The Crucible

Caedrion felt the same spark of energy overcome his body and mind that he had felt when he activated the statue in the bath.

Except… it wasn't the same. Similar, yes, but far more powerful.

If before he had touched the life-stream of a star, then now he had directly inserted himself into that which powered the entire universe.

It was overwhelming, overbearing.

He felt as if his soul had been flayed bare in a single second, and what came afterward was a chemical salt bath.

It was the most intense pain and suffering he had ever experienced in either of his two lives.

Yet he could not withdraw his hand, nor could he see anything other than the blinding light that encircled him.

Finally, the pain faded after God knows how long, and the illumination with it.

But not entirely. A glowing hand, formed from pure rust-colored energy, reached out and touched its palm to his.

As if the mural were a two-way mirror, and someone were on the other side.

Then a whisper.

Not in any language he could conceivably understand, nor in a voice spoken by any mortal.

And yet it called to him in a way he knew on a deeply intimate level all the same.

"Scion…."

The connection was broken, and Caedrion found himself forced onto his backside, staring at the mural, which depicted the Architect, unchanged from how he had always known it.

Sweat permeated his brow as he frantically looked left, right, and then center again, staring in disbelief at what he had just experienced.

"What the hell is going on in this world?"

His thoughts escaped his lips with nobody to bear witness, and after regaining his breath, he climbed back to his feet and dusted himself off.

Fleeing the corridor entirely, but never quite taking his eyes off the mural until he was well beyond its sight.

Not long after, Caedrion found Aelindria lying on his bed, casually flipping through a manuscript from within his personal library.

She seemed uninterested in the thesis and was merely biding her time for his return.

The moment she heard his bootsteps, she spun around and struck a playful pose.

"Oh? And here I thought you wouldn't be returning to your room… I thought perhaps you might have wandered off to some other woman's quarters… You wouldn't do such a thing, now would you, little brother?"

Caedrion was not in the mood for his fiancée's games and was quick to scold her for her presence at such an ungodly hour.

"Leave me. I wish to sleep, and your presence is burdensome."

There was no courtesy in his tone, but neither was it cruel.

It was simply a matter of fact, and that caused Aelindria to frown as she stood up from the bed and dropped the tome upon its sheets, flicking her hair as she sauntered off with an almost scornful tone in her voice.

"Your loss…."

Once the woman was well and gone, Caedrion sat down on his bed and gazed over at the dusty old script that Aelindria had dredged from his belongings.

'The Ancient History of the Eidolons, and the Noble Houses.'

A title he scoffed at before tossing the book to the side. His memories showed he had read it quite frequently growing up.

It was common knowledge among the Magi Houses, and not something he needed at this very moment.

But as he was just about to strip off his clothes and rest for the evening, the book opened itself.

A glowing light unveiled itself as the pages shifted to a chapter regarding the Eidolon of Fire, better known as 'the Crucible'.

It was said that House Ignarion, and all other Magi families that wielded the ability to control flame descended from the Crucible.

According to myth, the Architect and the Crucible were twins, a sister and a brother.

One to build reality.

The other to test it.

But that was not the truth revealed to him.

Sprawled across the ink was a second series of text, glowing runes of ancient origin.

Indecipherable to those of the modern age.

Or they would have been, had the same whispering voice that had startled him at the mural not spoken them in a way he could understand:

"And from the Crucible came flame, and through flame came change.

But flame, for all its fury, is momentary.

Structure is eternal.

Where the Crucible tempers, the Architect defines.

One builds.

One burns.

But only the Architect holds the pattern.

Only he remembers what the Crucible forgets.

Flame cannot destroy what is already complete."

After hearing the words whispered to him by the mysterious voice, the book magically shut itself as if it had never forced itself open to begin with.

Upon picking it back up off the ground and frantically scanning the text for the glowing runes, he found none to speak of.

Whatever just happened, he was the only witness to it.

And for whatever reason, Caedrion had a feeling deep in the pit of his stomach that those words were going to be very important.

Elsewhere, in the Tower of Cinders…

Valerius Ignarion sat alone in his chamber, bathed in the flickering amber light of a fire that did not burn wood.

No hearth. No fuel. Only will.

Within the flame, a shape danced a woman's silhouette.

Her.

Aelindria Ferrondel.

She spun without motion, smiled without warmth, lips aglow in embers. A perfect mimicry conjured from memory and longing.

His longing.

He reached toward her, fingers trembling not from heat, but restraint.

He could not have her. Not truly.

Not without unmaking centuries of bloodline pacts and magical heredity.

But if he could not have her, then no one would.

Especially not that bastard.

His palm closed, and the illusion screamed in fire, twisted into smoke, and vanished.

The scent of scorched roses lingered.

Valerius whispered to the dark, swirling a crystal glass of blood-red wine between his fingers:

"You never should have coveted what is mine, you pitiful dreg. Even if I can never touch a hair on her head… neither will you."