Salvation

by voroshilov

Strong

All around her was darkness.

She wasn’t dead, not yet at least. But she knew that every second brought her a step closer to it.

There was no Joyous-Seeker, no Maniple of Dominion troops, no Legion’s Hold around her. She was surrounded by nothing but a faint blue glow from somewhere above. Her fur thus took on a slight tint, but nothing more was illuminated.

Slowly, conscious of her magical debt, she rose to her feet. She could not see the ground below her feet, though she knew she wasn’t flying.

She felt that she knew where she was.

A faint wind, sourceless and unfeelable, but certainly audible, began.

It was then she recognised the place, the fingerprint of the world around her: the Heart of Sorrow.

“How strong you have become.”

She turned, slowly so as not to knock her out with dizziness. She beheld a strange thing. Like a giant heart, beating irregularly and slowly, much of its muscle charred. All around it, and through it, were strings of matter-data. Enormous amounts of information waved slowly in the air, or wound through the heart as support.

“How you have evolved.”

The thing’s voice was strange. Half masculine, half feminine, whispered yet still more than loud enough to hear. There was a deep sadness in it, yet also, simultaneously, a happiness and pride. She knew it from somewhere, that she was certain, but could not exactly recognise where.

“You are reborn.”

The heartbeat became audible - though only barely. Visibly, it steadied, quickening slightly.

“You fought long and well. Now you may sit, calm yourself and relax, nothing can harm you here.”

Every second that went by saw the beating increase in volume and visible intensity.

“You are strong enough now. Strong enough for the great trial that shall come.”

“Is,” she said, slowly, harshly, painfully aware of her tiredness, “is this trial not great enough?”

“There is one more to come.”

The heartbeat was loud enough to provide a metronome for its words. As the heart itself beat, the matter-data began to stiffen, to wind itself into patterns, to connect with other strands and wrap closely to the flesh.

“That future trial is up to you, Penumbra. But this is not that trial. The difficulties you face now, in time you will balk at them, laugh heartily at how you could have even worried of failure. In time, that which brought you here will be nothing to you.”

“Am I dead?” She asked.

“No.”

“Who are you?”

The heartbeat was almost as loud as Penumbra’s words. Every second that went by brought more matter-data, forming almost a protective mail around the muscle. Strands connected, data completed.

“I am that which fights, that which dies, that which destroys and creates. I am the future.”

A single drop of a liquid dropped to the floor from the heart. It was a deep blue in colour, with flecks of a royal purple and pearly white within it. Another drop followed it.

“I am the power of dreams.”

Another drop, then a thin trickle.

“I am that which is birthed from the present and the past.”

The thick trickle became a steady fall.

“I am the end of all things.”

The flow became stronger.

“I am the Salvation.”

The heartbeat stopped, as did the flow of liquid from it. Everything was silent.

“You are strong enough, Penumbra.” The voice shifted.

His heart began to beat, loud and hard. His blood flowed from it and into it.

“But, even the strongest need aid.” He said

The matter-data carapace shifted, spreading out like blood vessels and nerves, forming a body for him.

“You need only admit your weakness.” Emperor Nicholas said.