Enmity of Atlas

“Well, there it is, sir. I’m sorry the journey took us so long. I was the only one available to lead you on such short notice. Please, forgive me,” Fairen said, bowing low. He was a stout young man, only 20 or so just going off intuition, and he had well trimmed brown hair with dazzling golden eyes, his long robes making his physique difficult to judge.

“Don’t apologize,” the 2nd veil said, his voice warm and comforting. “These were means far beyond your control. I appreciate the time you’ve taken to lead me here.”

Fairen smiled, “Of course, sir. It is my duty.”

At the top of a cliff some miles out, Iradel stood, a massive castle of a style unlike anything modern day architects would construct. It was a splay of multi tiered towers intertwined with each other, intricate masonry decorating the whole of the outside. It was truly a marvel amidst the already gorgeous hilly scenery, something wondrous to behold in such a niche corner of the world. They stood for some time appreciating the beauty of the structure, giving mind to the many architects who constructed it so long ago, before focusing on the task at hand–the message. It was astonishing to think the chosen 14 really had no idea what was going on in the world, especially when it was something that should’ve interested them greatly. But if they were determined in their fallow, then he’d shake them awake, one way or another. Things were worse than he thought, and he could use their help.

“Right, just a little further. We mustn’t delay any longer,” Fairen said, guiding the 2nd down a path which curved up towards the massive castle.

After another hour of walking, Fairen holding his composure despite his clear exhaustion from so much walking, they made it, only taking one break along the way at the 2nd’s behest. Fairen had been wonderfully respectful the whole time the 2nd has been following him, a bright young mind amidst a world of chaos. It was a shame, really, that he had relation to Iradel. People like him didn’t deserve to be mixed up in this mess, especially not under the thumb of Iradel’s chosen, the bastards they were. The 2nd had a mind to erase the whole lot if he didn’t need them, and if it wouldn’t anger the gods so much. A real shame. The world would’ve been so much better without them.

They entered through the main gate, the finally decorated hallways displaying the clear wealth they’d holed up in this middle of nowhere palace with drapes and furniture befitting kings. The whole place was rather odd in construction, a palatial space adorned with the finest arts the chosen could get their hands on, something one would only see in the innermost recesses of a wealthy city. Yet all around them people bustled to and fro, commoners entering various rooms to pray and worship the gods, many of them glancing his way. It struck 2 as more of a miniature city than a king's castle, a place where many lives flourished and bloomed. Although, that wasn’t to say the common folk had clear reign. They were likely restricted from ever leaving, guards by the door keeping everyone at bay. And as they ascended further into the castle, the crowds began to thin, richer folk in fine silks replacing the peasants and rags that lay below. It was a shame they would divide even such a small space by class, but 2 didn’t have the time to argue. He was here to deliver a message, and that was all. Finally, standing before a final set of grand double doors, Fairen shuffled in place, a sweat gathering on his brow.

“You’ve nothing to fear. The delays were faults of my own. I got us sidetracked with official business,” the 2nd lied.

“But si-” Fairen said.

“No time for arguing. We’ve a meeting to begin.”

“R-right, of course,” Fairen said, taking in a deep breath and pushing through the thick set of doors.

The room was dark and foreboding, the only lights in the entire room leading to a dimly lit center platform. Of course, it was their first time meeting. They meant to assert dominance right off the bat. They didn’t see the veil as equals, merely pawns to do their bidding. The 2nd took his spot atop the platform, yielding to their game for the sake of simplicity, Fairen staying by the entrance. The sooner he could say his piece, the sooner he’d be able to leave. Slowly lights from above shone down all around him, revealing each chosen one at a time, their acolytes at the base of their unreasonably tall chairs announcing each of them by name and title.

“Draval of Fire!”

“Isthil of Frost!”

“Affol of Air!”

“Ilfir of Water!”

“Ieren of Lightning!”

“Ayvruth of Time!”

“Hardwin of Space!”

Urakes of Gravity!”

“Selin of Light!”

“Havrius of Darkness!”

“Prothius of Earth!”

“Haverinth of Body!”

“Kilidrith of Nature!”

“Neligir of Mind!”

It was an absurd entrance to say the least, something children would dream up in their wildest fantasies. 2 internally sighed, thanking himself for thinking better of bringing anyone else along, especially the 7th. He would’ve gone ballistic if he’d been forced to take part in this ceremony, let alone sit still for the conversation which was to follow.

When each of the chosen had been revealed, their chairs encircling him completely, Draval spoke, leaning forwards to get a better look at 2, “We have done you the honor of sharing with you our names, now you would do us the same,” his eyes danced with something fierce, a raging fire held just beneath the surface. Supposedly when the gods gave the chosen their gifts, each one had an altered physical trait, much like with aspect. It seemed that Draval had his eyes enchanted, giving him a rather menacing appearance.

“No, I would not. You know full well the nature of my oath, and the reason why I made it in the first place,” the second replied, his voice steady and calm–measured.

“So you think yourself better than us?” Ieren called out, his body dancing with living lightning, the crackling sound setting an odd undertone to the whole conversation.

“Your names are known by every man, woman, and child on the continent, but only a handful even know I exist. I’d like to keep it that way, and the first step in that is keeping up appearances. No face–no name. If you wish for something to call me, 2 will suffice,” the 2 said, all but the center 3 bristling in their seats.

Off to his right, Havrius carefully lifted his hand, coalescing a well of darkness in his hand, clearly assuming that 2 wasn’t paying attention. Without looking, 2 raised his hand, focusing solely on Havrius. He did not mind insults, nor did he particularly mind being disrespected. He knew better than to lower himself to win an argument, and he wasn’t nearly enough of a child to succumb to such simple emotions. But these were not men he could excuse on ignorance. They were the 14 highest priests in the land, chosen by the gods themselves as mortal vessels for power. They had a responsibility not only to their gods, but to this world. And within that duty, the 2nd happened to lie, his existence and benevolence a very important factor in their functioning smoothly. In an instant, Havrius’s arm folded perfectly backwards, his forearm and upper arm now running parallel. Havrius screamed, clenching his teeth to avoid cursing.

“You will not raise arms against me. I am here as your guest, and I will remain as such only so long as you control yourselves,” 2 said, using his presence to bolster his words.

“You would dare attack one of our own, after everything we’ve done for you?” Isthil demanded. At the base of the chosens chairs, the acolytes were squirming, some uncomfortable with the unfolding events, and others furious. In fact, no one in the room looked more wrathful than a fiery eyed young boy standing before Draval’s chair. He looked different than the rest, a different presence surrounding him, maybe.

“After what, exactly? Last I recall, the veil has attended to every single thing needed doing for the last two millennia. All while you sit here and do what? War with Baspheler? Tell me, when’s the last time one of the chosen even left the castle? When’s the last time a chosen has done anything of worth? The gods only picked you because you make great lap dogs, so you may have their favor, but you do not have mine,” 2 said, putting bile into the words. He didn’t truly wish to fight with them, but if his words inspired them to do anything, even attempt to fight him, then his time would not have been wasted here.

“I’d like to hear you say that without your head. You forget yourself, boy,” Draval spat out, him, Ieren, and Isthil leaping off their chair to approach 2, their acolytes following eagerly behind.

“Enough! We’re here to do business, not quarrel over some meaningless argument,” Ayvruth said, waving his hand, each of the approaching chosen stopping dead in their tracks with some peculiar green chains wrapped all around their bodies–chronurgy. “Besides, we all know that you’d only get yourself killed if you quarreled with 2,” Ayvruth released them.

“Please, he got a cheap shot on Havrius. I’d like to see how he handles a real fight,” Draval said, his eyes twitching.

“I said enough. I actually happen to agree with 2. We’ve been lax in dealing with Verulius for long enough, and since you three were generous to make yourself look like fools, you three will be heading down to deal with him personally, and take your acolytes with you.,” Ayvruth said.

“You can’t be-” Isthil started.

“I am, and you’d do well to listen. You’ve two weeks to prepare. Now get out of here. You no longer have any right to oversee this meeting,” Ayvruth finished. Slowly, still glaring at him, each of the three chosen filed out, their acolytes close behind. “Now, 2, for what reason did you desire this meeting? I can’t imagine you came all this way to waste our time with childish bickering.”

“Hardly. Atlas, he’s back,” 2 said.

All at once, the chosen’s faces went pale, each one practically leaping out of their seats, their eyes wide with disbelief. The only ones that even looked slightly composed were Ayvruth, Hardwin, and Urakes, the three most senior members of the high priests of Iradel. They too looked worried, but they at least stood in attention, their multi-colored eyes locked on 2.

“Please, 2, now is not the time for jokes. Atlas was killed millenia ago,” Affol awkwardly laughed out.

“So we thought, but we were wrong. The specifics are complicated, and I’m still not entirely sure how myself, but it’s not important. The only thing that matters now is killing him properly this time. Tell your gods. Contact the hells. I expect their help within the month,” 2 said.

“You cannot possibly think us messenger boys! We don’t bend to your whims, and neither do the gods!” Neligir shouted.

“If I had the means to contact them myself, I would’ve–cut the middle man entirely. But I am without that right. So I give the burden to you to do your job. If not the gods themselves, then get Ferheart, Mael, I don’t care. If you mean to argue with me on this, then I don’t think you fully understand what we’re dealing with here. You’ll do as I say or I’ll kill the lot of you personally, find a new set of chosen competent enough to do something,” 2 said, the chosen sitting in stunned silence.

Without another word, 2 turned around and left, not bothering to wait for their reply. The younger members had no idea what was going on, but Ayvruth, Hardwin, and Urakes did. They’d see his will done if nothing else. Fairen followed 2 out of the room, his pristine servant demeanor cracking.

“Are you sure threatening them was a good idea? I really don’t think they’re going to be happy with you,” Fairen said, his eyes darting side to side.

“They won’t be, but it’s what they needed to hear. The younger members are fools, and if violence is what it takes to get the idea past their thick skulls, then so be it. We haven't the time to waste. Besides, Ayvruth actually looked rather amused by the threat. He, in the least, still has his mind about him,” 2 replied.

They walked in silence back down through the castle, 2 mulling over the path ahead of them. Any move they took would be a risky one. They still didn’t fully understand what exactly they were dealing with. The only thing that was supposed to remain of Atlas were stories and legends, so dealing with the threat of a face to face confrontation? That could see all of them killed in one fell swoop if they weren't careful. It was a good thing he thought to seek out Brulion before doing anything, but even still…he wished above all else he could contact 1. Bearing the brunt of this assault was more somehow more strenuous than anything he’d ever done before, even back when he was still-