torren's voice, usually calm, was now a raw, sharp edge, slicing through the buzzing atmosphere of academic revelation. She pushed back from the massive cherry wood table with such force that her chair scraped loudly against the stone floor. Her eyes, wide with alarm, darted frantically around the secured chamber, as if Nott might have simply materialized in a different corner. "Where's Nott? She's gone."
The fervent conversation around the table ceased abruptly, the echoes of their excited theories dying in the sudden, heavy silence. Elara looked up, her avian features etched with confusion, her scholarly mind still processing the ancient text. Kallen's head snapped up, his perpetual furrow deepening into a line of bewilderment as he too searched the now eerily quiet room. But it was Asha, the Second Queen and Director of the Academy, who felt the true, chilling impact of Torren's words. Her initial focus on Elara's earth-shattering pronouncements evaporated, replaced by a gut-wrenching realization.
Asha had known Nott for the better part of ten years, a bond forged not just through kinship but through shared experiences after the war. There had been countless late-night conversations in the quiet hours of the academy, where Nott, through gestures, expressions, and the sheer weight of her unspoken fears, had conveyed the terrifying burden of her powers. Asha was all too intimately aware of Nott's deepest, most crippling anxieties about herself—the relentless conviction that she was a monster, a force of destruction barely contained. The chilling realization struck Asha with the force of a physical blow, stealing the air from her lungs.
To Nott, Elara's academic revelation hadn't been a new piece of information to be analyzed and debated. It had been a confirmation. A brutal, absolute validation of every dark suspicion Nott harbored about her own nature. The very cosmic truth of Soot being Void's vengeful destruction, and Nott's powers being a direct manifestation of that entity, had solidified Nott's greatest nightmare into a tangible reality. Nott must be utterly shattered, her fragile sense of self obliterated by the revelation. And they, engrossed in the intellectual grandeur of their discovery, had been so utterly blind, so completely self-absorbed, that they hadn't even noticed the silent, suffering girl slip out of the room, out of the academy, and quite possibly, out of their lives. A profound, aching guilt twisted in Asha's chest. They had been discussing the fabric of the universe, unaware that a part of their own world had just irrevocably broken.
Nott ran. The cobblestones of Nan du Tua blurred beneath her boots, each frantic stride an attempt to outrun the cosmic horror that had just been confirmed. Tears, hot and stinging, streamed from her eyes, blurring the familiar cityscape into a kaleidoscope of muted colors. People called out, voices laced with concern. "Are you alright?" "Miss, wait!" But Nott didn't reply. Couldn't. Her throat was choked with a silent scream, her chest aching with a pain far deeper than any physical exertion. Her wolf ears were flattened, straining to block out the world, but the words echoed relentlessly in her mind: manifestation of Soot... conduit for a being of pure, unadulterated annihilation.
She knew these streets. Every winding alley, every shadowed shortcut was ingrained in her memory from years of navigating the sprawling capital. Her feet, seemingly disconnected from her conscious thought, carried her with desperate urgency towards a permanent solution. This wasn't a sudden impulse; it was a dark, insidious thought, a whisper that had haunted her deepest, most vulnerable moments. Late at night, lying beside her sleeping wife, Errin, in the quiet intimacy of their bed, Nott had often wished for death. Wished she had perished that day she'd defeated the Mad Queen Nyx, taking the monstrous part of herself with her.
Life after the war hadn't been a triumph; it had been a prolonged waiting game. Waiting for another nightmare to seize her, for the cold dread of panic to clamp down, for the frightened stares of those who had spread such nasty rumors about her powers to become open accusations. Every averted gaze, every whispered comment, had chipped away at her. Elara's revelation wasn't just a blow; it was the final, devastating confirmation of everything she believed herself to be.
The last few buildings of the city fell away behind her, replaced by scrubby, wind-whipped brush. The ground beneath her feet turned to rough earth, then loose scree. And then, she was there. Standing on the very edge of the bluffs of Nan du Tua. The wind tore at her braids, whipping them across her face. Below, the steep cliffs dropped away into a dizzying abyss, and the sharp, jagged rocks at the bottom looked impossibly far away. And yet, in her shattered state, they looked so appealing. So utterly final.
Nott's thoughts swirled, a chaotic tempest in her mind. She'd always tried to see the positive, forced smiles through the sharp ache of heartache. The rumors, like tiny, poisoned darts, had stung fiercely, but she never showed it. She'd just pull down her hood, press on, and try to embody the person she believed the world wanted her to be. Yet now, on the edge of the bluffs, as the wind whipped around her, the façade crumbled. Her mind replayed the relentless reel of tragedy that had dogged her steps, a dark shadow she could never quite outrun.
Her own father, driven mad, slashing her throat when she was just a child – a stark reminder of the violence woven into her very beginning. Steven, sacrificing his life so she could escape when all this madness began, his memory a constant, burning ember of guilt. Her brother, dying mere feet away from her in that fateful, horrific battle, his final breath echoing in the silence of her nightmares.