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rachellesedai · 2 months ago

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The Seeker's Prayer

Here is part two of my story for the @inklings-challenge 2024!

Team: Lewis Genre: Space Travel Themes: Instruct the ignorant/Pray for living and dead Word Count: 3,229 [PART 1] | 3,839 [PART 2]

PART 2

Zavion awoke with a start, his datapad on his chest. A yellow blinking light indicated its power cell was drained. How long had he been asleep? The lights in the reading room were at a dim glow. The room was silent apart from the ever present soft whirr of the server banks. He stretched aching muscles and staggered to his feet. Carefully, he secured the manuscript he had requested, returning it to stasis. With a yawn, he gathered his few belongings and took a step toward the curtained entrance of the alcove. A flurry of urgent whispers anchored him to the spot. Shuffling footsteps followed a hushed exchange too low for him to make out. He peered out between the curtains and saw two emissaries with hoods drawn up hurrying down the hall.

Zavion watched as they approached a transportlift across the wide passage and entered a complex code. Zavion waited a long moment after the two had entered the lift and departed. He should really go back to his quarters and go to bed. Morning and another day of filing plastisheets would be here all too soon. With a sigh, Zavion walked over to the lift. He knew a mystery such as this would keep him awake for whatever was left of the night.

Thanks to a long afternoon helping Emissary Ilana Karri repair several malfunctioning transportlifts, he knew the admin code to recall the last destination. His hand trembled slightly as he punched in the code and entered the lift. His stomach dropped as the module descended swiftly, plunging deep into the mountain. The doors slid open onto a dark stone corridor that curved slightly to the left, making any guess to where it led impossible. The light from the lift cast a weak glow, but there was no other source of illumination. Zavion hesitated. He dug through his pockets and found his small reading light. Switching it on, he took a deep breath and entered the corridor. The lift slid shut behind him and he was alone in the dark.

Zavion reached out and placed one hand on the wall next to the lift. Holding his light high with his other hand, he followed the curve of the passage, winding ever deeper into the depths below the library. Voices brought him to a halt and he extinguished his light, feeling his way along until he could see a small group clustered in a large, open gallery carved out of the rock.

The central figure was reciting something, words that sent a tremor through him even before he recognized them. The man was speaking in High Dakari, a language only found in the Empire’s oldest records and no longer spoken by any living race. Zavion had studied it, like every serious scholar, but he had never expected to hear it outside of classroom recitations.

Translating in his head, he recognized a few familiar phrases. It was the Canticle of Avrum spoken in high chant, but a longer, more complex version than any he had ever heard. The ancient prayer was attributed to the Blessed Prophet himself. Its chief importance was in it being the oldest record of the Order’s mandate to spread throughout the galaxy and seek new species.

Zavion shook his head. What was going on here? Why were these emissaries meeting in the middle of the night? He edged closer. The rock wall was cool on his skin as he pressed against it. The chanting trailed off and silence reined for a few moments. Zavion held his breath.

A robed figure stood and raised his hands. “Let us pray together,” he said. Zavion held in a gasp. He knew that voice. Narrowing his eyes, he strained to make out details. It had to be Steward Ebrim. The man’s build was right and the voice was unmistakable. The group knelt on the hard ground and began to speak in turn. They were calling out to the creator, asking for his help, praising his goodness.

Zavion put a hand to his mouth. This was more than just a few brother emissaries being a little too obsessed with tradition. This could actually be a resurgence of the ancient Cult of the Seekers. Indignation and disbelief warred within him. The group started singing, a haunting melody that echoed off the walls of the corridor. He turned and fled. The last thing he wanted was to be caught spying by a group of fanatics.

Safe back in his quarters, Zavion paced the room. The situation was unheard of. What was he supposed to do? Reporting the aberration would definitely get him the transfer he wanted. Zavion flushed, ashamed of the thought as soon as it formed. He took a deep breath and tried to reconcile what he had seen with what he knew of the emissaries he had met since coming to Karatu.

Whatever their religious inclinations, the people here were good. Perhaps a little boring and scholarly for his taste, but they were certainly not rebels fomenting an overthrow of the Empire. He did not want to cause a scandal and throw the entire library into turmoil. Who knew how many reputations would be destroyed or how much scholarly work discredited?

“As long as I don’t let on I know their secret everything will be fine,” Zavion said to himself, “No one knows I saw anything. I’ll forget it ever happened.” With this decision made, Zavion changed into his nightclothes, climbed into bed, and proceeded to think about nothing else.

Zavion almost jumped out of his skin the next morning when Davix clapped his hand on his shoulder as he picked at the sweet bread he had brought back to the table for morning meal.

“Where were you last night?” Davix asked.

“What?” Zavion almost choked on a crumb of sweet bread, his mouth suddenly dry. “I wasn’t anywhere. Why?”

“We were going to play a game of stones before nightfall, but you weren’t in your rooms.” He laughed. “You weren’t poking around parts of the library you shouldn’t, were you?”

Zavion shook his head, his heart racing as he feigned what he hoped looked like casual indifference. “Nothing so interesting. I fell asleep in the reading room. I’m afraid I was much more concerned with Ebrim catching me out after curfew and quite forgot about our game.”

Davix shrugged. “No matter. We can try again tonight.” He paused, as if he were going to ask something else, but only shook his head and departed. Zavion breathed a sigh of relief, but the feeling didn’t last long. His datapad beeped and Zavion looked to find a message from Steward Ebrim asking him to report to his study after morning meal.

Zavion disposed of the sweet bread, unable to eat another bite and drank down the last of his hot caf. He set the cup down with a trembling hand and forced himself to walk calmly to the steward’s study. Once there, Zavion knocked and waited for the man’s soft “enter” before opening the door.

Steward Ebrim sat at his desk, rifling through papers. He did not look up as Zavion entered, but continued to sort through the large stack of documents in front of him. Zavion stood straight, sweaty hands tightening into fists inside the sleeves of his robe.

“Sit,” Ebrim finally said, “I assume you have some questions.”

“About what?” Zavion stammered, folding himself into the chair opposite Ebrim.

“Don’t play me for the fool, my boy,” Ebrim said with a sharp look that seem to pin Zavion like a fly caught in a spider’s gaze, “I know you were there last night, in the catacombs.”

Zavion slumped. “How?”

“I take care to erase all record of our comings and goings on evenings like last night. An extra lift transport with your borrowed admin code was a bit obvious.”

“Oh.” Zavion sucked in a breath. He stared at Ebrim, who looked back calmly as if they were discussing an interesting point in a text they were translating. “Why?” he blurted out, “Why risk so much?”

Ebrim sighed. “A strong desire to know the truth and live accordingly.” He raised an eyebrow, his ears drooping as Zavion’s mouth fell open.

“What truth? There is no scientific proof that the creator exists. Even if it is the tradition of our Order to attribute our mandate to the Prophet Avrum, no one actually believes he communed with an all-powerful creator.”

“You’d be surprised,” Ebrim said, “The number of people who do believe is precisely why what you witnessed last night is so dangerous. I half expected the Matori to be on our doorstep this morning.”

Zavion blinked at his mention of the Empire’s elite shock troops. “The Matori?” He almost laughed, but the sound died in his throat at the sobering look in Ebrim’s eyes. “The situation might merit academic censure… a review of the participants work, perhaps…” he trailed off.

Ebrim shook his head. “To the Empire, the Seekers, beings throughout the galaxy who believe in the original mission of Avrum, are a real and present threat. They give no quarter when eradicating any who sympathize with our beliefs.”

Zavion took a shuddering breath. “Do you advocate overthrowing the Empress?”

“No.” Ebrim straightened. “We would like the truth to come out, of course, but mostly we want to be able to worship the Creator in peace.”

Zavion grasped his head in his hands. “What truth?” he almost shouted.

Ebrim tapped his fingers on the desk, his eyes narrowing. “I suppose it will do no harm to tell you at this point.” He leaned forward. “What we are taught about early galactic history is the barest outline of the events surrounding the foundation of the Empire. What most do not know is that we possess an abundance of records, both from that time period and the centuries following its early expansion.”

Zavion shook his head, the scholar within him offended that the texts he had spent so much time looking for might actually exist somewhere. “Why would the Empire suppress such knowledge?”

“Because it does not fit their narrative of how they gained supremacy. It is true that Avrum lived on Dakardr and his brother, Lexrun, was a leader of their people. However, Lexrun was only a prominent figure in what was a cooperative government of the planets orbiting the star, Alestria. It was Avrum who was held in high regard, even in the neighboring star systems. His writings were carefully preserved by his followers, the original emissaries. These men went out and spread the word of Avrum, which was a message of hope and a quest for something more.

As belief in the Creator spread, the Order became more established. They kept records on every species they encountered and soon had amassed more knowledge than any individual planet or system possessed. At first, they were consulted as intermediaries when disputes broke out between different groups. Systems came together, some more powerful than others. Dynasties rose and fell, but the Order remained. Then about six hundred years after the time of Avrum, the leaders of Dakardr decided that since their planet held all the knowledge, they should also hold all the power. Some among the emissaries agreed and allowed the government to use their knowledge of all the other species to conquer them.

As Dakardr’s power grew, the Order was relegated to a supporting role, and, as governments are wont to do, its ruling cooperative devolved into tyranny and the first true Emperor of Alestria was crowned.”

Zavion rubbed his forehead, trying to absorb this radically different version of what he held to be the history of his people. “Even if this is true, if the Empire’s rise to power wasn’t as clean and simple as most think, what does that have to do with your belief in the creator? How does it change the historical fact that Avrum was simply a wise man who brought people together and encouraged them to respect each species’ culture as adding to, instead of taking away from, their own?”

“Because the Empire hid more than its dubious beginnings,” Ebrim said, slapping his desk, “They suppressed the writings of Avrum himself, which give a completely different perspective on what our Order originally believed and what our very purpose is.”

“And what purpose is that? What are you seeking?”

Ebrim shook his head. “I’ve said enough. Much more and you won’t be able to claim ignorance.” He paused, his ears twitching. “What do you intend to do?”

Zavion blinked. “Do?”

“Are you going to report us to the Empire? I understand if you feel it your duty, but I hope I have gained enough respect in your eyes that you would inform me of your intentions.”

“I would never…” Zavion stammered, “I don’t agree with what you are doing, but I see no need to involve the Matori.”

“Very well.” Ebrim eyed him with interest. “I would ask you not to tell anyone about what we have discussed here or what you saw last night.”

Zavion stood and gave the steward a formal bow. “I give you my word,” he said, “but…” he paused, looking away, “May I ask more questions at a later date?”

“Of course,” Ebrim said, a hint of a smile in his eyes. “For now, you should get back to work. It wouldn’t do for today to seem any more unusual.”

Zavion nodded and left the study, his head in a whirl.

Zavion completed his daily routine, meticulously proofing plastisheets, packing them up for transport, and joining two other emissaries to help prepare the evening meal. He attended to each task with a laser focus that blocked out all other thoughts. He was beginning to think he might actually be able to proceed as if everything were normal when Davix showed up at his door for their game of stones.

Zavion pulled his only other chair over to his desk and Davix set up the pieces on the checkered board. They played a few moves in silence, Zavion losing two pieces to a careless mistake.

Davix eyed him as he collected the two white stones. “Head not in the game tonight?”

“I’m just tired,” Zavion replied.

Davix pushed an upright gray stone forward. “You were closeted with Steward Ebrim for quite a while this morning,” he said with a studied indifference.

The hairs on the back of Zavion’s arms stood on end. The statement seemed too pointed to be coincidental. He shrugged, moving an oval pearlescent stone to counter Davix’s move. “He found out I’ve been looking into a transfer.”

“You’ve been begging anyone who will listen,” Davix laughed. “Was he extolling the virtues of the library and the importance of the old ways?”

Zavion nodded, wondering what he meant by old ways. Did he suspect just how traditional Ebrim’s beliefs were? “It’s not that I don’t think it’s important,” Zavion said, trying to sound as annoyed as usual, “It’s just not for me.”

Davix nodded slowly, returning his attention to the game and Zavion’s shoulders relaxed. He was being paranoid. There was no double meaning behind his friend’s comment. He just needed a good night’s sleep and everything would go back to normal.

The next day was anything but normal. Zavion awoke to the entire library buzzing like an overturned skimmet’s nest. The great hall was deserted, plates of half-finished meals left abandoned, chairs pushed out or toppled over. Emissaries rushed to and fro down the passageways. Some gathered in tiny knots of heated conversation, others carried large satchels of belongings as if they were leaving on foot. Not a few glared at him when he tried to approach.

Panic rising in his chest, Zavion hurried to Steward Ebrim’s study. The door was ajar. He pushed it open to find Ebrim vaporizing a small pile of plastisheets.

“What is happening?” Zavion demanded from the doorway.

Ebrim’s eyes snapped up. “Oh. It’s you,” he said, waving Zavion forward, “I was about to come looking for you.”

“What?” Zavion’s knees wobbled as he made his way forward and grasped the back of the chair he had occupied the morning before.

“The Matori are coming,” Ebrim said, his voice crisp and matter of fact, “They will be here by nightfall.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Zavion stammered, his grip tightening until his knuckles whitened.

“I know,” Ebrim replied, “Which is why I wanted to speak to you. I need you to do something for me.”

Zavion nodded, his throat tightening on the millions of questions that flooded his mind. “Of course,” he choked out, “What do you need me to do?”

“Take this.” Ebrim removed the Star of Avrum from around his neck and held it out to Zavion. He accepted with trembling hands.

“I don’t understand.”

“Switch it with yours,” Ebrim said, turning back to his desk, “No one will notice. They are all identical to the naked eye.”

Zavion did as he was told. “What is special about this one?”

“It contains a data crystal with the writings of Avrum and the location of where we have hidden copies off all the ancient texts. That is what we have been doing here, preserving the knowledge before it is lost forever. If you find another Seeker pass it on, if not… Knowing the knowledge is out there will be enough.”

“Why are you trusting me with this?” Zavion swallowed. “And why can’t one of you take it out of here?”

Ebrim shook his head. “It is too late for that, my boy. The Matori will ferret out every last one of us. They will never suspect you, a fresh recruit who has been pestering every department imaginable for a transfer out of this ancient pile.” His eyes twinkled. “As for why I trust you…” Ebrim smiled, his ears perking up. “You have a good heart and you want to believe, I can feel it.”

Zavion held the pendant in both hands. “How do you know? That the Matori are coming,” he clarified.

“We intercepted a transmission late last night. It was the Ahiri.”

“Davix?” Zavion gasped. “It couldn’t be…” he faltered as he remembered his friend’s odd comments and the strange feeling he’d gotten the night before. His knees felt weak. “I don’t want to believe it,” he said, scrubbing at his eyes, “How could he betray you like that?”

“I told you. Most see the Seekers as subversives.” Ebrim shook his head. “Poor man, he probably felt he was doing his duty.” He sighed. “What’s done is done. Do not worry about him now. He is locked in his quarters where he can do no more harm.”

Zavion sank into the chair. “What are you going to do? Is there time for you to escape?”

“No. Some may try, but I am the Steward and the leader of our fellowship of Seekers. They will not rest until they find me.”

“What about me?” Zavion flushed, his cheeks hot. “Davix knows I have been spending a great deal of time under your tutelage.”

“Not enough,” Ebrim said, “There is so much I want to tell you, but there simply isn’t time. Remember this. We are seekers because we are looking for something.”

“What?” Zavion asked, leaning forward.

Ebrim shook his head. “There is too much to do. As for you, tell the Matori the truth about what you saw, even what I told you the next morning. Just keep what is in the star I gave you a secret. You will understand when you read it.” He put a firm hand on Zavion’s shoulder. “I pray that the Creator keep you safe.”

The next few hours played out much as Steward Ebrim had predicted. The Matori, fierce in their unadorned black armor descended upon the library, sealing exits and sequestering its inhabitants. No corner was left unchecked.

Zavion waited in his quarters, pacing up and down the small room. He had been questioned briefly, faring better than most, it seemed. Zavion shivered, unable to forget the screams that had echoed down the halls as he was escorted to his interview. He had done as Ebrim instructed, though shame had burned within him, fear had frozen it out. His rambling answers had satisfied the dour Matori, and he was sent back to his room like a naughty child. As he left, he had heard Davix’s name linked with his and the thought that the man had vouched for him made his stomach roil.

The next morning everyone was herded into the great hall. Zavion watched, a painful lump in his throat, as the Matori carted away racks of servers and cartons of stasis modules. His fellow emissaries were battered and bruised, some staring with vacant eyes, others openly weeping. Davix was nowhere to be seen.

A tall Matori with a red slash across his helmet strode into the room. “Bring forth the accused,” he bellowed.

Steward Ebrim and several other emissaries were marched in, their hands bound in flexicuffs. Zavion sucked in a breath. The prisoners all bore signs of a night spent enduring the Matori’s brutal interrogation methods. Bile rose as they were lined up against the wall.

This can’t be happening, Zavion thought. The tall Matori read something aloud about crimes against the Empire, but all Zavion heard was a high-pitched buzzing in his ears. The room seemed to spin and blur. The Matori raised their weapons. He couldn’t turn away.

Ebrim held his head high, his eyes still shining with cheerful confidence. He’s going to meet his creator, Zavion thought as weapons flashed and silence reigned.

Months passed before Zavion even dared to look at the data crystal. Finally given leave after his “ordeal,” he caught a ship home and trekked far out into the wooded wilderness beyond the tiny village he had hoped to never see again. Far from prying eyes, he spent several weeks translating the clue to the code to unlock the files. At last, with trembling hands, he accessed the writings of Avrum that Ebrim and the others had given their lives for.

In the stillness, I heard the Creator’s voice and he said, “Go and seek among the varied creatures of the cosmos. Make note of their stories and traditions, and in time you will find the blessed world, made holy by my hand. Its people I have anointed and have entrusted to them the truth that may know me and learn my ways. This sign I give to you, that you may know you have found my people. This blessed world is the single place in the vast universe where I, the Creator, entered into his own creation, spirit and matter, two natures, but one God.”

Zavion took a shuddering breath. He did not yet understand, but his heart was burning within his chest and he knew he wanted to believe. He wanted to know the Creator. He was a Seeker, like Ebrim. In a low whisper, he began to pray.

#inklingschallenge #team lewis #genre: space travel #theme: instruct #theme: pray #story: complete #rachel writes

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sunriserose1023 · 6 months ago

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(Guys, the Muse is musing.)

While I do have rough ideas, any suggestions for these stories will be taken into consideration. Lots of love.

#rachel writes #summertime #poll #tumblr polls

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racheljustcant · 17 days ago

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I keep thinking of the concept of an aroace femme fatale. Like, she's maddeningly attractive and everyone wants to be with her, and she uses her good looks to get what she wants, but she never follows through on the seduction part. Basically, I want to write a character who everyone thinks is a total hottie but she could not be less interested. I think it could be a fun dynamic.

#rachel writes #rachel rambles #writing reference #aroace #femme fatale #hell yeah

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strange-soliloquies · 1 year ago

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You are wandering down yet another bleak side street on the ground level of Mircalla. Dilapidated buildings line the way with an occasional slightly-less-derelict shop or pub to break up the monotony. The evening is wearing on, and you hear a round of laughter and song from what seems to be a particularly popular spot. You decide to pass on the rowdy establishment, seeking somewhere quieter to spend a bit of your coin and your time. Your eye is drawn to a small shop a few doors down. White and purple candles float behind the front glass, and a sign hanging over the door bears the mark of an eye. The linework of the symbol glows brightly in the dim light, inviting you to take a closer look. You try the door and find it unlocked.

The inside of the shop smells pleasantly of herbs and citrus. Shelves and cabinets line the walls, packed with odd bits and bobs. Bottles full of mystery substances, large books with cracked spines, crystal balls, decks of cards, and many, many tea cups. Candles cover every free surface, giving the room a cozy glow. In the center of the room, a low table occupies most of the floor space. At the opposite side of the table sits a young fetchling woman. She's idly smoothing the embroidered tablecloth on the table. Noticing your presence, she looks up with a smile.

"Welcome! No need to be shy; come in and make yourself comfortable!"

She gestures toward the cushion on the floor at your feet. Her black eyes shine with a strange light as she gives you an appraising look.

"Let me guess... You're new in town. Perhaps looking for some quiet entertainment. The pub was a bit too crowded for your taste, eh?"

She laughs lightly at your surprise.

"Well, I am an oracle. Discerning things about my clients is sort of my thing. And you have a fine air about you! Your aura is positively radiant. Good things are coming your way, I can tell! Shall we see what your future holds?"

She rises from her cushion and begins rummaging through the items on a nearby shelf.

"Perhaps a bit of tasseomancy to start? Maybe a palm reading? Or would you prefer to jump straight into the nitty-gritty with a bit of cartomancy? You won't find a better card reader anywhere on the continent, I can guarantee! Where would you like to start?"

Her brow furrows at your response. She nervously adjusts her shawl.

"Well... It's true that I do perform some more... otherworldy services on occasion. A séance wouldn't be completely out of the question. If you were one of my regulars. Which you're not.

No, no amount of money will persuade me, I'm afraid. Communing with the dead is... unpleasant. You don't know what you're asking for. Let's stick with a more lively means of divination."

She removes a deck of cards from an ornate wooden box and returns to her cushion. Using a black ribbon, she ties her white hair into a ponytail, then proceeds to shuffle and lay out the cards in a complex pattern across the table.

"This is the exotic tarrow deck; the only one in existence, to my knowledge. Let's see what it can tell us about your fate."

The candles flicker and dim as she slowly reveals the first card.

#creative writing #writing blog #rachel writes #i wrote this a couple months ago as a character intro for my ttrpg character #thought i would share it here #it's the most recent thing i've written #and it's what reminded me how much i love writing #might do some creative writing exercises centered around my other ttrpg characters in the near future

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sunriserose1023 · 1 year ago

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@ me next time.

#ouch #writer problems #writing is hard #rachel writes

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thefakerachelray · 1 month ago

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Chapters: 12/? Fandom: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel), Stephen Strange, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Bruce Banner, Wanda Maximoff, Vision (Marvel), Peter Parker, Peter Quill, Gamora (Marvel), Rocket Raccoon, Drax the Destroyer, Groot (Marvel), Mantis (Marvel) Additional Tags: Fix-It, Canon Rewrite, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence Summary:

A rewrite of Avengers: Infinity War and Avengers: Endgame that started as “what would happen if Loki survived” and quickly got out of hand from there and turned into “what if I rewrite everything I didn’t like from these two movies”.

Chapter 12 is up, along with an addition to chapter 11! And it didn’t even take a year this time!

#rachel writes #infinity's end #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #fanfic

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nancys-braids · 2 months ago

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hey yall. long time no see. wrote for the first time in like two months. have an unedited snippet <3

thanks for the tags - @ironheartwriter @heartstringsduet @nisbanisba @eclectic-sassycoweyes @emsprovisions + thank you to everyone else who has tagged me lately!

He pulled out his phone once they pulled into the fire house, sending a quick text to Carlos. hey babe has nancy talked to you lately? He slipped his phone back into his pocket, knowing Carlos would get back to him when he could, but he tended to get sucked into cases at work and forget about things, like eating, drinking, or responding to his husband. Nancy ran up to the bunk room immediately after parking the ambulance. She just seemed different to him. Like her spark was missing. She always radiated this sense of brightness, like she was the human form of a ray of sunshine. Leaving smiles and laughter no matter where she went. But not lately, you could see it on her face, crestfallen and full of sorrow. TK stayed back as he watched her walk up the stairs. He looked down at his hands, pulling at his fingers, one of those things he did when he wanted so badly to fix something, but not knowing how to help. He sulked over to the fridge and grabbed a can of diet coke. He almost grabbed two. A habit of his, since they usually both had one after a long stretch of calls. He sat at the bar in the kitchen, a million racing thoughts running in his mind, on how he could fix his best friend. He felt a buzz in his pocket and was met with the icon of his other best friend, who he was so fortunate to be married to. No, what’s up? Everything okay? He wasn’t sure how to respond.

idk who to even tag anymore but no pressure tags to

@captain-gillian @pelorsdyke @reyesstrand @ameriicansrequiems @literateowl @welcometololaland @your-catfish-friend @sugdenlovesdingle @bonheur-cafe @pimento-playing-hopscotch @alrightbuckaroo @honeybee-taskforce @carlos-in-glasses @terramous

#i think i missed the memo of seven sentences #oops #tarlos #tk and nancy #nancy gillian #carlos reyes #tk strand #911 lone star #rachel writes

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gravehags · 5 months ago

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at the altar of venus

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: EXPLICIT, MDNI

Tags: body worship babyyyy, self-consciousness, body issues, handjobs, fingering, crying, possessiveness, two fools in love and lust, two fools being gross and making each other laugh

Words: 4,251

Summary: When you watch your beloved turn and turn in front of that mirror, you know something is off. Lucky for him, you have much to say on the matter.

a/n: I JUST THINK HANDSOME OLD MAN APPRECIATION TIME with yknow. a side of total filth and desperate desire.

~~~

What a day.

You wiggle your nude body in Copia’s soft sheets, nuzzle into your pillow and look across the room. Your lover is standing before the full-length mirror next to the dresser - also nude - turning his body to consider himself at different angles in the low lamplight. You watch him for a moment, watch the way his fingers card through his graying hair, loose from the grip of the day’s pomade. He runs his hand down his chest thoughtfully and comes to rest at the slight paunch of his belly. He cups the skin and his lips tug downwards into a frown.

“Amore?” he asks quietly, “do you think I’m eh, nice looking? Handsome?”

Any other time you’d laugh out loud at such an absurd question but you can tell from his slumped posture that he’s feeling downtrodden and that simply won’t do.

“The most handsome man I’ve ever seen. And that is not hyperbole. You’re the only man to ever turn my head.”

He sighs heavily through his nose and looks back at his reflection.

“You don’t think I’m…too old for you?”

Now it’s your turn to frown.

“My love…come here.”

He turns to look at you again and you crook your finger and throw back the covers. Fidgeting awkwardly he ambles over and slides into bed and you waste no time in pressing soft kisses to his jaw.

“Shall I tell you how handsome I find you? In great detail - from tip to toe?”

He scoffs and moves to pull the covers up over his chest but you gently rest your hand on his to stop him.

“You eh…you would do that?”

Now you do laugh.

“With pleasure,” you murmur, “let me just–” you pull yourself up and swing your leg over to straddle him, “--there we go. Let’s start here.” You rake your fingernails through his soft, wavy hair and smile when he shivers.

“I love your beautiful, full head of gorgeous thick hair and I love the bits of silver threaded through it most of all. I’ve told you before I’ve always had an, ah, thing for older men and well…what sort of older gentleman aficionado would I be if I didn’t love graying hair? I love the way the light catches on the silver and how it feels between my fingers when you’re uh…busy between my legs.”

He laughs softly through his nose, which is incidentally where your journey takes you next.

“And speaking of when you’re between my legs,” you say, waggling your brows as you drag your fingertip down the slope of his nose, “when this beautiful, stately, elegant thing nudges at my clit…oh. Copia I’ve always loved your nose since day one but what this thing is capable of…”

Your eyes unfocus for a moment as you lean in to kiss it absentmindedly.

“You’re getting distracted, amore mio,” Copia murmurs, eyes glittering. Eyes. Those pretty, mismatched eyes and those long brown lashes…

“As always, you are too kind to me,” he chortles, reaching a hand up to stroke your hair. Sathanas, you didn’t even realize you had said that out loud. “I used to hate my eyes when I was a kid, you know? Always a reminder of the bloodline I was a part of but never really a part of…not according to Nihil anyway. Where others thought the white eye was ‘commanding’ on Secondo or ‘alluring’ on Terzo, it was always eh, ‘unsettling’ on me.”

“Hmm,” you say thoughtfully, “I certainly don’t think you need them but did you ever consider contact lenses?”

“Oh, sì, sì,” he nods, “tried them once too in my twenties but eh…something was just…off. Personally I thought I looked creepier with two green eyes.”

You lean back a little and raise a hand to cover his white eye, and then the green while tilting your head.

“Shoulda got a white contact for the green eye instead so you could go around looking like some sexy demonic husky.”

Copia bursts out in laughter, his chest shaking beneath your palms.

“I thought this was supposed to make me feel better?”

“It is! I made you laugh, didn’t I?” you say with a grin, leaning down to place a slow, soft kiss on his lips that has his hands settling on your hips.

“Love these too,” you breathe when you finally separate, “love how soft and plump they are and I especially love the little freckle right here–” you place the pad of your thumb on his full lower lip, “--God you have no idea how it drove me mad day in and day out whenever we’d work together. Driving me to distraction. All I’d ever want to do when you got close to me is…” You lean forward once more and catch his lip gently between your teeth, sucking on it until you feel his cock twitch against you.

“Mmm,” you pull off him with a wet noise that has him panting into the dimly lit room, “is someone starting to buy into the truth that he’s the most handsome man in the abbey? Perhaps even the world?”

“Don’t push your luck, dolcezza, I’m just eh, excited to have a beautiful, soft, young thing on top of me. One who is very good with her mouth, I might add.”

“Oh, that’s too bad you still don’t believe me when I say you’re beautiful. Try harder and maybe I’ll give you a little treat, hmm?”

He chuckles and tilts his head back.

“I’ll do my best. Done with the face, then?”

“And skip your glorious little mustache and impeccably crafted sideburns? Cardinal, you know I’m a woman who pays attention to the details. To say nothing of the freckles that are scattered over your face and down–” you trail a finger down his throat and tap on his clavicle, “--over your chest and shoulders? I’d kiss every single one if I thought I’d live to accomplish that.” You amuse yourself for a moment by playing connect the dots with the marks until your fingertip slides over and traces the lines of his tattoo.

“You never did tell me the story with this.”

He smiles, thumbs brushing soft circles on your thighs.

“Terzo did it. I had just entered the priesthood and he came to my quarters and got me drunk and convinced–”

“Wait, when you say ‘Terzo did it’ you mean Terzo gave you the tattoo?”

“Sì,” he nods, “He knew how much I loved the Omen movies and always complained that I never did anything wild so…”

You lean forward and inspect the ink.

“That looks…a lot better than anything I would have expected from Terzo.”

Copia snickers.

“His lines were surprisingly steady, but his hand not nearly strong enough. I had a professional touch it up later but that stays between us, sì?”

You give him a salute and lean back, raking your fingernails down his chest.

“Back to the topic at hand,” you murmur, “unholy fuck I love your body hair. It’s so thick and soft and I love the way it scratches just right at my nipples when you’re fucking me into the mattress.”

He sucks in a breath so fast he nearly chokes.

“You’re really not holding back, are you cara mia?”

“Nope,” you confirm, watching the way the tip of his tongue slides out to wet his lips as he eyes your breasts. Briefly, your hands abandon his torso to come up and cup them, thumbing across your hardened nipples. You pull away and grab his hands, placing them where yours once were. Greedily, he palms the flesh as your hips make little circles.

“These,” you breathe, your hands covering his, “these gorgeous, big, strong hands with these thick fingers…I can’t even count how many times I brought myself off to the thought of them.”

“O-oh?” he pants, removing one hand and bringing it up to cup your face, “with the gloves a-and everything?”

You lean into his touch.

“Especially with the gloves. Copia, the way I’d fantasize about being able to feel every stitch and groove of those things when I’d picture them inside of me…” You turn your head to place a kiss to the scar tissue at the center of his palm and his thumb strokes your cheekbone. “Mmm, you got me distracted again. Where was I?”

You look down and remember, scooting backwards down his body to settle in between his thighs. He whines now that you’re only touchable if he sits up, too tired to make an effort. Not, however, too tired for other things, you think as you look down at his hardened cock resting heavy against his belly, smearing pre on the hairs there.

“We’ll address this,” you say, gesturing to his erection, “in a bit. But for now…this.”

Your word is punctuated by the way you run your hands over his slight paunch, grinning as you knead the flesh. Copia’s shoulders twitch as if he’d like nothing more than to fold in on himself, eyes trained up somewhere over your shoulder.

“Your soft tummy is so sweet and perfect and–” you make a noise like a big cat growling, “--I just want to eat it up.”

“Clearly from its appearance I’ve eh, done enough eating for the both of us.”

You frown deeply.

“Copia,” you say, your tone deadly serious, “since when do you have problems with a belly? I hope you don’t have problems with my belly and mine is a lot bigger than yours—“

“Amore, never!” he gasps, horrified, “You…you are perfection. You are soft and plush and-and a goddess. This–” he says, gesturing lamely to his paunch, “--is the result of old age. Old age and too much spaghetti.”

“Yeah, and that’s exactly why it’s hot,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “My love, this little belly shows that not only have you enjoyed life, reveled in it the way Sathanas intended, but that you’ve survived. Endured. I love this belly the way I love every single line on your face. You wouldn’t be my Copia without them. I didn’t fall in love with some guy in his twenties with a waxed six-pack. Quite frankly…ew. Respectfully, beloved, I fell for the kind, smart, handsome, distinguished gentleman in his almost-fifties. Who is sort of goofy and really good with his tongue. I mean…really good.”

He laughs softly through his nose, regarding you with watery eyes. His lips form the words to thank you but no voice comes out. That’s alright, though. You’re not telling him these truths for your benefit.

“Shall I continue?” you ask gently, smiling when he nods.

Your hands slide down to his thighs, where you massage the flesh.

“You know I hadn’t even seen these - like, really seen them - until our first official date? When you wore those tight, tight pants? Lord have mercy these things are thick. I’d be content to gnaw on them like a dog with a bone if you’d let me.”

“Who says I wouldn’t?” he murmurs, cocking an eyebrow at you.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” you say with a wink, “I’d compliment your juicy ass too if I could get to it so just remind me to give it a healthy smack next time you’re standing, huh? The first time I saw you in profile in your cassock I almost passed out. Goddamn.”

He laughs and tilts his head at you.

“Ti adoro follemente,” he says, “thank you for making this old man love himself, even if it’s just a tiny bit.”

“I’ll take a tiny bit for now, we’ll work on the positive reinforcement.”

“Oh? And what kind of positive reinforcement did you have in mind?”

You ghost your fingers along his half hard cock, wrapping them around the shaft and leaning forward to spit thickly, your saliva landing on the head. The act has Copia moaning and shifting his hips up into your touch as you stroke him back to full hardness.

“Ah, dolcezza,” he sighs, half-lidded eyes watching your hand slide along the shaft, “if only you had known what I fantasized about with your hands.”

“Well go on, bello mio,” you purr, swiping your thumb along the slit to gather the pre leaking from the head. “Tell me.”

He grunts and ruts up into your touch.

“W-we’d be in your office…working on some…some administrative thing. And I’d watch the way those clever little fingers would fly across your keyboard–ah, fuck–and I’d imagine you leaving your desk a-and settling on your knees between my legs. Lifting my cassock up and palming me through m-my trousers. S-sometimes you’d use your mouth too but…always your hands. Always those s-soft fingers wrapped around me j-just like this. I–oh, cazzo–”

His voice cuts off with a moan as you spit on him once again, the wet slide of your pumping hand and his harsh breathing the only sound in the room. With your other hand you reach down to cup his balls, gently caressing them as you continue to stroke the length of him.

“I-I’m not going to last, amore,” he rasps out, thrusting into your grip, “just like that bellezza mia.”

“You’re beautiful,” you murmur, “you’re beautiful, you’re beautiful, you’re beautiful, and I love you just as you are.”

You know the last handful of words will send him over the edge and send him they do, until he’s coming in spurts over your knuckles and gasping your name. You continue to stroke him until he has nothing left to give and when he’s spent, you raise your hand to your face and fastidiously lick every drop of his spend from your fingers as he watches with his mouth hung open. When your tongue passes over your middle finger for the final time he grabs at you, eagerly hauling you up his body and slotting his lips over your mouth in a slow, decadent kiss. When you finally pull away, it’s with a smile and you nudge his nose with yours. Gently, you roll off of him and nuzzle into his side, lazily kissing his shoulder. When he rolls onto his side to face you, you move to do the same but he presses you back down into the mattress.

“Copia, your stamina is impressive but you literally just came I don’t expect–”

He chuckles, gently dragging the bedsheets down to expose your body.

“Your turn, dolcezza.”

“My turn–oh.”

The realization hits you as the fingers of his right hand tease at the underside of your breasts and against your belly, dipping further down to cup at the wet heat of you, driving a gasp from your lips. He leans towards you to inhale deep along your neck, lips ghosting over your hair.

“I wouldn’t even know where to start in praising you, bellezza mia. Sweet - in both disposition and taste, tender in body and heart, beautiful in all ways. Tongue and mind as sharp as a tack and ridiculously amusing. Perfetto–” two of his fingers dip down into your labia majora and you see him smile out of the corner of your eye at how slick you are for him. “My perfect girl. Kind. Perhaps too kind and indulgent to this old man but…” his fingertips circle your clit and your hips spasm, “he will show you just how thankful he is nonetheless, sì?”

You whimper as his fingers tease at your entrance before sliding inside you knuckle deep, palm pressed flush against your clit. An echo of how you would touch yourself to the thought of him not that long ago.

“I’m not wearing my gloves but eh, I hope this will suffice for now?”

Your laugh comes out breathy as he begins to fuck into you at a decadent, leisurely pace, pressing open mouthed kisses to your shoulder.

“I never dreamed at my age I’d find someone like you,” he confesses, “Like you were–like we were made for each other. Every morning and every night I thank Sathanas for bringing you to me, thank you for allowing me to worship you. Anima mia, I adore you so much I wish to devour you. To join our bodies and minds and souls together for eternity and further. I told you before that I love you so much I fear driving you off but…I think we are equally matched in our passions, sì?”

You let out a delighted sigh, spreading your legs further to better accommodate him. It’s nice like this - lazy, unhurried - and he smiles as you clench around him.

“Perfectly matched,” you breathe, meeting the languid thrust of his fingers with the tight circling of your hips, “Copia I am yours in every way - yours to use and fuck and–ah–consume as you please. All yours. Always yours–oh fuck.”

The fervor of your words makes his breathing and his fingers quicken, pumping in and out of you with greater force.

“I would have you all night if you let me,” he growls, his breath hot in your ear, “Say you’ll let me, per favore. Please give me this gift. On my fingers, tongue, cock, it doesn’t matter I need you amore, need to watch you come undone and help mend you back together. Please, I–”

He’s crooked his fingers inside you, pressing against that sweet little spot that makes you whine and cant your hips eagerly. You can feel the tears prick the corners of your eyes and you’re breathless as you nod.

“Copia, please, please, please, need you, need all of you–oh, fuck baby that’s it, don’t stop, don’t–ah!”

Your moan is pitchy and borderline desperate as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm.

“Mine,” he growls, “Solo mio come sono tuo. La mia bellissima ragazza perfetta. Il mio cuore e la mia anima. Il mio riflesso. La mia luce e il mio buio. Per sempre. Mia scellerata benedizione, non ti merito. I love you more than anything. Anything.”

Panting, you blindly reach down to still his hand between your legs and he sobs into your shoulder. Gently, you extricate his fingers from you and bring his hand up to your face, tongue darting out to taste yourself. Tears slide down his cheeks as he watches, entranced, as you suck each finger into your mouth before dragging the muscle up the center of his palm. His eyes are wet and bright, pupils blown as you lean up and place a soft kiss to his lips. When you pull apart, you thumb away the tears remaining on his cheeks and smile softly at him.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stutters, sniffling, “I don’t know what got into me, amore, I–”

“This was a lot,” you murmur, reaching up to push the loose strands of hair off his forehead, “but I hope you know how loved you are by me - everything about you, all of it - and that there is no one more beautiful on this planet to me than the man I see before me right now. And I’ll remind you of this again and again and again until the end of days and even further. You are so special to me, Copia. I hope that even for a little bit tonight you got to see yourself through my eyes.”

When he leans forward to place a kiss to your forehead, he’s trembling.

“C’mere,” you say, drawing him into your arms as he drapes his body over you, arm around your waist. The weight of him is solid and comforting as you press kisses to his hair, enveloping yourself in the orange blossom scent of what little remains of his pomade.

“I promised to ravish you all night,” Copia murmurs, his voice comically muffled by his lips squished against your breast. You snort inelegantly.

“We’ve got many nights ahead of us for that, my love,” you say with a smile, hand stroking along his freckled shoulders, “I’m not going anywhere and neither are you. But more importantly - are you alright?”

He pulls away slightly to rest his chin on you.

“I don’t think I have been for a long time,” he says quietly, “Not really, anyway. But ever since you arrived…columba mia, it’s like I have a purpose again.”

Now it’s your turn for your eyes to get watery.

“I know exactly what you mean. Exactly. I…I really need to thank Sister Imperator someday for bringing me here, in the end. I mean yeah she had nefarious intentions but…in a roundabout way she kinda helped save my life.”

“Amore, I don’t mean to sound like some kind of eh, Christian but…Sathanas has a plan for us. And it doesn’t involve any of that child bearing bullshit that was being spewed at you…no. He brought us together for a reason and for that I am thankful every day. Thankful every day you did not run screaming from Imperator’s office the day of your interview. Thankful you saw this…peculiar, awkward, old Cardinal…and saw not only a friend but a-a soulmate. I thank Sathanas but like I said earlier - I thank you more. I would forsake my Unholy Father in a heartbeat for you, amore. You are my true religion now. Know that.”

The noise that comes out of you is wet and embarrassing as you cup Copia’s cheek and rest your forehead against his. After a moment of shared breath, you pull away.

“My love, I’m so sorry to ruin the moment but I desperately need to blow my nose.”

He laughs - one of his weird little “ehehe” numbers - and the sound makes your heart swell in your chest.

“Anything for the woman I love,” he announces grandly, leaning over you to grab the box of tissues on the nightstand and present them to you. You pluck one out and hold it to your face while Copia watches fondly from a very close distance.

“Uh, hon?”

“Mmhmm?”

“You might want to back up a little? I don’t trust the integrity of these things and you do not want to be in the splash zone.”

Copia rolls off you making the most revolted noise as you laugh and struggle to breathe through your congested nose. Sitting up, you blow into the tissue while he watches looking supremely disgusted.

“‘Splash zone’,” he grumbles, shaking his head, “Amore, you are not well.”

“Yeah, I think that’s been established in our year of knowing one another. And, I’m sorry I didn’t realize I was speaking to the pinnacle of mental health over here.”

He pinches the meat of your thigh mid-blow and it makes you choke. In retaliation, you throw one of your crumpled, used tissues at him and it bounces off his chest.

“Augh, it’s wet!”

“Duh, that’s my snot,” you chirp pleasantly. “What you don’t like it? What was all that before about how I’m ‘your beautiful, perfect girl’, and ‘your reflection’, and ‘your heart and soul’ and–”

“...You understood all of that?”

You smile.

“Not all of it, but most. I’ve got a pretty impressive Duolingo streak going from all those nights you have confession duty, you know.”

He props himself up on his side and stares at you with a goofy smile.

“Amore mio, I take back my disgust. You could use me as a tissue and I would say thank you.”

That makes a horrible noise come out of you.

“Copia, I’d call you a simp but I think there would be some pot calling the kettle black action going on there so I’ll refrain. Ugh, what a fucking day.”

You gather up your used tissues with the intent of heading to the bathroom with them but Copia turns to you with his hands cupped expectantly. Gently, you smile before depositing them and watching him get up and pad over to the garbage in the other room. When he comes back after washing his hands and climbs into bed, making his delightful old man noises, you grin.

“Thank you for indulging me tonight,” you murmur as you nestle into his side.

“Indulging you? As if I wasn’t the one getting showered with compliments by a beautiful, nude, young woman?”

“You know what I mean,” you say, trying your best to stifle a yawn. “For hearing me out, for letting me show you how perfect you are to me…all of it. And thank you for the very kind things you said about me in turn. I…will not easily forget that.”

“I certainly hope not but like you, I am prepared to remind you over and over and over of how precious and perfect you are.”

“With fingers, tongue, and cock?” you ask innocently, parroting Copia’s earlier promise. He snorts.

“Dolcezza mia, however you want it.”

“Mmm,” your eyelids are getting heavy as you listen to Copia’s steady breathing, “I’ll hold you to that.”

“I would expect nothing less from such a demanding mistress.”

“Oh you haven’t even seen my demanding mistress side yet, beloved.”

He’s got his eyes closed but makes the dirtiest, most intrigued noise you’ve ever heard and it makes butterflies ricochet around in your stomach. His hand trails teasingly up your arm, causing a shiver to roll through you.

“Well, Padrona,” he murmurs, low and enticing, “I’m not entirely sure I’m ready for bed just yet.”

You’re already sitting up with a sigh and straddling his hips for the second time that evening as you say: “Insatiable as always, Your Eminence. Hmm, do I get to wear your grucifix and biretta? Perhaps I’ll get that pretty red rope out too?”

“Oh amore…I insist.”

#curator reader series #cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia x female reader #the band ghost #the band ghost fic #rachel writes

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rachelsquill · 1 year ago

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Fuck it makin a pinned post!

Hi I’m Rachel I’m a 24 y/o artist who mostly draws mcyt but ultimately I draw what I want and what makes me happy

I have a few tags I use on this blog:

#rachels art tag— all my art

#rachel rambles— for whenever I make posts of just words/my thoughts

#rachel writes— for the rare occasion I write something

#rachels ocs— my oc art that ive done

#yuri tag— pictures of my cat Yuri

I do not support cc!wilbur hes an abusive piece of shit all recent wilbur drawings are c!wilbur

I block people frequently for a variety of reasons. Don’t take it too personally if I block you.

Don’t be afraid to send me asks and art requests 💚 (no promises I will do the art requests but sometimes they inspire me)

I think thats about it

#for ease of access>#rachel rambles #rachels art tag #yuri tag #tntduo royalty au #rachel writes #rachels ocs

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helpallthenamesaretaken · 23 days ago

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i hate how sometimes people make out rachel to be this tragic heartbroken mess. WELL FRIENDLY REMINDER THAT

she was the one who dumped percy in the first place

and the scene after that she said "I don't have to tell you what you have to do now, right?" with the next scene being percy confessing to annabeth

she genuinely CHOSE to be the oracle, if she was really serious about percy she would have not have gone along with the whole thing without being a tiny bit sad about not dating percy

she flat out admitted percy was just a vehicle for her to be involved with the greek world

she is not august by taylor swift. she is not driver's license by olivia rodrigo. she did not care less about percy once he didn't reciprocate pls 😭

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rachellesedai · 2 months ago

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The Seeker's Prayer

Here is my story for the @inklings-challenge 2024! This story is from a universe that I've been thinking about for a long time, but haven't had a chance to write in yet!

Team: Lewis Genre: Space Travel Themes: Instruct the ignorant/Pray for living and dead Word Count: 3,229 [PART 1] | 3,839 [PART 2]

PART 1

Zavion stared listlessly at the datapad in his hand as the Reva class shuttle bumped and shuddered its way down through the atmosphere to the planet below. Shoulders hunched, he did not make eye contact with the shuttle’s only other occupant. Instead, he fingered the star-shaped pendant that hung on a heavy silver chain around his neck. Members of the Order of the Emissary were supposed to be ever welcoming, ready to usher all cultures and species into the embrace of the Empire. Today, Zavion could not even muster a smile of greeting for his fellow emissary, probably another newly ordained with the same bad luck as himself. Who could possibly want their first assignment to be to a backwater planet of archivists?

"It is an honor,” his teachers had told him, “Karatu was one of the oldest deposits of knowledge in the galaxy. There was more knowledge in a single section of the Great Library than a man could hope to learn in his lifetime.”

Zavion hunched his shoulders. He did not want to be surrounded by old knowledge. The reason he had joined the Order in the first place was to be on a ship, preferably of the deep space variety, and explore the unknown reaches of the universe. His most secret desire was to be one of the few Emissaries to make actual first contact with a new species. These days that only happened a handful of times each century, but that did not stop him from dreaming of the possibility.

Zavion groaned, his hand tightening on the datapad, as the shuttle bounced on the turbulent air like a rock skipping across a pond. Jolted out of his thoughts, he grasped the support handle with his free hand and glanced over to see if the other man had tumbled out of his seat.

His fellow emissary stood with hands on his hips and a broad grin on his face, unperturbed by the shuttle’s rocking. The bluish tint to his rough features and his multitude of black, braided hair was enough to tell Zavion that he was an Ahiri from the moons of Trenugus. The hardy inhabitants of those worlds were used to much more violent weather than their current descent to Karatu. Zavion nodded and the Ahiri laughed, a loud booming sound that filled the small space.

“I was wondering if you were going to stop brooding long enough to acknowledge my presence, brother.”

Zavion forced a small smile. “My apologies. I am Zavion, Emissary Zavion of L’Arid.” He stumbled over the title, still not used to the sound of it.

“Davix,” the man said with a slight bow. He eyed Zavion’s slight frame with a small frown.

Zavion straightened, knowing his dull russet skin and loosely curled hair the color of the dark sands of Adeer gave no clear indication of his lineage.

“I’m afraid I haven’t heard of L’Arid,” Davix said before Zavion could give the socially correct explanation of his people’s place in the complex tapestry that made up the Empire of Alestria.

“It is in a small system near Dakardr,” Zavion said, stuttering as the floor heaved beneath them.

“The home of the Prophet,” Davix responded, his eyes brightening, “no wonder you were drawn to be an emissary.”

Zavion gave Davix a genuine smile. The Ahiri were counted among the younger races, having achieved full status in the Empire just over five hundred years ago. They were considered provincial and unmannerly by some, but Zavion found their abruptness and enthusiasm refreshing.

“Yes,” Zavion agreed, “but I did expect something a little more adventurous,” he said, nodding in the direction of their descent.

Davix laughed again. “Libraries can be dangerous places,” he said, somehow keeping himself steady as the shuttle gave a final lurch. With a jolt that shook the teeth in Zavion’s skull, the shuttle settled onto solid ground. They had arrived.

Zavion pulled himself up and shouldered his travel bag as the shuttle door unsealed with a loud thunk and slid open. He gestured for Davix to go before him and the two of them walked out onto a windswept landing pad under a gray sky smudged with low sullen clouds. Zavion inhaled deeply. The air smelled of damp stone and residual electricity as if lightning had struck not too long ago, its power still hanging in the air. A glowing ring lit the immediate area around the shuttle but Zavion could see little of his surroundings beyond a general impression of mountains.

Davix strode forward and Zavion saw a sliver of light widen into a doorway on the other side of the pad. The gray building in front of them had blended so seamlessly into the rock that Zavion had barely registered it.

A short man in dark robes shuffled toward them. “Come with me,” he said, his voice muffled by a multitude of scarves. Waving a hand-light, he led them to the opening and into a dimly lit room that turned out to be a transportlift junction. As the door slid shut, he unwound his scarves revealing the cheerful round face of a Volor with tufted ears that twitched as he vigorously shook their hands.

“Welcome to Karatu,” he said, “I’m Steward Ebrim. Forgive the lack of ceremony. We hardly ever have visitors during storm season, much less new members of the Order,” he chuckled, punching numbers into a control pad on the wall. “Sometimes I think the Order has forgotten all about us, aside from their data requests, of course.” A smile glinted in the man’s eyes. “Be that as it may, I’m sure the two of you could do with a hot meal and a good sleep before we have the grand tour.”

Zavion exchanged glances with Davix. He had expected a more formal transfer process, or at least a check of their credentials. Davix shrugged and Zavion’s stomach rumbled at the mention of food.

“Lead on, good steward,” Davix said.

“A meal does sound good,” Zavion mumbled as they stepped onto the old fashioned transportlift. This seemed to be a simple elevator instead of the more modern tube module that automatically realigned itself for changes in direction. The descent lasted several minutes and Zavion began to wonder just how high on the mountain the landing pad had been situated. At last, the doors slid aside and they walked out into a broad hallway hewn out of the raw stone of the mountain. This led past several alcoves and smaller hallways to two massive stone doors that stood open, revealing a cavernous room bustling with activity.

Crossing the threshold, Zavion scanned the large rectangular room. It was brightly lit by rows of chandeliers hanging from chains attached to the ceiling far above them. Bioluminescent rods perched on delicate metal branches where wax candles had no doubt once stood. Vibrant tapestries softened the stone walls and lessened the echo of their feet as they followed the steward. Four long tables flanked the center aisle, occupied by a variety of species all dressed in the characteristic dark robes of the Order.

Zavion blinked. It was odd to see so many in such traditional attire. At the academy, robes were only worn for formal ceremonies. “I feel underdressed,” he muttered and Davix lifted his bushy eyebrows.

“Is it a feast day?” the Ahiri asked.

Steward Ebrim led them past the tables. Some of the emissaries nodded at them in greeting. Most ignored their arrival. Some read quietly, while others clustered in small groups, engaged in lively discussions. Many were eating something that steamed with an aroma too enticing to be fabricated.

Ebrim smiled. “We have a real kitchen,” he said, “and take turns cooking meals every day. One of the advantages to living in an ancient citadel.”

The steward ushered them into an alcove with a long counter laden with platters of bread and white crumbling cheeses, an array of tubers and greens, and large pots containing a mixture of vegetables and meat in a thick sauce. Zavion decided this was one part of ship life he would not miss, and readily accepted the plate Steward Ebrim offered him.

Zavion awoke the next day with a sigh. His sense of duty prevented him from sleeping in just as it had prevented him from refusing this depressing assignment. He dressed, pulling on dark pants and a long sleeved tunic. Retrieving the Star of Avrum from its velvet box, he donned the emblem of the Order, its heavy chain calming his nerves. After a moment’s consideration, he added his own dark robe over the rest. It would not do to begin with an overtly rebellious spirit. Even though Steward Ebrim had given him no explicit instructions about what to wear, tradition was obviously important here. And a good emissary conformed himself to the situation at hand.

At least his quarters were spacious and modern, with a full size computer on the desk and sleek built in drawers and cabinets for his personal belongings. There was even a window that Zavion suspected could actually be opened if the weather ever improved. Today a cold rain pattered on the clear panes.

Zavion checked his messages on the computer and saw that Ebrim has sent a short note informing him of the time for morning meal and a request to meet him at midday in his study. He contemplated sending a message home or seeing if Davix was up yet. Instead, he decided to go down to the main hall, in spite of the early hour. Shoving his datapad into one of the robe’s copious pockets, he left his quarters. Anything was better than sitting alone wishing he was somewhere else.

Zavion walked down several empty hallways, brightly lit corridors giving way to stone passages lit by luminescent sconces. The place was like a maze, crossing halls with large alcoves at random intervals and stone staircases leading to different levels. Shaking his head, Zavion consulted his datapad. He had neglected to upload a map of the citadel and the general description was unhelpful. He turned another corner and found a large open area with a tiled floor that ended in an archway with glass doors slightly ajar. Approaching quietly, Zavion saw several emissaries in the room beyond.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Zavion entered the room before he realized the only sound was the melodic rise and fall of an orchestral piece he recognized, but couldn’t quite name. No one was speaking. Emissaries were scattered about the room, some sitting on woven mats on the marble floor, others on carved wooden benches, still other standing. All had their eyes closed.

Zavion’s brow furrowed as the significance of the chamber he had entered dawned on him. It had to be the old chapel. The walls and ceiling were covered in sparkling white stone that reflected the meager light from multiple tall windows, giving the narrow room an open, airy feeling. Benches and floor mats were arranged in orderly rows to accommodate any type of being. At the far end of the room was a raised dais and on the curved wall beyond was the most beautiful mosaic Zavion had ever seen. Multicolored tiles and inlayed jewels depicted the Blessed Prophet Avrum D’Kara on the mountaintop where he had supposedly communed with the creator. Its value as an art piece alone justified the preservation of the chapel, but the scene and the quiet stillness of his brother emissaries created a disquiet that crawled across his shoulders and down his spine.

Zavion inhaled deeply. Surely the emissaries here didn’t still pray to the creator. It had been the tradition of the Order to gather in prayer each day, but the practice had been abandoned long ago. Their mission had remained the same, to be the point of first contact between the Empire and every new species who ventured off their planet into space to join the rich and varied world beyond. Just as important was their duty to carefully record each species’ history along with their stories and legends that held their unique view of creation. But no being of learning believed that the creator, if he even existed, had personally given them this mandate.

Before Zavion could utter a word or turn and flee, as he felt inclined to do, a metallic gong sounded and the music switched off. The emissaries were up immediately, exchanging greetings and filing past Zavion to morning meal or whatever duties awaited them. Many nodded to him, but only Steward Ebrim stopped to speak with him.

“Good morning, Emissary Zavion,” the steward said, his ears twitching, “did you join our morning meditation?”

“Meditation?” Zavion stammered, a confused frown creasing his brow.

“Yes,” Ebrim beamed, “many here find starting the day with meditation an excellent way to focus, and in such a small community doing things together is always beneficial.”

“I suppose…” Zavion faltered. The steward was not acting like he had stumbled on something scandalous. Perhaps his first impression had been a reaction to the odd mix of ancient and modern here on Karatu.

“I was looking for the main hall,” Zavion said.

Ebrim nodded, a twinkle in his gray eyes. “Of course, would you like to join me for morning meal? Then we can forego our meeting this afternoon and you can get right to work.” He smiled as Zavion accepted and led the way out of the chapel.

“Kill me now,” Zavion muttered under his breath, “before I die of boredom.”

“What was that?” Davix asked, coming up behind him.

“Nothing,” Zavion replied, straightening, “Does Steward Ebrim have you down here in the cellars as well?”

Davix nodded as he placed a rack of hard plastisheets onto Zavion’s worktable. “The Chronicles of Leiria Volume Five,” he said, “Fresh from the fabricator.”

Zavion groaned. “Remind me why a computer cannot proof read these?”

“The whole point of plastisheets is to have a durable copy that can be accessed without a computer or any power source at all if necessary.”

“I know.” Zavion rubbed his forehead. “But do you have any idea how long it will take to make fabricated copies of everything in the library? Or how much space it will take up? Even in microscript.”

Davix shrugged. “Steward Ebrim says it’s better than losing it in a catastrophe or the information being erased or altered in a data breach.”

“Of course, he’s right.” Zavion sighed. “Though I can’t imagine anyone hacking in to access The Chronicles of Leiria.” He laughed. “Do no listen to me. I am just envious of our brothers out among the stars.”

“You can always request a transfer,” Davix said, a shadow of concern in his voice.

“I have. Multiple times.” Zavion shook his head. “Don’t tell Ebrim. He seems so delighted to have two new recruits to educate in the ways of the Great Library. I don’t have the heart to tell him I’d rather be any place but here.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Davix chuckled. He patted the plastisheets as he turned to leave. “Perhaps volume five will be more entertaining.”

Zavion rolled his eyes and pulled out the first sheet. The weeks since his arrival had settled into a predictable pattern, none of it entertaining. The library was awe-inspiring. He could not deny that. Cool subterranean caverns held massive racks of servers. Row after row towered above his head, blinking softly in the gloom, access points at regular intervals. They were ordered according to the date each species joined the Empire, the march of ages passing as one ventured further into the depths. In the deepest parts of the library were sealed chambers filled with tomes kept in stasis, too fragile to even be exposed to the air. Vidscreens on the walls outside displayed their contents.

It was also true that the emissaries on Karatu all seemed to be happy with their lot. They were a mixture of librarians who reveled in the sheer amount of knowledge surrounding them and academics who felt privileged to research their chosen field in such a revered location. Families were allowed, but few brought them to such an out of the way planet with a miserably long storm season and little else to recommend itself aside from scholarly pursuits. A handful of locals were employed to help out with day to day tasks and general upkeep, but Zavion found that the emissaries preferred to do most work themselves, whether it was repairing uplink banks or preparing meals.

“I am meant for more than this.” Zavion sighed.

When he had hinted at his discontent, Steward Ebrim had suggested finding a personal project. “Find something you are passionate about, and learn. There is no better place to delve deeply into almost any subject.”

Zavion stared at the plastisheeets in front of him. What was he passionate about? Exploration. That was a given, but what part of it? The danger? The thrill of being the first to discover something? The recognition that would come with such a discovery? That was all part of it, Zavion admitted to himself, but there was more to it.

While he admired the way each culture added to the complexity and beauty of the universe, one thing was abundantly clear. Most of the Empire’s vast history was incredibly tedious. Little of note seemed to happen for centuries at a time. While individual species often had epic highs and lows before first contact, once they were absorbed into the Empire all the interesting bits seemed to be filed off until they fit into the ordered flow of the galaxy.

First contact was a time of transition and upheaval for any planet. Those stories were fascinating. Some embraced their abruptly expanded universe. Others fell apart, unable to handle the knowledge they were not alone. A few balked at the order of things and tried to forge their own path apart from the Empire. No matter the response, to be present at such a moment would be amazing. More than a part of history, he would be vibrantly alive.

Zavion’s days remained as mind numbingly boring as ever, but in his free time he began to delve into the first contact encounters of each age. Ebrim was correct about the library being a treasure trove of information. Here he could access journals and original field reports, which contained details often left out of official summaries of the events. The early encounters were particularly fascinating, though there were often gaps where earlier works were referenced, but when Zavion searched, he could not locate the quoted text. This often led to hours of sifting through contemporary texts to cobble together a picture of what had occurred. It was an enthralling pursuit and one that, he hoped, would be a great benefit when he finally left this ancient pile behind and sought his own destiny among the stars.

Davix joked that he was becoming as antiquated as the scholars who lived and breathed the Great Library and asked if he was now a disciple of Ebrim’s.

Zavion laughed, shaking his head at Davix’s intent look. “Ebrim is probably the most intelligent man I’ve ever met, but no one will ever be able to convince me to remain here when I could be out there.” He glanced upward with a longing look that made Davix roll his eyes.

#inklingschallenge #team lewis #genre: space travel #theme: instruct #theme: pray #story: complete #rachel writes

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