[NA/N: Sorry for the late update, had a lot on plate the past several days. Enjoy! Also, I may end up becoming the primary author for this fic, its still unconfirmed, but I'll continue using this account nonetheless.]
|Alistair|
Arthur's steady voice echoed through the Council as he unveiled the artifact—a scroll of ancient origin, adorned with intricate golden patterns that shimmered under the chamber's illuminating glow. The air thickened with anticipation, and the room fell into a hushed silence as his words reverberated through the hall.
"This scroll," he declared, his voice carrying the weight of his purpose, "possesses the power to revive a singular person to their prime."
As the significance of his proclamation settled upon the gathering, a palpable energy filled the air. The knowledge that this ancient relic held the potential to breathe life into a once-powerful soul stirred both hope and trepidation within the hearts of those present.
Breaking the pregnant silence, I found my voice, my words puncturing the air with a mix of determination and vulnerability. "We should revive my mother," I declared, my voice trembling slightly as I struggled to maintain composure amidst the maelstrom of emotions swirling within me.
Arthur's gaze met mine, and understanding flickered in his eyes. "I was thinking the same," he acknowledged, his voice brimming with a blend of conviction and reverence. "Your mother, Saphira, was the strongest Asura to ever grace our realm. Reviving her would grant us the most formidable ally we could hope for. Though I hold deep affection for Sylvia, Saphira's revival takes precedence."
Nods of agreement rippled through the Council, as if the collective consciousness of our united front had converged upon this crucial decision. We contemplated the options before us, knowing that we possessed the means to revive either Saphira or Sylvia, but only one choice would yield the pinnacle of strength required to turn the tide in our favor.
Lancelot, his eyes alight with curiosity, interjected with a thoughtful inquiry. "If we were to revive Saphira, will her injuries also be reverted?" he asked, his voice tinged with genuine concern.
The memory of my mother's tragic fate surged forth, the wounds inflicted upon her by Cadell etched deeply within my heart. Her power had been diminished, her potential stifled by the burdens she bore. In her weakened state, she had fallen, her true prowess obscured.
Arthur's gaze softened, empathy and determination illuminating his eyes. "Yes," he affirmed, his voice carrying the unwavering assurance of one who possessed intimate knowledge of the artifact's capabilities. "When revived to her prime, Saphira's injuries will be healed. She will regain the strength that once defined her."
The collective unity solidified further, our shared resolve unyielding. It was clear that the consensus had been reached—the revival of my mother would be our course of action. Though the allure of reviving Sylvia tugged at our hearts, the magnitude of Saphira's power in her prime eclipsed all other considerations.
"What is required for the revival process?" I inquired, eager to understand the precise steps needed to bring my mother back to her prime.
Arthur's gaze met mine, his eyes narrowing in deep contemplation. "We need a part of her, preferably her blood," he responded, his voice tinged with both seriousness and a touch of uncertainty. "Given the unique fusion of your Asuran and elven heritage, it might be possible to extract the required component from your own blood. The distinct differences between the two bloodlines should allow for separation."
Nodding in understanding, I absorbed the gravity of his words. Extracting my own blood to revive my mother—it was a sacrifice I was willing to make, considering the intricate amalgamation of my lineage.
As the Council meeting concluded, Arthur and I ventured towards Gideon's laboratory to procure the necessary blood sample. The cluttered space was a testament to the scientist's brilliance and creative chaos. Gideon himself was deeply immersed in his work, aided by the ever-efficient Emily, who darted around the lab, handling various instruments and tinkering with the cannons based on Gary's original designs.
Arthur's voice rang out, resonating with authority, instantly capturing Gideon and Emily's attention. Surprise flickered in their eyes as they realized that Arthur had indeed survived the perils he faced.
"You're alive," Gideon exclaimed, his eyes widening in a mixture of astonishment and delight. Emily, too, rushed toward him, her features mirroring a blend of shock and relief.
"Yes," Arthur replied, a subtle warmth softening his words. "It's good to see both of you again. But now, I have a task that requires your expertise."
Gideon's brow furrowed, curiosity dancing in his eyes. "What task might that be?" he inquired, his scientific mind already whirring with possibilities.
"We need to separate the Asuran blood from my mixed heritage," I interjected, my voice filled with a sense of purpose. "That Asuran blood is crucial for the revival of my mother."
Understanding dawned upon Gideon's face, his expression shifting to one of focused determination. "Very well," he consented, wasting no time on further queries. He swiftly retrieved a syringe, prepared to collect the necessary blood sample. I closed my eyes, steeling myself for the slight sting of the needle.
But Gideon's reprimanding voice halted my instinctive reaction. "Don't reinforce yourself," he admonished firmly, reminding me not to employ any enhancements or defenses.
"I'm not," I reassured him, my voice tinged with both surprise and frustration. "It's just that my skin is too strong."
Gideon sighed, realizing the implications of my statement. He exchanged a knowing glance with Emily, who swiftly retrieved a larger syringe, her eyes filled with concern. Handing the oversized instrument to Arthur, Gideon directed him, "Puncture his skin carefully, exactly where I instruct you to."
With meticulous precision, Arthur followed Gideon's guidance, puncturing my skin with the oversized syringe and extracting the vital blood that held the essence of my Asuran lineage. The process was carried out with utmost care and focus, the atmosphere in the laboratory heavy with anticipation and a shared understanding of the significance of our actions.
As the crimson liquid filled the syringe, I couldn't help but feel a mix of hope and apprehension coursing through my veins.
Gideon's unwavering gaze remained fixed upon the vial of blood in his hands, his brows knitted together in deep concentration. "I will deliver the separated blood to you once the process is complete, or inform you immediately if I encounter any difficulties," he told us, "Now shoo! Let me work."
Accustomed to Gideon's idiosyncrasies, Arthur and I exchanged knowing glances before stepping out of the laboratory, leaving the eccentric scientist to his work. However, just as we were about to make our exit, a gentle tap on our shoulders caused us to turn around.
Emily, a familiar warmth gracing her features, offered us a tender smile. "Don't pay too much mind to Master Gideon's gruff exterior," she advised, her voice filled with genuine affection, "He's genuinely thrilled to have you back, Arthur. And so am I."
Returning her smile, Arthur's eyes softened, revealing the vulnerability that lay beneath the surface. As we departed from the bustling laboratory, I couldn't help but notice the absence of the detached and cold mask that Arthur had worn since Claire's tragic demise.
Suppressing my curiosity, I opted to let the matter rest for now, focusing instead on the imminent revival of my mother—the paramount goal that commanded our attention.
In due time, the separated Asuran blood was delivered to us, the process executed with meticulous precision. The blood, now isolated from its elven counterpart, shimmered within the confines of the vial, imbued with a potent energy that held the key to my mother's resurrection.
The weight of the moment settled upon us as we gathered to deliberate the next course of action. Rachel, her voice tinged with genuine concern, posed a crucial question. "Should we revive her here?" she inquired, her words laden with apprehension. "Considering she is the strongest Asura in history, there's a chance she might unleash visceral retaliation upon sight. The potential damage could be difficult to contain."
I nodded in agreement, acknowledging the validity of her concerns. There was an inherent risk in reviving my mother, particularly since I was a mere four years old when she met her untimely demise. The possibility of her failing to recognise me and reacting instinctively loomed before us.
With prudence guiding our decisions, we made the collective choice to relocate to a spacious clearing, a considerable distance from the residential areas inhabited by civilians. Here, we would be shielded from unintended collateral damage, and only the trusted assembly of Paladins stood witness to this monumental event.
With a determined stride, Arthur separated from the group, placing the ancient scroll gently on the ground and unfurling it with utmost reverence. As he returned to our midst, positioned just a few steps ahead, both Lancelot and Rachel activated their Spirit Dive, their energies intertwining to form a protective shield that encompassed us all.
My heart raced in my chest as I grasped Tessia's trembling hands, seeking solace and strength in our connection. The air crackled with anticipation, and the shield cast by Lancelot pulsated with the power of his wind magic.
Arthur took a deep breath, his features illuminated by a celestial glow as the radiant runes of the Realmheart materialized on his pale skin. Aetherial motes danced around him, obedient to his command, while the ancient scroll stirred to life under his touch. With a deft motion, the glass vial containing my mother's separated blood was placed at the center of the sacred scroll.
And then, it happened.
A thunderous explosion reverberated through the clearing, contained within the protective embrace of Lancelot's shield. My senses reeled from the sheer force of the impact, my eyes widening in awe and trepidation as the smoke billowed before us.
As the haze began to dissipate, a figure emerged, ethereal and resplendent. Her snow-white hair cascaded like strands of silver, while her piercing azure eyes held an unmistakable authority. A palpable aura of power radiated from her very being, leaving no doubt that this was the true manifestation of my mother. I couldn't help but be captivated by her presence, a mix of reverence and trepidation coursing through my veins.
Her scarlet gaze locked onto mine, sending shivers cascading down my spine. In that moment, I felt a connection that surpassed mere blood ties—our souls recognizing each other across time and space.
But before the joy of reunion could fully take hold, my mother's voice cut through the air, sharp and unwavering. "Where am I? Have you Djinns kidnapped me?"
Rachel stepped forward, her voice calm and reassuring. "No, we-"
"No, you aren't Djinns," my mother interjected, her eyes narrowing as suspicion etched across her face. "Who are you people?"
Sensing the potential for misunderstanding, I stepped forward, mustering all the courage within me. "Mother, it's me, Alistair."
Surprise danced across her features as she scrutinized me with disbelief. "Did you just call me mother?"
I nodded, my voice filled with sincerity. "Yes, you are my-"
"HAHAHA!" she erupted into laughter, her voice tinged with derision. "Is this another trick orchestrated by the Djinns? An attempt to eliminate me before I encounter your so-called queen?"
Confusion and concern swept over me as I tried to comprehend her words. "What are you-"
Before I could finish my sentence, she appeared before me in a blink, her hand enveloped in dark flames, poised to strike. It wasn't just swiftness; she had teleported, traversing the distance with an otherworldly speed.
In a split second, Lancelot materialized in front of me, summoning a protective shield of vibrant green wind magic. The force of the impact sent him stumbling backward, his defensive barrier pushed to its limits by the sheer power emanating from my mother.
"Interesting," my mother muttered under her breath, her hand being forced back by Lancelot's shield.
Kathyln turned to Arthur, her brows furrowed with concern. "If a person revives to their prime, won't their memories also be limited to that point?"
Arthur nodded solemnly, his eyes darting between Kathyln and my mother. "That's a possibility we hadn't considered. The scroll didn't provide explicit details."
Regis, Arthur's loyal companion, materialized by his side. "Regardless, we must focus on subduing her. Her power poses a significant threat."
My mother's piercing gaze surveyed our group, lingering on each of us before fixating on me, her confusion palpable.
"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice tinged with bewilderment. "And why do you possess my blood, intertwined with the blood of a lesser?"
A surge of determination coursed through me as I reached for the spatial ring she had created, carefully retrieving it to display before her. "I am your son, mother," I explained, my voice quivering with a mix of hope and trepidation. "Within this ring, you can witness the resonance of our aether signatures. I implore you to listen to the truth before passing judgment."
Though her skepticism remained, my mother seemed to have calmed slightly, her guard lowered—albeit temporarily. The weight of the situation hung heavily in the air, but we knew our respite would be short-lived as space itself suddenly warped around us.
An overwhelming sense of malevolence swept through my being, suffusing my insides with a sinister presence. It was pure malice, an essence that surpassed any darkness I had encountered before. The oppressive aura bore down on us, its intensity rivaling that of my mother's formidable power.
And then, he emerged.
The being that materialised before us defied easy classification. He bore a semblance of both human and Vritra, delicate human features juxtaposed with sharp, menacing horns protruding from his head. But it was abundantly clear that he was no Asura.
He was a creature befitting the name of demon—a being steeped in maleficence and primordial darkness.
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