Avarice Blacksteel

The First Leaf Falls

The second line of the prophecy had come to pass...

‘Until the first leaf of Nethrizil graces the earth.’

The first ebon leaf of Nethrizil had indeed settled to the earth. Xonereth held it in his elegant white hand, it was a stark contrast against his alabaster flesh.

None spoke, those few he had gathered about him respectfully silent as their ruler absorbed the monumental event that lay so innocently in his fine hand. Not of this earth yet bound to it just the same, for eons they played with mortals as pawns on a chessboard. Now they began to realize perhaps the humans now toyed with them as well.

“Perhaps they wield more power than we recognize?” Moloch offered, his tone most reverent. Xonereth looked toward the great singular tree, and the waters that now lapped at the base of the large hill which the greatness of Nethrizil crowned; and for the first time he believed in fear. He had always recognized such brutish emotions for what they were, simple human ones. He and his people were not supposed to feel them, yet today he did. He had been correct they could no longer languish here, secure in their power and their vanities. They must act.

“We have sired the chosen, making us in essence the chosen ourselves.” He said, never taking his black gaze from the leaf that lie in the palm of his outstretched hand.

“The unending oceans shall continue to rise, until the first leaf of Nethrizil graces the earth...The unassailable shall witness another hue come to pass, and those beautiful, straight and true will be bowed in a mantle of white.” He recited the beginnings of the verse slowly from memory, thus reminding those close to him of the next line in the age old prophecy.

Perhaps it was because he ruled them, or maybe none there had the answer, but all remained silent, heads inclined.

“It is time to discuss the progress of the chosen.” Xonereth said, knowing this was possibly the best way to encourage those about him to speak freely. There was though silence for a time, it was finally Choronzon who spoke.

“My son has lost himself in the dark fields of despair my King. His way is far from clear to his path.” The dark noble’s eyes did not meet those of his Regent.

“My daughter my Lord has yet to learn of humility and love.” Axtros swiftly added, he too glancing away.

“My son walks the path of the light Sire, though he does not find nor understand the importance in it. It appears that he alone can not be drawn into the dream as the others have come forth to speak with us directly.” Moloch said with great reverence, lowering his graceful head feeling he had already said too much.

“My son grows stronger, my Regent.” Sheharizade said boldly, turning to look at her King. “He learns the mortals well, his mind is strong. He is almost ready.” Her eyes flashing though they were black coals. She seemed the most proud among them of the life she had borne. Xonereth had merely nodded at each admission of progress, or lack thereof, on the chosen’s path. All assembled waited for his words which did not come forth.

It was Sheharizade who finally spoke in his stead. “Your son Sire, he fights enemies both seen and unseen. He goes forward to bear the triangle of torment burned into his flesh at the hands of the wretched humans, and is enthralled by none other than Axtros’s own daughter!” Sheharizade quipped. “He is a week reed in the river bed, not at all the strong lion you make of him.” It was an unseemly attack, the others gasped, if they harbored this identical thought they would never have given utterance to it as Sheharizade dared suggest.

Xonereth whirled about, his loose silken raiment's like black crow’s feathers flowing about him, his alabaster flesh stark against the blackness. Anger, another base human emotion flushed his features, and all fell back from him except for Sheharizade who stood bold and straight before his darkness. He was taller than her by a head, she stared up at him resolutely. Her ruler, her sovereign, her lover. Only she would dare stand before him unbowed and speak her mind.

“I have no time for this foolishness, this is not a race!” Xonereth countered annoyed, danger in his powerful darkness. He balled his hand crushing the leaf of the great tree within it. It splintered like ice or thin glass.

There was an audible gasp, but not for the outburst of their ruler’s unsightly display of emotion. All were entranced, Sheharizade included. They were gazing not at him, but his hand that had contained the very leaf of their sacred artifact.

‘The unassailable shall witness another hue come to pass...’

Red was that hue, the red of blood. The color of mortals, and the fleeting beauty of a tightly furled rose. Xonereth beheld his hand, and instead of the blood of blackness and immortality rising from the cuts, red; a color none had ever glimpsed before in their monochrome world. The next line of the prophecy had been revealed to them so soon...