<![CDATA[Vivarium - The Moving Isle]]>

Story Unlocked, Part Eight : 「 Grace 」

All creatures of Mythris witness the world changing around them.

Those who were not involved IC before will likely be confused or frightened, as they were not aware of anything regarding the situation prior.

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The smell of burning flesh sears the air as each wolf makes their choice. Some believe that death is the only release and aim to free the prisoner from his shell entirely, while the vast majority struggle and pull against the wrathful beast's chains.

As the last wolf clamps down -

The final chain does not break with a crack, or a shatter, nor any triumphant sound at all.

It simply... gives.

One moment it held fast, ancient and unyielding, full of an impossible power that could not be challenged; yet the next it yielded as weakly as a simple rope binding. The weight that had pressed into this chamber, this tomb eternal, lifts at last - and with it, a strange silence descends upon all gathered here.

The Chained Wolf does not rise immediately. For a long moment he remains perfectly still, head bowed, as if unsure that the bindings which held him here had truly slipped away - or if this was some terrible ruse. Could it be true? His sides expand, and he takes a deep breath, the first he has savored in centuries without agony. Then, slowly, he stands.

Light follows.

Not harsh, not blinding, but golden and warm, like the first touch of dawn across glittering frost. It traces the open wounds and old scars where iron and ancient power had once cut deeply into his flesh before, not erasing them - but caressing them, like the soft touch of a loved one. The light fades, retreating back to its source -

As he sees him.

You all do.

The Dream Visitor stands at the edge of that hollow chamber, no longer distant or untouchable. For once, you notice the absence of a veil between you; no dreams, no cryptic messages, no half-spoken truths. A soft glow emanates from within his form as he appears almost corporeal in this powerful place, and you realize the golden light reaching out to touch the Chained Wolf's wounds belongs to him. They watch each other for several moments.

Just two spirits, and the long shadow of what had been wrought.

Eip drialt - he starts, then appears to lose his nerve. Eipal - eipal zjitil ban fir yia len ut sepil safe.

The Visitor averts his gaze.

Eipal lud ali fonie yiar lol, lire drio shienil yivril yia.

But you already know the ending to that story.

Eip drialt anali lulind yia, yia cialk sepa salil. Drat eipal wialk lab make ut ali dre eln

The silence that follows is heavy, and you wonder what the once-chained Wolf is thinking. He steps forward, and you tense - but before he closes the distance toward the Visitor, his gaze shifts outward. Out past the hollow, out past the broken remnants of iron and etched stone, to where the gathered wolves stand - you. All of you. Those who had come from the farthest reaches of the continent, who had fought and bled and believed in something they had never seen and still taken the chance. You who risked your lives to save each other, to save Mythris - and ultimately - when you could have just as easily chosen death to reach this end - saved him.

He stares in quiet wonder, as though trying to understand how such a thing could have come to pass. The scarred Wolf says nothing, but looks back toward the Visitor - a question in his eyes, unspoken but unerringly clear.

How?

The Dream Visitor follows his gaze toward you as something steadier settles into his expression.

Eip cialk an af ut alone, he says quietly. Drial sepagan widr fun wolf aln iler thace ali lule yia. Toda ut elnal. widr drem. Lab fier drem

Drial eip lud shial eipar ien, eip cialk an sukon dre kieir fier dre runal ali ruth yia hire. Drio wialk an shienil eipar kol, kien drio - and he looks at you with a terrible intensity, and you tremble as if you have done something wrong, - drio cialk hur drem. Mydrrial fialt laleilkfir shiel utar shek fir lenduzje, kien drio kirseliril

His burning eyes move over the collected wolves; not as a faceless group, but as individuals. As choices. As compassion. Such things that have always belonged to mortals, and had once been lost to the Aberrations in their pursuit of power.

Drio liofal ali fonie eipar gedazje, ali helk eipa shiel eipar shek, he continues. Drial sepil drir decision. Eliryl kek drio tik ali hul drial loken laln, ali ruth yia, eliryl thace ali kak gand, ali luk, ali kaln sepaside fun anodrir - drose ere drindal eip cialk nelir firce. Fil lab fir. Eip afil an sa yia, olk suln...

He looked back at the Wolf, a soft reverence in his expression.

Drio afil.

For a heartbeat, it seems he might turn away; that perhaps the wound might run too deep after all, that maybe forgiveness has come far too late for it to matter. Then, slowly, something in his scarred face eases - not just the physical suffering, but the centuries-long solitude of it all. As if finally the weight of what had happened was no longer borne by one alone.

He turns back to the Visitor and closes the distance between them at last, pressing his forehead gently to his.

"Yia zjitil ban." he said, his voice low and hoarse, but no longer heavy with pain.

Only truth.

The Dream Visitor exhales something that might have been a breath he'd been holding for centuries.

All around you, the stone walls of the Isle suddenly begin to tremble. The air itself crackles once more with an electric current, and the scrawled Runes surrounding the chamber glow that eerie, azure blue once more, and you hear the familiar hum of their gathering strength. You feel it before you see it; the inexorable pull of something distant yet close to memory, the warm scent of salt from the ocean, of honeysuckle on the wind, of vast open skies - and as quickly as you register these things the ground vanishes beneath your paws.

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You stand upon the cliffs of Eastborne, in the far upper reaches of the Highlands.

The world is changing in front of you.

The endless blanket of snow that had smothered the earth for so long began to loosen; at first in small rivulets, then quickening, and then in a steady, gentle release it seeps into the ground below. As the last traces of white melt away and recede, vast swathes of dark soil begin to appear, and from that soil something new begins to awaken and stir.

Green!

Countless shoots of vibrant green surge upward, delicate yet determined, and as the last traces of frost melt away from stone and root both, it is swiftly replaced by the enveloping warmth of a world willing - at last - to grow again.

And the sky!

You hear the distant sound of wolfsong from every corner of the earth, and with each burst of song, the heavy shroud of black clouds - that ever-watchful, oppressive weight which had loomed overhead, threatening to snuff out the light of the sun forever - begins to part and thin. Light splits through in widening beams, brighter and brighter, until at last there is nothing left to hold it back.

The open sky above is painted in artist's shades of pale lavenders and oranges and pinks, and you watch breathlessly as the sun rises unchallenged. Its light spills across the sea before you, its brilliance almost painful to your eyes - and there, upon that sea, drifts the Moving Isle you were transported from only moments before. It is no longer restless, no longer aimless or wild with rage; it moves with a steady purpose now, gliding toward the horizon as if guided by something unknown but desperately awaited.

All of you watch in silence.

As the Isle reaches its destination - far out, farther than you can swim, where the ocean's depths cannot be fathomed and the sky reaches down to meet it - it stills. For one long moment, all is quiet.

Then the crown of the Isle breaks open with a thunderous sound.

From its central point, something luminous surges upward with violent speed. A great tree unfurls before you in the blink of an eye, impossibly tall, its roots gripping firmly at stone which had never before known stillness as its branches reach wide into the bright morning sky. Leaves of brilliant green and shimmering gold catch the sun like twinkling shards of crystal, scattering the light in every direction.

The once-chained Wolf appears at the edge of the cliffs in front of you, his form already growing faint and intangible at the edges, as if the world has finally begun to release him in turn. He does not look back at the Isle; he is looking at you.
All of you.

At you who had come, who had fought, who had chosen to stay. He doesn't speak, but there is a well of gratitude within his gaze.

And then the light takes him.

He - it - rises before you, slowly, gently, like a mother cradling a child, and as he is transformed into an orb of pure light, it crosses the distance between the cliffs and the Isle in a single, fluid motion. As you watch, it weaves itself into the newborn tree's heart, settling within the sunlit bark at last - its final, rightful home, radiant, warm, and everlasting.

The Isle does not move again.

Mythris observes.

Not as a force poised to strike, nor as a silent judge gripping its ancient grievances close to its chest, but as something perhaps changed by what it has witnessed. The wolves have not ceased to be what they were, of course. Hairy, insolent little beasts, always with their infinitely petty little problems...

But they have become something more.

For ages, Mythris has known your kind only as ruin. As fangs that ripped and rent and stole and never once gave back, as selfish weapons of destruction that carved wounds into a body that could not escape, and so it had been forced to answer in kind - with storms, with fire, with famine, with endless freeze; always it pushed back, relentless and desperate, seeking its own salvation in your destruction.

Memory runs deep within the core of this place you have struggled to call home.

But now - today - Mythris sees you. Not as a force or a passing blight, but as something... new. The Isle, once restless and rampant upon its back, now rests at peace in the vast ocean; what had once been broken and trapped was now freed at last, through effort, through sacrifice, by reaching out toward something beyond yourself.

A great, unseen presence lingers... you feel its indecision. It weighs - considers. Then a choice seems to be made, and the earth rumbles below you as if to denote this shift.

For the first time since wolves had drawn breath upon its skin, Mythris has made peace. The tension that had long existed between you - the constant, quiet resistance, the tempests and crushing darkness and strange, terrifying events you have been subjected to for so long - eases. Not gone, never forgotten, but stilled, like a wound no longer festering but slowly, finally, beginning to heal.

Beneath a clear sky, in the warmth of spring's golden light, the world feels not perfect...

... But willing.

Willing enough to begin again.

The clouds have parted, the wraiths have been defeated, and you have successfully freed the Chained Wolf from his prison - and above all, Mythris is at peace once again. Click here to discover the outcome of your characters' valiant efforts in the final push - and then come check out the Rewards page and see what you got!

Note: All characters from Door Three will now find themselves in Eastborne as they observe the new dawn, and may utilize the tunnels nearby to return to their separate territories.

All other characters from Door One and Door Two may be transported to any location of their choice.

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Story Unlocked, Part Eight : 「 Grace 」