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Based on the series of images "Like Clockwok Part 4: New You Revolutions", the first image of which can be found here: fav.me/db3gcby .

These images were drawn by and comissioned by . All credit for original character and setting designs go to them. Please go to these artist's pages to see more of thier content!

DISCLAIMER: This story is a creative take by the author based on the images. It has no connection to the greater "Like Clockwork" universe.

SECOND DISCLAIMER: This story uses only the first 4 images of the mentioned sequence.

Alignment
Part 5: Eclipsed Truth

Please read description before reading on

All Sutem hears the news. All creatures of land, sea, and sky sense a shift in the universal order. Human messengers on well-bred horseback race across well-travelled roads or blaze new trails through dangerous terrain. All who can listen stop their work or play as they hear the announcement. The speakers talk without scrolls or manuscripts as the word of mouth is strong enough to reach the people’s hearts. They rarely stop to rest or eat before moving on to the next town or village to spread the word farther still.

The Celestial Sisters have returned to the mortal world. The old legend of their martyred fate in the stars, told again and again over centuries, is no more. The legend of the Celestial Sister’s rebirth at the 159th Equinox Festival takes its place. That festival is marked as the last of its kind. Historians who came for the festival eventually mark this change down in their scrolls, but their minds split between the present moment as well as the past tales. Several pieces of their work change, reworded or outright destroyed due to inaccuracies found by an authentic source: The Sisters themselves.

Chaos reigns in Madera after the Sister’s return. Thousands of eyes see the city engulfed in golden and silver light for two days straight. In that time, no one can go in or out of the four gates. Any who try are forced back by the light’s intensity, either burning or freezing all passing objects near-instantly. The Sun and Moon, in the meantime, continue their path across the stars, slowly separating their orbits as had been for centuries before. The only difference now is their dimmed nature, but this does not reduce the effect of that light. Plants still grow, and weather patterns still occur as normal.

The workers around Madera do not stay around to see the light fade, instead running away with fear of the unknown. That fear turns into amazement when, days after Madera turns into a realm of light, people come out of the Western and Eastern gates unharmed. The reborn Solar and Lunar sisters, taking the respective names of Oriana and Alcmene, lead these changed mortals out into the greater supercontinent. They walk as an empress would guides their subjects in a royal escort. In contrast to an empress, though, the Sisters converse with as many mortals as they could, walking among their apparent followers with no regard of superiority.

As the word about them walking on mortal ground spread, the Sisters move to the Eastern and Western corners of Variul. Oriana goes East, towards the Sun while Alcmene walk to the West, in pursuit of the Moon. No one can say why the Sisters go on separate paths, but no mortal tries to stop them. They can only wonder what would happen once they complete what the people walking or riding with them claim is a “pilgrimage” …

Oriana’s arrival to the Eastern coast is not a subtle one. The trading caravans that left for Madera return several days before her arrival, sweating and snorting horses leading weary and fatigued people into fishing villages and seaside towns. Oriana moves to one special town along the coast, a small fishing village like many others around it. Only she knows why this place is the proper end for her journey. The town rushes to prepare for her presence, people moving from the Northeast and Southeast edges of Variul to partake in what is to come.

Oriana enters a fishing town choking under the collective feet, smell, and noise of far too many people for its size. The entire space, and the lands around it, are filled to the brim with humans in an echo of the recent Equinox Festival. The same types of people are there, but the atmosphere is obviously different. The wide sea stretching to the horizon echoes a new level of a feeling many did not realize was being kept in check: freedom.

Two hundred strongmen and sailors work to build a grand bonfire in the town’s center. All nearby houses are taken down and rebuilt at a safe distance from the flames. Farmers and vassals from the inner plains and valleys gorge on seafood they never heard of before. Musicians and dancers perform for enthusiastic audiences; fishermen and travelers weave stories to amaze and scare many who have never seen the ocean. Worshippers of the old Church of the Immortals dance and sing with the rest, discarding their previously reserved nature in favor of new sensations.

The bonfire’s flames stretch up tens of feet, higher than the closest buildings. Danger is discarded in place of further excitement and happiness. Oriana wades among the crowd like a golden torch, the center of attention wherever she chooses to go. She laughs with raucous serfs as they feast on cooked fish and drink fresh water. She spins new threads into several stories of sea monsters and calamitous storms that slam into the land like hammers. She adds her voice, and alluring body, to the dance and song of some veteran sailors. She seems to be everywhere at once, stirring up the flames inside everyone’s hearts.

Her passion ignites further frenzy and fervor in everyone who sees her, the mere presence of this golden goddess drawing out true feelings and heartfelt desires. And yet, despite this release of intoxicating passion and energy, not a single person is harmed in any way. The saner folk question if this is one of Oriana’s powers, a sign of her influence over mortals. Oriana takes these questions with a whimsical smirk, a quick wink, and a shrug of her shoulders before sashaying on to new faces and activities.

The festivities carry on through the night, no one wanting to sleep in this moment. Oriana manages to slip out from the people’s eyes as they keep themselves entertained. Her golden body softly glows as she weaves between houses and paths towards a place on the edge of town. She quickly reaches a house with barely anyone around its stone walls and thatched roof. The darkened interior does not frighten Oriana as she walks up to the doorway, but she does catch a few whispered words from within. She rubs a hand along the stone wall and breathes in a scent she knows very intimately before she knocks her knuckles against it.

An outburst of slurred words comes from inside. Oriana straightens her shoulders against this unseen rant, her smile not dropping in the slightest. Someone shuffles to the doorway as Oriana takes two steps back from it. A woman with short sandy blond hair and wearing a gray gown comes into view. The moment she sees Oriana she takes slow, cautious steps forward, stopping only when she is close enough to reach out and touch the golden beauty before her. Oriana’s unnatural light shows a large bruise on the woman’s cheek. She gives it a passing glance, her focus set on the mortal’s astonished gaze. This face is familiar to Oriana, in a distant sense. She draws on the memories of the one who gave his life for her to find the proper name to address this chosen one.

“Cecilia Vok.” Oriana’s voice crackles at seemingly random syllables while her eyes sparkle in the twilight air. “It is good to see you.”

Cecilia’s mouth makes several tries to form words, and she eventually sputters out, “The Celestial Sister!” with obvious surprise. She takes long breaths as her fingers move to push her sandy hair out of her face, concerned with how she must look before a goddess incarnate.

For her part, the golden woman just gives a simple correction: “I prefer the name “Oriana”, please.”

“F-forgive me, sis – Oriana,” Cecilia corrects herself mid-sentence as she tips her head slightly forward. “I-I was not expecting you would come here.”

“You figured I would stay in town with the celebrants?” Oriana’s gives an amused chuckle at this simple mindset. “The festivities are continuing well enough without me. I have kindled their fire, and they can keep it burning for a good while.”

“Cici!” A male voice shouts out from inside the house. “What’s going on out there?” The man’s words are slurred, but still organized enough for Oriana to understand them.

“That would be your husband?” Cecilia does not answer Oriana with her mouth, but her eyes. They lay the soul bare before Oriana. “I would like to meet him.”

“Yes, yes.” Cici turns into the darkened interior and calls back to her husband. “Just a moment dear! Someone’s here to see us!”

A pained groan comes from inside before the man within asks, “Now?”

“Yes, Silas Vok,” Oriana loudly states as she pushes her way past a shocked Cecilia, “right now. This cannot wait any longer!”

The golden speaker barges right into the darkness, illuminating it with her mere presence. She sees some closets by a corner, an empty space with hay and oats for some animal, two beds near an open window, and a man sitting by a dim fire with several discarded mugs around him. A black cauldron hangs over the flames, the apparent provider to fix the man’s thirst.

The man looks up at the intrusion, his eyes unfocused and bloodshot. His sunburnt face looks even more damaged by firelight as wild shadows dance across his skin. Oriana quickly smells the scent of fine wine, or maybe something similar only found by the coast, in the air. She quickly reaches the logical conclusion that Silas Vok is currently drunk. Despite his unkempt appearance, the man looks right at Oriana once she gets in his line of sight. Chapped lips crack open and slur out a near-perfect copy of Cecilia’s words.

“You’re… you’re the Sister.”

“One of the two, yes.” Oriana nods once to Silas as she steps closer to the hearth and the black cauldron hanging over it. A casual sniff of the cauldron’s aroma makes her shut her eyes in reaction to the strong wine inside. She quickly turns back to Silas and move until she is closer to him than the cauldron. She places a hand to her neck as if touching some invisible seal or family crest. “I am Oriana, golden speaker of the Sun.”

Silas looks to Oriana, then the latest mug in his hand. A few moment’s deliberation leads him to drop the mug on the ground. The remaining liquid inside the mug spills out as Silas attempts to rise to his feet. He doesn’t get very far before he starts wobbling, his feet and legs not working the way they should. Cecilia is at her husband’s side almost instantly, hands working to keep his shaking body from falling.

Oriana hears her confusedly whisper, “What are you trying to do, dear?”

Silas coughs once before he hoarsely answers, “A man stands up for a lady. That is proper manners for anyone.” He looks to Oriana with a clearer shine to his eyes. “Especially someone noble like her.”

“I am honored for your action, Silas, but it is not necessary.” Oriana nods in gratitude before she spreads a hand to the outside world beyond the doorway. “Perhaps you two can join us in the festivities?”

“He prefers to enjoy your return in relative silence,” Cecilia answers for him with a hand on his shoulder. “Right, dear?” Silas doesn’t answer, or even turn his eyes away from Oriana. One could say he did not hear anything she just said.

“I was expecting the two of you to be the most jubilant people of the town.” Oriana’s voice betrays no shame at her own admittance. “Your duty has been fulfilled, your task completed. You are free to do as you wish.” Oriana walks towards the couple, not caring or noticing the dark liquid staining the edges of her gown. “And yet, you choose to sit in near-darkness and take to drink?”

Cecilia awkwardly tries to smile as she gestures for Oriana to the hearth. “Why don’t you sit down? I’m sure you are quite hungry from your dancing.”

“Thank you, Cecilia,” the golden woman answers with just a raised hand, her eyes still on the primary target of her words “but that will not help solve this problem.” Silas stands straight as he sizes Oriana up, and she does likewise to him. Both regard the other with some respect, but there is also a tension Oriana does not understand. She at least knows that she should not interrupt it until the proper moment.

“Silas Vok,” Oriana finally asks, “I do not see happiness in your eyes. Why are you not happy at my return?”

Silas slowly exhales, the clear spark still in his eyes. “If you want me to be happy, there’s only one thing you can do.”

“Silas, please,” Cecilia tries to interrupt, “now is not the time—”

“Shut up, Cici.” Cecilia’s eyes go wide at these harsh words from her husband’s mouth. He doesn’t even turn to look at her, a complete disregard for his wife. She stammers a few half-hearted syllables before falling silent in defeat. Silas clenches his fists together as Oriana asks the obvious question.

“What must I do, Silas Vok, to ensure your happiness?”

Silas gives back a not-so-obvious answer: “Give me back my son.”

“Your son?” Oriana is caught off guard by this request. She takes a moment to filter the name of Silas Vok’s son. “Dimitris Vok? Is this who you mean?”

“Yes. Are you going to give him back to his family?”

“What makes you think I am keeping him from you?” Oriana almost raises an eyebrow to further emphasize her confusion but chooses not to do so.

“I can explain that.” Oriana turns to face Cecilia after this short statement. The woman flinches under the reborn messenger’s focused gaze, a cold look for someone connected with the Sun. “Silas told me everything when I got back from Madera. D-Dimitri ran away six days before the festival. He took Luther, our best horse, and left without a word.”

Oriana’s eyes widen. “You were at Madera during the festival?”

“Yes, but I left soon after the skies went dark.” Her hands start shaking as she starts to ramble about what she saw. “It was all too much. The Sun and Moon looked weaker, everyone noticed that first. Then the Cathedral filled with gold and silver light too bright to look at. Some people came out from inside, screaming about madness and pain. They turned on people and attacked them. Just clawed and kicked them with no reason at all! That’s when everyone started panicking. I ran with so many others, trying to get away. I looked back once, when I was safely heading out with a group of travelers, and saw Madera bathed in light. It was… terrifying.”

“Madera was the sight of our return, Cecilia,” Oriana explains. “As it was said in the prophecy, the Sisters would be reborn if the artifact halves were put together in Madera during the Equinox Festival. What happened after our rebirth was beyond our influence.” Cecilia places a hand to her forehead as Oriana’s continued stare makes her temperature rise several degrees.

“No, you took him away!” Silas steps up to Oriana and jabs a finger at her face, directing her focus to him. “He was at Madera during the festival, that’s why he hasn’t come back yet. We didn’t see him in that big crowd you brought along, either. Where are you hiding him?”

“You are accusing me without evidence. Where is your proof I took your son away?” Oriana brushes Silas’s finger away with a quick movement. “Perhaps you cannot accept the possibility your son is dead.”

“No.” Silas does not back away from his statement, or the waves of heat now coming from Oriana’s body. “He isn’t dead. You have him somewhere. You are keeping him for yourself!”

“Silas!” Cecilia tries to hold him back again by wrapping herself around his scarred body. “That’s enough, please!” Silas shakes her arms off with rage-induced, or maybe alcohol-induced, strength. Cecilia does not try again.

“How do you know this, Silas Vok?” Oriana stands tall and defiant against this mortal man, her eyes narrowed and shoulders back. “How do you know I hold Dimitris Vok captive against his will?”

“Stop saying his name!” Silas whirls away from Oriana momentarily, and then returns with twice the fury. “I know you hurt him, I know he resisted you. He’s that kind of man, a strong man. If you don’t tell me where you locked him up, I will—”

“You are wrong.” Oriana shuts down Silas’s statement before he finishes it, so she can give her own statement. “Dimitri is not locked up somewhere. He is not even dead.” Oriana places a hand to her heart as her face shows sadness. “He lives on through me.”

Husband and wife both drop their jaws at this statement. Oriana speaks further before any doubt or disbelief sets in: “Dimitri’s body and mind were hosts for my essence, the raw material that the Immortals bound into the Sun. I used his body as a starting state for this form, and his memories guided me here to meet you. He is I, and I am him.”

Oriana spreads her arms wide as a sign of what she knows as acceptance. Her inner light spreads to all four corners of the house as a dim yellow glow that dispels any shadows it comes across. Silas and Cecilia’s shadows climb up the wall behind them until they reach inhuman lengths. Oriana feels inhuman, perhaps even primal, emotions stir in Silas. She senses the man’s instincts take over rational thought, emotions triumph over moral rules. Just as she would want in a chosen follower.

“You…” Silas breathes in, muscles tensing up as anger takes full control. “You are not my son!”

Before anyone else can do anything to stop him, Silas hurls a right hook at Oriana’s face. His attack shatters her golden cheek like glass and releases her inner light from its shell. Raw, unfiltered energy streams out of the open wound with enough force to knock both humans to the ground. Flames instantly engulf Silas’s hand and wrist before starting to climb up his arm. The man lets out a shocked, “Aggh!” as his hand blackens and chars before his eyes.

“Silas!” Cecilia scrabbles to her husband’s side and tries to smother the flames with her robe. While this does stop Silas from further damage, it also spreads the fire to her clothes. She quickly strips the robe off and drops it to the ground before stomping on it as best she can. She does not seem to notice her nearly-naked state, only a small undergarment shielding her most intimate areas from exposure. Silas shudders and trembles as he sees a smoking stump of what used to be his right hand and wrist.

Oriana chooses now to talk, her voice coming out of her broken face without change. “Why do you harm me? You should be happy, laughing and dancing like the other people here. You should be proud of yourselves. Your hearts and minds should be boundless streams of revelry and ecstasy!”

Her cheek slowly molds itself back together as she talks, like breaking apart in reverse. Skin flows over the hole as she transmutes the air around her into solid matter. Once she restores her image to its former glory, she looks down at her broken father and now-terrified mother, their emotions still a mystery to her.

“Why are you not happy?”

“You made us this way!” Silas roars out as Cecilia cradles him. “Monster! Murderer!”

“Go away, please!” Cecilia looks to Oriana with pleading eyes. “We don’t want any more trouble.”

Oriana looks at these two with as close an expression to disbelief that she can understand. This sense of grief and rage is not new to her, but to receive it directly is completely unexpected. In the Old Age, mortals who had concerns would speak to her about others of their kind. Now that she acts like a mortal and lives among them, she is being treated like one.

In a flash, she sees the errors of her ways. Regret and sorrow fill her heart, especially with Dimitri’s memories now so connected to her own. The man she is a part of does not want to see his parents upset. His pains hurt Oriana the most of all.

“I did not mean to give you trouble.” Oriana hangs her head as Silas starts crying into Cecilia’s bosom. All she can add before she quietly walks out of the doorway is, “I am sorry. I am so, so sorry.”

Alcmene moves through the mountains of Crul with a light step and a lighter heart. The sloping paths do not slow her down, the driving winds of an oncoming snowstorm a trivial concern. She travels alone, carrying nothing but the gown over her silver body. The white fabric moves along the snow as if born from it, barely dampening as it rubs along the chilled soil and vegetation. Her eyes look to the sky with a whimsical gleam, her silver horn prominently shimmering on her forehead. She gives a small smile at the natural beauty around her, so new to her despite seeing it countless times while in orbit.

It looks so different from this side. Here, the heavens are distant from you. Out among the stars the heavens are always around you. They do not care of what you say you are, only that you are alive or dead. The Immortals were like that, to an extent. They were certainly as powerful as the stars in the heavens. But even they, the gods and goddesses over Sutem, did not have emotions like mortals do.

A nearby bird calls out as the clouds quickly darken. Alcmene clearly sees the storm on the horizon and quickens her step to try and beat it. Confidence drives her forward and makes her smile with each moment. She moves past an oddly-shaped rock, avoids three branches crisscrossing at the chest level, and sprints along a curved path without falter. She only slows down at the sound of a series of loud thunks that come from further up her trail.

A few more steps reveal the source of the sound; a red-haired boy chopping logs of wood into smaller pieces with a large ax. He wears a coat of fox fur over a rough tunic with several patches around the arms and legs. His motions are controlled but also quick, the logs he cuts placed on top of a larger tree stump that withstands misplaced strikes. He stands slightly in front and to the side of a large house with logs for walls and a roof of hay and straw. Alcmene stays behind a tree, her horn the only prominent sign of her presence were the boy to look in her direction.

The boy does not look her way. He focuses on his work with a peek at the shifting skies every so often. When the log in front of him is chopped, he brings up a new one without slowing down. After several minutes go by in this way, Alcmene a silent observer of this simple chore, the boy pauses to wipe sweat from his brow. Several chopped logs now rest around him, a clear sign of his work and effort. Alcmene smiles at the dedication this boy shows, one of several mortal feelings she always admired.

She steps out into view with slow movements, arms slightly raised to increase her appearance a bit more. The boy sees her now and does not know what to do for a second. He chooses to raise his ax up in front of him to make a defense against himself and Alcmene. His blue eyes glance over the silver woman’s features and soon settle on her face.

He manages to clearly say, “Stay back, spirit of the forest.” Alcmene disobeys his command and steps closer to him.

“I am no mere ghost, Arteron Arteno.” The boy’s breath quickens as Alcmene says his name. “I come to bring friendship.”

Arteron keeps the ax level and ready to strike. “How do you know my name?”

“I know you and your honored mother, Amelia, very well.” The horned messenger places a hand to her heart and dips her head slightly forward. “I am Alcemene, silver speaker of the Moon. I mean you no harm.”

Arteron looks her over again, Alcmene able to read every emotion on his face like an open book. There’s confusion, for sure, as well as curiosity. Then, a sudden spark of realization in his eyes. His mouth starts to spell out something, but he stops short of saying what it is.

“Wait here, please.” Arteron lowers his ax and holds a hand out against Alcmene. “I need to see if Mother is okay to speak with you.” He does not wait for a response before he turns and races inside the house. He slips between two thick animal skins and beyond Alcmene’s sight. A biting gust of wind barely fazes her as she patiently waits for him to come out again. Time is of little concern to her, although she would prefer to be inside and warm when the oncoming snowstorm breaks over this place.

Arteron eventually comes back out, ax no longer in his hands. He gestures to Alcmene with a quick, “You may come in.” She accepts the offer and quickly strides inside, taking care not to cut anything with her horn. She quickly notices the warmth inside here, and there is not much else here to notice. There is a closet to one side, three beds made of straw and wood with quilts or blankets made of animal skins, and some soft carpets on the floor. A hearth rests at the center of several stone blocks carefully arranged around the flames. A black cauldron hangs over the fire, boiling water inside it.

It feels like home. This confuses Alcmene as she watches Arteron move to a woman lying on top of a carpet. The woman has a large skin blanket over her body, her silver hair and wrinkled face strong indications of old age. Arteron’s ax is placed near her as he gently taps her cheek a few times.

The woman’s eyes quickly open as she comes back from some dream. She sees Alcmene at almost the same time Arteron points to her, the words he whispers in her ear too quiet for Alcmene to pick up as she steps further inside the house. The woman’s eyes widen in mimicry of Arteron’s earlier confused amazement. She then gives a warm smile that adds several years back to her face.

“Stars be praised,” she states in a quiet and pained voice, “It really is you.” Alcmene taps into her host’s memories again to get the proper name for this aged mortal.

“Yes, Amelia Arteno,” she states with an elegant curtsy towards the covered mother. “I am here to give your family my utmost thanks and gratitude for what you and your ancestors did for me.”

Amelia tries to rise from beneath her blankets but fails to get fully up before her muscles give out. She sighs and turns to her son. “Arteron,” she grunts out, “help me stand.”

“This is not necessary…” Alcmene protests as Arteron carefully places his stronger arms beneath his mother’s body and lifts her like a child’s toy. Alcmene still watches, and silently enjoys, the simple act of a son helping his mother when she wants it. Amelia huffs as she forces herself to stand on her own two legs again. The green tunic she wears over her body does not hide her bony appearance from view. Nevertheless, her smile carries a sign of trust and wisdom hidden inside that damaged body. Alcmene tries to replicate that smile, glad for the chance to show mortal emotions again.

“Mother.” Arteron’s hushed voice draws Alcmene’s attention to him as he speaks into Amelia’s ear. “Listen to me. You must ask her.”

Amelia shakes her head as her smile drops to an annoyed frown towards her son. “She does not need to be troubled with that.”

“She would know the truth best out of anyone!” Arteron squeezes Amelia’s shoulder as he explains his reasoning for some issue between them; possibly something unspoken for a very long time. “She is the sister of the Moon, the one you had to protect from the Immortals! She would know where Solomon is!”

“Arteron! That’s enough!” In that moment, Amelia’s face shows a mother’s anger mixed with a widow’s grief. At least, that is how Alcmene identifies it. Her centuries watching families in mourning, and heartbroken lovers left alone under the moonlit sky, give her some knowledge into this family feud. What is more interesting is that Arteron stands against this raw emotion with barely a flinch. He stays silent, letting his eyes speak for him. Alcmene quickly chooses to step in before things get out of hand.

“Arteron is correct, Amelia.” Alcmene catches mother and son’s attention with this admittance. “I do know about Solomon. But,” she asks to the red-haired brother, “how did you come to learn about me and my sister?”

“Mother told me after Solomon left us.” Arteron’s voice slowly chokes up as he brushes a hand through his hair. “He took us to a hot spring near here and left us there. He said he would be back soon after. We went back home after he did not return for an hour. We found Mother’s bed torn apart and several things missing.” Tears slowly glint in Arteron’s eyes as Amelia’s lips begin to quiver. “He didn’t even tell us why he left.”

“If you are here, and he is not, then I fear the worst.” Amelia looks up to Alcmene with those words, the firelight making her wrinkles look like deep scars from some deadly beast. “But, I have to ask. For both of our sakes. Where is he?”

Alcmene is unable to hold back her answer against the raw emotion she sees in Amelia’s eyes. “Solomon is not dead.”

Both human’s eyes widen to the size of saucers in reaction, and then they smile in happy amazement. Alcemene does not share their joy, because of what she has to say next: “However, he is no longer “alive” as you would say it.”

The happiness in the room is quashed under frightened disbelief. Amelia or Arteron don’t say anything, silently waiting and hoping for some good answer. The silver woman’s eyes shrink slightly as she tries to convey sadness, but it doesn’t come out right. Rather than appearing upset, her silver face carries a strange intrigue about Solomon’s true fate.

“Solomon exists within me. His body took in my essence, my raw power, when the artifact was remade. His memories led me here, told me of his history with you. I am him, and he is me. We have become one.”

Alcmene ends her explanation with her arms spread wide to show her acceptance to this change. Her silver light fills the house and forces the darkness back against its will. Amelia and Arteron stand against the light, their own shadows enlarging into monstrous echoes of themselves. Alcmene’s calm smile drops slightly when she sees the utter despair in both human’s faces. This is different than what she had thought.

“Solomon!” Amelia breaks first as she crumples to the floor. Her hands cover her face as she breaks into gut-wrenching sobs that make her entire body shake. “My boy! No, no, no!”

Alcmene stares at Amelia as she curls up into a fetal position on the hard floor. The semi-Immortal feels so confused that she does not know what to do. This is not the reaction she wants to see from Solomon’s family. She asks herself if this despair is a newer way for mortals to show happiness, but her long memories tell her this is not the case.

She turns to the still-standing Arteron, who now venomously glares at her. Her lips part. “You are not happy?”

“Happy! Solomon is dead because of you!” Arteron’s reddened eyes reflect his inner rage. His teeth grind together like a blade against stone. “You put your power into that artifact. You forced him to leave us to solve your problems. Then, you killed him when he freed you from your prison! How dare you say we should be happy!”

Amelia’s sobs continue as Alcmene tries to realize, out loud, what she has wrongfully assumed of these chosen humans. “Your duty is complete! You are no longer bound to secrecy. You are free to do whatever you want! Is that not cause to be happy?”

“My boy!” Amelia continues to sob on the floor, her shakes weakening into small trembles. “My son!” Arteron and Alcmene look at her, and then back at each other. In a flash of clarity, the silver goddess understands. She is personally involved in the death of a family member. She is a murderer to these people, no matter what she may say against it. Because she took Solomon’s life into herself, Solomon is dead to them.

Arteron cements this fact with an audible swallow as he looks to his bare feet. “The Solomon we know is gone. We will never be free of our grief.”

Alcmene’s heart goes out to this boy, a boy who she sees has now been forced to become a man. Solomon’s memories show her how the older brother taught Arteron for years, working to keep them all safe in isolation. The bonds between them were as thick as the tallest trees in Variul, and just as tough to break. Alcmene has cut that bond in several places that will never grow back.

Arteron moves to Amelia’s side, his eyes trained on the horned woman inside his family home. He picks up his ax and points it at Alcmene. The intention is clear, but he chooses to add the command, “Get out of this house. If I see you here again, I will kill you.”

Alcmene stares between crippled mother and defiant son, both so different than her expectations. She knows she can use her powers to fix this, make things better for their new lives. The one thing she can’t do is bring Solomon back to them. Her rational thoughts remind her of the consequences would only make things worse for her and the man whose memories she shares. Humbled before this sight of mortal independence and family ties, she bows her head in defeat.

“Please forgive me…” Arteron or Amelia does not respond to this request. The former watches the silver deity almost silently step out of the house and into a driving gale of snow and ice; the latter now quietly cries as the storm reflects her own inner turmoil tenfold…