Epilogue: The Sun Always Rises

Madness. The light of the sun itself, the golden radiance of the Daystar, burned with emerald flame, raining down spears of aberrant, infernal essence. The Dragon-Blooded fell to their knees in agony, their skin catching aflame before their very eyes, cancerous burns spreading across their flesh. Rising Echo fell to his knees, only spared from the wrath of the mad green sun by his Solar vigor. And then, with the sound of utter silence, of a thousand leaden bells tolling only nothingess, the world fell apart. The ground beneath the Eclipse Caste's feet disintegrated into nothingness, leaving him to fall through endless unbeing. The Dragon-Blooded and mortals caught in the green sun's wake with him unraveled slowly, deliquescing from the inside out. First there bones went, leaving their flesh to collapse in on itself; then muscle and organs, leaving their hollow skin to crumple before dissipating. The very air around him dissipated, leaving him to choke on the emptiness of the void. But Rising Echo did not fall. His anima flared to golden brilliance, flickering with infinite possibilities. He was Chosen of the Sun, a Prince of the Earth, and he could not fall. Even as Creation ceased to be around him, even as the very cosmic principle that allowed for existence was negated, Rising Echo defied unbeing, standing unconquered against the void.

And then came the desert. Out of nothingness, out of the void, out of the very unshinmaic absence of being came the silver sands of the Endless Desert, infinite unbounded malice pouring into whatever foothold they could broach upon Creation. Rising Echo struggled to follow them, fighting with more than mortal strength to ride the Yozi's manifestation back into Creation, to drag himself out of the void. But as he pulled himself, fingers scraping into the silver desert around him, there came an awful laughter, the very desolation around him mocking his efforts. Cecelyne's awful maw yawned wide, and she spoke her callous cruelty. For five days Rising Echo struggled against her sands, arguing each and every one of the vile and broken laws she spoke to bind him. For every handful of sand he clung to, dragging himself forward, the winds of Hell itself drove him back two. And yet for every law that Cecelyne presented, Rising Echo presented rebuttal and counterargument, debating the Endless Desert to a standstill.

Five days passed, five days that passed in the seconds between the void ripping Creation asunder, and Cecelyne flowing out of its gaping desolation, tainting all the world with her presence. And Rising Echo, for all his strength, faltered. Before his eyes, the sands of Cecelyne poured forward into the shinmaic breach between Creation and Malfeas, sealing it with her infinite body. He was caught, imprisoned in Hell with no fewer fetters than the Yozis themselves. On every side he would find demons and the Infernal Exalted, an entire world that would see him caught and broken and slain. Unless he found escape, impossible escape from an entire world built as a cage and a prison, he would die, whether by the emerald flames of Malfeas's wrath or the black malice of the Ebon Dragon's hatred. Without his circle, without his city, without even the light of the Most High, he who had blessed him with exaltation, Rising Echo stood truly alone.

And yet, Rising Echo was Chosen of the Sun. He rose to his feet, and began walking through the sands of the Endless Desert, towards the Demon City of Malfeas. The demons, the Infernal Exalted, and even the Yozis themselves could be negotiated with, could be sworn to sacred oaths, could be tricked, could be bested. And if anyone could best the fallen titans in a game of words, it would be Rising Echo. God-King of Lotus.