Chapter 137: Those chosen few

"Wait, this was all set up!?" The loud inquiry was made by one annoyed and frustrated Reynard, who shadowed Lyra and walked beside Isabella in the grand hallways of the castle.

"Yell not at me; I had no part in it." Lyra clarified.

"But to think Archbishop Percival would allow this," Isabella frowned at the prospect. "If not for Mikoto, then how many could have died from those things?" She shivered at the thought of the disfigured creatures.

"You're forgetting that we could have died to that crazy woman!" Reynard reminded. "And I am much too young and handsome to die!"

Lyra shook her head in annoyance; she wished she could see Mikoto's cute face once more to calm her. Alas, she had to settle for nearing the doors to the meeting hall; they were large, dark twin oak doors. As Reynard continued his whining, she pushed past them. The room had large, clean, white-painted walls with paintings adorning them. An array of expensive furniture decorates the ends of the room. But the centerpiece was in the middle, a large and long stone table with ten seats, five decorating each side. But that did not stand out as much as the individuals in the room; Aerinon, as ever, was silent. Leaning against the walls of the room near a window and glancing out the window with intricate designs. He was currently having an extremely one-sided conversation with Lyraeth. Her rambling on while he attempted to ignore her.

Percival stood at the edge of the stone table; he got a nasty glare from Reynard but just gave a smile in response. Meanwhile, Lyra's gaze swept over the other occupants of the room, all of the Inheritors of Verdantis. Even those who were usually kept secret.

Vulcan Morton, spawn of the Goddess of Light, inquired with Percival of a subject she did not care to strain her ears to hear. He was a young man with vibrant red hair, styled in messy, windswept fashion, and piercing white eyes. He was dressed in a striking red and black outfit, suggesting a combat-related role. A red jacket adorned with straps of white, the details of his clothing, featuring a black collar with a gold insignia, along with that he wore slightly black trousers with black boots adorned with red.

Then there was Rowena Isadole, Inheritor of the Goddess who embodies the realm itself and sanctions and protects it, Astraea. Dressed in a simple yet stylish white jacket that contrasts beautifully with her striking green highlights. The jacket appeared to be made of a soft, lightweight fabric that draped elegantly over her figure. The neckline of the shirt was modest, adding a touch of sophistication to her overall look. Along with that, she wore black pants with a belt hugging her waist that tightly hugged her, as well as heavy black boots with straps around them. Her hair was the focal point of her appearance, drawing attention with its vibrant hue. The color was reminiscent of fresh spring leaves, adding a pop of color to her ensemble. Her hair was styled in loose waves, cascading down her shoulders in a carefree and effortless manner. The green strands caught the light; her complexion was light, providing a contrast to the bright green of her dull eyes. Her skin appeared smooth and flawless, with a natural glow that complements the boldness of her hair color. Her facial features were delicate and well-defined, with high cheekbones and a slender jawline. She was leaned against the wall with folded arms, merely offering them a stare as they entered.

(A/N: You can just skip the descriptions; I'm only giving them so those who for some reason can't access the photos know what the characters look like.)

Then there were the siblings of the God of Time and Space, Reylthorn and Lilith Gwynek. Reylthorn's short, stark white hair was neatly styled and made his sky blue eyes stand out all the more. He had a white shirt with an eccentric blue jacket slung over it, a sky blue in color with white adorning the edges of the sleeves and red lines running through the center of it. Along with that, he wore white trousers with long black boots adorned in red.

Lilith seemed to follow the same color scheme. Long lush white hair neatly braided in the top and perfectly framing her beautiful doll-like face that held her vibrant blue eyes. A blue dress hugged her frame, with white adorning the chest and making her ample bossom stand out all the more. The dress was decorated with a myriad of other colors, with gold adorning most of it, making it look all the more eccentric. Black boots barely seem visible at the edges of the dress.

The lastly, there was Maerwynn D'arce, an inheritor of his, sitting on the ground and drawing something on the pristine floor with a red liquid on her delicate finger tip. She was a striking girl with long black hair with perfectly cut bangs and piercing yellow eyes. She had a captivating gaze that could draw you in. Her bright yellow eyes stood out against her dark hair, creating a dramatic contrast. The girl's features were delicate, giving her a sense of elegance. She wore a sophisticated white dress with black embellishments, most of it complimenting her hair and the odd black ornaments atop them. As ever Lyra felt unnerved by the girl, saying there was something off about her would be an understatement. 

Fully entering the room, the door closed behind the three as Percival regarded them with a stare. "Ah, now everyone safe for Dante is here."

"Odd, Dante is usually the first that would attend these meetings; pray tell, where is he?" Lyra inquired, and it was Aerinon who answered as he continued to ignore Lyraeth beside him.

"He's off to confront the Ancestor," he answered. "He's rather annoyed with the whole thing."

("That much makes sense, I suppose. Given that Dante is a rather righteous fellow, having to make sure Maerwynn doesn't go crazy because of her interest must have been an annoying task. Ergo, I do not blame him for his rash decision of going to pursue the Ancestor, I suppose. However, I cannot say that I would ever dain to do something like that, but I digress.") The inheritor of the god of darkness internally mused.

"But that's dangerous! That woman was overwhelmingly powerful; fighting her alone is just..." Isabella pursed her lips at the thought.

"You presume Dante is weak, Isabella." Rowena voiced, her voice smooth and soothing, gliding effortlessly through the room. "He is worthy of confidence; as his brethren, you should show him as much." She advised.

"I know that; it's just..."

"Wait, all of this is ignoring that all of you sat on your asses while we almost died!" Reynard chimed in with ire; the very idea that his fellow Inheritors did not intentionally step in to help them was nothing short of frustrating. In all his life, he had never been so close to death.

"Direct your ire not at them, Reynard." Percival cut in as the aforementioned boy's gaze snapped to him. "I deemed this all necessary." Reynard scowled as he opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted immediately.

"Stop being such a baby," Reylthorn's boyish voice stated with a scoff. "Being an Inheritor means we're seen as major threats to every other nation, big or small. Meaning our lives are at constant risk, well, not for most of us. As we're not as weak as you." He snorted out, drawing Reynard's glare, only to be knocked over the head. Courtesy of Lilith's fist, "Gah! What the hell was that for!?"

His older sister merely leveled a dry stare his way, "Being pompous isn't very endearing. And Reynard has the right to it, as does he have the right to be angry for us not stepping in. Even if it was Archbishop Percival's wish." 

Scratching his cheek somewhat sheepishly, Vulcan spoke up, "And sorry, I was supposed to ensure no civilian casualties, but there was one of those creatures who forcibly teleported me elsewhere; it was tough to kill."

"So your incompetence led to the death of a few," Rowena noted, drawing a sheepish smile from the spawn of light. Maerwynn, meanwhile, just seemed content to continue her drawing. "It matters not, I suppose; this meeting was called for a reason."

"Yeah for the festival obviously!" Lyraeth exclaimed; it was found surprising she took this long to speak. "I don't really think we need any strategies; we just gotta bulldoze through."

"Idiotic," Aerinon murmured. "If it were that easy, we would be winning every festival until now, but that is besides the point, I suppose."

"Indeed, this meeting was called so we could go over the festival one last time." Percival clarified, "It is a shame Dante cannot join us, but there is nothing to be done."

"I'm guessing we'll be going over who should battle who, yes?" Lyra surmised, "Everyone here clashes horribly together, safe for the siblings, so I suppose we need to gauge who fits best with who. There are adversaries such as the spawn of Octavia and Selwyn to worry about, not to mention the two new Inheritors of Galadriel."

"You forget 'him'." Reylthorn reminded me with a heavy frown.

"Ah the one you constantly see in your vision, yes?" Lilith ventured, "Mikoto Yukio, his fate and destiny are often malformed. Making seeing his real fate a chore to determine, if I recall."

Reylthorn nodded his head. "An understatement though."

"Indeed, Mikoto Yukio is a wildcard; he is also solely responsible for slaying every single beast of the Ancestor." Percival revealed, "There were approximately ten thousand overrunning the city; he slew them all in a matter of minutes."

"Wait, wait ten thousand!?" Reynard blurted out, "That woman, had that many? And this guy killed them all?" He finished flabbergasted.

"It is quite unbelievable," Isabella murmured. "How does one even gain such a level of absurd strength?"

"Man, who knows?" Vulcan breathed out, "But if he's that tough, then maybe either-"

"Oh, I'll fight him!" Lyraeth cut him off, "He seems pretty strong, and I love a good fight." She said, pumping her fist.

"He managed to combat Selwyn; he no doubt has the crown prince's interest," Percival informed. Aerinon hummed at that.

"That maybe we could leave Mikoto to him?" Aerinon deduced but quickly frowned at the idea, "Still, though, if we could send our weaker links to soften him, the prince can finish the job and take him out of the equation. A wild card would not be good for anyone."

"Cowardly for you, Aerinon," Rowena scoffed out with a leveled stare. "I did not know we were such a scheming bunch. If the boy's strength holds true, then we'll only be sacrificing our members. I will combat him." Aerinon merely shrugged at that.

"Strong I may be, but I'm merely here to win, not to be some honorable warrior." He reasoned, ("Honestly, I would rather not even participate in this festival to begin with. We're all fighting for a prize we assume will be grand. Honestly, I would much prefer catching up on some sleep than participate in this abnormal event. But I suppose it cannot be helped; as an inheritor, I will honor my nation and all that, I suppose.")

"What are your thoughts on Mikoto, Lyra?" Percival suddenly inquired, directing at her an unreadable gaze. "You do seem rather close with him."

All gazes seemed to snap to her in almost an instance; Lyra could but frown. ("So he is aware then.)

"You're close with him?" Reylthorn's echoed with an incredulous look. "The enemy?" He spoke, emphasizing the word; once more he got knocked over the head by his older sister, "Gah! Again!?"

"Have some tact, brother. How and with whom Lady Lyra spends her time is of no consequence to us." Lilith stated.

"Still she-

"Hush, hush."

"But still, I didn't even know you'd give anyone the time of day," Vulcan voiced with surprise. "You're usually just cooped up in your lab all day."

"That is all hardly of importance," Rowena reminded, folding her arms as she gazed over Lyra with a dull gaze. "Seeing as you're so close with the boy, Lady Lyra, what say you? What is our best option?"

("My, such pressure. Honestly, what a motely few; I haven't even known Mikoto for that long, and I prefer his presence over theirs's. I have no loyalty to Verdantis, only ever to Alyssia, so I'll assist Mikoto once in his endeavor.") Lyra reasoned, keeping an unreadable expression on her face, "He is someone of great personal strength. Also someone with an expertise in magic; of all the Inheritors, our strongest would be Dante, Aerinon, Maerwynn, and Rowena." She began, everyone listening with interest. "Should the four of them fight him individually the outcome would be unpredictable, but the winning party would come out near death. And we can't focus two of our strongest on one opponent, so I agree with Aerinon; we send two of our others to weaken him so Selwyn can strike the killing blow." ("The siblings, Isabella, Lyraeth, Reynard, and Vulcan. Either one would not be able to defeat him individually or in pairs; nonetheless, facing two Inheritors will give him more insight into the workings of Arcane Ascendance.")

"Then, as court mage, I will take your words to heart," Percival stated with a smile. "We can discuss later who should focus on him; for now we must move onto more important matters. That of the Fate Walkers."

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The dead land stretched out before them, a vast, desolate expanse of barren land that seemed to have been scorched by the wrath of the gods. The air was heavy and still, carrying the faint stench of decay and the acrid tang of sulfur. The ground was cracked and fissured; the earth was parched and lifeless. There were no trees, no plants, and no signs of life whatsoever. The landscape was a monotonous sea of gray rock and sand, punctuated only by the occasional jagged peak or crumbling ruin. In the distance, a range of mountains loomed, their peaks shrouded in a thick, ominous fog. The mountains were barren and desolate, their slopes devoid of vegetation. The only sound that could be heard was the eerie howling of the wind, a mournful dirge that seemed to echo through the very bones of the land.

Rhiannon watched on, perked atop a short cliff, "What a demining sight."

"I did not picture an Ancestor caring that much about nature," Ezerald voiced with a raised brow.

"Is that really important now?" Beatrice cut in with an annoyed frown, "Why have you brought me here, Ancestor?" She demanded with a fierce glare, "It irks me to be in close proximity with you whilst Arne's soul remains trapped within you."

Rhiannon turned to her and raised her hand, then she promptly flicked the Chaosmaw on the forehead. "!?"

Ezerald could but look at the action incredulously; from what she had surmised of the Ancestor of Chaos, she was a rather prideful individual. This was only further cemented by what Aegraxes had told her. She expected the golden Ancestor to attack Beatrice rather than do whatever that was.

"Hush child, and feel honored that I have interest in you," Rhiannon merely stated, getting an annoyed glare from the Chaosmaw.

"So why is it that you've chosen to bring us out here, Lady Rhiannon?" Elizabeth inquired much more politely. That seemed to at least please Rhiannon.

"Good, one of you is not an oaf. This might be easier than expected," Rhiannon surmised, not at all minding how she blatantly insulted Beatrice. "You two are the youngest among your Fate Walker brethren, but I suppose you two are aware of the metamorphosis?"

"Of course we are," Beatrice scoffed. "What manner of question is that even? Metamorphosis, something we underwent when the universe was shattered upon the clash of the damnable gods and dragons, once rebuilt, those few of us that survived were affected when the universe rebuilt itself. Our forms were twisted, and the souls of our brethren multiplied and were malformed; we grew weaker and more monstrous."

"You're not as idiotic as you seem." Another annoyed glare directed at the Ancestor as she spouted the not-so-subtle jab; she continued unbothered. "As the youngest Fate Walkers, you two are the least affected by the metamorphosis, but time is not your ally. In but a few years you shall be affected fully; your leader Aegraxes has a temporary solution for that, but you two do not."

"Forgive me, but how does that concern you?" Ezerald could not help but question: the Ancestor was an unpredictable bunch in the past. Rhiannon, now even more so, they always remained unbias, only ever pursuing their own agendas, whether they were good or bad.

"Weren't you paying attention, girl?" Rhiannon inquired with a quirked-up brow, "I've interest in your potential; the Fate Walkers in general were diamonds in the rough. Their potential was staggering, but you were a passive lot and never pursued the greatness you were destined for, and I always wanted to see what you were capable of. And now I get to do that, to gauge if you lot have the potential to be found worthy of reclaiming the world that was once yours."

"So we're doing this all for your entertainment?" Beatrice scoffed, "I shall have no-."

"I will be honored to accept your guidance, Lady Rhiannon." Ezerald cut in, and Beatrice's incredulous gaze snapped to her in an instance.

"Ezerald? Why on Aethel would you abide by these wretches whims!?" She demanded.

"This is an opportunity that shall never again arise, Beatrice. To ensure that Aethel is once more ours, we need strength. As we are out now, we cannot measure up to our greatest foes. Like Arne, we will cease to be without reclaiming what was once ours. Do you want that? To tarnish what Arne and our other dead brethren sought?"

Beatrice merely pursed her lips in silence, glaring to the side. Rhiannon merely smirked, pleased with Ezerald at the very least. 

"Now-" Rhiannon cut herself off quickly as she turned her heel, glancing down the short cliff they were hoisted upon. In the barren landscape, the figure of pure white stood out all the more as they took slow and deliberate steps before coming to a halt. Dante glanced up at the cliff.