Hope

Elizabeth trod through the needlessly long hallway, a slight chill touching her skin. She did not mind too much - her affinity to fire made her more resistant to cold - though her attire was hardly what would be called ‘proper’ considering over encumbrance of cloth and enchantment would interfere with the procedure she was going to undergo soon.

Although she had downplayed it before Irwyn, the procedure for consuming the Ambrosia was more than just a political issue. Despite all the confidence she had in herself, the nerves were still getting onto her. She knew that, albeit extremely rarely, there had been cases of rejection in the past resulting in particularly ugly deaths.

Logically, she basically held no such risk. She had undergone all the preparations, was not under time constraints, and far surpassed the levels of skill and Vessel development that were considered safe. Still that twinge of stinging doubt did not quite abate, everpresent at the back of her mind.

And soon it would be time. She was reaching the end of that seemingly endless corridor. Elizabeth did not know where exactly she was even. The ancestral castle at the very heart of City Black could only be described as labyrinthine. Rumour had it that some of the countless tunnels beneath even shifted or that much of the underground complex was actually contained in a massive expanded space. The truth Elizabeth was not privy to, though one thing had become apparent to her:

The Void magic was thick wherever she was. Well, obviously. The founding estate of the House of Void mages was obviously brimming with the element in every nook or cranny but as deep inside as she was, the thickness had become simply incomparable to the living areas above.

Elizabeth had - under supervision - visited the outer reaches of the Void. Gone deep enough in that she had actually felt the gargantuan magical signature of an Elven city in an unexplainable distance; which meant much deeper than the majority of Void mages ever do. Still, in the hall she walked through, the Void magic was somehow even thicker; denser than in the outer Void itself. And the inexplicable emotion rising in her chest hinted at what the meaning of this place was.

She was remembering the attack on Abonisle, the sense of humiliation and loss it made her feel. Reminded of her rivals and budding foes in the upper crusts of society; the heir to Duchy of Yellow distinctly first among them. Even some of that ugly envy she had felt towards Irwyn, even if to a much lesser degree. That was, after all, envy. Even if it bled slightly into what she was really feeling. For it was, without question wrath that influenced her at the moment. Unnaturally amplified with each step further she took.

It was a public secret that House Blackburg struggled with such emotions. They were, after all, the bloodline of the one and only Duke of Wrath. The mighty Tyrantfall, Lichbane, Sunderer of lands. Even if that was millennia ago, dozens if not well over a hundred generations of mages, that was simply not a legacy that could be shaken off.

It was the foundation of their bloodline and that could not be denied. Not easily at least. So instead, it had been embraced. Few knew the extensive education in managing that innate anger every young heir or heiress had undergone. To control it and perhaps even wield it. Yet it still left its mark on every aspect of their society. She had spoken to Irwyn about the general dislike towards schemers, however, there was more to it than just tradition. Simply put, their bloodline was not predisposed to birth calm and calculative minds.

Neither was the rest of nobility, considering that the vast majority of noble Houses in the Duchy of Black had come about by the way of some up-and-coming mage from a branch family attaining the title of a magelord and therefore the right to found a House of their own. In fact, the Duchy of Black was by far the most homogenous in the Federation when considering the blood relations of their ruling class - with perhaps the technical exception of the Duchy of Red which was a unique case as far as rulership went.

That came with other challenges but those too had been solved. Genetic defects expunged by skilled life mages, followed by a guarantee of beauty and physical superiority. The natural wrath they were so often born with, tamed into drive. And such were many other things. Flaws upon flaws, each found, examined, and mitigated if not turned into a strength by great magics developed centuries ago.

It was a point of pride to the nobility - and as mostly Void mages they were particularly vulnerable to that as well - that they had solved all those problems, following the wisdom of their ancestors. Which was in big part why Elizabeth’s mother was so… despised for the lack of a better word.

An outsider with outsider innovations and outsider perspective. And her Ladyship Avys so very enjoyed their focus on her ‘radical’ ideas; missing what they faced for what they saw. Perfect empty smiles and those fake vacant eyes the Duchess showed out in the public. And as Elizabeth reached the end of the corridor, she was certain that the Dragon in fly’s gown she had the misfortune of being a daughter to was somehow involved. Another thread in the web wrapping around her, be it wrist or throat.

Because there stood a door at the end of that corridor that she had never heard off. And if this place was something that was not strictly restricted, she would have undoubtedly at least heard rumors of it, just because of the distinct engravings. There was an indented perfect circle taking the center, almost like a sun, except the skillful craving played with the shadows of the dimly lit surrounding to give the impression it was absorbing light instead of giving it. And below lay something close to heraldry, though it was different than what anyone interacting with mortals would use to be recognized by. It was a paradoxical mess of lines, indentations, and protrusions. Half of the image was not formed by what was displayed but by what was not there. Trying to understand or commit it to memory immediately gave Elizabeth the start of a familiar headache, one she knew to associate with magics far above her ken.

She had enough background in history and mythology to understand what it was though. An inverse star and a crest. She could not tell if the heraldry belonged to a city or a clan of some kind but she could quite confidently guess where they had originated from. The Demons rarely used any sort of symbology, much less did monsters. Therefore, it could only be genuine Elven script.

And it was rare for a true Elf to deem it worth their time to even consider leaving the deepest reaches of Nothingness for a mortal realm like theirs. Most likely, the door was commissioned while the Duke of Wrath still lived. No one in their line since had been likely to gather such attention.

Exponentially more nervous now, Elizabeth knocked on the door, careful not to place her hand anywhere near the engravings. A moment later the door silently slid upwards, compelling Elizabeth to step through.

The Void in the air was several degrees of magnitude more intense. Elizabeth felt almost suffocated by the sheer density. Her, a natural Void mage of great talent with a decade of intense training felt like the Void was too powerful here. And in it she also felt the Flame. Far lesser in comparison but still enough it suddenly felt uncomfortably hot even for her. Flame was the lesser part of her Voidflame but her affinity to it was still greater than most mages wielding it as the focus of their art - she would not have been able to transition them if the imbalance had been too great - so it took much to make her even notice heat, however, this was not too far from being inside a burning oven. Just barely beneath what she might consider painful.

That did not mean she missed the decorations of the room. Or perhaps shrine would be a more appropriate word. It was a perfectly rectangular chamber, the stone ebony black and untouched by time, familiar incense and an altar at the far end. It composed of mostly words in a script similar to the symbol on the door outside, a grim memento attached to it: A perfectly intact skeleton.

It could almost be mistaken for a human. The anatomy was mostly similar, slight differences in bone structure that Elizabeth knew to look around only because she was searching for them and had specifically studied the topic in the past. Of course, the most telling difference was the color: Not pearly white or yellow, but utter pitch. More than just the color but a complete innate rejection of any light that could reflect off of them and carry to the eye. Black darker than black itself. Another telling part was at the head; two long and pointy protrusions at each side as unlike humans, this species had actual bones inside their long ears.

And below the Altar stood a man, clad in robes Elizabeth recognised at a glance, staring up at the perfectly preserved Elven skeleton. There was no denying it as before her stood Ezax von Blackburg, the one and only Duke of Black.

“Your Dukeship,” Elizabeth had to put all of her willpower to the task of not shaking while she took a deep bow. Her mind was racing at the implications of such a corpse buried below her place of birth. After all, no one stole Elven corpses and continued to exist afterward. It had been allowed to remain down here.

“Elizabeth,” the man spoke with that so reassuringly familiar yet so unfortunately alien voice. “We are alone here. You can dispose with the etiquette.”

“Father,” Elizabeth reaffirmed as she approached closer. The mana and elements in the air were only getting denser, though her body seemed to be adjusting to them through exposure. She already felt less suffocated and less hot. “What is this place… the meaning of it.”

“It is a tomb, daughter, the resting place of legacy and secrets,” the Duke nodded, still not looking at her. Instead, he pointed up at the incomprehensible script and read. “Here lies Vertana the Serene. Mother, Lover, and a Sanctuary. Faithful beyond dispute, a Saint of the Great Crusade. She died as she had lived, fulfilling the First Duty. May her soul forever remain beyond the Betrayer’s reach.”

“The Great Crusade,” Elizabeth suppressed a shiver at the words as her father finished reciting. “She was older than the First Betrayal.”

“Most likely, yes,” the Duke finally turned around and Elizabeth saw affection in his eyes; faint and buried so deep she might have just imagined it. It no longer hurt to notice.

“Why would she be buried here,” she asked though several possibilities already swirled through her head.

“If you read the oldest records you will find a truth many would rather forget, though I frankly don’t quite understand why,” the Duke spoke. The calm cadence of the voice remained painfully familiar. “In truth, albeit the founding Duke of our house had many lovers and wives, those relationships were mostly barren. As a Named being, especially one of the seven Sins, no mortal womb could possibly bear his progeny. Though it has been intentionally forgotten, the Duke of Wrath had another lover who had stayed with him since before he had claimed his Name and until the very year of his own demise. Some of the eldest portraits deep in our archives even show the first few generations of our prestigious House in possession of distinct half-elven features, though those had eventually vanished in the flow of time and magical modifications.”

“And that is her,” Elizabeth looked at the skeleton again, breathing out. “Our far, far distant ancestor.”

“Yes, as her epitaph states she had died in combat against a Named Lich. The very same one which the Duke himself had fought to a mutual demise less than a year later, at least as far as I could find.”

“Why are we here father?” Elizabeth said after taking another deep breath and a long pause. It was incredibly fascinating but also not the reason she had believed to be coming here for. “Will you be the one administering the Ambrosia then?”

“The environment will further empower the procedure,” he nodded. “Though that is not the only reason. This place is also the best-warded room in the entirety of City Black, perhaps the whole Duchy. Not the slightest trace of the process will be detectable outside.”

“This has not been approved,” Elizabeth realized. She had thought that some strings were pulled to convince the elders who refused her the privilege, however, that was clearly not the case. “We are doing this completely behind the back of the Branch families and major Houses.”

“Completely is too strong of a wording,” Ezax shook his head. “Avys has managed to make them provide all the necessary approvals and such, and done it in a way that is completely provable if we ever need to do so. However, she had also made sure that no one realised that the approval has been provided. It’s for the best if we can manage it without railing up the branches. It’s not yet time.”

“Another one of mother’s schemes I am taken into,” Elizabeth sighed lightly, it was as much as she dared to criticize her mother in front of the Duke. “Why now of all time? I prefer to think she would have taken these steps earlier if there was no risk involved.”

“The attack on Abonisle provided a good opportunity as she had told me, though you know I care little for the exact details,” Ezax elaborated. “Though in truth, the main reason is that Avys has taken interest in your new friend.”

“Irwyn…” Elizabeth stopped her posture from sharpening. She was glad that the recent conversations with the very same person had encouraged her to brush up on her social skills. Her father was disinterested in reading body language so it might actually be enough to fool him.

“Yes, she is looking into the possibility of moving our plans forward,” the Duke nodded, a smile springing on the man’s face. “I have read Dervish’s reports myself. He could reach genuine Conception in less than 4 years based on his current growth rate. He could be exactly what we need for the conclusion.”

“You would be asking him to fight mages four or more times his age,” Elizabeth just barely managed not to frown in displeasure.

“With all the support that can be provided by House Blackburg,” the Duke dismissed such worries with an uncaring shrug. “And I hear you have taken the initiative with bringing him combat experience. You know that Avys rarely lets useful people die, especially ones who have extremely strong motivations to fight our enemies to the death.”

“Of course, you are right. I am just overly worried,” Elizabeth sighed, drawing it out a bit. Rarely, unless she has more to gain from their death or by risking their lives. “I had been hoping to recruit him into my future retinue,” she said because she was afraid of what her mother might conclude if she said that she had simply made a friend. ‘Each bond, a vulnerability ripe to exploit,’ Avys had taught her. Shown her, example by example on helpless lords and great mages who were in the way of the Duchess’ designs. Brought to ruin by a deft hand unseen.

“I am sure you will reach agreeable arrangements,” the Duke, of course, did not share her inner turmoil. Elizabeth noticed something flash - or rather darken considering it had the ebony tinge of Void magic - before the duke’s left eye. “It’s almost time, an optimal alignment will be achieved in about a minute. Get ready.”

“Yes, father,” Elizabeth nodded, looked around, and ended up sitting down almost right in front of the Duke, taking a meditative position. She had extensively prepared for the procedure before the many surprises of the day came therefore she would not let them disturb her during it.

“Here, only swallow it exactly when I tell you,” the Duke nodded, reaching into his robe for a small but fortified container. It seemed to have been pre-opened as with a single motion of his hands he took the Ambrosia out of it.

It was not an elixir as some myths attributed to the name. It was closer to a pill, though not quite like that either. The Duke handed her the essence of magic, distilled into a small oval shape. It pulsed and sang with Voidfire, beckoning Elizabeth’s own to enter. Solidified potential, bought at the cost of a life from a great mage. One a single leap away from immortality. It was everything Elizabeth wanted. Understanding and power. Because deep down she knew that there was only one way to escape a spider’s web for her: Burn the nearby strings with flames so hot the weaver would not dare come near her again.

“A warning, the environment will most likely make the procedure slightly more straining than what is described, though I am confident you will prevail without issue. The improved results will be more than worth it,” the Duke commented and then returned to waiting. Perhaps half a minute – though it felt far longer to Elizabeth - passed before he spoke again. “Now. We are starting.”

And Elizabeth obeyed. She threw the Ambrosia down her throat and swallowed without a moment of hesitation. It churned for a moment as it began to meld into her own mana and the next moment Elizabeth lost sensation of her body.

Not surprised she focused at the foreign essence suddenly beginning to leak into her most inner self. Just barely she could see the edges of her father’s magic, far above her ability to contest or fully comprehend, preventing the volatile Ambrosia from exploding like an explosive inside her chest. Rather it allowed just a small stream to slowly and surely flow out and meld into her Vessel. Soon enough she would be attacked by overwhelming pleasure and agony. Bursts of emotion or their sudden and extreme lack. And many more challenges that would test her willpower and skill at magic. As much had been described in many accounts of consuming it. There was still a challenged left to overcome.

But the Ambrosia was already inside her. It could not be taken away anymore. All she needed to do now was absorb it.