When One Eye Closes, Another Opens

[Taelian Edevane]

41st of Searing, Year 120, Age of Steel

To My Beloved,
I know I've been away for some time, perhaps... twenty five days back and forth -- we speak often, but I don't see you as much. I've been handling events beyond the pale of what I normally do; things that have unfurled into a chaotic ensemble of threats that seek to undermine not only this nation, one I love, but the one I love abroad. We are in the midst of preventing a Dranoch's evolution -- a woman we believe is perhaps a year, maybe more, away from truly inciting chaos in these lands.

I didn't lie when I said that you're always the first thing on my mind, though. While I've been away from you, I've written you a poem. Are you ready, love? Here it goes:

. . .

. . .

Okay, I'm kidding. I'm shoddy at poetry. Instead I wrote you a small story, more of a teaser for a larger one. On the forty first of Searing, I intend to return to Skyhaven and hope to meet you there. It's the day before I purchase Ard Sgiath, and I want to see you again; I thought perhaps we might spend the remainder of the season together, my love.

Attached was a story, tied to the parchment with knots that ran through small slits in the sheet:

"Before the age of man's dominance, there were five beings that called themselves 'friends to the Elves', worshiped by our kind was great guardians of nature and bringers of life. They were, in many ways, paragons of our unity with the world; they taught us how to love and respect animals, how to commune with spirits, and how to respectfully reap from the land. These beings were known as the Elven Gods, and their faith was called -- is called -- Eldashan. When men conquered Silor and exiled the Elves to Sil-Elaine, they hunted the Elven Gods across the lands, with the beings initially scattering across the world to escape mortal wroth. Eventually when the humans allowed the Elves to keep their faith, many of them joined the Siltori in the Darklands so as to protect and guide us in the face of our genocide. Sil-Elaine was once the Elven holy land, after all; a place meant to be reserved for reverence of the Elven Gods, built with temples and monuments across the lowland fields.

Unfortunately this means that when the Sundering came, the Elven Gods were struck directly. Lotheric, greatest of them, went mad. Tyrnac, his brother, encased himself in glass in a new home of Sundered-making; the Mirrorlands, which consumed much of Sil-Elaine's countryside. Veratelle, suspended high above the treeline, was hit harshly by the Sundering's blast and died. Some say it was instantaneous, while others say she suffered a malignant aethereal decay, dying gruesome last gasps with loyal servants all scattered around her, surrendering their own lives as they attempted to nurse her back to health. Then, there was Lachrann, who -- in her illness -- picked up and fled Sil-Elaine, being hunted by the Court of Dusk. She went to Auris and soaked away their corruption, a last desperate attempt to nurture her children as she believed she would pass much like her sister before her. Fortunately, thanks to the Hytori, she lived -- though she was never the same.

Then, there was Ridhain, also struck by madness but of a less arcane sort. While Lotheric and Tyrnac became monsters of polluted minds, Ridhain became a monster of rage, spiting the humans who destroyed his kin and people all in one calamity. The humans who, in fact, corrupted the world and damaged the very fabric of reality. Ridhain now lives in the North of Atinaw, and has devoted his entire being to culling as many humans as he can. In truth, Lotheric and Tyrnac essentially do the same.

There is also a sixth rarely spoken of, Veravend. I have seen her -- visions, of sorts. Rarely a summoner can commune with her, and call upon her Archetypes. She lives in a place known as the Stygian Grave, in the Shrouded Realms... removed from the tragic happenings of our world. Sometimes I wonder what she really wants.

The reason I am telling you this story, Arlaed, is to inform you that it is perhaps my greatest goal to restore these Gods. Veratelle can't be saved -- but Ridhain is near us, Lotheric and Tyrnac have hope, and Lachrann only needs some sort of healing beyond what she's been able to receive from medicine and Necromancy, which wasn't designed to mend such cosmic beings. I've searched for the answers in my journeys, but I haven't found them. I wonder sometimes if there is an answer, but I can't help imagining that there is.

The truth is, Riven, that for a long time I hated humanity as the Elven Gods did. You are no human -- but even you, in some way, represented that archetypal scorn that I felt. But as I learned to love you, I also learned to pity the Elven Gods ever more. It is not their destiny to lash against humanity, but to foster us and help our kind struggle through the ardors of this world. I believe they might be able to help the Remedy against the Dranoch threat; I believe they may even be able to help restore Sil-Elaine. Look at how much Lachrann did for Auris -- just one God.

There has to be hope. Some of the answers lie in Summoning, but they are vague to me. I wonder if you would become a Summoner like me -- then we could search for answers together. If we're going to spend our lives alongside each other, I can't help but think we might bring some good to the world while we do. I know that we can."

That's all. And also this: I love you, dear.

Truly Yours,
Taelian

As his letter anticipated, Taelian sat still within the yard of their woodland estate, the cabin suspended high above the lake, perched upon the rock it called its foundations. He was surrounded by trees, his palms pressed against the grass at first. He had been trying to meditate and today was a good a day as any to do so, with the wind breezing through the foliage, the leaves swaying. It was partially clouded but not so much that he feared rain, and it was neither warm nor cool.

He hoped his beloved would come, understanding that his offer - his letter - was dubious. It was probably a lot for Riven to consider, mythical stories and the offer of a new magic. He knew the other man might have had some... reservations around acquiring new Runes. Even he had some, worried of initiating him. Patrick had survived; perhaps his luck would run out. There was this part of him, though, that believed that there was no way Riven could die from something like that. He hoped he was right.

[Riven]

Riven grabbed the letter Taelian had sent him again. He almost knew it by heart now; he had read it several times, back and forth, thinking about him and about the mysterious and fascinating world he introduced Riven to. He started again; he laughed at the poetry part again. The joke in itself was awful, but imagining Taelian trying hard to write poetry, or even reading any out loud with profound sentiment was so unlikely in his head that it became comical; he couldn't help it. He knew what followed; Ard Sgiath, the castle he intended to buy as headquarters, and the announcement of his arrival. Finally, he would be back in Skyhaven, waiting for him. A short letter, but the story made up for it, and Riven enjoyed a good story. And it was good. Dense, but good.

Many of the things the story introduced to him he had already seen before, in different fragments. Disconnected from a timeline, as tales he had heard in Nivenhain, or read in books, or found out in Kalzasi. But the story made sense of all of them. He had a good sense of world history; he knew the Eldhan came first, the original elves. He knew about the Elven Gods; Sahfri had mentioned them and prayed to them from time to time, though not as often as she mentioned the Dragon gods in the same terms. He had read history books about the rise and fall of Silor... but up until then, he had equated the Elven Gods to beings of legend, to gods like the ones overseeing the world. However, that left clear that they were something much more tangible; they could be chased, and they could be killed. And the world could be a cruel place for those who had some power others could use.

And then, the Sundering. Riven had read countless books in his library in Nivenhain; no book avoided the topic, but all of them focused on what happened after... because none could offer a satisfactory explanation of what happened before. Taelian had no answers either, but the Eldhan Weald had paid the price, apparently. Maddened, isolated, corrupted and enraged... It was the first time Riven had the Gods' names and their fates, and to him, it was a sad story. Veravend seemed... hard to understand, though. Far from the world... apparently, if such a thing was possible. Beyond dreams, as one of the sages he had met on the Temple in Kalzasi used to say; so far apart. And Veratelle was dead, killed by such a horrible blast, surrounded by her kin. Whenever Riven thought about the Sundering and the damage it had dealt... The world had since recovered, but its people hadn't. And, according to Taelian, the south of Turoth hadn't either. Riven wondered what Lorien was like under the permafrost; was it as corrupted as the rest? Why was he as Turothi as any other, and yet he had never heard of all of that?

And Taelian wanted to save them; beings of such massive power, but beaten by time and the growth of the world, and the wars Taelian blamed on mankind. Riven... Riven wasn't that sure; responsibilities changed with book authorships. But he didn't doubt the Clockwork Empire would have tried to destroy anything able to oppose them. It was a noble goal, but... the Gods didn't seem to want the same thing; it was hard to know. And Lachrann seemed to be in some state nearing death as well. Riven didn't know, and he didn't understand. But he wanted to understand Taelian, and he wanted answers. And, he would need power if he wanted to help Taelian in his mission. He wanted to be there for him.

And so he accepted; feeling his Arlaed's presence nearby, he walked towards the clearing between trees. He could die, but somehow, he knew he wouldn't. It was worth it; he felt confident, like something was calling him to the trees. He spotted Taelian inside, sitting on the grass; smiling, he quickly improvised a poem to fill up for the lack on his letter.

"Sitting on the grass
A lover waiting for me
With tales of old gods"

A quick haiku used by warriors in Kalzasi to remain focused before fighting, and a bad one at that... but he thought Taelian would find it fun. He sat in front of him, smiling, in a common meditation position. He leaned in to kiss him, laughing, as he dropped the pose and pushed Taelian against the grass, laying over him to kiss him deeply.

"Hey, I've missed you."

[Taelian Edevane]

As Riven crept up on him, Taelian already knew he was coming. Regardless of any perceptive capabilities the young Siltori had, he would've known no matter what -- because of their strange, compelling Bond. Sometimes he liked to compare Riven to a sort of fire -- a kindling warmth that only grew more dramatic as he neared. Of course, the Kalzasern-style poem he shared was a pleasant added touch, enough to make the Knight lightly laugh. Though Taelian scarcely ever interacted with the locals of that place or absorbed much of its culture, largely driven by their gap in language. So, though he laughed, his face crinkled slightly afterwards as his brow narrowed against the upper lid of his eye. "What sort of strange poetry is that?" he questioned, his expression breaking into a wide grin.

The Siltori patted the grass before him, and the other man sat down. They were both smiling, then, and the Siltori was just... suddenly overjoyed. Any time they shared any distance, even for only a few days, their reunions always felt meaningful and, intense. Particularly because Riven always made them so. He kissed him, then knocked the Elf over, eclipsing his body before kissing him even more. The Knight blushed a scarlet shade, and voiced back to the other man: "I missed you too," before kissing him even more deeply. He pulled Riven into him so that their bodies touched, lain against one another, as close as they could get with their clothes separating them. The fire felt even warmer now; Taelian sunk his face into the other man's chest and groaned in relief.

He was initially going to ask if Riven would oblige with what he had requested in his letter, but perhaps because of the Bond, he got a sense that the other man agreed. He felt this... purposefulness in why he was here; even an interest, like a curiosity that wanted to be sated. The difficulty, then, lied with the danger. It wasn't that he would need to convince the other man -- but by convincing him as he perhaps already had, he had opened a doorway to what was potentially the end of the other man's life. And even his own. Taelian didn't want to live without him.

"I'm scared," he confessed. "There's nothing I'll be able to do if anything goes wrong. These initiations... they're not some methodical process. It's all arbitrary; all out of your hands. If you can't survive the energy of the Patron, or if your own aether is expended to the point where you delve deep into the sickness, what am I to do?"

He knew that both he and the other man had some sense that Riven would survive. But in the last moment, the Siltori was filled with reservations and doubts. He wanted to know the other man would be there in the morning, together with him. But with magic, there was no way to be certain.

Taelian kissed him again, and exhaled. His expression seemed to steel in some way, as if he had refocused.

"If you're ready, I'll initiate you. I know you'll be okay. Just... fight as hard as you can to live, okay? To be with me. I... ah, I've gotten ahead of myself. I haven't even told you about Summoning, or the process," he laughed.

The Siltori gestured for the other man to get up, at least so he could sit upright. He didn't mind if Riven kept holding him, but he felt he would have a difficult time expressing the details pinned to the floor. Whether or not the other man allowed him further mobility, the Elf did not hesitate to explain.

"I'll cut the Rune gently into your flesh with a knife," he started. It was a process somewhat more gruesome than other initiations, many of which only required a brush or a pen. He knew Riven could easily handle it, though. "Once the Rune is grafted and I activate it with my aether, you will - against your own rationale - forge a pact with one of the twelve Patrons of Summoning. Endir, Aldir... there are six of each. I'm hoping you'll make contact with an Elven God. If not, well... don't be confused. Accept whatever you are given. You'll feel them lurch upon you in some way, and they'll extend a connection to you, a line that tethers the two of you together. You need to hold fast and endure as their aether connects to yours, or they may be able to consume your aether against your will and end your life. The Patrons are hungry -- all of them. The Elven Gods are starved, and the Choir of Fog wants nothing but power. You need to resist that hunger."

The Siltori nodded, and looked upon his Arlaed. "Do you have any more questions? If not, I'll begin to draw the Rune on you. I want you to focus, meditate and relax while I do."

[Riven]

Riven grinned after they both got a hold of themselves. His cheeks had taken a slight reddish hue, and his expression left no doubt: he had missed Taelian horribly, but the reunion always made up for the longing. And he always made him laugh; Riven wasn't used to being any kind of jokester, but he got Taelian's sense of humor. That short giggle was worth every dumb thing the Avialae ended up saying. "That's a Haiku, love. The warriors in Kalzasi learn how to write them to keep peace of mind before battle... but I never quite got the hang of it. Apparently I'm a pretty bad poet." He shrugged; he never really cared. He had made Taelian laugh though, and given the shadow looming over them at that moment, he might as well lighten the mood. He knew what he was facing.

He kissed Taelian back, deeply; the initiation really put things into perspective. He knew he could endure it though; somehow, he felt it was the right thing to do. He had seen Taelian's power; in a way it wasn't that different from elementalism. Especially after hearing the story of the Elven Gods, so tied to a land tortured and destroyed by greed and hatred. It was what Riven and Taelian most resented, even if his lover didn't know; the life that had been taken away from them as such a young age. The domination that harmed as much as it had to to get its way; Silor, the Clockwork Empire, the Sundering, the Court of Dusk, the Kindred. Power at the expense of suffering and death. Riven wasn't particularly religious, but he often wondered why whatever deities were there did nothing about it. The Omen said there was nothing that could be done but wait; the Dragon Gods only had stories of a long time ago. And it turned out, the gods of Elves weren't strong enough. Riven couldn't help but wonder if that was all there was to it: powerlessness. If it was so... he refused to let the world corrupt itself.

"I know, Tae. But I'm not going to die. I refuse, okay?" He said, trying to calm him down; he held his hands at his wrists, a solid but gentle grab, and he looked at him in the eye. His rings of fire flowed steadily, as bright as they could be; he sat down next to him. "I'm not dying anytime soon; I still have a lot of things to do" He said with a soft smile, tracing a straight line on one of Taelian's palms with his thumb nail. He was aware of the risks, and he'd take them.

As Taelian described the process, Riven noticed himself listening carefully; he kept just taking in the information, and he realized that he had no fear. His need for knowledge burned brighter than ever; he had always admired the beauties of nature that were so rare in Nivenhain, all stone and ice. He needed to take a peak inside; he needed to reach a new level of connection. He needed to know, and there weren't so many opportunities to learn in the world; burned books and memories forgotten, and a blast that had wiped existence. Riven knew it would be a hard ordeal... but he also remembered when his mind had been broken, and he had recovered from that. No pain or hunger could stop him now; he was convinced. He would be hungrier, if he needed to be.

With a side smile, he pulled his pants down. He was teasing; as soon as he was in his underwear he cast them aside, and pointed to his right thigh, over the quadriceps. "There should be plenty of space to carve it there, love. Do it; I won't go anywhere." His voice was filled with determination; he usually meditated sitting, but laying down would be more appropriate if Taelian needed to carve a rune on his leg. He was used to pain anyway, but his muscles should be as relaxed as possible. Opening his wings, he laid down on his back, closing his eyes. He started to breathe, focusing to empty his mind of any intrusive thought.

[Taelian Edevane]

The Siltori's eyes absently blinked as he was informed that his poetry was a 'haiku', practiced by the warriors of Kalzasi to bring calm. Truthfully the concept of inventing poetry did not calm him very much, but he recognized it was a different culture, and not everyone was as flawed a poet as him. He supposed Riven had accomplished his purpose at least -- he'd made Taelian laugh. The simplistic style was interesting, and the way he enunciated each syllable made the brief recital sound unique.

Whatever the case, the calm drifted between them. Emotions between the two were always mutual or shared to some extent, and now was no different. He looked to the other man and focused on his visage, and somehow he felt that the serenity had allowed him to peak into Riven's thoughts in a way. Or at least... to gather some form of impression from him. He felt a sort of determination, and then a retrospective, represented by bleeding flashes of images that streaked through his mind. Perhaps he was misguided -- Riven didn't seem to be trying to share with him, and he couldn't make out anything too clearly. Maybe that was why.

Taelian began to have his own thoughts, though his were different. In fact, his were solid images, flashes of memory of the other man and himself; but mostly Riven. Smiling, grinning, holding him for the first time off in some faraway forest. The two of them sharing a touch in the springs. He breathed out, and the breath quivered. It was hard -- unimaginable to him, to think of the other man going away.

But Riven reassured him, and the Siltori did his best to try and believe. He took his hands, traced along his palm. Kept their connection firm but affirming. They were going to get through this, and neither of them would die. His words and his touch both portrayed that; there was no reason to be afraid.

Taelian nodded his head slightly, then exhaled. It was then that he began to describe the process and he was glad Riven was listening with such focus; he needed to be aware of whatever factors were available to know. If he hadn't listened so well, the Knight would've repeated himself as many times as necessary. Luckily his Arlaed's focus only brought him further calm. Previously shaky hands and worried, uncertain thoughts were mostly made calm. He brightly smiled as he watched the other man disrobe, no longer quite so alarmed whenever Riven stripped himself. The man liked to be... natural, and Taelian liked to see him that way. He prepared to cast aside his own clothing as well in response, even if just for them to caress and kiss one another for a while longer before the initiation, though he stopped mid-way through unbuttoning his shirt as he realized Riven was just revealing where he wanted his love to place the Rune.

His thigh. Somewhere over there -- Riven didn't specify any sort of exact spot. Taelian chose an area between his quadriceps and his right hip bone, and then drew his silver dagger from his belt. "I'm going to cut now, okay?" he said. Taelian offered his lover a kiss on the lips, then took Riven's right hand with his own left. Taelian's dominant hand then began to very lightly cut into his leg, only enough to barely slice through the skin. He was precise and gentle, and while he wasn't an incredible carver he was good at precise movements with blades. The first cut formed a circle, before Taelian lifted the dagger and began to visualize the rest of the image. He needed to draw twelve symbols within the circle, five near the outer edge, four as a sort of middle ring, and three at the center. Taelian had researched the symbols beforehand; each of them represented a patron, and they were effectively non-complex Runic symbols, like Kokalath in written form.

He drew Lotheric first, along the outer edge. Each of the symbols sort of bled into one another, forming an ornate tapestry that fluidly ran to the core. Strangely he felt inspired as he began to draw, as if compelled by his own connection to the Rune. He infused aether into the knife that drew the symbols, though whether that had some effect remained obscure. After Lotheric was Nydreth, then Lachrann, then Nyreen. Taelian continued to draw, separating the layers by smaller rings. Veravend was the very final one, on the bottom right. After he finished carving her symbol, Taelian touched the Rune with his aether and activated it, triggering the initiation.

[Riven]

Riven breathed in; he could feel Taelian's knife carving his flesh. He was very used to physical pain; he could ignore it to a certain extent, and he was able to not react in the slightest. They were doing it, and he would endure the pain as much as he needed to. He trusted Taelian blindly. He exhaled, and breathed in again. Strangely, his inner turmoil, his storm of a soul, as he perceived it, was calm. It felt like a beating heart, a gust of wind spinning around its own axis. He wanted the initiation as much as Taelian did. He felt blood drip down his leg; wondered if Elven gods appreciated those kind of sacrifices. The Choir, maybe. It occurred to him that he didn't know much about those otherworldly spirits. They weren't a possibility in his mind; he reminded himself that there were forces outside of his own control, though. He smiled softly; his mind felt strangely peaceful. He wondered if it was the pain, or the trust. The pain wasn't a big deal anymore; he had gotten used to it, and now he could appreciate the recursiveness in the rune, the pattern swirling around itself. He couldn't discern much more than circles, but he felt an eldritch current running through his leg and into his body. It reminded him of his first initiation, long time ago. He remembered the face of the man perfectly; one of the few mages in Lorien, brought in to create another one for his spectral lords. The man didn't seem to care at all, carrying the initiation just like another duty, or that was what Riven remembered. At that age, he was too scared to actually scrutinize the Elementalist. Lost in thought, he allowed Taelian to keep going, until he felt a strong pulse on the open wound.

And then everything went black.

His eyes felt like they had sunk into their sockets, the view of the blue sky and the few treetops surrounding them both quickly swallowed by pitch black darkness; Riven quickly forgot what he was doing there, floating in nothingness. For some reason though, he knew he was alive; it wasn't a dream. And he had to stay alive, get out of that darkness; he needed to see. And he needed to know. Slowly, a soft buzzing sound started to fill the space, akin to the sound of a hand brushing against moss. It became steadily louder; wind going through leaves, branches crackling as they waved. Slowly light was coming to the darkness, a single source under him that became brighter, allowing him to start seeing. Shapes and colors, extremely vague; lines that crawled upwards and shades of brown and green, blurry and constantly mixing and separating. The sound was starting to become loud; Riven soon realized they weren't natural sounds. They were screams; constart screams of rage, of pain, fear, agony of any kind. A choir of deafening screams; the lines that crawled upwards became wooden branches and green vines that crawled around his legs and his body, constricting it and starting to bite in, opening cuts and holes in Riven's skin and drawing blood. If he kept letting them crawl the arboreal mass would soon drown him and devour him; the screams were starting to be unbearable, all shifting to distinct tones of grief, loss, desperation.

Riven refused to be consumed; his inner fire still burned as bright as ever, and he opened his wings in that confusing space of swirling colors; as he flapped his wings upwards his blue light flooded the area, iluminating his captors; wooden and plant-like monsters, all wearing fierce masks depicting pointed ends and terrifying features; behind them though, Riven could see their tears, he could hear their crying. He pushed upwards, creating a gale that freed him from the monsters, his legs still bleeding, and rose up in the air, pushing upwards to escape the hordes of strange hybrids that tried to absorb him for some reason. He flew directly skywards, into the darkness, not knowing where he'd go; the darkness swallowed him again, but this time he was his own source of life. He heard a slow, rythmic pulse as he ascended, becoming stronger as he kept going. It resounded all around him and somehow calmed him down, easing his mind and his heart about almost having been devoured. It stopped his bleeding; his wounds quickly closed, and he flew towards the sound, which felt almost like a heartbeat. Almost; there was a primal component to it, something that told Riven that he was hearing a sound from eons ago. Suddenly; he crashed into the darkness itself. A tangle of scratching branches surrounded him, hindering his ascent, but Riven kept going; something compelled him to see what was over that barrier.

He noticed he had breathed for the first time after he finally pushed over, into open sky; he was hovering over a large tree in the middle of a forest, vibrant with life. In the horizon though, he saw a flash; a small point of light that slowly expanded and started to fill the whole landscape, the wave of blinding light coming towards Riven at an unstoppable pace, and an impossible high-pitched sound quickly invaded his ears again, not letting him hear anything else; he managed to discern a massive choir of screams before the blinding light reached his tree.

It obliterated everything; seconds later, everything was ash. Before Riven stood a perfectly flat and gray landscape, cinder falling from the sky. His left leg pulsed; he remembered. His rune was there. A tree started to bloom from it and grow around Riven, encasing him in its heart and growing surrounding him, from the ashes of destruction. He heard the heartbeat again, weak and slowed down, surrounding him in his asphyxiating wooden prison. He felt the screaming monsters surround him in an embrace, their sap tears nurturing his tree while they slowly weakened and their forms fell flat around him. The heartbeat still calmed him down, though. Riven doubted he had ever been in a cradle, but that felt a lot like one. He closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he was in the clearing; he blinked. He looked at Taelian, making sure he wasn't gone. His rune beated on his leg, his thigh was soaked in some kind of hot liquid. The initiation seemed like it had gone well; he was pretty sure he wasn't dead.

"Hey, love... I think I'm alive. I might have died a couple times, I'm not sure... but I'm alive." He smiled at Taelian, the sun shining bright behind him, giving him some sort of radiant aura. He looked quite handsome. "Have I been gone too long?" He asked, still laying on his back; he didn't want to get up yet.

[Taelian Edevane]

When one eye closed, another opened.

As Riven fell into his trance, at first gritting his teeth at the stinging pain before subsiding into it as if the aether calmed his mind to a still, Taelian began to pray. Not so obviously, not audibly, and not with his motions; he prayed within his own mind, to the one God who had ever given him aide against the ardors of his world. Wraedan, the God of Death, who was in some way responsible for the ebb and flow of life into passing. He wanted so badly for Riven to survive now -- to not pass. And so he prayed for him; he prayed for him to live, for him to live a long and healthy life at his side. As Riven's eyes shut, he was sent into a world of madness and confusion; sent to witness the vices of a world misled by 'Order' in one's path to Godliness. As Taelian's did the same, he saw images of their future rather than a long since faded past. Despite their Bond he had no insight into Riven's ordeals, and all he could do was patiently await him.

And he did, imagining the adventures he wanted to embark upon. Riven's body sometimes twitched and even almost flailed, as if he were facing a seizure upon the grass. Each time he did, Taelian squinted his eyes ever harder, and prayed ever more resoundingly within his own mind. He tried to meditate if he could, but forgoing that he took to stroking Riven gently along his wrist, then running his fingertips up his arms, following somewhat closely along his veins. Riven began to shake more violently; his mouth opened and he released silent groans, of shock and terror, and then a larger gag that seemed to correspond with some searing pain. Taelian began to pray to the Elven Gods then, for they were the ones that hungered, even though he did not worship them -- knowing them to be far from all-powerful beings. It was interesting what a pious man desperation had made him.

Perhaps his prayers had been answered, or perhaps desperation was all it was. Riven awoke only minutes later, frantically shaking for a moment longer before his body stilled and his eyes opened. Blood ran down his leg and soaked the grass. For such a shallow cut, he'd bled a lot. Perhaps because of what the cut really was -- a doorway into something else.

The mage clutched his chest in relief. Riven, his dearly beloved, was alive -- he was with him. Taelian crawled onto the man and began to kiss him lovingly, before landing a deep lock of their lips. He grinned, and nuzzled his nose into the larger man's. "You're alive after all, my love. You really are." The light from the sun was now glaring onto his back, only keeping on Riven up until the moment Taelian blocked it from him. He couldn't keep away.

When his Arlaed asked how long he'd been gone, the mage quirked his lip. "Ah -- only a few minutes, I think. Perhaps ten? It's not a long initiation, but... it's fascinating. Learning the things you do. What did you see, my dear? I might be able to figure out for you what Patron you've interacted with. The first one... is always very important. I -- ah, hope it was an Elven God. If what you saw was within this world, in its natural landscape, it probably was."

He lowered his gaze. It didn't matter either way -- Riven survived. Even if they were connected through differing realms, they could still explore the magic together. And at this point . . . there was much less to lose. The relief from before was still compelling, and Taelian appeared to be calm.

[Riven]

Echoes of Taelian's own fears reached Riven's mind as he slowly came back to his senses; he felt a tad light-headed. Probably because of how much blood he had lost; he slowly slid his hand to the place his rune had been carved in, and found it completely soaked in what seemed to be his own blood; hot and slightly slippery. He had felt like that before; he would just need a hot meal and some rest, and he'd recover. And Taelian seemed to be smiling again anyway; Riven kind of felt bad for worrying him too much.

He was about to sit up, so he could talk to him face to face, but Taelian basically jumped on him. He didn't know if he had the strength to hold him off at that moment, but why would he want to anyway? He kissed him back with a wide grin, one small peck after the other, and then he slid into him, their lips locking as they tasted each other. It was a strange feeling; it couldn't have been more than a moment, since the sun didn't seem to have moved. At the same time, Taelian could have lost him forever. Of course, it wasn't the case, but the reaction was understandable. Riven was also glad to see him again; he realized he had missed him in that darkness. He managed to grab his shirt and kiss him even longer, separating with a wide grin. He was very happy to be alive.

Apparently it had been a few minutes, and he was already back; fast enough. Well, he had hurried, he guessed. And if he had found his patron, well, they hadn't talked much. He somehow sensed a connection, but his head still felt dizzy, and it was hard to discern. However, as Taelian inquired about his Patron, he tried to sit up, and managed to, with a couple grunts of effort. He needed to focus, but it was the first time he looked directly at his leg; it was completely drenched in blood, dripping around it and dying the grass a brownish-red; the rune glowed softly, a very light green in color.

He managed to focus; he had been staring at his leg for a while, his mind gone blank. "Uh, sorry, love. It was an Elven God, I'm sure of that. About what I saw..." He grunted; he felt a dart of a headache as he started remembering. The memories came back rather fast though. "Well, I was alone in this dark space, floating. Some monsters... well, I guess they were archetypes, pulled me down and tried to devour me. Actually, I think it was a forest. Anyway, they were made of wood and thorns and vines and leaves, and they all had masks on..." His speech was really speeding up, increasingly more chaotic as the surge of thought invaded his headspace. He noticed and he stopped, breathing in and focusing on one thought filling his mind at a time. "Sorry, Tae... they had these wooden masks on; they looked terrifying, but they cried under them, I just knew. They were gripping my leg, but I flew upwards... I sound like a madman, don't I?" He asked, half-joking, but he kept going. "I kept flying upwards to something comforting; it sounded like... the heartbeat of something slow and massive. And then I suddenly crossed a tree canopy, and I was over a large forest; there was a light in the horizon, and it slowly filled up the whole sky joined by a horrible screaming sound. I think I died after that. Then, everything there was was ash, and a tree grew around me... and the rest isn't too clear. I think those plant Archetypes embraced the tree." He stopped there, lost in thought, thiking about everything Taelian had said.

"You... you said Veratelle was dead, right?"

[Taelian Edevane]

As they kissed and caressed, Riven appeared to lose his focus, his eyes fixating on the blood that still dripped from his leg. Taelian bit his lower lip, finding himself lost as well, staring into the distracted glance of his Arlaed. A part of him was worried, though he knew the initial shock of an initiation was something one didn't recover from immediately. It would take time, and Riven was already doing well. The Siltori spoke to occupy the silence, and because he was curious. Though delayed, Riven did respond. He immediately confirmed that it was an Elven God, which brought further relief to the mage. Taelian whispered 'thank the Gods' beneath his breath as the other man continued, detailing the scene.

It was... vivid. Horrific, then mysterious, then horrific again. A beating heart... a massive forest, and lithe tree-Archetypes donning masks. Taelian's eyes widened -- even without study he recognized the details. It sounded like Veratelle's domain, in the Ashen Mooring. Taelian had never been to Trenedayn, but he'd heard the stories of the endless, thick forestry and the massive tree that still loomed at the center, visible for tens of miles, perhaps more. The creatures he described -- Taelian had seen one before. Whether it was with the Covenant or at home, he couldn't remember. They were the Tar'haen.

Riven had the same thought he did. Taelian's letter in some way made sense of all his visions, so it wasn't surprising. Perhaps he even knew her name just by feeling her embrace; contact with a Patron often did that. But as Riven had recalled, Taelian had grim news to offer him. The Patron he'd met with, she...

He frowned. Taelian started slowly, with a low and somber tone of voice. His eyes cast downward, lashes curtaining his gaze. "I'm sorry. The Patron you bonded to is... as you remembered, no longer with us. She was killed in the Sundering's blast -- which is probably what you saw." He'd not heard of another witnessing it so directly, but perhaps they did. He hadn't interacted much with the other members of the Covenant, mostly just... Lethiril, Eloise. The rest were so far removed from his intentions, and in his mind had so little to offer. If he had known them better, he thought, perhaps he would know more.

He knew, at least, one thing: "Many of her Summoners report being able to see, and feel, her last impressions. The terror and suddenness of her demise. Her desperation. It's quite terrifying. I'm glad you're alright, my beloved." He smiled again, though a part of him was... confused, perplexed. Riven had witnessed an unspeakable cataclysm. He'd witnessed the transformation of Sil-Elaine into the wasteland it was today; in fact, it was far worse in the moment. He saw Veratelle's death directly, and some... strange birth. Taelian had encountered similar unknowns amidst his initiation -- a look into the Stygian Grave, where he felt Veravend's looming curiosity, and her distance; the aloof being she had become. Neither cruel nor kind, benign or vicious. Just... cold.

Both of them connected initially with the outsiders -- close sisters once, one dead and one exiled to a Mist Lord's domain. Taelian could only wonder what it all meant.

But there was no point worrying yet -- or thinking about it now. They would discuss it again, and they would delve into the magic more and more. Perhaps they would one day learn the keys to those mysteries. Right now, Riven was bleeding and needed a bandage, and he deserved to lay down and relax as Taelian fed him and kept him in loving company. He grinned as he thought of how he might help him relax; a massage, time by the fireplace, though it was summer. The cabin always had a way of bringing him calm, especially in the center of it all.

Taelian climbed off of his lover and helped him up from the grass, minding his leg. He kissed Riven on the neck as he rose, as high as he was able to reach while standing on his toes. Then, he took his hand.

"Let's go back inside, my handsome Summoner," Taelian teased. "Eloise left us a banana and fig pie, if you'll believe it. Just... portaled it right onto our table, note attached and all. It's something nice we can eat, love. You deserve it after all this."

[Riven]

Riven carefully listened to Taelian's explanation, or at least he tried. The sounds and images he had experienced still revolved in his head though, even more vivid than before; somehow he knew. He would never forget that experience. What Taelian said did make sense, if she was dead; he hadn't realized that what he had seen had been the Sundering itself. Had that been Sil-Elaine, maybe? The details were especially blurry; the blinding light had made seeing much more very hard, but he remembered green patches and tall buildings scattered in the landscape. Nothing like what Taelian had described, but he had described it centuries after the explosion. So, if he had seen Veratelle's death so directly, then...

"Taelian, I know that what you're saying makes sense, but... I don't know, love. I felt something strange. If she was dead then, that heartbeat after the blast..." He wondered, but his voice slowly went quiet. He was thinking deeply about it; he had felt something after. The cry of the Tar'haen was a grievous one, for sure. He couldn't stop thinking about the tree, though.

"Nevermind, love. Let's go." He said, slowly picking himself up, helped by Taelian, and grabbed his hand. His leg felt numb though; he knew he wasn't bleeding anymore, but every step felt almost like if one of the wounds cracked open. Bleeding out would have been quite ridiculous after surviving that; conjuring a small bubble of water, he cleaned the whole Rune, catching the blood in the water bubble and dropping it afterwards. He put one arm around Taelian's shoulders, leaning on him to walk better.

"Can you believe I've never tasted bananas? I've heard wonders about them; Lorien didn't have any though, and I barely saw them in Kalzasi. Sounds like the sugary dough I need though" He said, kissing his boyfriend's head as they walked into their new home.