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Memoirs 337 - Emergence
🕑 Added 2025-03-02 22:27:49 +0000 UTCThe murmur of voices and the rustle of parchment filled the chamber, punctuated by the creak of wood as people shifted in their seats. Bookshelves climbed the walls, and banners bearing the Shields Guild’s sigil—an upturned triangle enclosed by a shield and the hilt of a sword—hung in still vigilance. The air held the quiet focus of those used to serious dealings.
Livvi moved around the central table, placing a fresh set of documents before each of the gathered individuals. The glow of magical candlelight bathed the room, highlighting a mix of faces. Some were seasoned Shielders, others Guild officials and members of its leadership.
Arnaud Astrey, elbow propped on the table, fingers idly resting on his cheek, accepted the documents with a polite nod, his gaze half-distant. Across from him, Gratianus Graham—his thick greying beard and weathered face lending him the atmosphere of a man who had seen most things—let out a low hum as he flipped through the first few pages.
“Thank you, Miss Knottley,” Mansfield said at the head of the table as she set down the final stack.
The Guildmaster of the Shields Guild’s imperial operations was a man often described as sharp-minded and unshakably composed, but the dark circles beneath his eyes did little to reinforce that image now. He motioned to another stack of papers on a side table.
“Before you leave, see to it that these are processed and relayed to the branches in Stepmond and Autumnwell. Prioritise anything involving Rank-B and A Shielders — even if those are stretched thin. Divinations from Bridgespell Tower indicate dusk fiends might be found near both cities.” He exhaled through his nose, as if already expecting trouble. “Also, remind them once more that any other high-threat requests from our branch must be cross-checked against recent sightings before we assign them. We won’t send people into death traps blind.” His gaze sharpened slightly. “And please, if another city’s lord or local noble tries to requisition Guild forces like we’re some mercenary band, remind them—politely—that we operate under charter, not decree.”
Livvi dipped her head. “I will.”
Without delaying too long, she gathered the second bundle of papers and left the chamber, her steps echoing against the wooden floor of the Guild’s Elystead headquarters as she skimmed the document while walking.
The entire branch had been in a near-constant state of activity for weeks. Non-Shielders like her were caught in a relentless cycle of coordination, documentation, and crisis management. The last few days, following the most recent major attacks, had only intensified the workload. The atmosphere wasn’t panicked, necessarily, but it was taut. There was an unspoken understanding among them all that they were standing at the precipice of something larger.
As she moved through the halls, a young Guild scribe nearly collided with her in his rush. He thrust another set of documents into her hands.
“More reports from Wildscar,” he said. “Two more settlements near the Everdust Barrier have been fully evacuated, and the Wildscar branch is asking for more people. Monster sightings are climbing.” He paused. “…Some of the local nobles are also offering hazard pay for higher-ranked Shielders willing to take contracts without Guild clearance.”
Livvi adjusted her grip on the growing stack, eyes flicking over the top page. She gave a small nod of thanks, then continued on, suppressing the urge to sigh.
They hadn’t had the manpower for this type of response in over a month. The eastern frontiers were supposed to be the responsibility of the imperial forces, handled in tandem with the noble houses. But, as was often the case, the Guild was expected to pick up the slack. There were still those who treated them as a failsafe, a solution to problems others had let fester.
The Guildmaster wouldn’t be pleased, but this, like so many other things lately, would land on Livvi’s desk first. She didn’t mind carrying some of the weight—it came with her current role—but these numbers were worse than expected. Sightings near the Everdust Barrier had doubled in the last three days alone, and several had been flagged as High Concern.
More troubling still, not all the monsters spotted beyond the Barrier appeared to have been brought there by the Tribe of Sin. Several had been tracked making their way past the Barrier on their own.
As Livvi passed a meeting room, she caught fragments of a tense exchange. A group of Guild employees stood clustered around a wide board, their voices clipped.
“Rank-C teams aren’t going to cut it for this one. We’re looking at coordinated packs—”
“Then we bump it to Rank-B and request a pyromancer from Fayrun Tower.”
“And if there aren’t any available?”
Livvi didn’t hear the response as she moved on, but the conversation was a familiar one. It was the kind of constant recalibration that kept the Guild running in times like these. Under normal circumstances, most Shielders accepted contracts from civilians and groups without much direct oversight. Dispatch officers—like she had once been—mainly assessed contracts, managed resource allocations, and handled routine administration.
Now, almost every Shielder assignment across the empire was being reviewed and reallocated at the capital headquarters or the larger branches. Reports came in by the minute — sightings logged by their own Shielders, intelligence gathered from imperial forces, and divinations conducted by the mage towers. All of it fed into a constantly shifting overview of the crisis, forcing them to adjust their strategies in real-time.
The Guild had become something like a construct of calculated responses, straining to keep chaos at bay. It wasn’t just about protecting borders; it was about preserving lives, keeping stability, and ensuring that the people who went about their days without ever thinking of monsters could continue to do so once all of this was over. And right now, that construct was operating at full tilt.
Before returning to her own office, Livvi veered down a narrower hallway, branching off from the main wing. The Guildmaster’s orders would need to be relayed to several dispatch officers and ranking administrators before assignments could be finalised.
She stopped briefly outside a small conference room where senior officials were already deep in discussion about recent deployment reports, speaking through one of the Guild’s communication artifacts at the centre of the table. Without too much of a preamble, Livvi entered and relayed the Guildmaster’s instructions, along with her own recommendations. They barely had time for drawn-out deliberations these days. Once the necessary confirmations were exchanged and notes taken, she moved on, her steps brisk but measured.
She found that if she carried herself with an air of calm when going about her duties—no matter what swirled around her—it made her feel less stressed than she actually was. A trick she’d picked up from watching Scarlett growing up, always admiring how her friend could maintain her poise in nearly every situation.
Soon enough, she reached her office — a modest space by administrative standards, but one that had become hopelessly overrun with paperwork. Until a few days ago, she had an assistant to help keep things organised, but she’d been forced to reassign him to assist with more pressing tasks. In that short time, the place had devolved into this mess.
Stacks of documents lined her desk, with a clear distinction between those she had already processed and the ones still demanding her attention. The scent of parchment and sealing wax lingered in the air, mingling with the faint trace of coffee left untouched in a cup on the side table. With a silent breath, Livvi set down the latest set of documents before easing into her chair and removing her glasses.
For a moment, she allowed herself a brief pause, her gaze drifting to the corner of her desk where a small carving of a kestrel lay. Slightly worn but well-kept, the figurine was a keepsake from her mother — something she never parted with. A quiet reminder of the past and the childhood she had spent as her father’s doted-upon daughter.
She worried about him. And her brother. She knew how reckless they could both be, and her father’s unwavering sense of duty to his people only exacerbated that. She admired it—had always strived to emulate it—but she sometimes thought there were smarter ways to serve than the ones her father often bothered to consider.
That was part of why she valued the Shields Guild’s methods. They examined every possible factor before making a move. They didn’t charge in headlong without considering the risks, without trying to ensure the best possible outcome.
But now wasn’t the time to be caught up in sentiment.
Livvi pulled a document close, dipped her quill in ink, and resumed her work.
Time passed in steady silence, broken only by the scratch of quill against parchment and the regular rhythm of footsteps outside her office door. The work was routine in some ways — processing deployment schedules, cross-checking mission logs, and flagging reports for Guildmaster Mansfield to review.
The Shields Guild’s role in the empire’s crisis went far beyond simple monster-hunting. Dispatching Shielders for that remained a priority, but so was helping manage supply routes, coordinating intelligence, overseeing the fallout of civilian evacuations, and preserving what stability could still be salvaged in the most affected settlements.
That’s why, when the usual ambient murmur outside shifted into something sharper, Livvi noticed.
Her quill halted mid-stroke.
The rhythm of movement beyond her door had changed — voices tenser, footsteps quicker. In times like these, any break in routine meant something important was happening.
She set the quill aside, pushed back her chair, and stood. Stepping out into the corridor, she caught sight of a junior clerk hurrying past.
“What’s happening?” she asked, stopping him.
The clerk turned, blinking. “Miss Knottley — hello. I’m not sure. Something is happening outside. People are gathering on the upper levels.”
Livvi frowned. That wasn’t the kind of thing she wanted to hear. Uncertainty under these circumstances almost always meant bad news.
Without delay, she headed down the hall toward one of the corridor’s side windows. The angle wasn’t ideal, though. She could see the facades of neighbouring buildings and the storefronts lining the Shields Guild branch in the Coins District, but nothing was too out of place. Yet down on the streets, small groups had gathered, all of them looking up.
The feeling of unease only deepened.
She turned towards the nearest stairwell and made her way up to the Guild’s rooftop, where an informal observation area overlooked part of the city. It was a place where Guild employees sometimes took their meals.
As she stepped into the open air, the cold pressing in at once, she found that she was far from alone here. A large crowd had already formed, consisting mostly of Guild officials but also some Shielders. Some were talking between themselves, while others just stared towards the horizon. Among them, she spotted Arnaud Astrey and Gratianus Graham near the edge, both S-rank Shielders’ eyes fixed on the same distant point.
South. Towards Rellaria Lake.
From here, she could see the far end of its waters stretching beyond the cityscape, and above it, the bronze-red spires of Dawnlight Palace reaching towards the sky.
But whatever had drawn their attention wasn’t immediately obvious. Livvi slowed, scanning the faces around her before crossing the space.
Gratianus acknowledged her arrival with a glance before turning back towards the lake.
“What’s going on?” she asked, squinting into the distance.
“That, lass, is a fine question,” Gratianus muttered, arms crossed, his gravelly voice edged with a certain severity.
“There was a light,” a colleague near her offered, pointing skyward — then farther, beyond the palace and over the water. “Above the water.”
Livvi’s brow furrowed. “A light?”
Her first instinct was to assume an attack — but if that were the case, would Arnaud Astrey and Gratianus Graham be standing here, just watching?
She turned to Astrey. “You think this is an attack?”
The S-rank Shielder’s expression was hard to read, his fingers resting lightly on the pommel of his sword. His moustache twitched slightly as his lips pressed into a thin line, but she couldn’t spot any urgency in his stance. Instead, there was only a quiet focus.
“…I don’t think that’s the case,” he said slowly, his eyes never leaving the horizon.
Livvi wasn’t sure if that was reassuring or not.
Gratianus’s nostrils flared slightly, the skin around his eyes tightening. “Do you think this is it, Astrey?” he asked.
He didn’t specify what it was, but the weight behind his words was clear enough.
Livvi’s mind raced. If this was something not meant to be discussed in the open, then…
She thought back. Usually, the Guild would never keep two of its top Shielders in the capital for more than a few hours during a crisis like this. And yet for the past week, the Guildmaster had been deliberate—careful even—with how the most senior Shielders were deployed. Arnaud Astrey, Gratianus Graham, and Rosanna Adlam had remained at the branch far more than expected, only leaving for the most critical assignments.
There were many of those, yes, but Livvi had still seen all three several times this week.
She wasn’t privy to every classified operation the Guild maintained, nor the full extent of its ongoing collaborations. But she was partly aware that one particular effort recently had involved heavy coordination between several large factions, including the mage towers and the Followers of Ittar.
She also knew that, somehow, her own childhood friend was entangled in it. She just didn’t know how.
Livvi had been aware for some time that the Guild kept a record of Scarlett and her movements, though Mansfield had—understandably—kept Livvi away from the specifics given their relationship. But if this was related to that matter, it likely wasn’t an attack. It was something else. And it wasn’t just a Guild problem.
Before she could voice any of her thoughts, the air shifted. A ripple—like an unseen pulse—brushed against her skin. It was fleeting, but instinctively, it felt as though something was arriving.
Then she saw it. What her colleague had talked about.
A strange, flickering light shimmered in the sky above, trailing like threads of pale luminescence. Colourless, yet drifting, as if uncertain of their own hue — at once silver, at once faintly violet, but never quite settling. The strands wove across the heavens like spiderwebs stretched taut, spanning all of Elystead and more, each filament tracing back towards Rellaria Lake, just beyond the spires of Dawnlight Palace.
“What…?”
She wasn’t sure what she was looking at. Was it some sort of spell? Why did those shifting lines look almost as if they were reaching — grasping at the air itself? And why did it feel so odd to look at them?
Similar reactions swept across the rooftop, some hushed, others laced with worry.
Gratianus let out a gruff breath. “Didn’t think it would look like this.”
Arnaud said nothing at first. His gaze stayed locked on the sky. Then, he spoke. “It’s done.”
As if his words triggered it, the strands of light stilled. For a single heartbeat, they hung suspended in the sky, their indistinct translucence solidifying, becoming something tangible. Silver-edged, translucent like glass, forming an unearthly lattice above the city.
And then, all at once, they snapped inward, collapsing towards Rellaria Lake like a tether drawn tight.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then it appeared.
Livvi’s breath caught.
A vast structure emerged from nothing, taking shape like a mirage coalescing into substance. A platform of flawless white stone, its surface marbled with grand archways and sweeping colonnades that stood tall, their design reminiscent of the Ascendant Court yet making it seem modest in comparison.
Towering pillars, impossibly wrapped in ivy that had no right to grow there, stretched skyward. Vivid trees in shades of crimson, violet, and deep emerald ringed the periphery, their colours too vibrant to be real.
The base of the structure disappeared into the frigid lake’s depths, the water rippling where stone met surface, as if struggling to reconcile the sudden presence of something that hadn’t been there moments before.
What was it? A temple? A fortress?
How did it come here?
“…By Ittar’s light,” someone whispered in awe.
Livvi barely registered the words. Her eyes remained locked on the structure, mind working to process the event.
Then new lights ignited.
Unlike the ethereal strands from before, these were deliberate. Massive magic circles flared to life around the structure — complex arrays brimming with recognisable glyphs. Regular magic. Wards and defensive seals, the kind she had seen imperial mages and wizards use before.
The circles pulsed in unison, interlocking in an elaborate network of sigils. The enchantments merged into a half-translucent barrier of golden light that enveloped the entire structure, sealing it away like a relic encased in crystal.
Someone had prepared for this.
Livvi’s gaze darted towards Gratianus and Arnaud. Neither looked particularly surprised.
Just as her mind began piecing it together, a second surge of power rippled through the sky.
Across the lake, where the mysterious structure had only just materialised and been sealed, another presence began to manifest. But this one did not rise from the waters. It loomed above them, shedding a veil of churning black mist like a shroud dissolving into the wind.
A floating citadel. Dark and imposing.
Its form was defined by an unnatural symmetry, almost too precise and deliberate. The citadel’s hull—if it could be called that—was composed of interlocking plates of obsidian-like stone, their surfaces edged with glowing crimson inlays that pulsed in slow, regular patterns. Spires jutted outwards in angular formations, each crowned with a burning sigil.
The silhouette unsettled Livvi. It was elegant, but in a way that felt wrong. Both severe and unyielding, as if carved by skilled hands that had long abandoned the concept of beauty.
It wasn’t of imperial make, and it certainly wasn’t something Livvi had seen before. But she knew what it was. Her father had described it once, when he spoke of the battles he had fought.
The Undead Council had come.
New barriers ignited — golden wards flaring into place, forming a containment shell around the airborne fortress. This time, the defences didn’t seem like they were protecting what was inside, but rather like they were caging it, shielding the world outside.
Livvi’s heart pounded.
She’d seen the devastation the current conflict had wrought. She knew what it had done to cities, to families, to hope. But Elystead had always stood apart. A bastion against the encroaching darkness and a refuge from danger. The empire’s eternal shield.
And now, for the first time in centuries, something unknown, and something far worse than a mere threat, had appeared at its doorstep.
And she had no idea what was about to happen next.
Comments
John Brady Anderson
Did the "good" platform strike anyone as Fae, or are we thinking Rising Isle, or have I missed something?
Lemon juice 1206
Doudouble CLIFFHANGER
Sebgatot
In the interlude some chapters ago, the Princess said she had sent a message to her father to warn him about the Undead Council, if I remember correctly. But I don't know if that is enough time to prepare that many barriers. I would guess Yamina, then?
lenkite
So, the Empire had even prepped for the Undead Council's fortress coming in. That info wasn't given by Scarlett - would be curious to know who tipped them off.
