Rory Tyrell hadn’t felt much like herself once since returning. She was out of sorts with all the parts exhumed by shattered revenants of spirit felt presiding with her expanded awakening to powers held through life but suppressed.

She’d sought means to bring herself to base—shrink it back to who she really was—disallow the unapproving stares of people who not know her mind state projected in glare and demeaning presence the product of their own failing to see her it was. She was an alchemist by force of subconscious and this would be seen as some affliction of darkness or psychopathy by people deserving of her ire.

To blame the mirror was a human error.

The solution had been in front of her the whole time, though not literally. It would be consequence of her dearest friend’s disappearance from Sin without communication beyond that blatant taunting left behind which had her realize it through needed action.

Logan was her key. The child would prove some needed reflection which she might help to grow in sight of—who might aide her return to form’s ease—allowing Echo the time to make change in whatever strange wholeness of space Rory felt coming.

Something inside her long denied most desperately opposing and challenging truths. It bore intentions within her of similar destitutes to Echo’s of releasing and retainment in her hope of a most powerfully felt love. Nothing had she ever wanted more deeply in her heart than to be a mother.

She knew she’d do it better than anyone. It’s what always broke Echo to see in those precious glimpses of Rory with children—they wanted to do it with her.

Echo hadn’t ever seen a better example of strength. She’d not ever realized it—why she felt how she had. Only understanding the rightness in some change of her own energy and theirs which made her become something of heart beyond the pale of any love she’d understand by reason how she might explain. Something so impossible—which felt more correct than anything else—which she’d never the chance to parse through.

Alan Undroth had been a strange boy. He’d made demands of Echo which she’d agreed to in haste that were disposed of outright by right of their absurdity—even before Rory had found him gutted when making her legendary appearance at Sanctuary.

Never would Echo want anything more than what she’d denied in that presumption of another’s wants to be her own. Feeling herself as in agreement with Alan that they should co-parent the child between them. By denying what she might desire herself, she’d denied the truth of what it was all along she saw in Rory—besides the rabid anarchist that stoked her heart to flames before unfelt—the lying liar who was a soldier of truth—someone that worked beyond their conscious mind in ebbs and flows with an ocean of fierce subconscious—a most furious warrior—with diametrically profound strength and gentleness of touch—and a greater understanding of any she’d witnessed before or since of the care a child truly needed—spoken through means of indignation most righteous—which all played to Echo’s life’s very greatest held intention to provide the best for her child.

Echo made statements of proclamation on what she sought that worked to show the way in reflection. It took time and help or furious undertaking to uncover the reasoning for all her actions with the way she moved so free and quick from beneath the mind.

Breaking boundaries of what relationship might mean had proven the least of her challenge, if the most troublesome because of her isolation. She’d needed some jonesing. She needed another mirror of what it was that she saw in Rory and wanted as well—to be owned like a fool with care by an anarchist.

Both and all would always be a part of the fabric of time now that Rory had found this haven of peace with Logan. Gifting the simple presence of a sort they’d needed to see in action by their mother’s assumption of what was right.

Rory was sharing duties with Ryker. He was proving a most reliable sort and had been eager for Echo’s return. Everyone was. Poe had rallied The Foundry to protect itself in her absence. With all the strife aboard Exile, the counterattack they expected hadn’t come. It made for a building of force and preparation which bestowed confidence. They were ready.

Clouds were darkened with timbered smoke and roiling ash.

The grass was wet and the mud was thick. Smote and fire burned the village. Promothulous needed rest but hadn’t felt to reason it out. He’d pushed only forward.

Horus was felt and this space would proclinate an understanding into Rory as she’d become aware immediately her dream state had become conscious.

Promothulous was gone. It was only her and Horus and the village. She’d not want him to come out. A blade was then found in her hands. Its weight grew too heavy.

She held it regardless. Need was risen for defense of this spectral force.

The Entity had plagued her. Its space in her dreams would be a burden of spirit from beyond—of karma. Something wouldn’t register. Rory felt it evil. She’d sought the thing to die and fought it in her dreams. She made it suffer when she could.

This realm wouldn’t offer her form of solution. He was everywhere. They were everything. It was everyone. She was behind and beneath and around.

Words were finally heard in plain—spoken and received as in ear—a rarest happening in dreamscape—something which would bear consequences in the heart of Rory once awakened. Foretelling codes and complexes which unpacked along with the imagery she was to see that would lead her to destiny.

Rheinmasst’s halls and arches—doom struck people and the beauty cultivated within their ripened culture—it deserved a place beside the people of Sin in recovery beside and to be welcomed within The Foundry fleet. Echo and her strangest auras would prove to call a direction in space for Monarch—a path beyond—unknown slips of direction in the universe.

The words were simple. “You see them best. Save them all.”

Time Throws Fire | Part Eight | Chapter Forty-Seven

the second novel in The Foundry series

Time Throws Fire

Part Eight| Synthesis

Chapter Forty-Seven

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