A Throne Built On Lies

The Wrong Body.

Caelion Vireth awoke to choking silence.

In the beginning there was no sound around him. No wind. No breath. No pulse he could know. Great silence so profound it was unnatural.His eyes gradually opened.He was seated on a throne.Not a throne in palaces. Not anything familiar.

This was cut out of dark stone that seemed to be too smooth to be a natural one. Its air was thick, as though it were touching his skin.Caelion did not make a speedy motion.His mind made an attempt to keep up.Seris. said he, faintly.

“Seris…” he said faintly.

His voice didn’t sound right.It was deeper.

He frowned immediately. “What…?”

He tried to stand.His muscles responded immediately.Too fast.Too strong.He floundered a little as he forced himself to his feet, one hand holding on to the armrest of the throne.

“Not mine,” he said to himself.

His body was heavier, not weaker. The opposite. As though it had been constructed to something much more dangerous than that with which he was accustomed.Caelion gazed at his hands.They were larger.The skin was blacker.Something that was not divine light faintly pulsed in the veins.

He froze.

“No, no, no,” he said to himself.

He made a step forward.The ground responded.Shadows shifted.Not randomly.They moved out of his way.As if making space.Caelion stopped again.His breathing was irregular. “Where am I?”

He turned slowly.

The room was infinitely extended on all sides, as though it were a great hall cut out of the very substance of things. No doors. No exits. Darkness upon darkness.And yet.He was not afraid.

And yet…He wasn’t afraid.That was what he found to be even more disturbing.

Caelion raised his hand.The shadows reacted instantly.They headed towards him.Not attacking.Responding.As though they were awaiting orders.He flinched slightly. “Stop.”

The shadows stopped.Immediately.Caelion stared at them.Then at his hand.

“That’s not normal,” he said.

There was a low sound in the hall.Not loud.But present.Caelion turned sharply.

Nothing was there.Then a voice came.Not from one direction. From everywhere.

“Lord Vaelthar…”

Caelion froze.

He glanced round lazily. “Who said that?”

Silence answered him.

Then again.

“Lord Vaelthar is awake.”

Caelion took a step back. “I am not Vaelthar.”

The shadows moved a little at his words. But the voice went on.

“His presence is stable.”

Another voice joined.Then another.They were not all talking at the same time. They were overlapping. Multiple sources. Different tones.

Repeating the same name.

“Lord Vaelthar…”

“Lord Vaelthar…”

“Lord Vaelthar…”

Caelion clenched his fists. Stop referring to me as such.

The shadows that surrounded him flickered. As though in reply to his exasperation. He made himself breathe slowly.

“This is erroneous, “he said sternly. “I was—”

He stopped. His mind went blank. Seris. The blade. His chest. The pain.

Caelion instinctively put a hand to his chest. No wound. No blood. No damage. Only confusion.

“What was it? “he said to himself.

The shadows moved again.

In this instance, creating forms. Not fully physical. More like impressions. Figures kneeling. Heads bowed. Waiting. Caelion stepped slowly forward.

“Respond to me, “he said.

The shadows made no verbal reply. But they reacted. One of them rose. It resembled a humanoid figure composed of smoke and dark light.

It spoke.

“Lord Vaelthar is back.”

Caelion shook his head. “No.”

The color leaned a little.

“Your form has stabilized,” it said.

Caelion’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Another shade came forward.

“Memory imprint incomplete.”

Caelion narrowed his eyes. “Explain.”

The shade paused. Then spoke.

“Vaelthar Noctryn is your name.”

This time silence struck even more. The look of Caelion hardened. No. The shadows made no response to his denial. They simply waited.

Caelion raised his voice, this time more sharply. “I replied no. I am Caelion Vireth.”

The hall made no reply.

Instead…

The throne under him moved a little. As though to recognize him. Caelion caught it at once. He slowly reverted to it.

“This can not be, “he said to himself.

There was a slight distortion in the air by his side. As though a thing was struggling to come up. Caelion stepped back.

“Stop, stop, “he said.

The distortion widened. A memory. Not his. But inside him. He was standing in a chamber. Not this one.

Different. Brighter. Divinely endowed. And there was screaming. In the middle of the room was a god chained.

Vaelthar. But Caelion didn’t understand that yet. Before him he saw only a man striving desperately against chains of seals of the gods.

“THIS IS ILLEGAL! “the man screamed.

His voice reverberated in the room.

“I AM NOT A CRIMINAL!”

He had a group of gods around him. Silent. Watching. One of them came forward. Eryndor Vale.

Caelion’s breath caught. Eryndor held up his hand. The seals tightened. Vaelthar screamed again.

“This is no justice! “he cried. “You can never erase me!”

Eryndor made no change of face. He uttered but one word.

“Proceed.”

The seals sprang to the full. The body of the man started to fall to pieces. Not physically. Spiritually. His form destabilized. His voice became distorted. And then…

Everything shattered.

Caelion awoke with a bang. He fell backwards, gasping.

“No…” he said.

There was a trembling in his voice. “That’s not real.”

The shadows that enclosed him became quiet. The hall was again quiet. But back came the calls.

“Memory recognized.”

“Identity confirmed.”

“Lord Vaelthar is back.”