The Rising Sun: Episode 3 (7 page)

Zardin wasn’t listening. For the first time
since Pavio had been speaking, he moved, turning slowly to face the
window behind him. He let one long fingernail stroke his chin
gently, his thoughts working over this new development.

“Where’s Razvol?”

“Dead.” came Pavio’s voice from behind him.
“They killed him.”

For a few seconds, Zardin continued to
stroke his chin casually. He then laughed softly. “Good for him. He
must have had a clean, quick escape.”
Something you’ll wish you
had as well.

He strode a few steps with his hands behind
his back, facing the large window ahead. The rest of the Xeni stood
around him. He could feel every pinch of attention in the room
pooled on him, from both the fidgeting, white cloaked rebels and
the still, black cloaked Xeni.

Zardin let himself mull over what they were
now facing. The crystal had definitely been an imperative part of
their plan. As a matter of fact, it was
the
most important
part of their plan, and losing it from their hold certainly was a
slight cause of annoyance for them. But Zardin knew that it wasn’t
going to put a stall in whatever they were now moving towards.
Their present goal. And abducting Derigor had been the final thing
that was needed for it.

Finally, through the complete silence, Pavio
stepped forward behind him and asked in a hesitant voice, “if I may
ask, my lord … exactly what is this crystal? And exactly how
important was it?”

As he finished, a stiff silence came upon
the room.

Zardin flicked back a file of his long black
hair falling before his face.

“What indeed…” he whispered.

He slowly turned to face Pavio. “The crystal
was of the utmost importance for us Xeni. Its value is beyond
imagination.”

He turned to the bunch of black cloaked men
on the right. “But nevertheless, this loss is to be dealt with
later, Xeni. We will now focus and continue on the goal that we set
foot on. We will take care of this … later.”

The cloaked figures moved as one, bowing in
response.

Continuing to scratch his chin, Zardin let
his thoughts float into a daydream … He was thinking about exactly
how powerful the object they had just lost was. He was thinking
about how the crystal had come about, and the circumstances
surrounding it when it had come about. And that was when he was
recalling the tale … the tale of eight thousand years back. The
entire story that defined their current struggle, and would
continue to define it.

The tale of the Nyon. The tale of the Xeni.
And how both were interlinked … and always would be.

__________

“It all started at the dawn of our world …
the dawn of the age of man.” Mantra’s voice was laced with the
faintest thread of sadness. “Before the Xeni’s evil empire rose,
our world was elevated to the heights of peace and stability,
guarded by an establishment that surpassed the nobility of all that
were ever known. It was known commonly as Sirengard, although some
also knew it … as the empire of Elderon.”

Ion felt himself drawn back across the
corridors of time, to an era far, far away … far off their reach.
As Mantra spoke, he felt his mind zoom over visions of an age that
held its place in the revered memory of the good.

“It was called so, because of the beauty of
the age over which it stood.” went on Mantra. “And because of the
unshaken ideals of justice and peace that the great empire stood
for. And also because,” He smiled. “It was truly believed to be the
empire of Elderon. An empire borne out the force of goodness
himself. The ancient empire sealed an era of great harmony over the
peoples of the world. The spectrum enjoyed prosperity and peace
like no other age, and mankind reached the pinnacle in the great
purpose it held in creation. Sirengard was ruled by a great
Kingship - a great Kingship that was said to be borne of the blood
of Elderon himself, for the wisdom and goodness they stood for. The
Kings of the empire came by blood, and their bloodline stood guard
over the greatness that their empire had wrought. Mystics were
idols of great respect, for it was a time of clarity and
understanding, and in this clarity, the world understood that these
great beings were just men who bode a supreme command over their
own mind, and through it, the vast reserve of inner powers that lay
slumbering within every man, but tapped by very few. And under
their guidance, the guidance of mystics, the world was a temple of
goodness and harmony. It was at the dawn of this age, when the
ancient empire came, that the Brotherhood of Nyon was founded…”

Ion wondered if it was just his mind playing
tricks, but as he looked into Mantra’s eyes as he spoke, he saw his
surroundings blur … He looked to Qyro and Vestra, who were both
there just as solid as he was. But everything else around the three
of them seemed to turn groggy, swimming into a haze.

“What the…” breathed Qyro.

But as the three of them stood in the middle
of the spinning blur, before them, swirling into existence, came a
scene as starkly clear as reality itself … an image woven off
Mantra’s words themselves, throbbing with the emotions of his
voice…

A great, elegant structure, a building with
a mortarly craft that seemed to transcend any known one. It was the
same structure he was now standing amidst. But the Nyon temple
seemed to be erected brand anew. The radiance of the temple seemed
to shine out from within its mortarly craft. And the scene zoomed
into the walls of the structure. And there, sitting in a circle in
the very same room Ion had sat in a few minutes ago, were a dozen
men.

They weren’t all old as the masters of the
present day temple were. Some of them looked to be in the prime of
their youth. Some of them were slightly older. But together, all of
them seemed filled the room with a warm, lively glow. All of them
had closed eyes, and were seated with their postures stiff in
meditation. They were all adorned in Nyon robes, with a long, black
cape clasped around their necks.

Ion saw the scene move around the three of
them, as though they were the focus of a camera shifting inside of
the room … and they was staring at the face of the man in the
centre. A tall, thin Elfling, the man had a moustache ending with a
slight curve. His sharp Elfling eyes held the meanest sliver of a
gap as he meditated. The man seemed to take half an eternity as he
slowly inhaled: the space in his lungs looked to be unbounded,
growing as more air flowed in…

The three of them watched as he continued in
meditation with his eyes semi closed, breathing with a methodical,
rhythmic slowness.

Then Mantra’s voice reached the world they
now stood in as a mildly resounding boom, an echo reaching him
across eight thousand years: “The greatest mystic to ever tread our
world, master Engranus conceived and laid the stones of foundation
for an brotherhood of mystics that stands upto today … the Nyon, a
brotherhood of mystics devoting their lives to preserving the
harmony and peace within mankind.”

The minute gap in Engranus’s eyes widened
steadily, and Ion found himself looking into a set of brilliant,
blue eyes as clear as the sky itself. And sparkling with a beauty
unobtainable from anywhere around.

“That’s him.” whispered Vestra. “The founder
of our brotherhood.”

Engranus’s clear blue eyes bore a depth
uncontained, seeming to churn with a power like no other. But also
bearing a vast pool of tenderness and compassion. The lives of
billions seemed to reflect off his clear oceanic eyes. The lives of
the billions for whom he lived…

Mantra’s echo like voice came over the
scene:

“The Nyon were initially founded as servants
of the great Kings, and the upholders of justice in the empire of
Sirengard. They existed for the sole purpose of serving the great
empire, as watchkeepers of the peace. But they were, in the essence
of their existence, more than that. Much more. They were the
soul
of the empire … the soul of our world.”

Ion felt transfixed as he continued to gaze
into those clear blue eyes. Eyes of humanity and love.

“They were embodiments of the goodness that
nurtured and kept together this realm.” said Mantra. “They were
symbols of harmony and good. And so … they made their place in the
great empire as the upholders of goodness, and the protectors of
the people.”

The scenery swirled, and now Ion was looking
from over the roof of a giant tower, and sprawling beneath him was
a great city … The towerly build of the structures dwarfed any
stone structure Ion had seen on this day. The city was filled with
large palace like structures made of not metal, but a material as
polished and as elegant as any metal, yet bearing a superiority
that transcended all known metal. The structures all rose hundreds
of metres above the ground, some of them wide and fat, some of them
thin, stick like towers. The air over and between the buildings was
abuzz with vehicles soaring all over in orderly passages, as though
bound by invisible tunnels.

And there, standing atop the roof of the
building he was now over, they stood…

Seven Nyon, standing at the edge of the
building, their black capes flapping in the wind. They stood in a
watchful gaze over the world beneath them. The world which they
were the guardians, and keepers of…

“The ancient members of our brotherhood were
the greatest ones as well.” came Mantra’s voice. “The finest, and
most powerful of the mystics that walked our spectrum. They had
powers like no other, which had trickled out of the grasp of the
mystic world later on, when their age had died. For beginners, they
could sense the stirrings of evil and anarchy elsewhere. They would
sense trouble … find evil at its brewing stage itself, and
instantly rush to stomp it out…”

As Ion and the other two watched in awe, the
seven Nyon took a step forward as one, and launched themselves off
the roof of the building … plunging into action. To save the day in
the world below them.

Like the voice over of a movie, Mantra’s
voice played over the scene:

“Under the supervised rule of the ancient
empire, with the Nyon by their side, the world … was a far, far
better place. Man climbed to the highest decor of elevation that
awaited him, and the people had found peace both within … and
without.”

The scene changed, and now, Ion was floating
in the middle of a wide, boundless expanse of black. His breath
stalled for a second, as he found himself not just looking at the
abyss of space, but almost
filling
it … being one with it.
He almost felt as though the expanse around him defined his very
entity, the soul of his creation … and he felt as though the
massive stretch of their universe was the mass which filled his
body. And it was the most scenic, mindblowing feeling ever. And Ion
thought he felt a faint tune, a soft yet ringing melody, play in
the beauty of the star strewn chasm…

A tune of peace. Of harmony.

The age of Elderon.

Ion now fully understood what it was … and
what it felt.

And Mantra’s voice came like a distant,
faded echo. And now, it was tinged with the first, mildest note of
sorrow. A sorrow that seemed slight and contained, yet bearing a
depth uncontained.

“Some wondered if it was meant to last
forever … and in doing so, could they have been more right? For all
things must erode. Even the best gifts of goodness, even the most
revered of treasures. All things must come to an end. Good or evil.
That … was the tragedy of the universe. And so, the era drew to a
stop. Here, the tale turns to one of woe and sadness. Grief like
nothing else washes through me as I retell the most tragic
happening ever … and forcefully listen, myself.”

The world swirled, and now, the three of
them were standing inside of what looked like a small room, with a
group of cloaked men within it. They were standing in the Nyon
temple in a circle. One of the men was standing in the centre,
moving his hands in an animated display of the words he spoke. He
was inaudible to Ion and the other two, who were standing at the
back of the room, watching…

“The Nyon, at the height of their power …
became prey to their own carelessness.” said Mantra’s voice. “The
age of greatness, which they had a hand in carving, had left them
with a stroke of arrogance. At this time, the brotherhood became
subject to brushes of complacent thinking. The signs of this, signs
of a wrongful nature, a slow darkness, stealthily breeding within
them, did not go amiss: There were those who warned the Nyon.
Mystics of the outside world cautioned the Nyon of the growing
ignorance among the younger of their initiates. They confided in
the Nyon their fear that the brotherhood’s power was causing a very
subtle swaying in the ideals it stood for. Especially among the
younger, less experienced ones. But at the height of their power,
the Nyon had absorbed a pride that dulled their intelligent
reasoning. And so, they brushed aside such warnings … and this was
the ancient brotherhood’s single greatest sin. A sin that would
cost the entire world too dearly…”

As the man in the centre of the circle of
young Nyon spoke, his voice loudened like a speaker’s, falling
clearly above the air in the room.