Chronicle of the Mirror, part XIV

Showing a beautiful silver blue, soil and shrubs are colored by the moonlight dancing between the foliage of oaks of a hundred years. Some fireflies etiolate their light, drawing curves and figures in the air. Magical silence is hovering in the night, another quiet night and without any turbulence. This is the scenery of the Roche-aux-fées, portal of the fairy land, monumental symbol of the early ages, witness of eternity manifested in the worlds of the multiverse.

On the gravel of the path circling the Roche-aux-fées, some insects-pixies play their bewitching music adding a touch of magic, poetry to the night.

Suddenly the ground give birth to a pair of demonic wings clawed and dark as coal. Then a little head with dark hair and skin emerges. Tiny eyes, vigilant and fairy like scrutinize the surroundings. No more insect or pixie, all overshadowed by the smoke like black apparition, with ebony skin on a topless beauty in contrast to the monstrosity that rises from the depths of Gaïa: An Arachne.

The creature with spread out wings stops her ascent and stops like a stone gargoyle. Is she looking for a victim to vampirize of its soul, or is she rather the prey listening to a predator lurking near by?

The arms rise with the grace and reminiscent beauty of a fairy:

Silent night with the lights of fireflies, be reassured that your two children are back.

And from one thought, she adds:

Dear friend, everything is fine under the silver moon, but be vigilant because I feel her presence.

The extrusion unveils the Arachne perched on a black elven head  rising from the ground, in a watch position. The eye of the dark elf lacks any detail; at the bottom of the Roche-aux-fées, remnants of burned clothing and prints of both feet are facing the magic stones.

So, think Yuna toward Ditratos, the protection spell cast on the Roche-aux-fées (see Chronicle of the Mirror, part V) was effective. Arachnéida tasted a magical fire.

Well, think Ditratos, meaning she knows nothing of our transfiguration.

Suddenly, the telepathic link is cut in a flash.

The Arachne flies swiftly with a powerful wing-beat. Ditratos jumps aside, powered by a feline grace. A crater of antimatter opens in where he stood. It is a powerful and deadly spell but Yuna does not let a moment like that without reacting. She dives across the stones. A grinding followed by a stifled groan merge into a disturbing silence. Ditratos Jumps directly many cubits that separate the top of the Roche-aux-fées in a single bound, ready to cast a spell on the Black Widow. The latter is lying on the ground, hold by  thousands of vegetal arms nailing her on the carpet of weeds, with half burnt clothes baring her gorgeous black body.

Yuna is standing still. Both front legs hold the throat of a fallen queen. Ditratos recovers and cancels his spell. He is perched on the Roche-aux-fées, profiled in the round and silver moonlight. A thought pops into his head:

You can’t detain the one who doesn’t die!

Mental images are added to this telepathic thought coming from Arachnéida. Memories of those warring High Elves murdered by Arachnéida, eons ago... and a look of determination erases those painful memories.

In one giant leap, the mage dash forward with precision and lands smoothly, framing Arachnéida’s body standing above her, feet on each side of her hips. He bends down and touches with the tip of his index finger the doll face of her beloved which still stands firmly Arachnéida’s throat. Ditratos think so:

Do not lose your self in a useless struggle, Yuna. The lesson is understood. Eternity will do the rest. An injury to her pride is much more efficient.

Yuna complies at once and lets the eternal puppet still riveted to the ground. In few strokes of wings, Yuna sits on the shoulder of the sage ranger, passing her hands through her thick black hair. She looks by turns at Ditratos and Arachnéida and becomes aware of this dynamic, three immortals who have been, are and will always be at the crossroads of destiny they choose according to their own open hearts. Then Ditratos leans over Arachnéida’s immobilized body and looks straight into the darkness of her dark elven eyes:

You've almost stolen the fairy-light from my heart. Do you want at this point all brave souls of the multiverse? Yuna and I will still be here waiting for you. Once again, our paths will cross. Until then, your heart will override your inner demons.

The lunar disk and its silvery halo are partially hidden by a black elf like silhouette sitting up at night. On his shoulder, the Arachne is only physical, but the spirit that inhabits is beautiful and is the essence of  the fairy Yuna. It vibrates again stripped from fibers of the Arachne. The two companions are leaving Arachnéida nailed to Gaïa. Ditratos is walking with determination, without turning, heading toward the Roche-aux-fées. In a last stride, intrusion occurs.

The Roche-aux-fées detains few moments the dark elf and the Arachne. Then on the other side of the magical stone resurface two new reunion: Ditratos the White Mage and Yuna the rebellious fairy, with rain bow wings. Mage's arm rises, the famous mirror appears and the two friends disappear on the other side of the mirror which in turn fades from this world.

Herbs are rocked by a breeze of change. Roots lose their grip and retract in the soil. A black shaking hand settles on a chest rippling at the rhythm of agitated breathing. The graceful neck regains its dignity. The eyes shine a new light. The soul of a Dark Elf is tinged with a curious thirst for life where flows regeneration again but a space of brightness just moved in the whole being of Arachnéida, bringing new designs ... totally unexpected but very comforting, warm and rejuvenating.

                               

                                                * Epilogue *

The full moon is striped with branches of an oak. Its light floods the horizon of blue light. Contoured in front of the foreign moon, a silhouette stands, shrouded in ragged clothes. A thin silver line shines in the cutting edge of a graceful elf.

Along her back, buttocks and the back of her legs are covered with a shiver gentle and reassuring. Never was such a sensation up to her heart. But from the corner of her eye a ripple is felt and the night breeze caresses a new body appendix: Wings with silver feathers unfurl in the air and form a big heart in the air above her head.

In a burst of pure novelty, silver wings unfold in air, lower with power and naturally raise the creature with ebony skin, this black elf in quest of discovery, in search of a new life, in search of a new identity to explore, who flies above the Roche-aux-fées.

That night, a new being crosses the sky, drawn in moonlight, recalling the passage of an angel.

END