If you want to start with the beginning:
Previously… Seran met Creature, a shadowy familiar with lights for eyes. With their access to the last demon’s memories; Seran’s education in magic, the Truth, begins.
Fulcrum
“Hark, North Star, of unmoved vastness. Anchoring the black vault, ancient glimmer. Throw thee, influence as straw, to the great fields of man. Fields of rut and identity. My straw, unquenched, unseen arbiter of drought, a dart within thy profligate.
Spare, he of uneschewable pair, Spirit of austerity. One to spare and another, with mind of mine, as all are, which does remain.”
The God of Spirit decreed. Their will poured through the lazy interweaving fields of bi-subconsciousness, hungrily constructing and satiating all that existed. One eye among them drew suspicion, meteoric starfall instead of Iris.
A struggle ensued. A pale dot, of infinite brightness and power, infinitely small, infinitely far. An opal tossed within a raging waterfall. The decree stood.
“Divine Intervention.” Iris whispered to the milky polished marble, issuing a decree of her own.
“Gather”, vibrated throughout the frame of reality. Drawing Obscure looks from Obscure places. The execution shall be a reckoning, Iris, High Witch, Queen of Mankind, Mortal Confluence, Cosmic Parasite, Bride of God, plotted.
Khatir
Seran’s Tent
Seran paced, hands clasped behind her back. A dozen varying sticks of incense leeched slow smoke, strewn about on holders decorating the lofty rugs and satins of the home. The fumes coalesced and repelled one another in war and dance. They choked the air, then dissipated in gradual cycles. The tent was a heaving lung of perfume.
Creature lay on Seran’s bed, bored. Today, Creature informed Seran that its creator, her new master, was to be put to death by execution.
“We must stop them. We must.” She muttered a fourth time. Laqadaisical smoke hovered at the edges of her worn path. Where she moved through it, it rebounded in settling waves.
Creature focused on the dart of satin it twisted around a thumb. “The notion is naive. Foolish. Dangerous.” Creature said.
“There must be a way.” She pleaded. Seran’s idle hand slipped through a strand of silken black hair. Short, where it had been long. Smooth, where waves had testified in coarseness to their age.
“Their power has no equal. They are merciless. Accept this, as he has.” Creature said, sitting up to endorse its seriousness.
“You have no interest in swaying their minds, or even attending?”
“None, whatsoever.” Creature said, laying back down. It released the bolt of cloth it had been working on, then grabbed at it again. The other hand wafted lazily at invading incense fumes.
“Well, it is unfortunate then, that I am your mistress.” Seran paused her patrol, facing Creature. It growled, unsure what was to follow, but having no pleasure in the implication.
Seran spoke again, more firmly, “Come Creature, take me to the execution ceremony.” Her gaze narrowed, reading the flaring lights of its eyes.
Haze moved between them, crawling through their tension; its wary pause drenched in rosemary, her brilliant intuition heavied under lavender.
Seran grabbed a sack made from black woven leather, and filled it with a few important books and writing tools. The two searched Seran’s delicate home for a few more moments, for anything that could be of use. In a rush, they crossed the threshold into the city.
Seran appeared alone, brushing past crowds of pedestrians. A young woman, rushing through the deafening economy of Khatir’s Holy District. Never far from prayer, merchants harried the tearful. With more vigor, they slunk into crowds filled with the hissing sighs of anger.
Lanterns hung low over ducking patrons. Spotted sand-eel skin clung thinly to their frames, wrapping the lantern in dotted luminosity. The passing breeze along the high Great Dune caused a slow twirl in the specially crafted rope they hung from. The lanterns spun, resulting in a measured crawl of light, intermittent in spotted brightness, caressing the market stalls in creeping succession.
As Seran and Creature traversed the compacted-dirt streets, dodging horse drawn wagons and pursuing wayfarers, Seran wondered, “How far is it?”
“As far as you wish to walk before you allow me to take us there.” Creature replied.
She planted her feet in the dirt, “You can take us there without walking?”
“Yes.” Creature answered. This had been a spiteless stalling of its dreaded chore. To passersby, it would seem that Seran was talking to herself.
Seran sighed, “Why leave my tent?”
“You seemed intent on doing so, and like you said, you are my Mistress.”
“Let us return.” Seran said. Rocks complained under the harshness of her turning feet in the aggregate dirt.
When they arrived back, Seran asked, “How does this work?” She dropped the sack she carried, it ejected a few superior materials onto the table. She walked back to the tent entrance and began twisting a golden braided hawser, thicker than her arm. It closed the threshold as a series of heavy cloths were pulleyed across it.
Creature did not speak, it only motioned for her to move from the entrance. Farther from prying ears. When she relented and went to sit on the bed, Creature removed a white chalk from the spilled sack. It used the chalk to slowly and deliberately draw a circle in the center of the tent, a person’s height in diameter. It was drawn on a thick, stiff, patterned rug of muted reds and browns.
Once the circle was complete, it was flawless. Creature stood and approached Seran.
It said, “The rest is up to you, call this your first lesson.”
Seran looked at the empty circle, then back at Creature. “What am I supposed to do with a chalk circle?”
“To command ether over time, you must create a seal. The seal is made up of three things. Do you remember their natures?”
Seran thought, “A name, clearly- an image, and mana?”
Creature’s eyes twisted into a proud smile. “Correct, Mistress. In order to reach Synkaerth, we must accomplish Living Matter Transmission.”
“How am I meant to do so?”
“Seals are the most basic of spells, Mistress. Best to not overthink them.”
“How then, if I have never been to these holy grounds, can I transmit to them?”
“Any mage can transmit to Synkaerth. Draw an image of your choosing within the circle. That will be your focus for the seal. Name the transmission spell, remembering the image. All that remains is the infusion of mana.”
“Infuse to what purpose? What am I meant to call it to do?”
“That part requires a bit more effort. You emit mana from directly within you, life force. The life force maintaining your soul will be the fodder through which you send commands to the mana in the world around you, ether. Concentrate, command your life force to go out and proliferate among free-standing ether. Then, command it to do your bidding. The simple way of explaining this is; Close your eyes, concentrate on commanding your inner energy to transmit us, standing within the circle. At which point, you will seek out points of light behind your closed lids, by scanning the world’s ether.”
“Scan the world for ether?”
“Yes, all mana is connected. You can ‘feel’ for strains out in the world, though you will only be able to distinguish mana that is either your own, or concentrated in vast amounts. Close your eyes and envision yourself dispersing into the air, reaching out to all of the mana surrounding you. Continue reaching out, until you find ether concentrated together so powerfully, it dwarfs all other conglomerations.”
Seran approached and stood at the edge of the circle. After a moment, she took the chalk in hand and drew a simple dove silhouette, two outstretched wings to both sides, a tail and head.
“Flight” Seran spoke softly, exhaling shimmering fog onto the image.
As she gave this name to the dove, it began to glow. The ruddy hues of faded carpet transformed to golden shine. She entangled her life force, let it bleed from her, to the ether surrounding them, leading it to the symbol.
Once her mind was entrenched in the new seal, Seran contemplated. Her eyes moved rapidly under closed lids. Her mind hunted the most concentrated ethereal corona she could sense. It was near-instant.
Stars of errant ether flared in the dark of her unsight, but one was apocalypse. One was unfathomable in its dominion. Seran spoke, “It’s done.” As the tender purple threads of her intent grasped onto the domineering monstrosity of pearlescent white light.
The two then stood within the circle. She uttered the word, “Flight” and in a flash of patina’d golden light, the two were gone. The constellation of Seran’s mind soared on turbulent waves of wild ether. She held the orbiting bodies of her will intact, maintaining a course toward the concentrated zone. She hoped they would be pieced back together properly.
When the lane of purple intent she had laid before them ended, there was another brilliant flash of light. For a moment, Seran was wrapped, encumbered within the threads as they glowed to their brightest, holding them both firmly. Then, instantaneous freedom.
Seran and Creature stood atop a much larger circle now, half the size of her district. The platform they stood on was made of stone, chipped and dotted with great age. The chiseled but unpolished stone was the same homogenous grey as far as she could see. The only variance in its design were eldritch symbols carved to depict unknowable forms.
The platform they stood on was circular. Eery carvings littered the squares of its paving. Where the chiseled images of primordial ghasts were lacking, symbols of equal peculiarity, reminiscent of numbers and letters, were engraved in patterns unfamiliar to this century.
In front of them was a short walkway, smoother, recessed. It led to gargantuan archways lined with obsidian. There were no doors or soldiers here. There was this platform, the archway, and a space inside which was built like a gazebo for captive moons.
The inner-room was quadruple the size of this platform. Any details of the place inside were difficult to determine, due to sheer distance. Seran looked around, there were no trees, no other buildings, only clouds. Seran’s eyes opened wide in wonderment. Observing this, Creature’s twisted knowingly.
Seran walked briskly to the edge of the platform, away from the archway to look over the edge. Nothing. They were high enough to graze clouds, with no land beneath them.
“Is this Mun?” She asked, referring to their planet.
“Of course, Mistress. You see why you cannot arrive on foot.”
“How could someone build something like this?”
“Synkaerth is more ancient than all demons. My master’s memories provide little on its origins.” Creature responded.
“I miss the ground.” Seran turned away from the infinite cliff.
They faced the mighty open arches of Synkaerth once again. With destinies lodged in their throats, Seran led them through the boundary.
Enjoying this saga
Thanks William 🙏 appreciate ya