Stunned, Millennius stared at the sky for ages where Destina had disappeared, even as the sun finally edged past the distance hills and into full resplendent view. She was gone, possibly forever. Now he was alone.
There was not much else he could do but follow his own chosen path, even if it would lead to his end. He could feel the pain inside him; the Lore energy wanting to emerge, and he could not hold it back any longer.
Picking a point in the sky, Millennius flew toward it, even as he burst afire, turning into a great winged golden Lore; like a phoenix rising and disappearing into the glare of the sun. It may have been the dawn of a new day on Earth, but Millennius knew it was also the beginning of his day of reckoning.
A few years later, Spheron died. And he went to Hell.
Keeping his oath to watch over the children, Spheron’s Loreself, a red energised beast, chose to live out his years in the volatile atmosphere of Jupiter, much as the Lore had done thousands of years ago upon Adantus’ Antiqchronals Quest. Spheron couldn’t help but think of the irony. He didn’t need to eat much, thus Jupiter could sustain him without losing too much mass and without him being detected by other Lore. But at least from here he could sense if the Lore approached and protect the children. Or on the off-chance he might have been able to detect when their powers flourished.
Life continued on, Spheron lazily exploring the gas giant, from its tiny sludgy core to the highest colourful bands of swirling brown, orange, and white clouds of hydrogen, helium, methane and ammonium, from the equator to the poles; round and round like an alien goldfish in an exotic cosmic bowl of metallic hydrogen. But Spheron was happy to be in his self-imposed prison as long as the children were safe.
But only a mere two decades later, something changed. As Spheron let himself drift within the hurricane winds in the upper sky, browsing on the failed brown sun’s particles, he felt a twist in the temporal fields. Without his Lore temporal abilities he would not have noticed it, much less have been able to identify who it was. But he could sense it, sense her, unmistakably—the Traitor Synther’s sister: Phasia.
Red energised wings propelled Spheron out of Jupiter's turbulent atmosphere, his open portal partially sucking in the poisonous air of the gas giant, which dispersed upon his entry to Earth. But he was too late. Phasia’s temporal trail had led him to an enourmous burning fortress on a wind-swept plain. Spheron recognised it as Troy. But the walls had been destroyed by a devastating force—a temporal collision, his senses tasted in the air. There were dead everywhere, human, as Spheron could not see or sense the children as he scanned from the air. He worried for his own son, Halydon.
If Phasia has hurt him, Spheron growled sparks.
Suddenly, a faint temporal echo caught his senses, something like a smell of a memory which hadn’t occurred yet. He tilted his head to a direction not known on Earth and listened to a taste coming from nowhere. Spheron closed his eyes and heard the trail calling to him.
Phasia had taken the children.
Incensed at the idea, Spheron thought for what purpose could Phasia have taken them? He took the temporal path open to him and jumped into the timestream. A blink of an eye later he exited over Imperial Rome, having swam in a temporal stream which meandered wildly in an effort to shake him back into normal space. Upon exiting the portal he shifted into phase space; a quasi-dimensional state like a cosmic one-way mirror. Spheron could watch the outer world without being observed himself.
Spheron searched all over the city and surrounding environs, but he could not find them. However, as he flittered unseen past citizens he heard rumours of a strange woman with Phoenician hair teaching children to fight like soldiers before they strangely disappeared.
Again, another scent presented itself. Exasperated, he time-ported again, following the scant trail left by Phasia. However, he heard the same sort of tales in Renaissance Genoa, Enlightened Philadelphia, Buddhist China, Dreamtime Australia, Inca Peru, Easter Island, and countless other places.
Spheron's fears see-sawed at each destination. He could only conclude one thing from Phasia's actions. She was teaching them like he could not. Moreover, she was training them for war.
But for whose side? he thought to himself, as he followed her latest voyage through the centuries.
Though she was careful to hide their temporal trails from casual Lore detection, Spheron had come to discover her tells and techniques. He finally caught up to them on the moon in what would be Earth's late nineteenth century.
The children were standing on the surface of the moon just in their manoeuvre suits. Spheron's inquisitive mind tried to work out how Phasia had crafted the armour. Not that vortexite was hard to manufacture on Earth once you knew the correct chemical compositions with elements abundant on Earth, but she must have possessed extra crystalators with her to as well to power the suits.
Impressive, he approved.
He observed the children using their temporal powers and energy to keep the vacuum at bay around them. They practiced opening time-portals, lateral porting, and temporal mechanics on moon rocks making them decompose or aggregate over time. Not only could Spheron see the original children, but he could also see their own children. And one he could only assume to be his granddaughter. He waited an infuriating few seconds, but he could not see Phasia.
He watched the children, admiring how they had grown and trained. There were Destina’s grown children each with their weapons, the nethersword and voidspear. Of Millennius' younglings, Xathanius had a sword forged on Earth, but tempered with Lore energy, Spheron could feel it; while his younger brother Helexius was a conjuror of swirling temporal dimensions. Zasandra was a chaos witch, as Spheron would have called her. At this moment, Zasandra hovered high above the moon. She threw her arms out and a coarse ripple of chaotic, entropic energy shot from her hands and bounced off the bright convex forcefield proffered by Spheron, son of Spheron.
“My mighty son,” he spoke to himself, proud of his son.
Spheron, the younger, had grown well. Spheron the elder held his position in phase space, akin to a door half open from time into space, so as not to be detected. He continued to watch the children, more aptly young adults, he realised, practice their manoeuvres and abilities. A familiar sense suddenly clouded around him.
He whirled around. And there was Phasia, all serene and reverted back to her Celestian form. A shocked silence hung between them, both not knowing the others' intention. Astonishment ruddied her face as she recognised the Lore before her.
“Universe, Spheron, it’s you! I thought it was Synther hiding and following us from phase space. What has Synther done to you?” she cried, throwing her arms around Spheron, his crimson energy brushed aside by her own. “What happened? Where are the others?”
But Spheron ignored her questions until his own was answered: “What are you doing with the children? They are in my charge!” he growled in an energy-crackled voice, which surprised him, never having heard himself speak in this form before.
“Universe! You don’t know!” She suddenly burst into Lore form and before Spheron could shield himself, a cascade of energy burst from her forehead and into Spheron’s. Her memories filtered into him, showing him Magna Aura and Synther’s destruction of the system.
“Spheron, the children, they are temporally-unbound because of what Synther did to you in the Helstar. They are Astrals. And I am taking them to save their kin at Magna Aura. The last sons and daughters of the Celestian Knights will save the first! Think of it!” Her eyes shone as she slipped back into her Celestian self.
Spheron took a moment to recover from the memory transfer; the Celestian sci-tech in him marvelling more at the ability and the technological possibilities more than the intrusive act. He looked down upon the children: the Astrals. His, Millennius’ and Destina’s legacy survived in them. Celestian Knight blood would flow heroically through time.
He turned back to her. “Forgive me, Phasia, you can see I’m . . . not myself these days,” he
looked down at himself. “You have surpassed my expectations and teachings. They are fine young Celestians and a credit to our peoples. Turning your back on your brother could not have been easy.”
Phasia shook her head. “I was never keen to be with my brother, Spheron. I was forced to follow him after The Fall. You all gave me no choice,” she lamented bitterly. “I lost my son and the trust was lost. What else could I do? But Magna Aura was different. There was another Golden Era dawning and Synther wanted to destroy it. I could not let that happen. But I was too late, the first time. Now we are going to put things right. And I want you to be there.” She stroked Spheron’s arm compassionately.
“I cannot Phasia. Not like this,” his crackly voice hid his sadness. “I revealed to my son what had happened to us in the Helstar, but only that we were infected and would die, not that we would turn into Lore. The children must never know what their parents have become.”
He looked down at his son, who happily embraced his daughter after she had ported herself and several large moon rocks to him. Phasia followed his gaze, knowing his thoughts.
“It would destroy them. I do not even know where Millennius and Destina are. But I do know our children are in good hands with you. Go save Magna Aura and the new Celestian civilisation.” He bowed to her.
Phasia nodded, solemnly, looking down in pride at the children. “You could promise me one thing though?” she asked.
“What?”
“Find Millennius and tell him I still love him.” Her eyes sparkled. Spheron's Lore heart pulsed.
“It would be my pleasure,” he said, his fiery mouth smiling. “Through everything else, through all the torture and the experiments in the Helstar, Millennius never stopped loving you.”
She beamed. “Thank you, Spheron, I will never forget this. They are ready now.” Phasia looked at the children. “Your son is a fine character and his daughter, Sola, will also be a powerful Astral.”
“A daughter? More powerful?” a shocked Spheron gasped.
“Sexist!” she grinned.
“No, I just never imagined. Generation after generation of Spherons have always produced a male line. Earth has changed everything, it seems!”
“It surely has.” Phasia pointed out a small, black-haired girl. “She's the youngest of all, Zane. She is special, daughter of Xathanius. She may not be fully aware of her powers, but she has such great potential, Spheron. If you can, watch over this one.”
Though he was not sure what Phasia meant, Spheron nodded.
“Goodbye, old sage.” She kissed Spheron on the cheek. And with that, Phasia blinked out of existence and in an instant was back amongst her young charges. She gestured and shouted a command, somehow heard by them in the vacuum of space. Portals opened and then she and the Astrals were gone.
Spheron thought about what Phasia had said and her invitation. The more he thought about it, the more he found himself intrigued.
“Hmm, just a little peek!”
Space erupted around him as his portal followed the way Phasia had traversed to Magna Aura.
CHAPTER SIX
Magna Aura. Long ago.
Azure burned blue destruction.
Every single Lore in the Magna Aura system were destroyed in a conflagration of what amounted to anti-Lore fire.
Against the odds, Synther had survived. Blown across the system toward Magna Prime he drifted in space. He came to injured and smarting from the raw power of his Loremaiden daughter.
Synther cursed. He had to escape back to the Lore horde and replenish his energy and forces. Barely able to port out, his vortex shoved him through a weakened conduit. He sighed upon exiting, but he gasped in surprise at what awaited him.
Instead of the Helstar’s maw to greet him around the sun, he could not believe his eyes: there was only chaos and death. The shattered remains of the Helstar filled his vision. Azure’s power had reached beyond her grasp and years. Dead Lore de-cohered into the universal grave like a cascade of fireworks while other Lore faded like sunlit shadows. His horde was no more.
The Power! Synther had dared not believe the power his daughter possessed. He had come to claim his daughter and take her away from the Starguards, but she had betrayed him. Now he had to act decisively, quickly. There was no time to dwell on his horde’s death as Synther was suddenly confronted by Lord Aeon, the Astral leader porting in from temporal space.
Synther sneered. He didn't need to see his enemy as much as smell the energy pouring off Millennius' progeny. The Prime Lore's blue energy burned in rage as his temporal shields and energy thrust him through space. Aeon, on an intercept course, drew his sword ready to smite the Lore leader. The sword sang to Synther; a familiar aura.
No! Synther realised angrily. A blade honed by my own sister! The thought pierced through him as surely as a blade to his heart.
Synther reacted quickly. He had been injured badly. His energised form had saved him from certain death, but he ached all over. He swiftly retreated into temporal space, disappearing in a hail of agitated blue rays. Aeon assumed he was escaping to form another Helstar and return with another force. He could not let that happen.
Activating his crystalator, supplied by Phasia and which the Astrals were still getting accustomed to, Aeon commed out: “Archron, Netherlord; with me. The Traitor cannot escape!”
His call had interrupted the brothers who were busy chopping into lingering Lore with voidspear and nethersword. They responded and ported alongside Aeon.
“The Traitor Synther's trail!” He showed them on his crystalator. They synched data. “We finish this now!” The brothers grinned in anticipation.
The three eldest Astrals ripped into temporal space following the ever-shifting path Synther left as he desperately sought to shake them off. He left temporal decoys, traps and false portals, jumped through star cores, and skirted singularities with their jagged chronal landscapes deformed by the black holes they hid within. But still the Astrals followed the Traitor Synther through frightening maws of time vortices, cold timewaves, and convergence interstices, until . . .
. . . normal space beckoned. The blackness almost disorientated the trio after the kaleidoscopic journey they had endured.
“New galaxy?” Archron guessed.
“Perhaps,” Aeon replied.
They knew they were somewhere completely different. They didn’t care. All they could see was the world Synther was heading for in normal space.
The three Astrals hovered in space, visually keeping track of Synther’s trail with the crystalators. Once they were sure that was his final destination they time-ported to the surface.
“Hnnnnh!”
“Arrgh!”
They had all dropped out of their portals to their knees upon the ground, as if their energy had been switched off. In agony they could only look up.
Before them stood Synther, who had reverted to his Celestian form, grinning from his keen blue eyes and narrow mouth. He had once been one of the more handsome Celestian Knights, but his body now seemed drained as if his energy had been feeding off him. His tall over-lean body was donned in his black manoeuvre suit with dark blue stars and zigzag flashes decorating his torso and chest like medals and scars, lending to his nefarious nature.
But it was not him who had the Astrals’ utter attention, but the beings surrounding them; tall metal beings, hundreds of them. The surrounding ground also seemed littered with whole or parts of dead metal beings.
“They call themselves the Surge. And this is one of their worlds,” Synther spoke, answering their unasked question, smoothing back his ruffled dark blue hair. His Celestian voice sounded whispery from years of non-use. “And they are negating all our energy. No Lore, no temporal energy, no core Celestian energy.”
“Then we will just kill you with our weapons,” Archron snarled, jumping to his feet and raising his voidspear for a throw. Netherlord and Aeon also eagerly drew their swords and charged.
“Hold!” shouted a female voice from
a ridge behind them.
They froze, the voice sending shivers down the spines of the Astrals. They knew that voice.
“Mother?” Archron turned around, incredulous shock on his face.
He and Netherlord looked around at their staid captors and rushed over to their mother, removing their helmets and dropping their weapons to hug her.
Destina smiled at her sons. “Cal Xarien. Lazeron.” She hugged her sons tightly. “Look at my sons. My, that cursed Phasia did a good job!” She caressed their faces and hair.
Her own face was strangely sallow and she looked thin in her green manoeuvre suit, with her one-time mane of brown hair which she had mostly worn up, now hanging limply down her back.
“Phasia?” Aeon spat, still standing ready to cut down Synther. “She was in on this treachery? Archron, Netherlord can’t you see what is happening here?” He pointed his sword from Destina to Synther, the later still grinning.
Archron and Netherlord looked at their mother for answers.
“What is happening here, mother? How are you still alive?” Archron asked anxiously, still holding on to his mother’s hand. He searched out his voidspear wondering if he could reach it in time if anything went awry.
“They lied to you,” Synther started.
“Shush, Synther. I will tell the story.” Destina looked back at her sons rather nervously. “Well, Synther is right about that.” She stole a daggered glare at Synther. “Millennius, Spheron, and I did lie to you about us dying, as you can see,” she shrugged. “But we, well, Millennius wanted to spare you the truth . . .” she trailed off.
“About?” Aeon barked impatiently, not wanting to hear anything of his father’s supposed treachery. He still held his sword, ready to strike.
Synther's grin widened. “About what I did to them when they were held prisoner in the Helstar. . . before letting them escape.”
The wind swept around him as if the barren world detected his dark presence.
“We already know you infected them somehow. Phasia told us,” Aeon retorted, desiring to wrap his hands around Synther's neck and crush it.
The Destinia Apocalypse (The Starguards - Of Humans, Heroes, and Demigods Book 4) Page 11
