Epilogue:
The figure stood solemnly before the lifeless form of Maria Orlov, her body sprawled on the cold stone floor, the bloodstained white robe was in stark contrast to the dark surroundings of the chamber. In his hands, he clutched a smoking rifle.
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He surveyed the scene before him. There was no time for remorse or hesitation if the man had any for her. He had a duty to fulfil, a role to play in the grand design of things.
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Steeling himself, the figure turned away from the fallen High-Priestess and strode purposefully towards the towering doors that loomed ahead. With a firm push, he swung them open, revealing a dimly lit chamber beyond.
As he entered the room, his gaze fell upon nine stone chairs arranged in a solemn semicircle, each one a testament to the power and influence wielded by those who occupied them. With measured steps, he made his way towards the vacant seat – the third one.
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Taking his place among the stone chairs, the figure settled into the cold, hard surface, a sense of quiet determination settling over him.
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“My esteemed colleagues,” he began, his words carrying the weight of authority, “I stand before thou today to announce the formation of the seventy-seventh Council of Ætharchs of the Covenant of the Void.”
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As murmurs of acknowledgement swept through the room, the figure continued, his tone brimming with confidence. “I am known by many names, but today, I claim the mantle of The Diplomat, the third ætharch of our esteemed council.”
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With a flourish, he introduced himself, his words ringing out with clarity. “I am Baron Reginald Vanity, and who may the rest of thou be?"
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With a regal air thatrivalledd that of the Narcissan Ambassador, the figure beside Vanity rose from her seat, her presence commanding attention.
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“I stand before thou as The Entropist, the second ætharch of our esteemed council,” she proclaimed, her voice carrying a hint of authority tempered by a serene dignity.
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“I am Archduchess Una Westworth of Umbracrest,” she declared.
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With a graceful gesture, she took her place among the assembled ætharchs.
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With a nonchalant air, the man seated beside Archduchess Una Westworth rose from his chair, he looked very much bored.
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“I am The Veilmaster, the first ætharch of our council,” he stated, his voice tinged with disinterest.
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“Meritocrat Machiveli of the Meritocratic Council of Aquiloria ” he said, slumping back into his seat.
The figure on Vanity's opposite side rises "My identity is of no consequence. I am The Magnate, the fourth of this council, and that is all thou aught to know," he stated firmly.
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The man seated beside The Magnate shifted nervously in his seat, a palpable tension emanating from him as he cleared his throat to speak. He did not rise from his chair.
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“I am the Inventor,, the fifth Ætharch” he began, his voice slightly shaky but determined. “Known as Technocrat Vaerant.”
The man seated beside Vaerant, an intimidating fellow, rose to address the assembly. His presence exuded a sense of quiet authority, his words measured and deliberate.
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“I am the Intruder,” he declared. “Sixth Ætharch, And Dragonlord-Commander to the Knightly branch of the Order of the Dragoon.”
He paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink in before continuing. “My name is Dracathys, ” he added, his tone firm and resolute, as if daring anyone to challenge his position within the council, no one did.
The woman next to him rose from her seat. She carried herself with an air of confidence befitting her station as she addressed the assembly.
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“I am the Communicator,” she announced, her voice clear and seeming to have an echo. “As the seventh Ætharch, I serve as the conduit between our esteemed council and the Æbyssal Triumvirate.
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The figure beside the Communicator appeared frail and haggard, his figure withered. With a voice raspy and hollow, he spoke, his words carrying the weight of his grim purpose.
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“I am the Plaguebearer,” he croaked.
His decaying complexion and sunken eyes betrayed the toll of his task, yet there was a sense of satisfaction in his proclamation. “I am nameless. I fill the chair of the eighth.”
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The last figure to rise was a woman with piercing red eyes. Her voice was low, and had the angry sound of an accent that should theoretically should no longer exist.
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“I am the Herald of the Æbyss, the ninth, and I am Khani Eyno of the Estrin Dominion.”
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Ætharch Enyo,” began the eighth, his rasp of a voice tinged with skepticism. “The Estrin Dominion ceased to exist halfeay through the Coalition War in 45 YBP. How can you claim allegiance to a realm lost to a revolution?”
With a serene confidence, Khani Eyno turned her attention to the sickly figure who had introduced himself as the Plaguebearer, his identity shrouded in enigma.
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“Plaguebearer,” she began, her voice steady and unwavering. “The Estrin Archipelago, nestled in the distant reaches of the Northwest, remained untouched by the tides of revolution. It stood as a bastion of the Dominion amidst the chaos of the mainland, its shores untouched by the flames of rebellion.”
Khani Eyno’s voice held a quiet strength as she recounted the events that had shaped the fate of her homeland, her words resonating with a sense of solemn determination.
“Under the leadership of Khagan Temujin, the Estrin Dominion flourishes in the aftermath of revolution, quietly building its strength and biding its time. Now, as the dawn of a new era beckons, the oldest and mightiest of the regions stands poised to reclaim its rightful place in the East.”
Prepare,” A chilling commanded, his voice commanding obedience with its dark authority. “Prepare for the coming Æther Era.”
All nine of the Ætharchs realised that it was the Voice of Æonex, The Great Tormentor.
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Nine voices recited the same quote from the Book of the Æbyss, “May the shadows claim thee, and may the abyss swallow thy soul whole, for in the embrace of darkness lies true enlightenment.”
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End.
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