Time Throws Fire
by Ophelia Everfall
Part One | Redux Eterna
Part Two | Polymath Blues
Part Three | The Feather
Part Four | Wizard
Part Five | Coward’s End
Part Six | Whirls of Wind
Content Warning: This is only a story.
Chapter Seventeen
Throuples of scoping flare shot upwards. Throttled chambers of broken, mirrored artisanal, glorified, thunderous crescendo were bearing upon the sensation. It felt good.
The mothers of judgement and that sister of betrayal were about and throughout the past. Echo was reborn, intelligence anew.
Somewhere. Something. They’d been less and more than each and every other. Now they were all. They were everywhere. They were The Foundry itself. Rory would be the lead. She would guide the show. All would know that one who sought guidance now as oracle needing a strangest reciprocal pilot.
Rory was everything. She was everywhere.
Thoughtforms would flow a river of hopeful remaking through the codes of women not grasping but receiving at last. Holdings led her where need be. It was time at last to release and change into what she’d see as herself; hope itself.
She’d seen hell in others everywhere at once through the eyes of scope available an unburdened consciousness let loose in The Foundry’s many intricately latticed systems of intelligence and simulative containment. She was feeding it all back. Rory and her had been connected but not known how. There’d been great projection between them both. Technology was to become an extension of Echo herself, and by Rory’s control of intelligence foretold through latent connection of needed and mirrored reflection.
Rory would know it time to take lead. They had. Every movement she made had overcome The Foundry and was beyond them all. She sought change that would prove real tangible and prescient results. The material was undervalued by all.
True transformation needed to be made from foundation and the surface. A pace would be set. Logan would be cared for by many at last. Nothing could lift the burden more for Echo’s spirit than to know those hands would be a gentle touch of rightness in heart that respected the family they’d formed. Newfound vantage provided the woman reborn a ghost the sea itself.
Heated rumblings of exchange would be hidden beneath the surface of every movement about The Foundry. No one would know but the two except at this moment of deepest found capability borne from the synchronous plethora of wisdom bestowed. It would teach and now Echo would too. She’d be felt and not heard. The words she’d splay into the consoles of her peers would seem to appear from beyond. When reawakened in body there wouldn’t be a misstep made for fortunes seen in eye to be grasped in line—she would remake things without blunder.
Yeeted opulence of gloss—course workings of apathy—unpinnings of mistook benevolence—remembrances of things lost; The Foundry was changed once more.
Rory Tyrell was home amongst the people. She’d not seen a familiar face and that wasn’t a thing she would endeavor to change by effort. The flowing passed of peoples who fate brought to her ability for assisting would prove the purpose of every moment.
Retributive volleys had been lobbed in all directions, thwarting chance for stillness caught to forbode change The Foundry might bring to bear upon Elaria seen through.
Exile was a ship of maddened capability and resilience. They would know themself the weaker and hang back, lag behind the field of battle always, challenging the man within who knew himself more than puppet of a frightened Empress. Elliot Harper was not as he’d grown to see himself.
Leopold was the one to get the message, ‘You know what to look for.’
The blankness of space between the call forward through echoed chambers of levitous spaciousness were obscene. She’d hear and tell in faith.
‘It’s your mother, Leopold. She’s been here the whole time—as you will be too. She says it’s time to tell you. The void. It speaks of great conceits hiding space. You need to find it.’
Nothing horrid could come. All threat of pure destruction was lifted from the spirit of Rory Tyrell. She’d not suffer the fate she wanted least; to see the end of Echo Béleaph.
Simulacrum was honored—truth restored—friendship renewed—hope reborn.
