Sylia, the Dark & Light Saint

(Continuing…)

Tamren sighed. "Then I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you. In the Capital's Slums, children don't even get proper meals. Most would be starving or dead from disease by the time they reach seven. The ones who survive that long are often rounded up and drained. The Slums are extremely dirty. The smell alone could knock you out if you're not protected by a spell. The only small mercy is that they no longer pull as much Mana from the land directly, since the practice was banned. But they still set up Mana conductor Magic Sygils to drain people while blocking the feedback to the environment. The land suffers for it—worse even than here. There's less Mana now, and what remains is sickly."

He gestured toward the stand. "Instead of fresh or preserved fish like what you're enjoying now—something usually only found in Noble or Gentry households—those children get Mana-rotten fish, generously provided by the Province Lords. It causes everything bad from digestive illness to premature baldness and tooth loss. So no, the Slums there are no better."

The children's faces fell in unison.

Zacharia asked in a small voice, "Sir… what about the Commoners' lower districts?"

Tamren folded his arms. "I haven't lived in those districts. For the last twenty years, I've stayed mostly in newly formed districts created by the Queen of the Nights. Still, I've seen the other quarters. Life there isn't much better than the Slums. Well, perhaps noticeably better, but not in a way that would impress you."

He glanced around, noting their silence. "There's no good water supply. The sewer systems are inconsistent or poorly built, and no cleaning crews are assigned to maintain the place. The Sovereign Duke at the time declared that Commoners should clean up after themselves, that it was their station, their duty. So nothing was done for years."

Sylia turned away and exhaled slowly. The children had gone quiet. Even the youngest among them seemed to understand the gravity of what had been said.

Tamren continued, "Things began to shift after the old Sovereign Duke and his successors died. His heir and son wanted to redecorate and fund his estates, so he cut all cleaning budgets. His older brother tried to block it for years, but he was eventually outmatched. To soften the blow, the man funded seasonal cleanups with his own coin to prevent outbreaks. But by last year, the neglect led to mass disease. Tens of thousands died in the Capital. It caught even the King's attention."

He raised an eyebrow. "Since then, weekly cleaning rounds have been implemented. They pay volunteers to collect trash every few days. New waste containers were set up. But—there's a problem. Over the last six months, one cousin of the royal family has been found dead in a trash bin nearly every week. At least, while I was still there. Someone clearly didn't appreciate the high price those cousins charged for their cleaning Magic Sygils."

Sylia couldn't help herself. A knowing smile crossed her face, and she looked away, hiding her amusement. She knew exactly who was responsible.

Luxsion chimed in, "Master Mathias' Cleaning Assistant Slime, Bumpy, handled it for us here. He even showed others how to design sewer networks. Some areas have partial systems now. Better than nothing. The Mages take care of the waste spells—sending garbage and even excrement to another plane for disposal."

Sylia started shaking with silent laughter. Trust Mathias to come up with something that brilliant—assigning fallen or punished Gods to sewer duty. She still missed seeing Targon with a shovel in hand. Maybe they'd get to keep a small piece of him to play with later.

Tamren eyed her warily. "That job falls to the Sovereign Duke's younger brother Lord Frieze now. He's handling sewer expansion and waste management across the Capital."

Sylia burst into laughter. Of course. Nothing more poetic than putting a fallen God in charge of garbage. That's what Frieze got for making a pact with the wrong power and letting his Soul be consumed in the process.

Noticing the children's downcast expressions, Tamren offered a warm smile, his voice light as he tried to lift the mood.

"Here now, let me buy some of these." he said. "I'll take a bit of everything. Those fish tarts, the pancakes, and some of that fresh fish. And I'll need a few bottles of the egg liquid too. Maybe even a batch of those eggs."

The children immediately brightened, exchanging eager glances. Jimmy stepped forward, professional in demeanor, and began asking Tamren about his preferences. Within moments, he was directing the others to wrap up the items, calling out instructions like a seasoned vendor. The line of customers stirred with new enthusiasm. Tamren's calm, familiar presence seemed to ease lingering suspicions. Several housekeepers and waiting women, who had been eyeing the stand cautiously, relaxed and moved closer.

Other nearby stands offering similar goods were soon overwhelmed with customers, their vendors scrambling to keep up. Some of the children were pulled in to assist, and even Glenstar—along with a few guards—was called into service.

Arms folded, Sylia gave Tamren a once-over, unimpressed.

"So," she said dryly, "why are you suddenly buying all this? Most of these goods you already get for free. You eat them almost daily. Some even come from the lands our children manage."

Pullina and Piona both froze. Pullina, who had just been showing Piona the layout of the goods, looked visibly startled.

Tamren gave a short, awkward laugh. "I just… wanted to do something nice for the kids. It reminded me of when I was little. My foster parent used to let me help at the market stalls. My mother was always too busy, so I spent most of my time with him and my other uncle Joss."

Sylia gave a skeptical sniff. "How touching. I'm sure he didn't just teach you how to count coins and weigh products. You probably got up to all sorts of trouble."

Piona and Pullina exchanged puzzled glances, unsure whether she was joking or not.

Tamren gave a strained laugh, but the shift in his eyes betrayed the change. He was no longer amused, only cold.

"I suppose you would know." He said quietly.

Sylia frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He studied her face. "Just that… you seem to know me from my youth. You knew my uncle, too—the one who raised me."

Sylia turned away and folded her arms, her expression unreadable. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Tamren let out a dry, broken laugh and touched his forehead, as though trying to steady himself. "What a bloody fool I've been. Fifty years… You've been there for fifty years, wife. Of course it was you. It was always you. All the women who ever truly mattered, who ever made me feel—"

Sylia uncrossed her arms and placed her hands on her hips. "You're not funny, Mister."

However, Tamren wasn't smiling anymore. His eyes locked onto hers, burning with a strange mixture of fury, sorrow, and something else—something aching and raw.

"You knew me better than anyone. You trained me like a pet. Don't pretend otherwise."

Pullina gasped. Sylia puffed up, crossed her arms again and pouted.

"You're confused." She said airily. "You must be thinking of Syl, the Original. The Source. We were created from her. I've only existed for a little over two decades. But she… she's been walking this world in one form or another for over fifty-seven years. Maybe more. Who knows when she first arrived? Or when she chose to embody herself?"

Tamren's face went pale. "What… are you saying?"

"That's a question you should keep for her." Sylia replied. "We don't share that much information. I just know several entities have been made from her. You know her under several names since she has ancient Divisions all around. One of her infamous names is the Hammer of God. Or should I say, the Hammer of the Darkling Lord which is more accurate for her."

Her tone grew darker.

"She is a Semi-Eternal. They say the Dark Lord cut a part of himself he copied, then sealed with part of his Flock. No one knows why he did that. That copy he modified until it suited his taste, then he gave it life using his own breath. His friend, the Master of Blood Lords, helped him finish his new creation. His other piece, the Blood Lord of Darkness, gave it more life—and so she started walking as life and death."

Tamren staggered back a step.

Sylia's voice softened, almost fond.

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"She's tied to three High Lords. Some even say she's Lord Chester's sibling. No one remembers who came first—her or him. Both had become too old and too big to move around. Part of them was either laid dormant or sealed. The rest still moved but differently, as a lesser being. Some pieces of the siblings no one suspects—so different they appear from the others, but they are the same. They simply play their roles so well that no one notices them."

Tamren started trembling.

Sylia shrugged. "Maybe you're currently interfering with our duties, and she or the Dark Lord himself is sending you a message."

Tamren looked ready to argue, but he suddenly changed his mind. If she was telling the truth, then a lot of things made sense. Too many. He needed to reconsider much now that he knew more. He reminded himself that this was neither the moment nor the place to talk.

He quickly shifted tactics and said with a smile. "Sylia, I have a gift for you."

Sylia looked him up and down, suspicious. Her frown deepened. "What gift? I hope it's not something you're hiding under those neatly fitted clothes. I can see through those and I'm not impressed. Nothing new there, and you've already tried that tactic more than once."

Tamren flushed, shook his head, then glanced around to make sure not too many had heard. A few had. He looked down, ashamed.

"I made you a hair ornament." he said, pulling out a box. "Here. I made it for an adult, but you can shrink it. There's an embedded spell you can modify."

He opened the box. Sylia leaned in, visibly curious. She pursed her lips and said, "I know it's fashionable these days to offer ornaments or jewelry in your colors to your sweetheart, but that's something a young man would do—not someone who's well over sixty. Maybe even over seventy."

Tamren blushed. "I just used the material one of our kids brought me. I couldn't find anything of such quality around here. They're actually more your colors than mine."

Sylia took the ornament in her hand, assessing it. "You're quite mistaken. I'm a woman of a thousand colors. I just have my favorite ones. Didn't you know that from Darkness came all things?"

Tamren looked taken aback. "I beg your pardon?"

"Nowadays, Darkness isn't so popular," Sylia said calmly, "because it's often wrongly linked to bad things. The truth is, it's simply the Source of all other elements. That's why it's feared—especially by Light users. It reminds them they're the fourth fundamental element, not the first, like some have begun to claim."

She shifted her tone, thoughtful but sharp.

"Alas, those with Light but without enough Lightling are easily corrupted by Darkness—hence their fear. They're unbalanced. Highly imperfect. A deviation from what they should have been. Well… some Darkness users fall into the same boat, I suppose. The most unbalanced ones were cursed with a weakness to Light but the same can be said for Light users whose fate might be even worse."

Her voice stayed steady.

"It's simple. Dark preceded Light, just as Night preceded Day. The Void preceded all of them—and it ends with the Void. That key chain must be respected for any creation to hold. Otherwise, the created world corrupts and collapses far too quickly."

She gave him a sidelong glance.

"How do you recognize corruption? It's easy. When those with more Light or Lightling start looking down on or fearing the Darkling and Dark elements. When Dark or Darkling wielders reject all other elements and want to reduce the world to their own elements. Both paths are wrong. The first leads to destruction. The second to regression and likely annihilation of all that was created."

Tamren grimaced. "You don't like my gift?"

Sylia shook her head, then turned it slightly, her tone softening. "Help me put it on. It's very pretty. You've improved grandly. I'll be happy to wear this one. I'll shrink it slightly in this form."

Tamren beamed, his face transfigured with happiness. He nodded and stepped forward to do so.

***

Sylia suddenly became aware of the piercing gaze of Kirsten Draviota, one of Grenar's grandsons. The young man appeared angry at both her and Tamren. She wondered at the reason. The boy had always been peculiar, though her Division, Syl Celia, still seemed to enjoy his company.

Kirsten had likely begun to notice something amiss with his son and fiancée. If not, he would have to be remarkably foolish. Then again, the man was utterly delusional.

Sylia allowed a faint smile. Perhaps the news of his natural father's demise had reached him, or perhaps it was connected to his secret allegiance to the Royal Family and to Nagasmar Kingdom's new Lord Chancellor. Many possibilities existed, yet she knew none of them to be the true source of his evident anger. She could tell that, like Grenar, he resented seeing her prosper. Both had expected her to be enslaved by now, her power completely drained.

There was, indeed, a certain thrill in witnessing the disappointment of those fools who had conspired against her. Still, she could not keep them waiting forever.

As she regarded the clearly agitated Kirsten, Sylia pondered whether she should deliver him some news. Something to crush most of his hopes. She nodded to herself. Yes, she would. She owed him at least that much. Just like his father, he had proved to be a grave disappointment.

Her son, Tarzegel, had nearly been harmed by the Mortal Goddess who had been protecting Kirsten's father. Fortunately, Sylia had intervened, condemning the Goddess to her family's Neants. There, the rebellious Deity would be tortured until nothing remained of her. Not even in the Neants, from which no one, save those bound to the Abyss or Sylia's family, could ever return. There had been exceptions, of course, but those were wrought by the Dark Lord and the Great Father of them all. Only he could accomplish such a miracle. In truth, there was little he could not achieve, should he will it.

Kirsten's father had not only endangered Tarzegel but also Tarzegel's father, Gyundon, who might have been tracked through their son. For that reason, Sylia had recovered what little remained of the man's Soul, keeping it for torture until even the last particle was extinguished. She could take her time, just as she intended to do with Kirsten, that treacherous wretch. Syl Celia had made a grave mistake believing a part of him could be saved. It was strange since she had seldom erred in her judgment. Syl Celia had perceived good where there had been ninety percent decay.

Sylia lacked her Division's boundless optimism, and even that remaining ten percent was delusional and steadily rotting.

Kirsten was self-righteous and entirely self-absorbed. He could no longer discern right from wrong. In his delusional mind, his word was absolute truth. Sylia had seen this before, and she now easily recognized the signs of those who professed to be good, yet defended all manner of evil while trampling the innocent and the victim alike. It was a deeper corruption, one often observed in many species, and it had never ended well for any of the afflicted.

She still remembered one such fool who had met his end as a Turtle banquet prepared for Lord Chester. A faint smirk curved her lips. The Lord who had opposed Chester had indeed chosen the wrong adversary. Lord Chester's cruelty knew no bounds when his precious Chipmucks and Bulls became the targets of formidable foes who wished them harm. In such moments, Chester forgot all restraint.

This was a High Lord capable of inviting another High Lord to dine, only to cook him for his own children, leaving only a single fragment in his Dark closet he intended to torture for an eternity. Chester would stop at nothing to punish those who had truly earned his wrath, particularly when the offense involved his beloved Chipmucks, whom he cherished above all else. Almost everything else. Chester still held a few beings dearer in his heart… starting with himself.

He was not among the most ancient High Lords for nothing. He had either devoured or destroyed every High Lord who had risen against him seeking to topple him and usurp his mighty position. The last one, who had tried getting rid of Chester, had taken considerable time to bring down. But Chester had still succeeded taking down that one, in the end, though not without assistance. Their Great Father had aided him greatly, far more than Sylia and her Source had ever imagined. This was no priority of theirs at the moment, however.

Sylia's thoughts returned to her fury at learning that Kirsten had contacted his Royal allies and the Lord Chancellor in an attempt to sell out Tamren. She would wager his head that Grenar had been involved; the corrupt old man had always despised Tamren. It was hardly surprising. Tamren embodied everything Grenar was not, starting with being uncorrupted.

Sylia's gaze softened momentarily as she regarded the oblivious Tamren, who was still smiling after presenting her with a hopeful and precious gift. Perhaps, he was a bit foolish, she mused. Still, she liked them slightly foolish, but only when she was concerned. Any others with such disposition in different circumstances would be shown the door without hesitation.

Her attention shifted once more to Kirsten, who lingered on the far side of the square. She decided she would send him one of her loveliest Bunnies, the Grim Reaper. Her servant could shear away a fragment of Kirsten's Soul. Just enough to leave her with something to torture for a long time.

She had a pleasant afternoon planned with Tamren, followed by dinner with him, their daughter Rozen, and their son Zargen. So, she had no time to supervise Kirsten that day. Not when she was so busy having fun. That would only increase her entertainment and amusement to see his reaction.

It was very tempting.

She considered herself fortunate to have avoided the worst. Zargen was highly vindictive; he would have gone after Kirsten for his father's sake, endangering their carefully laid plans. Then his brother Dargzion would have intervened, and their schemes would have unraveled entirely. Her other son was, after all, blessed by Lord Chester himself.

Sylia always exercised caution with any of her children who bore Chester's Blessing. One misstep, and that Chipmuck fanatic could sink their entire world with a mere tap of his Chipmuck foot. They had once wondered who could have been so cruel as to fashion such a condensed form. Now, they knew it was the joint work of the Dark Lord and the Master of Blood Lords. Anything those two created together invariably brought disaster to many—but endless amusement to the greatest Masters of all times.

Sylia nodded again, pleased with her decision. She would send her Bunny with a message and inform Kirsten that she had butchered Nagasmar's Lord Chancellor the previous night and had even crafted a Dragonaz Mage from his blood. It would be amusing to watch part of the Royal Family devoured alive by her creation. It might take those foolish and obtuse Royals several days to discover the Lord Chancellor's lifeless body and realize that his replacement meant them no good. Unless of course, "good" was defined as being made into a Gourmet or Commoner dish.

Sylia laughed softly. Let them decide what was best for them. For now, she would simply enjoy Kirsten's growing despair as he came to understand that all was lost. He would have to behave himself for the next few weeks as she had no time to keep him under close watch. Far too much already occupied her attention.

There was Magali, for one, whose child had manifested as an Abnomaly and had consumed several people. Sylia had been forced to suppress those memories from the Slums' residents. It was not an entirely grievous matter—well, it was—but those consumed had been supporters of Grenar. So, she didn't truly care. Still, it was unfortunate that one of the traitors' children had been devoured by that abominable creature.

Sylia had not erased all traces of it, for some of the Abnomaly was fused with Magali's body. Extracting all the creature's parts without causing greater harm was impossible, and she required Magali for her future plans.

Yes, that would suffice. Sylia resolved that her message had to be penned in the cruelest manner possible, mirroring the style of Kirsten's own communication with the Royals and the Lord Chancellor. It was only fitting that he should receive equal, if not greater, cruelty in return.

And she fully intended to deliver exactly that. Cruelty.