Higher Plain Ch 35: The Purple Light!

The wind pulled at Faylina's damp hair as she stood waist-deep in the churning ocean, waves curling and slamming into her hips like they were trying to push her back, send her home themselves. But she barely noticed. Her eyes were fixed on the figure approaching—Kaelira. The silver-armored titaness cut through the water with a calm, regal presence that felt otherworldly, even to Faylina. Her silver hair glinted under the weak sun, and not even the roar of the storm-tossed sea dared touch her grace.

When Kaelira finally came to a halt, the two of them stood only a few strides apart—though for beings their size, those few strides still stretched hundreds of meters.

Faylina dipped her head slightly, her voice soft but full of respect.

"Hello... Kaelira."

"Hello, Princess Faylina," Kaelira replied evenly, her tone carrying the weight of someone who wasn't just delivering news—but judgment.

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable—it was expectant. Faylina knew exactly why Kaelira had come. She could feel it in the air, like the calm before a storm she was trying not to see.

"He wants me home, doesn't he?" Faylina said quietly.

Kaelira nodded once. "Your father sent me personally. He doesn't want you here any longer. He wants you to return to Xylar at once."

Faylina turned her gaze to the horizon, where her own footsteps had scarred the coastline beyond. Mountains cracked. Forests submerged. Cities swallowed by waves born from nothing more than her passing presence. Her voice dropped as guilt etched itself into every word.

"I can't... not yet. You've seen what I've done. The floods, the quakes, the fear... I broke half this continent just by existing here. I can't just walk away from that."

Kaelira's face didn't soften. If anything, it hardened.

"This isn't a request, Faylina," she said, her voice low but firm, "Our presence here is a threat greater than you seem to understand. The king believes you've already been here too long. We were never meant to walk these fragile plains again."

Faylina finally looked back at her, brows furrowed. "Why? Because of the humans?"

"No," Kaelira replied sharply. "Because of Vorlith."

The name hit the air like a storm. Even the waves seemed to hush, just slightly, at its utterance.

Kaelira continued, eyes locked on Faylina's. "Your father believes our presence—our very energy—is enough to disturb what sleeps beneath this world. Vorlith has been sealed since the end of the Great War, but the balance is thin here. Too thin. You've already weakened it."

Faylina blinked slowly. Her mind flashed back to the coast, to the grotesque, shifting thing that had crawled from the depths. That warped, half-formed creature she had fought and crushed days ago. She'd barely mentioned it in her report—she'd assumed it was a rogue Morvren, maybe a failed spawn.

"I've already seen him," Faylina said, voice low. "Or... part of him. A twisted beast attacked one of the coastal towns. Its body wasn't whole, like it was still forming. I crushed it, but—" her breath caught slightly, "—I could feel it watching me. Like the rest of it was somewhere beneath the land, waiting."

Kaelira's face finally shifted. She looked alarmed now.

"Then it's worse than we thought," she said. "Even fragments of Vorlith are enough to corrupt entire continents. If he's stirring... if the seal is cracking..." She trailed off, not wanting to finish the thought.

The silence pressed in around them, the crashing waves suddenly too loud.

"We have to leave," Kaelira said, her voice urgent now. "You and I both. Right now. Our presence here has already tipped the balance. If we stay any longer, there may not be a world left for the humans—or for us."

Faylina closed her eyes, torn. She had come here seeking answers, redemption, peace. But maybe there was no peace to be found in a world that couldn't handle her.

Maybe the most merciful thing she could do now... was leave it behind.

***

(Somewhere far away)

The man had been walking for days.

His boots were worn, scuffed with dust and pine needles, the soles barely holding together after the long trek across the ravaged continent. Yet nothing had prepared him for the sight that met him now — not the stories, not the maps, not even the ancient myths whispered by the elders. Nothing.

He stood at the edge of a ridge, breathing heavily, the forest behind him still and watchful. In the far, far distance — beyond valleys, rivers, and the coastline itself — two colossal figures loomed like living mountains above the churning ocean. One long black haired. One silver-crowned. Even from miles away, they were unmistakable, their forms cutting across the sky like living monoliths.

And they moved.

He felt it first. A subtle tremor beneath his feet that deepened into a distant, throbbing quake. Trees around him shivered. Leaves fell. Birds scattered. His heart quickened.

Then came the scent.

It clung to the wind like perfume mingled with thunder. Feminine, musky, overwhelming. It seeped into the back of his throat and down into his lungs. Gods, it was potent — not repulsive, but not entirely pleasant either. He blinked rapidly, gripping the bark of a nearby tree just to stay upright.

They're real.

His pack hit the ground with a thud. With urgency, he yanked it open, fingers scrambling for the rolled parchment tucked in the side pocket. He spread it against a flattish stone and took out a piece of charcoal, hands already smudged with ink and dirt.

This was it.

The return of the gods. Or the rise of new ones.

"The sky was wounded with light," he whispered, scribbling furiously. "Two titanic forms emerged from the waters, shaking the sea and bleeding it onto the lands. The black haired one's presence causes waves larger than cities. The silver-crowned one's voice carries across the mountains. I... I smell them. I feel them. They are not of this world, yet they walk it like it was molded for them."

He paused only once to glance back at the horizon — and sure enough, the taller one, the black-haired titaness, moved again. Her motion was slow, almost reluctant, and yet the ocean split around her hips like it was made of silk. She was obviously trying not to cause damage. And still, nature bent and shattered under her every step.

Entire kingdoms could be drowning right now and she wouldn't even know it.

He swallowed hard. "They don't belong here," he murmured to himself. "This world... it's too small for them."

Then, he heard it.

A voice. Low. Cold. Calling.

He froze, the charcoal snapping in his grip.

It came from deep within the woods behind him — not the distant echo of a titan, no, this was closer. Much closer. It brushed against his thoughts like a whisper at the base of his skull. Male. Ancient. Hungry.

"Seeker of stories..." the voice whispered, "come to me."

He turned without thinking. His feet moved on their own. Every instinct in him screamed to stop — don't go in there — but his body betrayed him. It was as if the forest itself had bent toward the sound, funneling him down a narrow deer path bathed in shadow.

His breath came in short, sharp bursts. Sweat beaded on his brow, and his heart pounded like a war drum.

"You want truth," the voice crooned. "You want knowledge. Of them. Of the ones who walk this plain."

He stumbled forward, ducking beneath a low branch. Purple light — faint and pulsing — shimmered just ahead, deep in the brush.

"You wish to be remembered," the voice whispered now from everywhere and nowhere. "To be known. Come to me, and I will give you the truth of the sky and earth. I will make your name echo through ages to come."

His lips parted.

He couldn't deny it — not to himself. He did want it. He had always been the watcher, the wanderer, the chronicler no one ever remembered. This? This was his chance.

He stepped through the last of the trees.

And there, in a grove bathed in that haunting purple light, something waited.

The scent of salt and musk still clung to the air. But now, it mixed with something older. Dust. Stone. Decay.

"Come to me and claim what deserves to be given," the voice said once more, and this time, it came not from the trees — but from the center of the grove.

A pulsing stone... alive.

His knees buckled. His mind reeled.

This wasn't just knowledge.

This was power.

And something beneath the ground... stirred.