Crimson

Chapter Thirty-Four

Awaking from his death state in his new chambers, no longer the pit in the ground surrounded by others, Pligal turned seeking a plasma torch flickering lightly. The light of the terra god or Beacon Orb, as the Reyopans called it, filled this room, radiating against the glints of shiny metallic flakes embedded within the light yellow stone of the chamber walls.

Bare, save for an elevated stone slab, adorned with intricate carvings, this structure sat seated against the opposite wall of the entrance. Recessed in the center in a large oval fitting, the new location for Pligal's death sleep, this neatly designed slab soothed Pligal as he lay there the previous cycle. His bio-light flickered softly, cooing as the cold stone soothed him, taking away any ill-conceived notions of the impending battles, the death of the Imperial Legates former subordinates, as well as the potential losses of his family, his comrades. All of this floated away into the nether as he rested upon the stone slab.

Turning his attention back to the slab, his orbs surveyed it as the terra god crested further into the sky. Taking with it, a trail of shadows and reflections of shimmering brilliance cascading upon the walls. His orbs measured the nuances of the carvings. Nonsensical in their design, Pligal squinted as he moved in closer. Shapes upon shapes constructed a pattern with no discernable traits to them.

Shadow moved in his periphery as a cerulean object flew towards him. His scales tensed as he felt this object close the distance between him. Moving on its own, his arm reached out toward the intruder as his talons clamped upon a soft fabric. Near the entrance, Pligal heard a shuffling along with movement of a shadow.

Sucking in air, the shadow said disappointed, "I suppose everyone gets lucky."

A figure wearing a cerulean wrap around their body stood near the opening of the doorway. Confused, Pligal shifted his gaze to the entranceway of the room. Its massively solid entranceway remained closed, seemingly undisturbed. Unaware of the opening of the entrance, Pligal turned his attention back towards the Ak-Wo leaning against the wall in his chamber.

"How did you make your way into this chamber? The entranceway seems it was not opened." Pligal asked with a raspy voice as the death states affect lingered upon him.

Silent, the figure avoided orb contact as they surveyed Pligal's chamber. Beginning to walk around now, they made their way towards a single, yet large opening in the chamber's outer wall. Spilling terra god light into the room, the light conquered the shadow lingering upon their face as they moved closer towards it.

Smaller than Pligal, this Reyopan, slim in stature, wreathed in the same cerulean fabric latched upon Pligal's hand. Wrapped with golden threads around their wrists, their neck, and portions of their legs, the fabric bowed around their limbs, creating a faux muscular form. However, the sequence of wrappings and bindings intrigued Pligal as he watched them look out the opening to his chamber

Turning his attention to the fabric held in his grasp, Pligal surmised the uniform of the Supreme Commander's elite 23 centuria lay awaiting him. Bundled with a single golden thread, his talons gripped upon the object as his orbs distinguished its nuances, its vibrancy. Taking in the significance of this garb, Pligal knew his time to meet the rest of the centuria arrived.

His orb darted back to the opening in his wall as the unnamed member of the Imperial Legate's elite force. Onward they stared, through the finely cut hole, towards the lessening gloom, past the outskirts of the metropolis, near the edge of the plains of Nasfa. Thinking hard, this Reyopan appeared to dwell in its thoughts for many moments before shaking awake.

Awaiting behind it, Pligal watched them as he dressed. Taking off his ragged garb, which only lingered around his lower abdomen, discolored after many uses by prior Legionnaires, Pligal took great care wrapping his body with this fabric. Measuring the use of the golden thread bundling the fabric, Pligal stood ready as the thread melded with the fabric, absorbed as the sea absorbs a drop. Confident of his placement, proud of his accomplishment, Pligal waited for the member of the centuria to prepare for departure. Respecting their privacy, Pligal waited for the moment their mind returned to this chamber to inquire.