Forged in the pathways of the foreign coliseum, they listened as a singular benediction, divinity kindled and incensed through the inky fabric and the shady veils, nocturnal decadence and heathen multitudes, basking as a sinuous glow, conveying, bestowing, proffering the riches of strains and arias. Unfaltering beacons, precious and whimsical, fairy and fey, determined and resolute in their puissant stature, dividing and conquering the slated rasps, the grated jaws, the clenched claws of potent, grueling fixations. Another utterance of warm croons, a tinkering of bells, a tender caroling pervading the walls, the maelstroms, the blighted pestilence until it simmered beyond the holy grail of its pursuits, of its merciless machinations, bleeding through the foaming phantoms with the air, the ethereal, the sublime sanction of anthems, lyrics, stanzas and sonnets. Were she capable of writing one for each and every creature of their kingdom she would have done so, composed smooth rhapsodies, effusing and emboldening, capturing the traces, the trances, the hums and hymns of yesteryear, folding over transgressions, piercing them with the harmonic blades of her potency. She would have greeted the dawn with tranquil tunes, discarding the edges of their haunting, poignant craft, touching and embracing the folded wings of armed guards, brushing away the layers and lacquer of coated armor, burying rubble and ruin beneath the riddled scars of bleak, stark remnants, varnishing the earth with a new, unwavering glow. Instead, Lena picked apart the fringes and borders of silhouettes, pieced together fragments of souls, stoked and finessed melodies from amiable lips, drove terror and horror away with the crisp conveyance of a hearts’ swift promise, a stalwart, steadfast, valorous dream, fanciful and ambrosial. She ensnared the demands, the chords, the commands of healers, increased the velocity of her tempo through the shards and formation of catacombs, secrets slinking in sanctuaries, and arrived to find creatures pressed amongst the walls, summoned in the same breath as her drifting tides.

Did they seek the same as she – coasting across ghostly filaments, yearning to prosper guidance, devotion, absolution and deliverance from the strange, terrorizing glimpses of the unknown? Had they found new places, like she, that could seize the venom, the toxins, of this scarring, molten plague? Did they hold whirlwind powers, did they channel wisdom, were they sages of the palaces and peaks, summits and synapses, uniting to combat the labyrinth of destitution hanging over their necks? Were they all the first in line for battle now, slinking upon the fields, armed with their hearts as shields, their voices as weapons, their herbs as rapiers? Recollection brooded an ugly head when, as she wandered closer to the scene, her nares noted the essence of the Edge (fire, loss, loss, tyranny possessing and holding, loss), and wondered if she’d even be permitted to join their throng. Inhaling a massive, unrelenting breath, she drew within their depths, offered her head in respect to each creature in turn, made to introduce herself and station with a cherishing song, a courageous note. Imogen marched beside her, a stone in a brooding storm. “I’m Lena, a healer of the Aurora Basin. I mend by melody.” She waited, hesitated, for one scarce moment, thought about the zealous, fervent murmurs that could sweep over their distinction, as one by one they raised hell and nefarious drums against her frame – but, weren’t they all her for one thing? To save, to guide, to rescue and liberate? The belle certainly wouldn’t raise her sword towards their formations, and perhaps, they wouldn’t do the same to her. No threat, no lies, no specious qualities; naught merely but the wishes of a fellow nurse in the brooding apocalypse closing over their lungs. “I seek further wisdom to assist in curing our fallen. I could also impart my own, if you are willing.” She paused, eyes drifting to the interesting hued maiden who’d beckoned for their arrivals, and delivered the notions of what she’d already seen. “The God of the Earth mentioned a pool capable of deriving the pestilence from the bodies of the infected.” The shrieking dame nearby, coaxing her out of reverie, caused the slightest of hums to filter through her frame, drifting amongst the cavern, assuaging, comforting, calming.