A Council of War
In the place called Dawn’s Basin, caught forever in the first rays of dawn, the light touched upon the high spires of the Solan Palace, and where it did they glowed with a nimbus of colors. Inside the quiet corridors of the massive structure, the light was captured and diffused into a soft glow that filled each of the palace’s smooth, bulbous chambers. As the light traveled further outwards, it fell upon the domed roofs of white-marble homes with their great windows and pointed arches. Finally it reached the ground, warming the stone pathways where luminars gathered and mingling with the perfume of flowers.
Between the domed houses, a luminar moved, stones crunching beneath the soles of their leather boots. Light refracted from the points of their crystalline body, casting small rainbows on nearby surfaces. Crowds gathered around this figure, murmuring softly among themselves, their faces full of surprise, their melodious voices filled with concern.
Thael barely noticed the stir, tugging nervously at the cuffs of their coat, their gaze fixed on the path ahead. It had been almost two years since the luminar left Dawn’s Basin. During that long sojourn in the muted world of mortals, where the morning sun was but a fleeting moment, Thael had spoken with countless humans and read innumerable books. Exactly how many Thael couldn’t say, but everything pointed to the same dangerous truth. The thing which they had feared and dreaded all along.
It had been less than an hour since Thael’s arrival and, despite a strong urge to delay, the luminar had wasted little time. Spending just a few minutes to ready and compose their thoughts, Thael had then immediately set out for the palace to make their report. Still, even this brief interlude proved enough for word of their homecoming to spread. From one shimmering form to another, it raced away from Thael’s small apartment until reaching the very heart of the palace itself, where the Gloaming and Dawn’s Basin touched and where sat the Six.
Upon reaching the palace, no guards stopped Thael, neither did servants greet them or guide them through the corridors. With increasing trepidation, Thael passed from one brightly lit passage to the next, winding ever deeper into the lotus-like palace. Finally, Thael reached a pair of mighty doors of etched glass beyond which waited the Six. Even there, at their most sacred place, they encountered no guards or attendants, those were things of humans, and the luminar had no use for them.
For several long moments, Thael stood outside the doors. His chest rose and fell slowly with deep breaths, and he leaned forward, one hand on each door. Then, with a hesitant sigh, they pushed the doors open and entered.
The place beyond the doors, Thael knew, was somehow both Dawn’s Radiance and the Gloaming simultaneously - one a realm of light and the other of darkness - and where they joined the world bent. In places, shadows lay across patches of pure radiance while in others light met darkness with stark divisions and in still others light and darkness joined, merging as threads of a tapestry. At the chamber’s heart stood six thrones, occupied by the Six, the ancient rulers of the luminar and umbral alike and as Thael entered, all turned to regard him. Three pairs of eyes, belonging to each of the aged luminars, and the smooth, featureless faces of the three elder umbral.
Without preamble or even greeting, Thael began. The report was thorough and detailed, recounting nearly each day of Thael’s two-year absence. It stretched long into the night, punctuated often by sharp inquiries from the elders. With word and gesture, Thael stepped them through all they had learned. Sharing both what already was, and how the paths would continue before reaching their conclusion in the future.
Many hours later, when Thael finished, a heavy silence swallowed the chamber and the young luminar looked from one elder to another, seeing in each a storm of unspoken thoughts. Slowly, a luminar named Maelis stood, turning their ancient eyes upon Thael and speaking in a soft voice filled with undeniable authority, “Speak your conclusion.”
Held in Maelis’ severe gaze, Thael stood transfixed for a moment and then managed to stutter, “We’ve– we’ve waited too long. I don’t think it can be stopped anymore.” Thael paused, uncertain, then added, “ We might slow it down, but– but in five or maybe six hundred years, it’s going to happen.”
Silence stretched out in the chamber as meaningful looks passed between the elders. Finally, in a voice full of resolve, Maelis spoke, “You are mistaken. There is a way.”
The words had barely left the luminar’s mouth when an umbral elder surged to its feet, “No!” the creature called Molvok hissed, “Never that!” Shock and outrage rimmed its voice.
Motioning towards Thael as they spoke, Maelis said, “This youth’s conclusions are correct. This is the only way.” As they finished, Maelis looked left, then right, receiving nods of assent from each of the other luminar elders, before adding, “We are united in this.”
Molvok stared at the luminar elder, and while its face was a smooth sheen of black, a palpable anger filled that gaze. Then, without warning, the two umbrals who had not spoken rose, their bodies seeming to dissolve into the shadows that surrounded them. “We reject this course.” Molvok growled angrily, “It is madness and the umbral will have no part of it. Molvok too then dissolved into darkness.
Thael stood dumbfounded, grappling with what had just been witnessed. In the thousands of years of their people, the Six had always acted as one. This was unthinkable. What could Maelis possibly be suggesting?
And then, all of a sudden, Thael knew. “No.” they whispered, “You cannot mean to–.”
Maelis interjected, and though the elders’ words were heavy with sorrow, they held an iron resolve, “There is no other way.”
Maelis stopped and into the silence that followed Thael stuttered, “But— so many lives, how can we—” he could not finish.
When Maelis’ answer came, it was in a quiet voice, barely more than a passing breath, “How can we not?” and then again, “How can we not?”
Many days later, in a place far removed from the otherworldly realm of Dawn’s Edge, Garron Vaelor sighed after a long night. Shivering in the chill air, he wrapped his cloak tightly around himself and looked towards Krynthal, his home. The cloak, like every part of Garron, was soaked. Most of the evening rain had fallen, the sort of rain with great drops of water that splattered as they fell on his chainmail armor. It had been a long night, and he was bone-tired. Above him, the sky was still dark although the first glow of morning had begun to seep across it.
As the first ray of dawn’s light touched a nearby hillock, Garron turned to watch. Every day his patrol ended here, and every day he watched the sun rise from behind this hill. Watched as the morning light first silhouetted and then bathed the hilltop in sunlight. Watched and dreamed that one day he might see one of the fabled bridges of color that bespoke the coming of a luminar.
While he imagined what might be, the lonely beam of sunlight that had touched the hilltop suddenly blossomed into a rainbow of colors. The colors first seemed to stretch and then began growing backwards and up. Garron gaped. It was going to happen! He was going to see a luminar today! When a second beam of light bent, widened and grew into a second bridge, Garron gasped audibly. Then came a third. Fourth. Now a dozen. A score. A hundred!
Transfixed, Garron watched as the first of the luminars appeared. Its body was a joining of flesh and crystal. A great crown of prisms encircled its head like a crown, catching refracting the sun’s light. In his awe, Garron failed to register that this luminar wore armor beneath a tabard with the radiant sun crest of Dawn’s Edge. So too did he fail to notice the sword in its sheath at the luminar’s waist and the steely resolve in its eyes. Garron had eyes only for its majestic face. He had never imagined such beauty.
An intense flash of light illuminated the hilltop as the first of the luminar stepped into the damp grass of the knoll. A searing beam so bright it left a bar of blackness in Garron’s vision. A moment later, Garron felt a sharp pain in his chest. He looked down, confused, to where a spot of red blossomed on his tabard. It was blood. His blood. But– but the luminar were peaceful. Garron thudded to the ground, falling hard on his knees, as darkness began to rim his vision.
A figure of brilliant light momentarily cut through that darkness. It was a creature of such beauty and Garron smiled. His entire life he had hoped to glimpse a luminar. Why, he wondered idly, did this one have such a look of sorrow upon its regal face? Why were tears sliding down its cheeks? Garron didn’t hear the hiss as a blade exited its sheath nor see the sudden rush of movement as the luminar struck.
The luminar knelt beside the now-lifeless body of Garron, its tears mixing with the soldier’s blood. Gently, it closed his eyes and whispered a quiet blessing. Then it rose, joining its companions as they marched towards Krynthal. Behind them, as one, their rainbow bridges shattered, scattering prismatic shards across the blood-soaked ground. As they marched, their forms no longer refracted light into something of beauty, but instead into sharp, cutting edges. When the first of them entered Krynthal, the very air seemed to darken, as if the light itself were falling from the sky.
The War of Light’s Fall had begun.