Fan Fiction ❯ The Legend of Korina ❯ Phorea ( Chapter 1 )

The Legend of Korina - Chapter Two.

In the beginning

The lines had been drawn. Phorea was about to change… she had no choice. Now was a time for new beginnings, an upset in the balance of everything that dictated life, and she was at the forefront, trying to cope with it all, whilst secretly nursing a broken heart.

Change was something she had always wanted, she knew it was a good thing for her whole existence, and that of the Halfworlders, but for it to be exacted in such a way was so glaringly painful for her to endure, that she now began to kick herself for ever wanting it in the first place. These last two decades had been almost unbearable for her. The great celestial plain of the Halfworld was morning the loss of its great leader, and the one person that she had ever really truly cared about. It cut through her heart with excruciating precision, tearing up a bond that had existed for as long as Mandrir had first taken her under his wing, and it forced sorrow, and anguish in debilitating waves onto her delicately small frame.

In this constantly changing dimension, with its perplexities, and repetitive challenges, he had been her continuity, the one person whom she could thank for her sanity. Learning that you were destined to be an immortal wasn't exactly something you became adjusted to quickly, and other than the gods he was the only one who had known how much that it hurt her to leave behind everything she loved, cared about… to watch them become old and die, in what seemed little more than a heartbeat.

In some form or other Mandrir and her had always been together. Whether it was here in the halfworld when she was playing at the feet of the gods as a child, or even their time together as they wandered the earth, learning all the intricacies of a job that had no rules, no qualifications, not even the slightest guidelines. All she needed was to exist, and that was the scariest aspect of all. Even in a dimension, in which all of mortal life's normalities were meticulously mapped out, it still all came down to nothing more than aesthetics.

She looked herself up and down in the mirror. Her long red ringlets of hair were almost iridescent, as the piercing brightness, and whiteness of the halfworld threw its glaring rays over her petite body. There is an old adage that says 'time never stands still,' and she had always laughed whenever she heard a mortal say it, because for the first hundred odd years of her charge she hadn't dared to so much as blink. A single blemish or split end could change something in the earth's delicate balance, and Demor would be mocking her until it was time to relinquish her role in the Halfworld if that happened.

In the general scale of things, Mandrir's demise had been little more than a hiccup in the flowing of eternity, and just as she liked to play tricks on people, by making five minutes seem like ten, (she had to get her kicks from something) now her own existence had turned against her. She sighed. Their job was eternal, and that was about as certain as anything could get in this multiverse. They, however, were not.

The leader of the Halfworld (even for an immortal,) hadn't had a bad innings, but Phorea, wasn't handling his death as well as she would have liked. It had been a rule set in blood with Mandrir that he would never refer to people by their proper title, just as he never suffered to let the rest of them call him by his. If ever reverence was required, they had simply called him Great Leader, but in her case he accepted nothing more than Mandrir.

He had taught her so much… given her so much attention, cared about her so unconditionally that his very presence had been enough to throw a thousand needles of pleasure down her spine. He had been a constant source of delight and friendship, and now he was gone. His soul given to another, and his very existence wiped by those that she had come to call friends. Now she would never be able to set powder blue eyes on his face again… never see the smile that made her breath catch in her throat, or the glint of playfulness in his eyes that sent so much warmness through to her inner most soul.

It was as painful now as when she had first been informed of his death by Farron. She had honestly felt like punching him in the face, as the smug benignity of his voice, took out the one last remaining, composed chunk of her, (relatively speaking,) young heart, adding his very own disturbingly affective twist.

Now she was truly on her own. There was no one to seek out for comfort, no one to reassure her that everything was going to be ok, no one to turn to for advise. She was well and truly alone, and as long as she remained in the Halfworld dimension, it would always be so. It all felt completely empty to her now, and for the first time in centuries she was getting itchy feet. The lure of sociability, and living alongside mortals had an enticing quality to it, and maybe… just maybe, it might make her feel better to make new friends… meet new people.

There were several Halfworld members who actually resided on earth, leaving the Halfworld dimension to live out their lives amongst the humans. Never before had she felt any kindred desire to leave the comfort of her celestial existence and join them, but now it was different, and the temptation to leave was almost sickening in its intensity.

She had no desire to relinquish her role just yet. In the grand scale of things she was still a rookie, still had so much work to do before she threw in the towel, and failure was a word that wasn't in her vocabulary, but a timeout for reflection would be a welcome relief. She could do her job just as well alongside the earthlings as she could here, and now that Mandrir had been dead for almost twenty years, not one person being able to fill the void that he left, she had no reason to stay. The only other members that she could trust unconditionally had left as soon as Mandrir's death had been confirmed to search for his legacy, and now she was lonely.

Throwing a perfect tress of curls over her shoulder, Phorea gently stood up, the soft breeze that always blew comfortingly in this dimension, making her long white dress stream out in great swathes of elegance behind her. Her feet padded along the infinite stretch of light blue tiles, defining the infuriating perpetuity of her work, and echoed against the small wisps of mist that gave any perspective, as she walked gracefully towards the very few furnishings that were necessary. The soothingly soft air currents danced playfully over her delicate skin, caressing every perfectly proportioned curve.

Glorying in their lull, she closed her eyes, letting all emotions flow along with it, as she reached the tall vault of celestial documentations that continued into oblivion along with the tiles. Each catacomb like hollow, carved intricately out of a creamy coloured stone, was filled to the brim with ancient scrolls, yellowed by her very own hands, and ridiculously fragile.

Her eyelids twitched slightly as she concentrated on the task at hand. Her powers were not as chiselled as she would have liked. It still took great effort for her to perform some of the most common, or mundane of magical tasks.

Facing the gods great library was something that she did on a regular basis, though, she loved to read. Mostly she sifted through all the material relative to the mortals differing spiritual beliefs. The stories, and legends that had been formed, even before her existence, were riveting and beautiful. Fairytales gripped her attention the most, and she had spent many hours, curled up at Mandrir's feet, wading through the material with unwavering interest, as she was intermittently rewarded by him with the tousle of her hair, and on occasion, even privileged enough to earn one of those gut-wrenchingly wonderful smiles of his.

The memories triggered an ache deep within her heart, and she restrained a sob as it formed mercilessly in her throat, only falling short of suppressing the emotion by letting a single tear glisten down from under the closed lids of her delicately fine eyes. She scorned herself for the emotion. This was her therapy! She had to curb all thoughts of her mentor… living would be continual torture if she didn't.

An ethereal light emanated from the palms of her upturned hands, casting her body into a swarm of shadows, the warm glow gently filtering into the air surrounding her. The power grew steadily, and as it reached its full potential, Phorea's arms moved in an elastic dance in front of her body, letting the light trail mark the vision in arcs of golden energy.

The light fell fluidly over vision, and under its power a single scroll left the comfort of the large structure, flying with ethereal ease to Phorea's out-stretched palm. As the golden glow evaporated into the clouds a little scene shone through the iridescent paper, showing her exactly that which she was looking for. The smallest of smiles played beautifully on her cherry lips. Bowing her head respectively, she closed her eyes and whispered, "thank you," in breathless anguish, "I will make you proud of me Mandrir. Just you wait and see!"

Not wasting a minute of her job, she buried the scroll into the white folds of her dress, rushing for the recliner of her own plateau, impatient to learn all.