The Workshop

As Zenith followed Cyrias across the chamber, he tried to rein in the thoughts swirling through his mind. All of them centered around one subject, of course: his new liege.

He only knew that this liege was a seraphim. Just like his former liege...no, Prince Darian. Which he supposed made sense; as a homunculus created by seraphim, it was only natural he serve them.

But merely being a seraphim was not enough. Otherwise, he would have been fine staying beside Prince Darian. No, the liege had to prove worthy of his service.

Before he could stop himself, his mind drifted back to their first meeting. The prince splattered with monster blood, rapier raised high. Her breaths ragged, but her eyes gleaming with triumph.

By fighting alongside her, he had determined that she was indeed worthy of him. Now, all he had was Cyrias' word.

Zenith clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. Apart from all else, he knew this liege would not ever stoop to allying with demons. That alone made them worthier than Prince Darian.

When Cyrias' Levia spiked, Zenith started. The seraphim had stopped in front of one of the doors at the far end of the chamber, his arm raised. As his power deepened, a golden diagram appeared before his outstretched hand.

Though Zenith had already seen it before, his mind still had trouble processing the image of a Tielan using wizardry. Not just any Tielan, he reminded himself, but a seraphim. The creators of wizardry themselves.

All thought fled when the diagram rippled with golden light and an image appeared inside. This must be a communication spell.

But as for the person – or creature? – on the other side of the spell, he couldn't begin to explain what it might be. It appeared very much like a medusid, or perhaps an Earth jellyfish, floating in midair and about as tall as Cyrias' torso. Its body shimmered a translucent soft green, reminding him of Sam's Levia, while two bright blue eyes peeked out of its bell like glass beads.

"Hello, Minty. So you were on duty," Cyrias said pleasantly. "Could you please pass a message along to our old friend? Let him know I've got a little surprise in store."

The creature – Minty? – lifted a tentacle in a salute. "Right away, boss!" it chirped.

"That's a good kid," Cyrias said warmly, returning the salute with a careless tap of two fingers to his brow. "Off you go."

He flicked his wrist and the communication spell shattered into sparks, erasing all trace of the strange jellyfish creature. Zenith blinked slowly, some vague part of him wondering if he needed to update his ocular processors.

Nevy would inform him if that was the case...no, not anymore. And he had something better, his creator himself. When Cyrias turned to him with a knowing twinkle in his eye, Zenith had to concede they had both seen the exact same thing.

"Oh, I suppose I haven't introduced you yet. Minty's one of what I call my mini-medusids. Cute little fellows, aren't they? They're homunculi just like you, and I have them in charge of the daily upkeep of this place."

"I see," Zenith said. Until now, he hadn't known homunculi could take such a form. Somehow it heartened him; at least now he had some inkling where his own fondness for medusids might come from.

He followed Cyrias through the door, which led into what Zenith could only describe as an elevator. It was wide and airy, with elaborately filigreed brass bars like a birdcage. As it began rising, climbing at a slight angle, the Levia pulsing in the air became ever more powerful. 

Not only were they going up, but they must be heading deeper into the workshop – closer to its core. 

He glanced at Cyrias, who had folded his wings carefully behind his back. Even then, they occupied so much space the tips of his feathers brushed Zenith's armor. Since he could fly wherever he wished, he had no need of the elevator; he must have chosen to use it for Zenith's benefit. 

They rode in silence, broken only by the gentle hum as the elevator rose. Zenith gazed through the bars, trying to map every chamber they passed, but it was difficult when they were moving so quickly. Though most seemed empty, he glimpsed a few figures hurrying about – mostly colorful mini-medusids.

By the time the elevator slid to a stop, he had long given up on sightseeing. Not when the workshop's Levia throbbed with such force it took all of his effort to stay upright. Once they stepped into the chamber, he saw why: beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the golden core blazed like the sun itself.

Every instinct screamed at Zenith to close his eyes and back away, but he savagely pushed them aside. Cyrias strode forward without a care in the world, so Zenith forced himself to follow.

Bathed in the harsh glow from the core, the chamber felt strange and dream-like. But not for long. A new Levia began to creep into Zenith's body, slow and subtle at first, but its pressure deepening until it gripped his throat like an iron clamp. 

A horribly familiar Levia: dark as the midnight sky, yet glittering with stars.

He reeled on his feet, a protest rising to his throat, but couldn't speak beneath the force of this Levia. All he could do was stare as a diagram spread across the floor, its sapphire rays slicing through the golden glow until they drowned it out as if night had fallen.

No. This wasn't happening. Had Cyrias betrayed him too? Played him for a fool, only to lead him back to Prince Darian?

But even as the furious thoughts whirled in his mind, the Levia's hold only tightened. And it did feel different from Darian's, didn't it? Deeper, somehow, and far more ancient.

Like the Star of Miriel's?

Just as the realization hit him, the diagram erupted with blue light. Zenith staggered back, blinded, and it took some furious blinking and adjusting of his visual filters before the world became clear again.

When it did, he dimly noticed Cyrias had sunk to one knee, wings respectfully lowered. The Levia pushed at his shoulders, trying to make him kneel too, but he used all his willpower to stay upright.

His chest clenched tight when his eyes landed on the figure hovering above them. A seraphim, six wings proudly outstretched. With every slow, steady flap, the air thrummed with power and scraps of blue light scattered like drifts of snow.

The wings almost dwarfed the seraphim that bore them, but his commanding presence drew Zenith's attention anyway. A man taller than Cyrias, clad in robes adorned with golden embroidery and sapphire crystals. His hair swirled in the wind from his wingbeats, black as a starless night, while he gazed down at Zenith with eyes the same deep blue as his Levia.

Cyrias slowly lifted his head, though he remained kneeling. "Well," he said, his voice light but faintly breathless. "Didn't expect you to pay a personal visit, Astraeon."

"You servant made it sound as if it was more than your typical games." Though not very deep, the seraphim's voice thrummed inside Zenith's chest. Those dark eyes, streaked with trails of stars, fell upon him and froze him in place.

"And I can see it is indeed. Is this the homunculus knight?"

"That's correct," Cyrias said. "This is my first knight, Sir Zenith, and he's come to swear his loyalty to you."

"Is that so." The seraphim drew out the words, but Zenith could read no emotion whatsoever in his voice. "You, homunculus knight. Do you know who I am?"

The command resounded through Zenith's entire body all the way into his core. In the exact same way as Prince Darian's commands, but far more intense. Because...because....

"Yes." His voice came out a hoarse whisper, but seemed to echo in the silence. "You...you are Astraeon, Emperor of Miria...and father of Prince Darian."