Dim rays of sunlight pierced through the thick veil of grey clouds in a vain attempt to grant an excuse of warmth to the land below. Ancient forests had surrendered to the winter's wind torrents, verdant leaves swaying gently. The wind would carry with it a smell of sulfur from the obsidian forest below, even though it had been over five years since the Cataclysm, the war against the Twilight. The subtle scent was however lost amidst that of the wet overgrowth embracing the hills above.
It felt as if it was going to rain soon.
In spite of this, the lone figure of the young elf sat at the edge of the cliff with little of her fear of heights to be remembered. At the absence of her mother's shawl, a worn blanket fell on her shoulders. The world suddenly felt colder and warmer alike. No. It was rather simpler to say that the world's temperatures were clear, as if the veil of constant chill had suddenly been lifted without an explanation. It was normal, though regularity was a concept which had been undone months ago. A brief taste would have been terrifying for the hope it threatened to unleash, but several lasting hours?
Celysiel pulled the blanket closer to her body as she regarded the forest of black metal below, as if waiting. It had not been a rare occurence in the last ten or so weeks. Long hours of each day and night would be spent on that cliff, even if signs had long stopped coming. That mattered far too little. Now more than ever a sign was required, but signs would not come under sunlight. They almost never did. Still, it was easier to disguise her action with an excuse of a daytime activity such as fetching water, or gathering weeds when having to face Vealynn, who had taken it upon herself to become a caretaker. If she knew the truth, she would likely try to pull her friend back by the fire's warmth.
The fire's warmth which Celysiel could now feel.
A sigh escaped her lips, heavy and worn, as she closed her green eyes. Two days until the infusion was meant to wear out, roughly. Two days until assumptions could safely be made. When the elf looked down at her hand, nothing different was to be noted. Nothing different had been there before for the eye to notice in the first place. Yet it all felt different in an inexplicable manner.
The infusions, she thought, for it was easier to do so than dream. It has to be a result of the infusions.
Yet how would the infusions tame the Heart's anguish, when the clashing of powers only tended to upset the stone, letting her body suffer the consequences? Blindly, Celysiel reached for the silver locket under the blanket. It was found resting upon her chest, as always. Its very rightful place, one heart upon the other. The precious metal remained cold, the existence within foul. And still, nothing was like before. The whispers had for once more become fleeting, controlled. Volatility was absent. However, despite all which had been discussed with Vealynn, the locket's owner had not dared to face the creature within.
Was it wise to delay it any longer?
The way hand and trinket connected as shadow enveloped her digits came rather naturally with the absence of any past opposition. Still, Celysiel hesitated. Whispering, stirring, the Heart felt as good as beating within her grasp as it had since the very first day when she exited the blurry dream to find it by her side. As it had when memories returned, as it had that fateful night that she emerged from the waters, as it had when the paladin's light had succeeded in striking her chest. There always and forever proving right the words of the binding before they were even spoken. Fear would be shared, always.
The Sin'dorei lifted the locket to her chapped lips, keeping it close without letting them touch it. "I do not regret it." she whispered, though it was mostly to herself.
It was as if those were the words she needed to awaken the slumbering courage and proceed with the summoning. The amethyst essence rising from the cracks of the stone's prison embraced left hand and locket alike, poured towards the stone. One could mistake the creation for a puddle, yet the fiend's form soon rose from the oozing darkness, by no means charming. Its fleshy body spasmed on the tendrils which kept it standing, the spiked maw opening to shriek. No sound was released.
Differences could already be felt. Control was not slipping, nor was the being of Void feel distant and empowered, as if being fed and tugged towards another direction. Its size had returned to normal, its nature no longer erratic. Regularity. What an odd, almost forgotten concept.
Celysiel extended her hand to Krator, gently poking the small creature's monstrous primordial form. It felt weird, awkward, it always did. Yet her ears flinched, exposed to whispers only her ears could detect. The fiend's tendrils shook a little as it slid on the stone.
"We have suffered you and I." she uttered audibly, though there was no need for that. Her voice wavered.
Regularity. She did not dare to believe, even when it was staring at her in the eye.
Yet how brilliant it was to feel it for once more with that light spark that it would last. How exhilarating. How relieving.
To be One yet again.
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