Return to Fonde SSique as Eddipus and Val venture to the ash-choked Crenith. Hilda must perform an ancient tradition called Exorpanning to defeat inner turmoil. Meet Rachel, Lebanon and Bramble. A vampiric race called Darklings, Spiderlings, Draugen...
The back of her tight gown was open. Her spine protruded in slight, smooth bumps. He tried to figure where he had seen such a person before.
"Hello, I'm Samson." he greeted, lowering his gaze. Samson stopped and stared, transfixed. Just being near the girl, made him smile. She came toward him.
Mesmerized by the radiant creature, Samson stepped forward. He grasped her hand and placed a gentle kiss on the back of it. He stood and met her gaze. Samson felt he could lose himself in her deep, black eyes.
"I am Mirranda." She blushed and giggled with a shy smile.
"You are amazing. What are you?"
"I am a Spiderling. Me and my sister are the only ones of our kind."
Then Samson remembered. He had heard the name Mirranda before--
'"You remind me of my dear Miranda," Aracnia gave a warm smile. "Headstrong and stern. What's your name, boy?"'--
The words echoed in his mind. "I met your mother once. She led a battle at Hilltop." He enlightened Mirranda on how she had taken him to the Hallow. Samson had explained that it was a witch called Valaria who poisoned Adeve, their magic tree.
"My mother and father have passed on." She almost caught herself suppressing a tear. "My sister lives alone in the North, Valaria is no longer there. I've been on a journey, trying to find myself."
"Have you found it?" He smiled.
"I think I have, Samson." She smiled back.
"My lady. Might I escort you?" She reached out and took his hand.
"Of course."
Hilda listened from a distance and looked over to the cairn that she built for Vinan.--
The boy's dark brown eyes reached Hilda's glance, and he smiled. She blushed as she neared closer to him. He possessed a fine charm, an innocent aura, and a friendly yet sly crooked grin. Something lingered. He had a darkness Hilda couldn't figure. A slight shiver flowed through her. She stopped close to him and curtsied, blushing.
"Hello miss," he said, flirtatious but gentle and sweet. "You look so'--" He stuttered for a moment. He was trying to find the right words. "you're very beautiful, my lady."
"You jest?" Hilda laughed, as she tried not to give in, her flesh felt warm.
"Sorry, my lady. My friends wish to protect me even though I'm not in need of their services." He patted his side weapon and looked back at the banner guardsmen nearby.
"Really" She laughed again and continued. "Well. I'll be going." She turned away.
He grabbed her hand. "How dare you, boy!" She said somewhat stern. Of course, she wasn't offended at all, but she loved Eddipus and saw the youth as a challenge. The boy said, "My lady. May I escort you?"--
It was a memory.
Watching Samson greet the girl at the gate reminded her of being with Eddipus and of how Vinan tried to sway her with his advances. She smiled at the graveside with happy thoughts for the lost Prince Vinan Caspant of Cardamon.
"Where the purple poppies grow." She sung with a quiet, smooth whisper.
She looked back to Samson and the girl who were walking hand in hand as she looked forward to Eddipus's return.
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Dante ambled along a gilded gold brick path.
It led to a palatial mansion. As Dante walked in, the site of a lavish feast lay before him.
"Come, Dante!" The Master invited. As Dante sat, he saw a throng of others seated. He recognized Fala of the birdlands and was pleasently surprised to see her. He never fancied anything so fascinating as the banquet that was set.
An impressive, extravagant feast. It all seemed more sumptuous than any mortal could imagine. It evoked a feeling of incomparable tranquility. The rich aromas and captivating flavours danced on his tongue. He indulged in lively and engaging conversations with newfound and old-friendly company.
"An elve of the Red!" A boy seated on the left side of the table looked over at him. Dante noticed his decorum and raiment. He bore curly hair and wore red royal Westerian robes. He shimmered like sunlit water. His head was adorned with a small crown decorated with diamonds and garnets.
"What name has you?"
The boy seemed familiar.
"Here I am known as Sephira. But when I lived below they called me Vinan."
"The Prince of Cardamon?"
"Yes. My father was Tullious."
Dante lifted a large spoonful of Alchorn deer soup and dropped it into his mouth. He swallowed.
"Sweet. Buttery. So savory! Nothing as I can remember."
Yet amidst the idyllic respite, mournful memories of Val clawed at his spirit unbidden. Darkness lurked in the archer's soul. Urgency ushered his voice and desperation gnawed at his heart. As tears fell, so did hopelessness seep into Dante's food. He stood, filled with despair.
"Master! Please, I beseech thee. Val of Westerian Alchov has a deep darkness that will not let go of his heart. I implore you to send me back so that I may guide--"
"SILENCE!" the Master shouted and sighed with regret. "I must decline your plea." The Master stared down at Dante. Before he could utter another appeal, the Master's soft voice rang out very distinct. He said solemnly, "Your odyssey has come to its conclusion while Val's has only begun. If eternal bliss and delight are to be your reward, Dante. If you accept your due, you must renounce and sever all ties and mortal bonds with the lower realms."
Dante nodded. He trusted in the Master's sagacity. His reverence showed. This time the whole stately city and the banquet hall seemed to sway back and forth as if rocked by a mighty wind's billows. Soothing and peaceful.
It was then - he forgot. Dante remembered some things of yore. Memories. But others were fading. The negativity died and Dante was at peace with himself again.
The feelings of worry for Val were now distant. He glanced at the hoard then back to his food that was now filled with happiness and the scent of Dante's delight. There was no other place he would have preferred to be at that moment, at that time and he ate plentifully.
