1.102

The Son of Rome

At some point in our journey through the Augur’s Orphic faith, the raven’s mantle had changed.

The furthest outpost of the Howling Wind Cult estates on Kaukoso Mons was manned by a Sophic cultivator near the peak of his realm. He was an imposing figure, likely chosen for his stature as much as his advancement, with scars and a permanent scowl to accent the controlled malice in his dark eyes. In the faint light cast by his iron lantern’s flame, he looked menacing by any man’s standard.

He flinched when I stepped into his lantern’s light.

The ravenous shadows of the raven’s mantle had taken on different shapes for Griffon and I, back when we first consumed and internalized the Rein-Holder’s starlight marrow. Griffon had chosen to wear the rags carelessly around his waist like he did his own Rosy Dawn attire, and so as a raven his midnight cloth pooled around his feet and merged with the shadows of the night. It made it seem as if he was waist-deep in shadow wherever he went – like he had come from Tartarus itself, and a portion of him still resided there.

Though it hadn’t been a conscious decision at the time, I’d donned my mantle like a legate’s cloak – draped over one shoulder, bisecting my body with shade. On the second night of our hunting, Griffon had laughingly remarked that I looked like I was peering out from around a corner, no matter where I happened to be. Both of us had covered our faces with shrouds, obscuring our easiest identifying features.

That was before we had our second taste of madness. Now, the raven’s mantle was changed. The man on guard was my senior in cultivation, yet he took three steps back as I stalked further into his light before finally overcoming his unease. He clenched his empty fist and set his feet, standing up straight while I closed the remaining distance.

“Stop,” he commanded. I took two more steps. “Stop.”

His pneuma rose and his influence clenched into a white-knuckled fist. I stopped just inside of his reach. He was an imposing figure, nearly as tall as me and more heavily muscled. It didn’t mean much.

Before, the raven’s mantle of midnight cloth had appeared to an untrained eye as if it was made of pure liquid shadow. The raven’s ability to store and retrieve items from our actual shadows had lent itself to that illusion. That was all that it had been, however. An illusion.

It was an illusion of a different kind, now.

I reached into the liquid shadow of my raven mantle. The guard tensed, ready to lash out. The attack never came.

The grizzled night guard stared in bafflement at the olive branch I had pulled from my cloak and held out to him. The entire limb was made of ivory.

“What is this?” he asked, looking up at the shadowed void of my veil. “Why are you here?”

“A peace offering,” I replied. “I’ve come to speak to Aleuas.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

I waited patiently. In the distance, an eagle’s cry echoed alongside the Storm Crown’s thunder.

The man on guard grimaced and reached out to take the ivory olive branch. “Fine. Peace. I’ll send word to the main estate-”

His hand slipped through the branch like it wasn’t there at all. I stepped past him, and when he reached out instinctively to grab my shoulder, his hand moved through the raven’s mantle like it wasn’t there either.

“No need,” I told him. From the moment I’d stepped into his lantern light, I’d tasted the ash of burnt chestnut wood in the air. “He already knows.”

I stalked into the shadows of the Hurricane Hierophant’s domain and vanished.

“You must be Solus.”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“I must,” I echoed. “By what measure must I be anyone?”

Aleuas scoffed behind his viridian curtain. “By mine. You may be nobody out there, but while you’re here in my domain you are whatever I deem you to be.”

The marble floors of the Hierophant’s estate were cool beneath my bare feet. The private bedroom of the Tyrant’s hurricane domain was a clear contrast to Bakkhos’ own subterranean quarters. Bakkhos’ private rooms had been impressive in their own way, carved as they were out of the depths of Kaukoso Mons, but they hadn’t been nearly as opulent as the courtyard he’d built to house his oracles.