Reflections on the Dįvonësë War: The Dįvįnë Will Bear Witness to Fate

Chapter 32 - They Were All Bad Days

15th Day of Ebibi in the Second Month of Sun's Height
2995 A.G.G. (1638 Years Ago, The Last Years of the Ten and Five Year Wars)

The Province of Pįålrål, The Lands of Åspħodël
The Fifth Region of the Dįvįnë Realm of Ëmpÿrë

It should be understood that some of the following passages may not be entirely accurate as they weren't transcribed as they were spoken. They've been translated here for ease of reading. Because of this, unfortunately, some things may be lost in the translation from the original Ångëlįc to common.

Translated passages will be indicated by the use of bold print.

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Zåkÿntħos

Runįtÿ's harbor on Pįålrål, a far-flung province of Åspħodël, reached out harmoniously into the transcendently beautiful Violet Sea. An ocean which cascaded off the edge of the floating landmass some vast number of miles in the distance, and down into the clouds below. So clear was the body of water that one could see nearly one hundred meters below its blue-violet surface, unimpeded. It had once been filled with all manner of elegant bireme and argosy ships. They'd sail the ocean's wind kissed surface and their occupants would bask to their heart's content in the warmth of the sun during the days, or dance till their feet tired under the stars at night.

That was no longer the case however.

The harbor stood now as a graveyard of those same vessels. Full of half sunken hulls and burning frames. Sails blew upward in drafts of heat and smoke as the boltropes that once held them fast in place snapped loudly in the flames from the strain. Benevolent Spirits, Dæmönics, Ǻngëlįc warriors and Fallen, all suffering from differing states of mutilation, littered the destroyed decks and floated in the once idyllic water which was now spoiled with their blood.

had failed.

He hadn't foreseen the outermost provinces falling under siege. At least, not so quickly. At the time of the attacks, he was engaged in heavier fighting quite a ways away in The Gardens and he simply couldn't have arrived any sooner than he had. With his sister Sopħëÿå being neck deep in the fray that was engulfing The Dream of Dreams as he defended the Western Woodlands, and his brother Båstrou being tied up Goddess-knows-where, Zåkÿntħos' ability to spirit between regions of the Dįvįnë Realm was significantly hindered.

Sopħëÿå and Båstrou were the only two Ångëlįc's of his station who he had almost constant contact with who could shift between two separate places with near instantaneous swiftness regardless of the distance. There were, of course, many other Ångëlįcs for whom swiftness was a principal leaning, but they weren't as readily reachable as his fellow Choir members. Beyond that, for all others, it took time, and depending on the remoteness, multiple shifts.

By the time he'd arrived with his fellow Dįvonësë, Ëszërį, in tow, Runįtÿ was already lost. It was all that he could do to help its souls escape the fires. He found himself uncomfortably on the defensive as he headed up the evacuation efforts of the fallen city's inhabitants as they made their way to the relative safety of the Southern Crop.

None were really sure how much hope there was in moving there; if it would truly help things. But what else could be done? Zåkÿntħos simply hoped that the outlying woodlands would give them a place to stay hidden from the eyes of the enemy until such time that they could move all of the innocents along the banks of the Far River to the much more defensible Cÿrënë Castle township in the far north.