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I can't remember the last time I braided my hair so intricately. My arms have started to ache as I finish the fourth one before I plait all four strands together and wrap them tightly around my head so none of my white hair hangs down. My clothes are close fitting: a cropped black tank and a pair of shorts that fall to my mid-thigh. I argued for more clothing, but apparently, we need to minimize the chance of it providing extra fuel for a fire today.
Barefoot and strapped with just one blade, I head down to the amphitheater, where my friends wait for me. Morrow, dressed in all black, stands beside Zeph, who is wearing a green tunic that enhances his eyes and brown linen pants. Mace sits in the stands with Tulip and Plume, the latter of which anxiously bites her nails.
This was her idea, and Plume is going to feel awful if it injures me or doesn't work. But we all agreed this is the best interpretation we've come up with, and it's worth a try.
Avidor has been no help, refusing to intervene as we worked out the riddle and not wanting to participate in the ritual at all. He said that if we bring his brother back, they'll connect when they're ready. I find that odd. They've been separated for centuries. Shouldn't they be happy to see one another?
Regardless, I stand in front of Morrow and take a deep breath. "You ready, Shadowweaver?" he asks in his low, smooth voice.
"As I'll ever be, Morrow."
He nods, gesturing to the center of the altar. We walk together, stop a few paces apart, and face each other. "Are you sure?" he asks softly.
"What choice do we have?"
"Fair enough. You start." I nod at his words and call forth Fire, encasing my body in flames.
The heat is not as intense as I thought it would be, but it is still not comfortable. As soon as it surrounds me, Morrow uses Shield magic to encase me in a bubble, and I push the Fire out, filling it entirely until I cannot see the others at all.
"It's not working," I shout from the the center of the flames.
I can't hear what is going on outside of the Shield bubble, but I do see glimpses of Zeph running towards us, and Fire magic blanketing the outside of the Shield, maybe even the magics blending together.
"Come on," I say to myself, wincing at the heat. It's not as if I am on Fire, but the consistent exposure feels like a sunburn. "Solarius, return to us."
Heat surrounds me everywhere, and yet nothing is happening.
Perhaps we got the riddle wrong?
But what else could it mean?
I tap into that Godly essence that helped me track down thelast journal and try to tune into what it's telling me.
I know what I need to do.
My blade is hot to the touch as I pull it from its holster and drag it down my arm, just like I did when pulling Himureal back into this realm.
Blood drips onto the hot ground, sizzling loudly as it falls. The flames around me seem to grow in intensity, the red and orange colors morphing to a beautiful bright blue.
A loud boom and a bright light knock me on my ass, extinguishing the flames.
Morrow loses his grip on the Shield magic from his sprawled position on the ground.
Zeph cradles his head, and it appears he knocks it against the pedestal we had been using to rest the journal.
It takes me a moment to get my bearings, but when I do, I look up to see a giant figure towering over me. I scramble to my feet, ignoring the stinging pain of the self-inflicted cut on my arm.
He's massive, easily standing three or four heads taller than me and broader than Morrow in the shoulders. His skin is a rich, deep brown, his chest bare, and a sunfire brand rests over his sternum. He wears nothing but a wrap of white cloth around his hips that his secured with a golden pin that matches his brand.
Solarius, the Radiant Sunfire.
Radiant is certainly the word to describe the gorgeous God in front of me. Where Avidor can look somewhat boyish at times,Solarius has the body of a warrior.
He runs his massive hand through his golden hair, and the sun fractures as it reflects off of it. A multitude of colors are captured in those strands, every shade of the sunrise glistening as he turns his head, looking around the amphitheater before his golden eyes land on me. His cheekbones are sharp and high, his lips plush and thick, his nose broad and strong.
He's almost unbearably beautiful. A piece of art, rigid like a stone statue, standing before me with a flat affect.
"Shadowweaver," he says, his voice a deep purr. "You called for me?" No humor dances in his eyes. The Radiant Sunfire is stern in expression and posture, a striking contrast to his brother, the God of Winter, who always showed so much through his body.
