Arison

1. Aurathalor

It was the night of Aurathalor. On this ancient night the two wondrous moons of Arison became one. The crimson red Drak’arok dissolved into the deep blue sapphire of Vorthalas, weaving an emerald hue across the sky. The moons were deities of old, revered since time immemorial predated all existence. But the greatest of them was Malachra, the emerald moon, revealing itself only on this sacred night.

As the wind grew cold, the air turned crisp. The gentle breeze carried the smell of pine needles and moist soil, evoking visions of lush forests and tranquil woods.

Quite suddenly, the vibrant sounds of chirping birds fell silent, and the rustling of leaves ceased to be heard. In the mighty heights above the forest, a flock of enormous birds took flight. Against the chilly night of Aurathalor, these seven birds moved in a V-shaped pattern, gliding effortlessly like the wind itself. Their dark bodies glistened in the emerald light of Malachra. Leading this formation was a bird larger than the rest, distinguished by a massive white jewel adorning its neck.Despite its size, it didn't seem to weigh upon the majestic creature. It flickered against the light as if it could shine on its own.

Within the grand Duskaeries, flames flickered, casting a fiery glow that illuminated the space. The wooden doors stood open, flanked by two guards clutching their spears tightly, their stances vigilant. Bathed in the warm torchlight stood a man, draped in a flowing green fabric with a rough, textured quality. His hair cascaded freely to his shoulders, unbound.

Beside him stood a woman, dressed in vibrant red fabric adorned with delicate gold linings. Her hair was styled into a neat bun at the back of her head. Upon closer inspection, one could see the skin sagging around her eyes and the scattered white hairs beneath her black bun. Yet her beauty veiled her age perfectly.

“Thalor, you have done an amazing job with the preparations. The Duskaer will be delighted with the arrangements. Tonight is the night of Aurathalor, the night of budur.” She smiled warmly, her eyes sparkling with genuine enthusiasm for the upcoming ceremony.

"Thank you, Lady," Thalor responded with a nod, acknowledging her words of appreciation. "I put my utmost effort into ensuring the Duskaer will find the arrangements remarkable. Glory to the queens!" he added.

Helen echoed the sentiment, her voice resonating with devotion, before excusing herself to join the crowd gathered outside the Duskaeries.

As Thalor stepped into the Duskaeries, the torches around him cast flickering shadows on the walls. The wooden door closed with a thud, leaving him alone. At the center of the room stood a solitary stool, seemingly made of black marble. Upon it rested a bowl adorned with the symbol of two intertwined stars, the royal authority of Arison.

Thalor approached the bowl, circling his fingers around the rim, oblivious to the gleaming white orb inside. He looked nervous as he stared at a door at the far end of the room. With measured steps, he made his way towards it. Clutching the handle, rusty and worn, he grasped it firmly, wrapping his thick fingers around it. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly and opened the door with a creak.

Inside was a lonely chamber, stripped of life. Red splatters covered the walls like paint thrown at a canvas. On the floor, within this crimson pool, a massive emblem of two stars was etched. Thalor stared at the mark and sank to his knees. Silent tears streamed down his face as he gazed into the past, which he could never forget.

*******

18 years earlier

`

“Dad, help me!” a young girl cried, her voice piercing through the crowd like a dagger. Seven women dressed in black stood around the girl in a circle, one of them forcefully dragging her to the entrance of the Duskaeries. Thalor stood still, staring at the wooden doors. Silent tears streaked his young beard. Each breath seemed a struggle, his chest tightening with every passing second. His eyes appeared empty, as if devoid of life. He felt as though his entire existence was crumbling, reduced to mere fragments scattered across the sands of time. Time lost its meaning; it felt like centuries since the girl had been dragged into the Duskaeries.

Seven women emerged from the Duskaeries, holding the young girl, now limp and lifeless. Her delicate hands were stained with blood, her eyes hollow sockets. Suddenly, thick black smoke enveloped the women. As it cleared, seven enormous birds stood in their place. One of them held the lifeless girl in its beak and ascended into the night sky. They disappeared into the vast expanse, carrying with them the girl and her life. Her fate was sealed, her death a mere excuse, her life a cruel game.

Thalor stared at the night sky where Rayla had vanished forever. Malachra drifted apart into the two moons of Arison, taking with it the prosperity it had brought. The crowd dispersed, relieved their daughters had been spared, yet they tried to console Thalor. But they couldn’t understand. For Thalor, every breath felt like a betrayal. It was wrong to breathe when his daughter couldn’t, wrong for his heart to beat when hers didn’t, wrong to live when she couldn’t.

*******

“Sir, Lady Helen has arrived with news,” a guard stiffly shouted through the door. Thalor rose from his kneeling position, wiping the tears from his cheeks. He took a deep breath before stepping outside into the heavy night. Lady Helen stood outside the Duskaeries, still in her shimmering crimson robes.

“Is there something I need to worry about, Lady Helen?” Thalor inquired, smiling.

“No, my dear lad, it's wonderful news. The Duskaer have sent word—they shall soon grace us with their presence.” Lady Helen smiled as she shared the news.

“Glory to the queens! That's wonderful, and just in time for Aurathalor. I shall see to the preparations,” Thalor said before excusing himself and heading towards the ruins of Aurathlories.

Lysara and Elenor were waiting for Thalor, who had promised to arrive at the Aurathlories before Aurathalor. They sat side by side, their eyes fixed upon the ruins.Itt was a broken building, one that had once been grand but now showed the wear of time. Vines had grown over the ruins of Aurathlories, which quite literally means the Hall of Aurathalor. The building had crumbled and been looted over the centuries. It was well-known among the children of Arison from the old tale of Dola on Aurathalor, where a young girl named Dola described the wonders she saw while traveling to Arison. One of those wonders was Aurathlories, described as the sun in the night, for the gold embedded in it shone like the sun. One could not guess its former richness from its current poverty.

Lysara’s hair was tightly woven into a singular black braid. She turned towards Elenor, whose hair was a shining blonde. “Elle, it's Aurathalor again,” Sara uttered.

Elle smiled and hugged Sara tightly. “Yep, I know Sara, it's literally the same day as last year.”

Sara laughed into Elle’s shoulder. “Yes, Elle, it is.”

“Sorry, my children, I was held up by Lady Helen,” Thalor spoke, his smile masking his weary face.

“Did you, Uncle? You always seem to enjoy her company,” Elle said, smiling.

“Elle!” Sara exclaimed, playfully elbowing Elle in the stomach. Sara leaned forward towards Thalor. “You always have so much to do, Uncle,” she said, hugging him tightly.

Thalor turned towards Elle and playfully remarked, “No hugs, Elle?”

Elenor rushed towards him, wrapping him in a heartfelt embrace.

“Hey, slow down, you,” Lysara teased, laughing softly.

2. Crimira

The Duskaer descended silently from the night sky, their presence alone sending a wave of fear among the mob. They raised their colossal wings, and black smoke enveloped the seven birds. In their place stood seven beautiful women, clad in sleek black velvet garments that clung to their bodies with ease. Adorning their heads were headdresses carved from the bodies of dead birds, a symbol of death. The assemblage was exclusively composed of women. Each bore a ring upon her finger. Their lips were painted in a shade of obsidian black.

Amidst the beautiful assembly of women, one woman stood forward, her eyes commanding attention. Around her waist, an enormous white jewel was tied. All eyes were fixed upon her; the young lusted at her beauty while the elders cowered in fear.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" The woman's lips curled into a self-assured smile.

Helen, who was standing before her, sank to her knees. The woman offered her hand to Helen, who gently kissed it. "Indeed, my mistress. Your presence is my blessing," she murmured.

"Indeed it has. But worry not, Helen, my arrival brings purpose." The woman placed her hand on Helen's head. Her eyes turned a deep shade of black, and she murmured spells of old. The fabric of reality tore, as if cut by scissors. Jewels of different shades fell into Helen's lap. The crowd shook in awe.

"Your generosity is beyond measure, Miss Talora," Helen bowed her head to the ground, her eyes in tears.

Thalor, the town's chief, stood tall, his gaze fixed. Flanking him were Lysara and Elenor. According to the age-old tradition of Arison, it was the duty of the town chief to wash the feet of the Duskaer with rakh, a black powder made from burnt remains of human bones. Standing beside Thalor was the previous chief, Lady Helen. She clapped twice, and in response, fourteen servants appeared. Two servants carried seven metal bowls, their surfaces reflecting the light of malachra. These bowls were filled with water, shimmering and pristine up to their very brims. The bowls were placed in front of each Duskaer, who stood in a line with Talora at its centre. The Duskaer raised their hands, their black garments clinging to their fingers. Suddenly, as if they had always been there, black marble stools materialized out of thin air. The air grew heavy as the Duskaer descended upon the stools.

Thalor kneeled before Mistress Talora, his eyes cast downward in respect. His heart quickened beneath his chest as he reached out his hands to touch her foot. The moment his hands made contact, he felt a chill, as if icy tendrils were creeping up his spine. The rakh clung to his fingertips as he applied it to Mistress Talora's foot, seeping into her skin and turning it inky black. Her once-pale skin now bore the haunting hue of midnight. One by one, the other members of the council followed Thalor's lead, their hands trembling with fear. The Duskaer kept smiling, for it was their day.

The sight of Mistress Talora's skin darkening sent a ripple of unease through the members of the council who stood witness. One by one they followed in Thalor's steps as they undertook the ceremony.

With a smile curling upon her lips, Talora's gaze swept through the mob. The time had come. Thalor met her gaze, understanding what was to come. "As you wish, my lady," Thalor murmured softly, his voice light. Lady Helen clapped twice, and the servants swiftly snatched the water-filled bowls away.

Talora stood up, and so did all the other Duskaer. The stools upon which they had been sitting disappeared into thin air. Thalor stood in front of the Duskaer as they approached the heavenly hall. "Duskaries" literally means the Hall of the Duskaer.

As they approached the hall, the door flew open with a creak. Flickering torches lined the walls, casting dancing shadows. The door closed with a thud as all awaited the judgement they would face. Fathers clutched their daughters tightly, and mothers cradled their day-old baby girls. Thalor stood still next to Elenor and Lysara. His hands were trembling. Lysara tightly took hold of his trembling hand and kissed him on the cheek. "Everything will be fine," she assured him. Thalor looked at her for a moment before running his hands through Elenor's hair. "I wish," he said.

Talora slowly moved towards the centre of the room, where a black marble stool stood, upon which lay a bowl. The hall seemed to have a life of its own. Talora picked up a white orb from the bowl, its smooth surface glittering in the dim light. Gripping it tightly with her slender fingers, she began incanting a special spell. Soon, all the Duskaer joined in. Slowly, the white marble orb started rotting into a black piece of coal, as if its very essence was being destroyed. The ball crumbled to dust, but the very second it did, a thick voice said, "Elenor Thal uq ’lars." Talora's lips curled into a smile as she awaited the fate that had befallen the girl.

Lysara and Elenor stood side by side outside the Duskaries, their hearts beating fast. They were waiting for the duskaer. Besides them stood a woman. A head scarf draped over her features veiled her face.Though her face was hidden, her unwavering posture possessed strength.Elenor stole a quick glance at the woman. The woman looked at her, her emerald eyes met Elenors, they were calm, as if they were smiling. The woman suddenly gripped Elenors shoulder tightly her touch firm and grounding.She hushed in a force tone,”Be prepared,”Elenors stared at the woman, taking it in, but before she could say anything, the hand on her shoulder disappeared, so did the words in her mind.

Lysara bit her lip and glanced around, feeling a cold sweat on her forehead and a knot in her stomach. She leaned closer to Elenor, who seemed a little distraught. "I'm worried," Lysara confessed. Elenor met her gaze with her crimson red eyes. "So am I," she said softly, "but we will get through this." They squeezed each other's hands, the heat of their skin mingling and soothing their chilled fingers. Elenor looked at Lysara with tears in her eyes. "Sara, promise me that whatever happens, you will never leave me."

"Of course, silly. That's what families do," Lysara said, her sapphire eyes shining in the night. Their skin was hot and clammy, but they didn't let go, their heartbeat echoed in their palms.

The door of the Duskaries swung open quickly. The Duskaer emerged, their faces lit up with smiles. Talora’s smile sent a chill down everyone’s spine. The air grew colder, as if all the warmth had been taken away.

Her voice, sharp and cold, echoed in the quiet space, each word filled with a looming threat. "Elenor Thal uq ’lars," she said with a wide smile. A collective sigh of relief came from the crowd, happy their daughters were safe. Elenor dropped to her knees, staring up at the powerful Duskaries. "Is she your daughter, Master Thalor?" Talora mocked. "Yes, my lady, she is," Thalor replied, his voice shaking with sorrow.

A loud shout erupted from the crowd, "No!! You cannot. Elle!!" Lysara cried out, throwing herself onto Elenor, holding her tightly. She looked into Elenor's eyes, seeing only pain. Elenor's eyes seemed to say, "This wasn’t supposed to happen?" Slowly, Elenor stood up, smiling weakly at Lysara, her hands trembling. "I love you," she whispered. Lysara could feel her heart breaking, but her lips wouldn’t move.

“I can and I will, Lysara Thal uq ‘lars. Thalor, don’t you think that girl has crossed her limits? I wish to eliminate her, but this is the holy night of Aurathalor; we kill only once. You are spared, Lysara Thal uq ’lars. But remember, a Duskaer never forgets.”

Elenor dabbed her face with her sleeve, erasing the traces of her tears. "I am Elenor Thal uq ’lars. I stand here today to die by your holy hands, by the hands which have taken thousands of innocent lives." The crowd was stunned; every girl before her had begged for mercy, for a chance to be spared.

"Silence," Talora commanded, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face. Elenor was not the kind of girl she preferred. She liked them young and helpless, their parents' cries soothing her ears. Over the millennia, Talora had encountered few like Elenor. They didn’t cry, they didn’t call out for help. Talora remembered the image of a young girl, her eyes full of tears, crying for her father. Decades had passed, but Talora didn't forget a good victim.

The defiance in Elenor's eyes fueled a different kind of desire within Talora. She looked at Elenor's trembling hands. The girl could fool the crowd by acting brave, but no one could fool the Mistress of the Duskaer. "Oh yes, my dear, I loved tearing their meaty hearts apart, drinking their blood like wine," Talora whispered, her voice honey-sweet.

Elenor squeezed Lysara's hand tightly. The Duskaer raised their hands, and Elenor was lifted into the air, her body enveloped in a black aura. Suddenly, the sky tore like paper, and the young girl was pulled into it by a powerful force. All was black.

The Crimira, also known as the Scarlet Room, was bathed in an eerie crimson glow. The walls bore deep stains of blood, and distant echoes of screams lingered in the air, haunting the silence. Etched onto the floor was a symbol of power, each mark seeming to whisper tales of past torment and souls crying out for mercy.

Lysara blinked her eyes open to find herself alone in the room. Suddenly, a decaying hand crept up her chest, tightening around her throat, and darkness consumed her once more.

When she next awoke, she was surrounded by black birds staring at her with intense hatred. One of them, adorned with a large white jewel, perched on her chest. With a swift motion, it slashed at her, but no sound escaped her lips. Blood spilled, staining the floor as women laughed joyously in the background. Despite the horror, Lysara felt strangely distant, as if she were watching from outside herself, unable to feel the pain inflicted upon her.

3. The Escape

Elenors heart was pounding in her chest as she watched Lysara being ripped away into thin air. She wanted to say “I love you ,” but the words were stuck in her throat. She felt numb, as if all her emotions had been drained from her. A chill crept over her, and she shivered despite the wool on her body. She tried to shout, to stop her, but no sound came out. A hand covered her mouth with a silky cloth, and she gasped for air. She took deep breaths, hoping to wake up from this nightmare, but instead she fell into a dreamless sleep.

“Should we tell her?” a woman’s voice said “No, let her decide what she wants to do,” another woman’s voice said, with a tone of authority. The voices were faint and distant, like echoes in a cave. Elenor felt a faint sensation of warmth and light, as if she was floating in a pool of sunshine. She tried to open her eyes, but they felt heavy and glued shut. She wanted to ask them who they were, what they wanted from her, but she couldn’t move her lips or tongue. “She is waking up,” the sweet voice said, gently stroking Lysaras hair. She strained to see them, but all she could see were flashes of white lilies, pure and fragrant

******

Sixteen years earlier

A vase of lilies stood on a table, their white petals gleaming in the sunlight. The wall behind them was blue, decorated with lily motifs that copied the flowers in the vase. On a bed covered with a blue quilt, two women sat.

Lyra’s voice trembled, its timbre laced with concern. “Silvena, I can’t help but feel worried. What if we can’t protect our children from the dangers that lie ahead?” Silvena’s gentle smile faltered for a moment as she placed a hand tenderly upon her own pregnant belly. “I know how you feel, Lyra. The world can be a scary place, especially for mothers.” Lyra’s gaze fixed upon Silvena’s burgeoning belly, her voice filled with a deep sense of worry. “It’s the thought of having a girl… What if the Duskaer take her away?” Silvena’s eyes softened with understanding as she reached out to touch Lyra’s arm. “I get it, Lyra. But we can’t let fear control us. We gotta be strong for our kids.” A tear glistened in Lyra’s eye, her vulnerability laid bare. “I wanna believe that, Silvena. But it’s just so overwhelming.” Silvena squeezed Lyra’s hand gently. “We’ll face this together, Lyra. We’ll be there for our kids every step of the way.” Lyra’s voice quivered, a blend of vulnerability and determination. “You’re right, Silvena. We can’t let fear win. We will do whats necessary for them.” Silvena smiled warmly at Lyra, the bond between them unbreakable. “That’s what friends are for, Lyra.”

*******

Elenors eyes slowly opened, and she found herself lying on the ground in a forest. The trees had shed their leaves, and the ground was covered in orange and red leaves. She could hear the wind rustling against the trees, but there was no one around. Elenor felt confused and disoriented, wondering how she got there and why she was alone. She tried to stand up, but her legs felt weak, and she fell back down. She looked around, hoping to find a clue or a sign of life. But all she saw was a box next to her, a red velvety box with a lily stamp on it. Adria reached for it, curious and confused, wondering what it contained and who left it for her.Adria gently opened the box, her hands trembling. Inside was a letter, written on a piece of animal skin. It was rolled up and tied with a red thread. Adria untied the thread and unrolled the letter. She held it in front of her eyes, but she couldn’t read it. Her eyes were blurry. She squinted and tried to focus.

To Elle,

You can save what you yearn,

Love what you need.

Someone once told me,

"Love with all you have,

Until you have no more."

There's always a chance,

The flowers say so,

Follow the winds of life,

And you'll find where you belong.

Lily

Elenor's heart pounded in her chest as tears blurred her vision. She carefully folded the letter and placed it inside her jacket pocket, clutching the velvet box tightly. Sitting down amidst the carpet of leaves, she gazed around, hoping for some sign of Lysara. The forest remained eerily silent, amplifying her sense of isolation.

"Where is Lysara?" she whispered hoarsely, her voice breaking against the stillness. The Dusaker had taken her best friend away leaving behind a void that echoed with her unanswered questions. "Why?" she called out, her voice trembling with sorrow, but the only response was the echo of her own anguish reverberating through the trees.

Desperate, she cried out for her mother, her voice cracking with emotion. Yet, the forest offered no solace, enveloping her in a profound silence. Just as hope threatened to slip away entirely, a soft, melodic voice brushed against her ear, humming a soothing tune.

In the world of honey, my dear Elenor gleams, In the light of dawn, my little one dreams. I hold your tiny hand, your voice so light, My sweet Elenor, a beacon in the night.

You're mine, and I'm yours, forever and a day, Together we'll journey, come what may. I'll be here always, through thick and thin, My love for you, a melody that will never dim.

As you grow tall, I'll watch you bloom, Like a flower in spring, chasing away the gloom. Strong and brave, with a heart pure and true, I'll guide your steps, in everything you'll pursue.

In the world of honey, my dear Elenor gleams, In your laughter and smiles, my heart finds its dreams. I'll cherish every moment, hold them close and near, For my love for you, my child, will always be sincere.

Elenor opened her eyes, tears still lingering from the memory of her mother's sweet humming. Suddenly, a piercing scream shattered the calm of the forest. It wasn't human—it echoed unnaturally through the trees. Elenor jumped to her feet, heart racing, and followed the sound deeper into the woods.

Among the dense canopy, she spotted a bird unlike any she had seen before. Its feathers shimmered with a colorful plumage, each hue blending into the next like a painting come to life. The bird fixed its intense gaze on Elenor and let out a sharp cry that reverberated through the air, almost sounding like "arrr."

Before Elenor could react, the bird abruptly burst into a cloud of ash, disintegrating into nothingness. Startled, Elenor stumbled backward, falling to the ground. From the ashes, tiny worms wriggled out and crawled swiftly towards a nearby tree, disappearing into the bark.

As the dust flew onto her face, Elenor felt a strange whisper in her ear, almost like a question: "Who are you?" and Elenor collapsed.

Elenor winced as her mother Lyra tenderly tended to her wounds, her brow furrowed with concern. "You have to be more careful, Elle," Lyra chided, her voice a gentle mix of worry and frustration. "I won't always be here to take care of you. You need to learn to navigate the world on your own."

Elenor's eyes glistened with tears as she struggled to find her voice. "I know, Mama," she whispered, her words heavy with a mixture of gratitude and sadness.

The night draped the scene in a blanket of silence, broken only by the gentle hoots of owls. A fire crackled, its flames painting the surroundings in a warm, flickering glow. Elenor stirred from her slumber, feeling the comforting heat embracing her. She opened her eyes to the velvety darkness above, speckled with the twinkling Drakrok and Vorthalas.

Trying to move, she realized her hands were tightly bound. Panic flickered within her as she surveyed her surroundings—the crackling fire and a roasting bird were the only companions in this eerie place. Suddenly, a deep, menacing voice reverberated in the air. "Who are you?" it boomed, sending shivers down Elenor's spine. She couldn't find her voice to respond.

But then, as if a spell had twisted, the voice cracked and transformed into that of a feeble, elderly woman. "Oh, holy horse! It's gone wrong. Must've botched something," the voice stammered, sounding fragile and uncertain.

Perplexed, Elenor glanced around once more. Gradually, a small, indistinct figure emerged near the fire, gaining clarity—a diminutive, hunched old lady donned in a flowing green robe, silver threads dancing in the fire's glow.

"I'm a stone monster, ready to gobble you up," the old lady proclaimed with a tremor in her voice, looking directly at Elenor. Confusion painted Elenor's face, unable to make sense of the situation.

"Aren't you scared?" the old lady asked, noticing Elenor's hand dangerously close to the fire. "Oh, blast it! Even this! Age hasn't been kind," she sighed, distressed.

"Oops! Has my plan backfired?" the old lady muttered.

"What should I do now?" Elenor cried out, her voice echoing into the nightly sky. Suddenly, a small sparrow materialized seemingly out of thin air and perched delicately on the old woman's hand, chirping urgently at her. "Ajack, fun of old Mara. Not good," she murmured to the bird. Ajack cackled in response, fixing his gaze on Elenor. With a swift movement, the sparrow flew from the old woman's hand onto the rope that bound Elenor to the wooden rod, deftly pecking and chewing until, almost magically, the binding rope gave way.

Elenor collapsed onto her knees, her strength depleted, managing only a single word, "Water."

"Ajack, what have you done? She could pose a threat," the old woman cautioned, but Ajack squealed loudly in response. The old woman regarded him with a knowing look, seemingly comprehending every sound the sparrow made. "Jalam!" she called out into the air, conjuring a flowing stream of water suspended mid-air that poured gently into Elenor's parched mouth. Elenor drank greedily, as if she hadn't tasted water in weeks. Gradually, her strength returned, and she glanced around, noticing that the darkness of night had given way to the dawning light, with the moons setting and the sun rising on the horizon.

Seated on a nearby rock, the old woman observed Elenor, while Ajack continued pecking at worms on the ground. "Where am I?" Elenor inquired softly, turning to the old lady, who met her gaze steadily and responded, "What you should ask is: Why are you here?"

Title - Arison

genre- fantasy

age range- 15 to adult

word count- In process

author name - Skye celestial

my project is a goof fit due to the inclusion of emotions and all types of diverse characters. It is an original world with its own language and grammar giving an immersive experience for the reader. I am a young author writing a fantasy book, it is a wonderful advertisement gimmick.

The book deals with mature themes of loss and sacrifice. The book starts with a sacrificial ritual and has diverse characters .If given the chance I hope to extend it into a series.

Target audience- young adults

bio- Avaneesh Khanapure, student studying in 11th grade. 16 years of age