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Zeph smiles broadly. "The best time of day to harvest is early morning."
"That's why we're here at the ass crack of dawn?" Tulip says through a yawn.
Viola snorts out a laugh but doesn't answer, instead staring down at the table in front of her. Zeph presses a hand on her shoulder, and she flinches away from him slightly. "Are you ready?" he asks her softly. Thanks to the design of the structure, his voice still carries.
She shakes her head, eyes still fixed on the table. "I really don't want to do this, Zeph."
"I know," he says, "but it's the only thing we have."
Before I have a chance to ask what they're talking about, Tulip roughly shouts, "What's your sacrifice?" without regard to the emotional turmoil Viola is clearly experiencing.
Viola holds up a smooth obsidianstone, the new morning light giving it a sheen.
The Mistflow talisman she just got back.
With sudden clarity, I understand her hesitation.
"Do we need to do anything?" Plume asks, wringing her hands together. She knows she is on standby in case Viola requires healing, and it's obvious the stress that is causing her. I don't know if she'll ever forget holding Viola's gaping wounds as the blood drained from her during Himureal's ritual. It was the first time I had seen Plume rattled while using her magic.
"Just believe in Viola, I think. Mace, if you want to join some Lightning in with her, I don't think it will hurt." Zeph gestures for me to join them, and I am glad to do so. After I climb out of the stands I place my hand on Viola's back, noticing her fingers tapping wildly on her thighs.
"You can do this, numen," I say to her.
"I know, I just… this is all I have left of him, you know?"
"I know."
"Fuck, who knew being an unwitting God would come with so many sacrifices?" She lets out a dry laugh, pulling the small bowl that rests on the table to her. "Here we go, I guess."
I see the metallic gray of Geomancy swirling around Viola, pulverizing the stone in front of her, the dust of it falling into the bowl. I focus my intentions on a storm and my magic joins hers. She winces, presumably at the noise, when my magic joins the fray.
As lightning begins to strike around us, Viola fills thebowl using Water magic and swirls the powdered talisman into the water. Then she pricks her finger with her shadow dagger and lets a few drops of blood fall into the water.
"What are you doing?" I hiss under my breath.
"I'm not sure. It just feels right," she replies. Her eyes glaze a bit, and a burst of blue Water and gold Lightning magic swirls around her, dragging the water and stone mixture from the bowl into the air. My intentions are still set, but it's hard to focus fully on them as I watch Viola.
Her white hair is down today, whipping about in an unseen wind. She wears what looks like her Race outfit—a black sleeveless top and knee-length leather shorts. Her whip is around her waist, and her thighs are strapped with blades. I love seeing her like this, strength personified, but her eyes are almost lifeless. She's unblinking, staring at the mixture of her talisman and water that swirls in front of her in a cyclone midair.
I can sense our friends getting restless, and Viola is swaying on her feet. She collapses, and I grab her under her arms as the cyclone drops to the ground with a huge splash. When the water clears, a man stands before us.
He's tall, towering significantly over me, with light olive skin and auburn hair that is so deep it's almost a rich brown. Veins of decay like Viola's cover his hands but also travel all the way up his arms, over his shoulders, and up his neck, stopping just below his ears. He's got the angular features of a fae, and there is an otherworldly beauty to him. He shakes his head as if clearing water from his ears and blinks warm brown eyes at us beforeraking his eyes down his slender, naked figure.
The God shakes his hands, and he is clothed in a pair of rich brown trousers. He leaves his chest bare.
We all stare at him, none of us wanting to be the first to speak, and he takes a step forward.
"Viola," he says softly.
Her name from his lips is like a fall breeze, crisp and pleasant, and it immediately puts me at ease.
Hearing her name jolts her from her trance. She struggles out of my arms and takes a step towards him. "Avidor. Harvest Lord. How do you know my name?"
A broad smile grows on his face, and warmth coats the area. Viola and I have both let our intentions drop, and the storm has passed, leaving a beautiful early morning sky looking down at us.
"I… I watched you," he says quietly. Avidor's voice is gentle, higher pitched than I would have expected, and rich with emotion. "I was stuck in between realms, and I had to watch everyone live their lives."
This is the God of my magic, and I immediately feel a kinship with him. I want to rush him, to pick his brain and learn more about this power that thrums within my veins. But I hold back, knowing that Viola needs to lead this.
