PART 13: THE SECOND OVERTURN

  Chapter 040

  I – Who is the Sovereign of the Five?

  Who is she? — Parsabelle Nahlan

  “She is an elegant lady, wise in age and stature,” Parsebelle said. In the nation of RathNah, within the Valley of Roots, Levan practiced Telekinetic Magic ? with his mentor, one of the pale women wandering on the sacred ground, Parsabelle. Her gentle arm extended, and her finger tapped on his palm. “She was a part of us.”

  Levan lost focus with Parsabelle standing right in his face. He stepped back and repositioned his arm. Magical strands escaped his hand and weaved through the forest. Each thread wrapped around trees, though never touching.

  He said with focus, “Luminar Thallion. If she were a part of you, why a different surname? You and others belong to Nahlan. She’s a Thallion.”

  “She used to be Nahlan,” Parsabelle responded, eyes observing his threads without distraction. She lowered her hands, crossing each other, and said with a disturbed look, “But she has extended her autonomy too far.”

  Levan spun and looked at her. “By leaving these walls?”

  She sighed. “It was a feat none of us thought was achievable. The power of our founder sealed us away, but you can say she has broken that power— Keep your eyes on your magic. You lost focus.”

  He shot his eyes at his strands, realizing one of them was accidentally touching a trunk. Widening the wrapped TM, he restarted and said, “So if she escaped, aren’t I similar to her? I crossed the barrier and entered. She left. We seem alike in that sense.”

  “Not quite,” she replied, walking up and lightly tapping his hand from the bottom. Levan promptly raised his hand higher in response. She continued, “Conditions to leave and enter are different. There are none to leave. You are stuck with us, whether you like it or not.”

  He hummed, a drop of sweat trickling down his face. He asked, “Then how could Luminar do it?”

  Parsabelle bit her lip, eyes low. She paused her flowy tone and had to think deeply. Prophecy and visions were her main field, though she was still growing in it. But anything about breaking laws was beyond her. She groaned, “I don’t know.”

  Who is she? — Harrick Frieda

  “The strongest of all,” he said firmly. In PortThorioh, Harrick was clothed in a brown robe with armor and gadgets hidden beneath. With arms crossed and back leaning against a pillar hidden behind an abandoned infrastructure, he stared out at the market town below him. A handful of his followers watched and listened, asking questions about this Luminar Thallion that had been circling around the nation lately.

  “How strong?” one asked, a little youth who had yet to grow facial features. He was standing amidst larger men with scars.

  Harrick faced him and laughed for no reason. He patted his chest and exhaled deeply and said, “Boy, that is a good question! An aging man like me is slow to speak on strength. Wait, I’m still considered a youth, right? Right.”

  “If we round up our men hiding across the nations and face her together, what are the chances of us winning?” an older man said, who was taller than Harrick by a few inches. But despite his tough looks, nothing could beat the unpredictability of their leader’s composure.

  “It’s so early for this,” Harrick grunted, shaking his head. He looked back out and said, “The First Overturn says everything about her. How about you read some history and get the answers there?”

  The men looked at each other in quiet. The youth was confused, but was quickly reassured by others, knowing this was just his way of talking. One gestured to others to look back at Harrick, who was now scratching his head.

  “Now that you think about it,” he added, “we really can’t go into a library anymore. So much for ticking off some sages… They find us as a nuisance now. Argh!”

  A couple of them looked away, already feeling like they’d get no answers. The youth chuckled, finding it amusing. Others learned patience from the constant spontaneity.

  Harrick spoke with a more neutral tone now. He looked up at the ceiling above them, cracks and holes filled with cobwebs and insects. “The previous ruler was strong. He was young—a prodigy, a lunatic. He had a TM level 71. Man, it sounds so cool just saying it… But that number was wiped out by Luminar’s. She never reports her strength, unlike that fella. He had no chance. I’d say… we need 20 of us to at least get the stubborn man’s eyes to doubt victory. But her… it was heard that she kept her smile while she shredded him.”

  “Does she have magic higher than level 71?”’

  “Nope, most certainly not,” he answered. “She has a very specific AP that makes her undeniably powerful. That one path is what brought the undefeated king down. Well, a predictable king, I should say. But as long as she doesn’t mess with us, we’re good. She has a thing for RrodKa. Not sure why, but she does.”

  He walked toward his men, causing them to split so he’d pass through. He said with a lower tone, something that was heard rarely but very clear: “When we handle our government’s hypocrisy, I don’t mind engaging in RrodKa’s affairs. Sounds like a thrilling mission if you ask me! But for now, search for those Groggins. They are eavesdropping on us, those pesky husks of flesh guising as humans. Wipe them out.”

  Just as he said that, a handful of shadows retreated from behind, diving into the darkness of the decaying building.

  His men nodded and proceeded to run ahead. With Quick Speed (QS) activated, they scattered through the facility.

  Who is she? — Donnor Thallion

  “My sister,” Donnor said, “and your actions have been abysmal.”

  “She is a hero,” a slave said, battered in cuts and bruises and eyelid swollen. He knelt on the floor with his hands tied around his back. Soldiers stood on both sides, pinning him down.

  Cries broke behind the slave. Donnor raised his head and gazed over the long expanse of the road. As far as he could see, hundreds of slaves were chained to each other, kneeling with heads cast low. They formed orderly rows and columns. Soldiers of the Chains and Eyes lined up on the sides, keeping watch on every single one.

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  Donnor saw children among the masses, their hands chained so they couldn’t wipe away tears. The sight of mothers and children made him clench his teeth. He looked down at the singular slave before him and said, “Have you found favor in… stirring the crowd? You have killed Jorrin, one of our patrons’ servants. You know the consequences.”

  With a grunt, the man looked up, teeth showing as blood spilled from his lips. “I know the truth. Luminar will take the crown.”

  As he glared at the mocking slave, he realized something was off. Donnor walked closer. The soldiers pivoted, tightening their grip on the slave. He raised his hand, calming them down. When squatting, his glowing eyes met the slave’s. He said in a low and ominous voice, “You have killed your own people. You have raised false hope among the masses. One of my men died on your hands. Do you know who you are?”

  The man could only laugh more. With teeth grinding against each other, he hissed, “Why does that matter? That’s irrelevant to what I am saying. When she takes the crown, there shall be a new order.”

  “You have spoken enough lies today,” Donnor stood up and turned. “Take him away.”

  And the soldiers obeyed, getting to their feet with arms and pulling the man up. Yet they were met with resistance. The man kept his back low, forcing the others to kick his feet in place.

  “She has found a god!” the man shouted, all of a sudden. Donnor froze.

  He raised his hand, causing the soldiers to halt and await further orders. He spun so slowly, like his mind was processing amidst his turning. When he faced the man, he said, almost unsettled, “A god?”

  With eyes meeting again, the slave laughed. “I love that face, because you know it too. She never chose to be a queen because she’d rather choose to worship than to be worshiped. Such a pathetic excuse for not taking the crown. But look at her now. She has found a god to worship. And now that she has found the missing piece, she will do whatever it takes to bow and be a worthy servant. Donnor, did you ever think about how she got so strong?”

  Donnor had a sense of what the slave was talking about. No one had any clue what the man was saying—except him. Even he had to second-guess. He thought he would be the only one to wrestle with her motives. But then there was this man spewing ideas of servant worship, a truth that cannot be refuted. There was something much deeper going on.

  The man continued, “You can explain it much better than I do. I wasn’t doing this of my own accord. The uproar among the slaves? Done by me? Don’t be mistaken. Luminar appeared before me, after all. She revealed herself to me. She ordered me to spread the word. I killed Jorrin—I—a slave you can dispose of, but a worthy servant in her eyes. She will take the crown! She will remove the three kings and establish herself as the Queen. So stay your hand, Donnor, because the Second Overturn has come.”

  Who is she? — Lefaulta Lan

  She sat with the rest of the servants in a long chamber of stone and candles. Stone tables lay in a single line, and rows of women sat across the seats. Lefaulta, split among them with no one wanting to sit near her, kept her mouth shut, eyes focusing on the chains binding her wrists together.

  One of the women peeked over the row to call out Lefaulta, asking who Luminar was to her. When she received silence, she grumbled and said all the more, “She is your savior! You are an ungrateful waste!”

  “Silence!” the Housekeeper ordered, eyes narrowing at that one servant. She sat back after the remark. But everyone knew the tension was still there, even the Housekeeper knew, standing on an elevated stage on the edge of the chamber, overseeing all of them.

  “Have some dignity, for goodness’ sake,” she said with a sigh, pressing a palm on her forehead. “Just move on, damn you? It’s been 10 years, and we still jab a splinter on it.”

  One of the more obedient servants raised her hand, almost like it was a burden to speak out of the blue. She grabbed the attention around her, making her squirm and flush. She said sheepishly, “Madam, Lefaulta shouldn’t be working side by side with us. I think she should do something different.”

  “Lamy, darling,” the Housekeeper said calmly, “I love you for speaking over this, but she is working under me, according to Commander Thallion’s order. Regardless of whether the letter he gave to us was true or not, we know for certain that Lefaulta is not to be sent away. She is with us. Understood?”

  Lamy folded her arms and pouted slightly.

  “What, all because of some lady who hasn’t shown herself since forever?” one of the nosier women said, voice raised. “Are we being serious right now? Can I not wipe the table without worrying about this monster who wants to kill all of us? She has to leave this place, and forget all about that order crap—!”

  The Housekeeper, leaning forward, pointed a finger at the shouting woman. Her IM was activated, causing a small flare to be summoned. And then the little ball that was no bigger than a finger got shot across the room and landed on her forehead. The woman yelped, her head jerking back and her hands reaching to guard the spot. Others got startled and lowered their heads. That had gotten her shut up quick. And the Housekeeper looked at her and everyone beside her, all of whom had their heads down, except Lefaulta, who had no reaction to that little startle.

  She said to the groaning girl, rubbing her forehead, “You’re seeing me after this. When the outside affairs are done, I will double your workload.”

  In response, the woman could only sigh and lean back against her chair, her forehead beet red like a target. But after that commotion, no one spoke up except for quiet chatters. The Housekeeper looked at Lefaulta, who had been quiet this whole time.

  “I remembered when she came to see me in person,” Lefaulta began speaking, drawing all the attention to her. “She saw me behind the bars when I was chained up. She once told me, ‘You have a wonderful heart, but you are worshiping with a wrong heart. If you were just humble enough for me to teach you, that someone worthy of worship is out there.’ And with nothing else, she left. That was the last time I saw her.”

  She then faced the Housekeeper with a pale face. “What she had said when I was in prison—I have a feeling. I am sure that Luminar was searching for something.”

  Some of the women had something to say to her. One pushed with her hands and stood, opening her mouth to speak. But then a finger was raised. She looked to her side, noticing the Housekeeper with a stern look. The woman sat back down. When the room had stilled, the Housekeeper faced Lefaulta, noticing that same look.

  “Miss Lan,” she said, “would you mind explaining? I have my own assumptions about why the Marshal bid farewell. But I do not know of your saying. Please, explain away.”

  “In the past, I was cleaning the Elite chamber. Commander Thallion spoke of her during the middle of their meeting. She willingly takes the subordinate role to worship someone higher in authority. So she stands below the crown. Though I cannot understand why she chose to stand above the council rather than be a servant.

  “But why would she come to instigate a Second Overturn and claim the crown when she has built the triumvirate? She has worshiped them for a time. The strongest of all, worshiping, now turning against them. No man could change her. So, who can change the strongest?”

  The Housekeeper was frozen, realizing the line of thought Lefaulta was formulating. Her heartbeat became heavier, and her throat shook. She declared with knowledge she wasn’t supposed to know: “a god.”

  The halls of Armiton, the capital of RrodKa, remained empty. With soldiers deployed across the regions, every corner and hall and building possessed an unwavering tension. What started in the slave district on the outer ring had quickly trickled into the inner ring of rich people. Music and shouts of the party waned. Those with silky clothes hid in their homes, servants and prostitutes also returned to their abode. Because, as of now, the sky was suspended in a looming dread. Something was coming.

  Meanwhile, Donnor backed off, seeing the pinned slave who was now laughing hysterically. Other soldiers from the besieged crowd roared. Some wept, but voices from the rest rang as if chanting for the sky to change. Those who weren’t captured fled far from where soldiers massed, keeping their children close. Mothers and children trembled in fear of the armor and blades. But those same people grew silent, and their eyes lifted up to the clouds that slowly passed. The air was heavy, and they couldn’t understand why.

  RrodKa was stirring. Nations from across the land watched in silence. In PortThorioh, Harrick gazed at the silver horizon, behind standing all his men with slaughtered Groggins at their feet. All of them looked at what was to come.

  And in the wilderness, Luminar flew with the wounded and unconscious child, Vynelor. She headed straight to RrodKa. Silhouettes of the towns and banners came to view, the cold and dull colors of day accompanying her. Then towering structures emerged at Armiton—one of them where the triumvirate resided. She said with absolute calm, “I am coming. With my lord. To you who have not witnessed the first, watch, and I will show you the second.”