Echo Béleaph had been in hell for what seemed like years. Rhienmasst was the epitome of this experience in her mind. Something had been broken in the woman at Rory’s disappearance. The instance was now coming into clarity. She’d seen it wrong all along. She forgot how it happened, or she’d caused it, or if they had become evil. Part of her thought they were taken and missing and hurt.

Her shame had disfigured the reason for her pain. It had been the way she’d reached out for help which drove Rory to take their bravest leap they’d not remember until waking in Rhienmasst beside Echo.

Echo simply didn’t remember it right out of consequence for the undealt with agony of her actions.

She’d never said it right. Not once had Echo asked Rory for what she truly needed. Then she’d screamed at them like a monster in the middle of a night. They’d been awoken and saw her madness latent within the words—Rory took to run and seek harbor.

The rift which brought Monarch to Rhienmasst, the vision of standing beside Echo of Ecatosh, the challenge of Horus to see this through and fix things. It was all a part of some great weaving leading them here to the underworld of underworlds—itself a connection point between the diaspora of simulations.

Healing would be had from this lowest place and it would radiate outward and upward. Things would change upon their return to Boreál. It would be that moment Rory hit the weaved portal of transfigurative transportation which would show the truth—remind her of what actually happened—depositing her beside the surviving beings not already tied to a physical other in reality, and back to its duplication now growing and stealing the attention of those people working in the belly of The Foundry’s deep core.

She’d taken to the Great Portal in haste and not seen to understand what that might do. Something in her compelled to take the leap which had never been made before. No soul in the history of The Foundry had been brave enough to do what all wanted—simply dive in.

It made her to more. She’d become a part of all.

Rory was that other in Ecatosh she’d known as a sister of sorts. They were a family who fought. Disagreements would see them to tear each-other in two by lifetimes in simulation. Their discordance had been the nexus of collapse in all. Undone would be worlds by the failing of these two to find a balance as what they were meant to be and hold beside each other without destroying the other outright.

Echo of Ecatosh had dissuaded her sister Niriah from helping by her inability to communicate with truth. Fear from what she was planning in Ecatosh against the fallen god Tetra, who she’d only begun to realize herself having recently freed, led her to make the same mistakes as her echo in shouting through traumatic blindness to drive away the help she’d need into the dark.

Madness was become by Echo for one reason alone. She’d been the one to seal her fate and hadn’t realized it. She’d caused Rory’s disappearance amidst an outbreak of trauma—Alan’s abuse having become more than emotional before he left to Sanctuary—but misremembered the details and shattered her mind trying to piece the reasoning together without parts she’d suppress from shame.

With them she would have known how to see what had happened. How she could help herself and Rory and people of The Foundry. She’d always make up for what was missed when she’d grab it. Beyond the horrors of what had caused her action—forgiving herself for every foe’s hatred towards her—every spite she bled out and spread through slaughter—taught the girl just awaking beside Rory Tyrell what it meant to be a fool, too be lucky, and to be free again.

She’d believe that meant owning what you’ve done, and sharing peace after conflict with those who’d heal in return. To never speak ill of the ones who you need and need you back. To make things right that you’ve wronged to yourself and for others. To not lose sight of mistakes by forgiving the unforgivable. To simply be better.

Echo was dancing again. She was dancing with Ecatosh.

Everyone was gone. Rory had seen to make for the lower reaches of Rheinmasst. No matter how insistent Semblance would be—no matter any reality present with releases of sexual happening, as upon the Thrust Forcer. It would be action in real which made change.

Except in one instance of esoteric making.

Breath was guiding. Its force consuming and leading. Bobs and weaves and twirls and furls bestowing presence. Eyes were held by the soul and the woman in charge of this lifetime now sublimed into the darkest dense of existence.

Echo would lose her hands in hair—Ecatosh was of movement beyond—together they’d near and collapse back into distance—hips a thing of harmony and grace—breasts with the sway which needed to loosen the spines holding. Mind was quiet here. This was harmony.

To feel the touch of pure and ecstatic sensuality was a boon. Echo was fond of dropping her boom—ass and thighs to fall and carve a moat around her body—shoulders shrugged and twisted—neck falling back and forth.

Ecatosh in such closeness without touch—eyes in her own—peace was something become.

She’d need more time here than most in the hours to come. She was holding out for Rheinmasst’s fall. Echo felt—she felt deeply. It was an encompassing force of empathy she held, and it was all her own. She’d know so much, an analytical mind set loose to find the keys for change of galaxy which held her down, to strive for toughest change.

Ground would pound the feet and eventually her all. Grasp of hair was reborn anew. Something inside letting out. Love would be felt alone and for all and Ecatosh the most.

Time Throws Fire | Part Nine | Chapter Fifty-Four

the second novel in The Foundry series

Time Throws Fire

Part Nine | Depths of Bliss

Chapter Fifty-Four

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