Chewy905
Chromatic ArchKnight of RP
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And so the world split.
The wind laughed. The sun flared. The statue at the heart of the arena raised her spear and, in time with the blazing pillar above Camellia and her quarry, plunged it to the earth.
Then the sun died. Camellia’s blade tasted not the flesh of her foe, nor did the blazing god above smite her down. No, only Darkness leapt upon her. It came from ‘neath the sands, from the sky above, from the edges of oblivion. It choked out all sound, swept away Lunara and both undeclared foes, and encircled Camellia alone. Mere feet of space surrounded her on every side, beyond which the void lurked, waiting.
A Champion, Chosen,
The words echoed not in her mind, but in her very soul.
A Victory, witnessed.
The Darkness crept closer, as if asking for permission to claim her, to consume her.
A Boon, earned.
Camellia lowered her blade. She toppled to her knees, adrenaline refusing to sustain her pierced, bloodied, and burned figure any longer. She cradled her final drop of strength with gentle force, shaping it into a gasped out reply to the Lord that sought her audience.
“I accept.”
And Darkness swept her away.
In all this nothing, there was everything. The shelter of a well-hidden life, the comfort of a long-needed sleep. In this was the shut eyes of a child, knowing that if they could not see, they could not be hurt. In this was the hushed mind of a painter, who saw their best work when they could not see at all. And in this was Camellia herself, granted access to the solitude of another’s World, of the Grandest World.
Of the World of Zero.
She could not feel her own presence, could not take a breath. Nor, she found, did she need to. She could simply cease to be. Simply enjoy the fact that here, there were no words, be they Venus’, her brother’s, or her own.
Her peace lasted a mere three seconds. She was not a woman content with inaction. She needed to move, to stretch, and she could not do so with no form. The void reacted to her thoughts, and from the darkness came she. Her leg, side, and wrist ached still with the knives of the day’s opposition, and her body bristled with stolen heat and energy. But the void kept the pain muted. Quiet. Her blade did not come with her, its grip upon her hand released despite her failure to slay a foe. Her armor did, though it still lacked the scales stripped by the elf, and the platings torn by Camellia’s own hand. She breathed deep the scentless air of nowhere and stretched high, letting her muscles lose the tension of her fiercest hunts. Wordlessly, she asked the void what came next.
First. A champion, crowned.
A perfect harmony of voices, deep and reverbant. They echoed from every direction, but never strayed beyond her ears to the inner caverns of her mind. Its whisper held a world of respect, ever declaring “If you but ask, you need not listen.”
The promised crown appeared before her, and Camellia broke. Grief and relief flooded down her face in waves, her wail breaking every so often to be replaced by choked chuckles of disbelief. A strand of darkness reached out with tentative, tender care, offering to snuff out her tears. She raised a hand, and it retreated. Only once she had cried herself dry, once she had laughed till her throat was hoarse and as scarred as her skin, did she reach out and take the offered crown.
A wreath, not of laurel leaves, but of purple scales. Beautiful, violet plates, criss-crossed together in a perfect band of glimmering triumph. Upon their backs she could still see the faint chain-link lines of blood they had torn from beneath her flesh when she’d ripped them free. She ran a finger along the left side, one talon playing between the cracks in the armor that used to caress her arm. She ran another along the right, remembering each individual plate that had sheltered her neck and chin, that had covered her lips so she need not speak with the unworthy. These abandoned treasures should have been lost; cast aside in an inn she’d forgotten the name of, on a night she’d forever regret. And now Darkness crowned her with a reminder of her greatest shame, a reminder of her personal betrayal.
Her eyes traced the spark-touched, blade-pierced scales upon her arm. Even in this world bereft of light, their iridescent glow sang beauty to her gentle mind. Her thoughts ran to the memory of Olivier’s dancing baton, of Lunara’s thirsting knife. Her Family’s scales would have had her bear the full current of Olivier’s storm. Her Family’s scales would have denied Lunara’s blade where her own could trap it true and keep her steel crashing to her foe.
No, Darkness crowned her not with shame, but with memory, with cost. She’d cast aside The Family’s scales, and now she was Champion. Mother’s unspoken words embraced Camellia once more.
You are our pride.
That wasn’t enough. There was more cost paid than scales discarded out of misplaced fury. There was more memory earned than lonely pain and grieving tears. Camellia brought a careful talon to her chin, feeling again the sore bruise of Olivier’s tempest. She hooked her claw beneath a single pure, iridescent scale, and pulled.
The slightest flinch, and a bolt of pain.
Again. Gloved claw traced bare arm, caressing the scar of Lunara’s desperate hunt. Again, her talon hooked beneath a bloodied, partially cracked scale, and pulled.
One small hiss, and a drop of blood.
One final time. Her hand glided along her side, finding the single slit in her armor that the forgotten elf had torn bare. She reached past the split wall of violet, claws gripping tight on a beautiful, pierced through scale, stained in brilliant scarlet. She pulled.
Darkness muffled her scream. Darkness muted her agony.
Once, twice, thrice Camellia placed her own prized scales among the wreath offered to her, weaving them into the crown and binding past mistakes to present triumphs. She held the crown low, its violet and iridescent plates glimmering in the lightless void. Formless hands brought the crown aloft and placed it ever so gently upon The Sister’s head.
A coronation of emptiness, overseen by an audience of no one, for a Sister crowned queen over every aspect of her self.
Wordlessly, Camellia asked the void again: what comes next?
Second. A Boon, earned.
Darkness waited. Perhaps it already knew what she desired, and was granting her the courtesy of choice. Perhaps it did not, and she could truly surprise a Lord. It mattered not, she supposed.
Camellia spoke, not out of necessity, but out of respect. If she was certain about what she desired, if she was correct about what Darkness was doing for her sake, then a woman would die a second death this day.
“Her-”
No. Say her name. You may not get to ever again.
“Venus’ words. Venus’ voice.” The name stung upon her lips. She cursed the part of her that still savored that name, that yearned to cling to the formless wraiths beyond Darkness’ veil.
“You are keeping her at bay.”
I am.
“You could make her stop.”
I could.
The Sister took a deep breath. She rose to her feet as confidently as she could. “Let-”
Her voice cracked. She coughed once, then spoke again with unbroken deliberation.
“Let me do it.”
That is all?
That is all. This act was a trifle to a Lord. Venus’ words, Venus’ curse, could all be undone with a mere thought. Camellia considered for a moment. Darkness could bless her with more, could make her immune to such charms and deceit. With this Boon she could never again bend knee to her Brother’s tricks, could never again be bound by an enchantress’ words.
She shut her eyes. The crown upon her head seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat; already a part of her that could never be removed. Her scales, discarded and returned as something new, something precious. She was a Champion. She needed no further power, no further glory. She was the best blade of The Family just as she was. All she had to do was complete her task.
“That is all.”
It is done.
Darkness fell away, splitting the World of Zero apart and thrusting her back into her world of one.
Cami.
The wraiths of words crashed upon her immediately, hands of pleasant memories running along her waist, lips of wistful evenings kissing down her back. She grit her teeth at the tidal wave of unbidden thought and grabbed at her newly returned sword. The wraiths continued grasping for her attention, heedless to the tears of interwoven malice and grief that painted The Sister’s face.
Cami.
“I am Camellia Dictari.”
Venus’ ceaseless words were smothered beneath the furious weight of Camellia’s own. The same words she’d spoken that day. The same words she’d recited the night before, and the night before the night before. Time and purpose had sharpened and honed them to an edge deadlier than any blade.
“I declare you, Venus Dictari—former Brother to the Dictari Family—Sinner of the highest order. For the crime of treachery. For the crime of betrayal. For the crime of shallowness. For the crime of SELFISHNESS.”
She was screaming now, her rehearsed speech cast aside. Tears flung from her face as she heaved her voice over the gathered wraiths, spit scattered at her feet as she unchained the dragon Venus had tried to tame.
“FOR YOUR SCHEMING, YOUR BLASPHEMY, YOUR SIN! YOU. WILL. BE. SLAIN!”
Camellia roared as her chains curled about her wrist and bound her blade to her hand. The sword leapt from its sheath effortlessly, the weight of her draw obliterating a wraith that had clung to her side. What… what had Venus’ fingernails felt like when they scratched down Camellia’s back?
The Sister’s lips split into a monstrous, fanged smile. She couldn’t remember.
Camellia leapt at another shade, cleaving it apart with the full weight of her blade. The drapes in Venus’ perfectly kept home… what color had they been? She almost laughed. Everything. Everything would go. And she would be haunted by the ceaseless, distracting, tainted memories of her amore no more. She wiped the errant letters from her blade and gazed out at the slowly approaching words with a wild grin, face wet with the final traces of grief she would ever feel for a woman she would never again be able to name.
She launched herself into the crowd of memories. They approached in droves, desperate to remind her of her amore, heedless to the fact that they marched to their own deaths. The Sister slaughtered each wraith within reach with blade and claw, each broken memory leaving useless letters like viscera upon her steel or her hands. Once this invisible blood weighed down her arms, she tore apart a wraith with her teeth, tasting its memory one final time before it died inside her. Then she cleaned her blade of letters, wiped her arm clean of shattered thoughts, spit out the mangled corpse of a curse, and leapt at the next crowd, not even waiting for them to reach her themselves.
She lost track of how many strikes she made. Certainly more than one, though perhaps no more than forty-three. By the time the final few wraiths stood before her she had already forgotten the gentle grip of a lover’s arms, had forgotten the slight tingle of flesh as it wove back together at an enchantress’ words, had forgotten the sweet, vile smile that had painted Venus’ lips at her first death, and the taste of those lips that had pressed to hers so many a time.
Cami.
Her weightless blade carved a circle through the air, cleaving legs and arms both from a wraith. She stepped forwards and gripped it by the throat, driving her sword through its chest with one hand.
What had been the name of her amore?
Cami.
She slammed her fist into a wraith’s chest. Then again. And again. When it toppled to the ground she stepped over it and raised her blade high. It fell wordlessly, leaving a puddle of errant letters upon the ground.
She’d never had an amore. There had only been some mage, some enchanter that had whispered in her ear a curse that lasted long after their death.
Cami.
One final memory strode before her. It ducked under her arm, slipped past her blade, and stood a mere inch away from her face. It leaned forwards and kissed her, wordmade lips pushing someone’s last words down The Sister’s throat.
Cami.
Do not forget me.
Camellia bit down. Her fangs ripped out the wraith’s mouth. Her claws shred a gash in the curse’s side. Her blade pierced into its heart. As it staggered back, reaved and battered and broken and pained, she stepped after it. Her jaws clamped upon the memory’s throat, tearing it out of the formless body and spitting it into the darkness beyond her.
She waited a beat, curious if there were any wraiths she’d missed, any memories lurking at the edge of her world.
Only silence remained.
The chains upon her wrist slid off, slipping back to her sheath like a serpent returning to rest. She planted her blade in the shadowed ground and clasped her hands together, eyes shut, face cast down.
“By the grace of The Family, your crimes are expunged. I grant you rest, oh…”
A pause. She had no name for the dead. So be it; an undeclared adversary was not one worth remembering. This was simply a ritual, as always.
“In death, be grief upon The Family no more. In death, be at peace, for it is more than you deserve, yet all you must be offered. I, Sister Camellia, declare your sin purged.”
Camellia broke her prayer and wiped large beads of sweat from her brow.
“It is done.” Camellia called to the Darkness beyond her world of one. Her world fell away, and she was once more in the empty World of Zero.
Darkness approached and ran itself along her blade, painting letters of the fallen upon her steel as an eternal scar of her victory.
Dimentica
It is done. Darkness echoed.
“What next?” She called out.
Is there something next?
Camellia laughed. Her cry rang high and loud, echoing around the void and across the shadows. She thought she could just barely hear the multi-layered voice of Darkness laugh with her, for a time. When she was done she cut herself off sharply, addressing her savior like a familiar old friend.
“No, I suppose there is not. If I need your blessing again, I will come back.”
Now and forever, you are Champion still. You will never need come back. Of this, we are certain.
Sister Camellia gave a single nod, the last hints of mirth painting her face in the smallest of smiles. “So be it. I thank you, Lord.”
And I thank you, Camellia Dictari. Goodbye.
And Darkness fell away.
Camellia’s eyes snapped open. She blinked once, twice, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the light, until she finally noticed there was barely any to adjust to. Only the vast full moon lit her surroundings from directly overhead, cloaked on all sides by the myriad constellations of Bren’s night sky. Her gaze swept across the battlefield around her, noting that it was distinctly not the Sky she had been initially swept from, nor the Wind-Touched arena she’d fought the owl, fae, and elf in. This field held no errant asteroids or champion of yesteryear. Instead it was home to naught but an endless sea of crimson sands, barely twinkling under the spotlight of the lurking moon.
A sea of sands… and herself. Camellia ran a careful talon along the scales of her new crown, its pulse still ever-familiar, ever a part of her. She’d heard of these crimson sands; the Trial of the Desert Sands, where the chosen eight fought, and the final Champion was crowned. The Arena itself had somehow circumvented this particular trial, bidding the four chosen to clash beyond the screaming crowds and scorching sun. And yet, her Lord still sought fit to place her here. Still sought fit to coronate her. Still sought fit to call her Champion, now and forever.
She strode towards the edge of the arena, each step leaving a deep footprint that was quickly filled by a pulse of the arena’s suffocating magic. When she reached the end, the closed portcullis of an entryway gilded open in silence as if answering to her newfound stature. Camellia paused for only a moment before stepping off the sands and back into the depths of the Arena’s structure. She made her way through its labyrinthine corridors with ease, every twist and turn known to her as if she’d spent her life behind these walls, though she’d truly known them for less than a single day. She stepped out of its depths and into its shadow, gazing out over the ever-awake city of Bren with a deep, almost foreign contentment.
Then, in a single swift motion, she spun upon one heel, lifted a rock from the ground, and flung it full force at the shadow of the arena’s pillars.
Her Brother flinched as the stone caught at his hood, pulling it back with such force that it almost tore the fabric from the rest of his cloak. She watched his eyes beneath his veil flick to where the stone struck the wall behind him, then up to his perfectly kempt, now exposed emerald locks. She could practically see his mind quickly come to the conclusion that she had not missed. To his credit, he recomposed himself rather quickly. When he spoke there was only the slightest hint of surprise.
“Sister. Upon your shameful loss in Sky, the healers found no trace of you, unlike the rest of your competitors. I thought surely you had found a way to flee the Family and Championships both, at that moment.”
She held her tongue for but a beat, letting herself take in her Brother’s state, to hear the words all members of The Family so often failed to utter. Here he was, in the absolute middle of the night, waiting again outside the Arena of Bren for a sibling he couldn’t even know would return. Ah. She could make this fun.
“Brother.” She echoed. “Why do you wait here for a fled Sister? Tell me, please. Enlighten me with those words you so love to fling around. Humble me with your talents.” She let an ounce of playfulness slip into her voice, just barely detectable beneath the familiar cruel sneer she kept at the forefront of her tone.
Brother Amber cast his eyes down. “I-”
No.
“Look at me when you speak, Brother.” She called back, barely withheld rage and a desperation she didn’t know she possessed seeping into her voice.
The Presenter’s gaze almost lifted at her demand, before he dropped it ever-lower.
Camellia burst forwards with a cry, her freed claw piercing his perfect shirt and drawing thin traces of blood as she gripped at his chest. He did not utter a sound, did not deflect her blow with even a single word of magic or might.
“Look at me.” The Sister whispered to her familial prey.
And he did. His green eyes crept up her form and met her fierce violet gaze. Upon their surface she saw the same contempt that he always displayed. But deeper within she saw the tremble of fear. And even deeper still, beyond that already veiled fear, lay the soft shimmer of emerald eyes withholding a single truth from the one they were most scared to admit it to: I worried for you.
His gaze crept higher still, locking upon the crown of multicolored scales that adorned The Champion’s head. Brother Amber’s shroud hid nothing as his mouth dropped open in a choked gasp of surprise. His eyes lit with an uncharacteristic joy and pride. And then that all slipped away, blatant fear gripping his entire form and transforming him into a shaking, shuddering mess. His eyes flicked across all of her, as if trying to weight the count of the purple scales of her Family’s flesh to the iridescent of her own birth.
She smirked, drinking in these new emotions she had never uncovered from beneath her Brother’s mask.
“I will only say this once.” Her voice dripped of the same venom that so often colored the siblings bickering, heightened by her new crown to the chilling tone of an eldest child berating their younger.
She leaned in close, letting her warm cheek press against the cool metal of Brother’s chainlink veil. With her lips right up against his ear, she finally whispered in a strange sincerity and softness to a Brother given naught but contempt and disdain.
“Thank you.”
She pulled back in swiftness, releasing her grip and pushing upon The Presenter with just enough force that his balance gave way and he toppled unceremoniously into the dirt.
“Tomorrow we’ll return to Mother and Father, and I can finally report my target truly slain. I’m sure you can cover my stay at an inn tonight. We’ll venture out at…” She paused. Bren had so much to offer, and she hadn’t had the chance to truly experience it without the disgusting curse upon her mind. Why rush home now? The Parents could wait a few hours. “Noon. I want to enjoy my final day here. Maybe bring back a souvenir other than a Champion’s title.”
Sister Camellia strode off into Bren’s depths without waiting for her Brother’s words, knowing he would be a shadow at her feet. And upon her last night in Bren, she spared not a thought for her last-slain sinner.
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