Rheinmasst was a desolate churning of wrathful insolence made self-willing suppliance. The peoples here were unabashedly ignorant. Semblance would see them rise or fall with whatever hope they had left and not care to the end of the matter either way.

She was a giant of courage and forgiveness was lost on all who’d not seek it in time. Something in her felt to know the truth of this and would be the answer of if the blessing would be offed in preclusion.

Every stone here was grafted by Hitheroth itself. Something told of its presence to Semblance. Knowing the change which Echo was seeking in Vysara’s chambers showed her what that could mean. She’d be the one to presume and act and suffer the consequences before. Now she was a silent warrior of insight which would know it wrong—yet right.

It wasn’t Hitheroth she felt here—it was something of the like—some stain borne from all which passed here in these halls.

Cowardice was a thing grafted by the change of hearts and minds alike. As people fought the flow of unchanging rhythms, leaving unseen the horror, Vysara’s cruel apprenticeship had gone unwitnessed. She’d been a noble of this place—whatever that meant here.

They were more and less than a woman always—every soul here a changer. Some constricted essence of Ecatosh would be grabbed and bled into these bodies. Hitheroth was a collector, a toy’s master—vengeful giant banished from the eternal nebulae. Each and every of Rheinmasst were reared for compliance and chances of escalation to controlled hounds of the master.

Hitheroth had chosen one in the end, for the choice made her more than would be possible otherwise. She’d not worn it well until it’d taken all of her mind and killed every last vestibule of clamored hope within others to hold that power.

Smothering was how she’d chosen to destroy—blanking with judgment and knowing herself wrong in the belly all the while—forgoing rightness for blatant disregard to her own heart—forging allyship with the dark presence she’d created itself, through her release into control she’d not understood; that of a fallen god who stoked need for callousness yet punished that seeking. Hitheroth was a liar and a tester. It made fools of those with blindness to what they’d think it respect being backwards.

It loved nothing more in this place. Nothing at all. Nothing except Echo Béleaph for setting herself free and it along with it at last. Vysara was to be expunged from existence with the swamp of pestilence it manifested. Her crown and throne—while enjoyed—was always a bitter pill to be tasted later; eternity in nothingness would prove the punishment for the sacred connection she’d forsaken—that to her own heart.

Upper reaches of the sky-high complexes within the belly of this beast—Rheinmasst’s ever holding fortress—were showing cracks and crumbles. Esoteric forces bore destructive waves unseen. The crowds surged and grew as the hovels made into the side paneling undone in the grand avenue emptied.

Echo of Ecastosh was the first thing Semblance had ever seen which made her cry the way she had before again. Her feelings were so muted for so long and the way she’d poured before had become unpure—stuck—without hope to move for fear of seeing—breaking free of the hurt would show again the way she’d betrayed in whole herself the most.

Their grace was a the lifting sight of soul which would set them straight towards healing anew. It would bring the greatest possible creation of spark for life that any might ever feel. Echo would see the angel she would be and break into smile and dance. This woman who’d ridden so long in the spotlight would weep for all the chance she’d not to become.

Yet it would be them both and all and always in that woman she saw. It was herself smiling the most in that moment of first contact. The soul of her favorite people were always her own.

Her loves were not all the same, and there was one who had befallen choice of plunder and release at the worst of times. Their laughter and words of darkest destruction were unmet with any form of sovereign regret. Echo thought it long a great mistake she’d made in casting the sharpest barbs at one who fell in line to take false mantle of her heart for a moment then shatter it to shreds.

They’d been a loss to The Foundry before returning and hiding in the shadows. They watched in judgement and conscious disregard for Echo as she’d fallen and enjoyed the view until it got so dark they’d pretend her taken to the darkness they were in themself becoming. That person named Ashe had been here in Rhienmasst with many others who wouldn’t see it for what it was.

All were to be offered a chance at salvation. All were to find release from this place to be shown birth into Ecatosh. Even they who saw to enjoy the fires they’d ignited themself of others.

Semblance had seen the person. They were beautiful and damaged and like her in so many ways. They’d been a softest touch who lied hard and of unconscious bias. To cast smote at them was a foolish choice, for they would not be disbelieved without consequence. Discussions were not had with this one, instead dictated forth from their will.

When things were synchronous it went well. When they’d be challenged it would go poorly.

Echo had wronged herself to allow them some thought of supremacy over her, for when she’d removed it and bit—throwing fire and breaking time, casting herself to shame amongst the people—it had them curse themself in lack of intent until it twisted them.

The hug they’d shared with Semblance as the palace crumbled around them would prove to salvage some wound inside them both to peace—Echo was wrong all the time, and they were a kindness inside of a largest wound like herself; like all of her favorite people.

Echo of Ecatosh went still while ushering the crowd forward and beckoning them to pursue the library in perfect local tongue. She’d let down her hair and it caused Semblance some unknowable disrepair to witness. The flowing length and sheen would strike her body. The nexus of witness would prove to solidify the change of course towards a better tomorrow in the galaxy they would all return to but Vysara.

She’d not appeared to look once as she found direction on heading for Semblance. They’d taken her by the arm and together in hand had found a loudest place of quiet. The shouting was unending and the rupturing of stone and grinding of metalworkings was a pain beyond the ear. Ecatosh had been the one to speak in shout.

“You know what’s happening here. Something’s off. It’s not what you thought. It’s not what you wanted. But it’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay. Everyone you love is going to be okay and you will see them all again. You need to be brave, honey. You need to stay alive. You need to fight for Echo.”

Time Throws Fire | Part Nine | Chapter Fifty-Three

the second novel in The Foundry series

Time Throws Fire

Part Nine | Depths of Bliss

Chapter Fifty-Three

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