The Years of Apocalypse - A Time Loop Progression Fantasy-Chapter 171 - Family

Mirian walked into the Sovereign's Aerie and assumed an aura of command. This was the Mirian who had commanded soldiers and led battles. Her voice brooked no disagreement.

A puffed up Zayd wandered in after her, undermining her comportment only a little.

“We would like one of the private dining rooms,” she told the host.

The host wore a coat with gold embroidery, with enchantments that gave the garment lines of swirling color. It was a monstrously expensive jacket. “Such rooms require a reservation, madam,” he said.

Mirian pulled out two gold florins and slid them his way.

“Mirian!” she heard her mother gasp. She wanted to say more, but Mirian patted her bulging coin pouch.

The man took the coins. “Right this way,” he said.

As soon as they were seated and the door was closed, neither of her parents could contain themselves any longer. Her mother burst out with, “Mirian, what is going on!? Where did you get that gold, since when can you cast illusions, and why are we eating at a place we clearly can’t afford?” at the same time her father started with, “Honey, your education is very important and I’m quite confused as to how you—”

“Almost,” Mirian said, dismissing the mass illusion spell disguising their clothing. “I just need to check the wards.” She went through a few divination spells, then frowned. “Shoddy work, but they’ll do. And no eavesdroppers. Well, I have a couple of announcements. First, I’m a Prophet. Second, I cracked the Allard seal formula so I can get us as much gold as we need for anything. Third, it won’t matter, because the world will end in a few days—for you, at least. Fourth, I figured out I’m adopted.”

Her parents stopped talking and stared at her.

Mirian shrugged. “I’m a bit bitter about not being told about that last one, but I also still have no idea how to break the rest of that news gently.”

Zayd, who had been staring at the crystal chandelier and then tracing his finger around the carvings at the edge of the table, suddenly stopped, realizing the mood in the room had changed. He then looked down and realized his fancy costume had disappeared. He checked under the table first, then started looking around.

Mirian summoned her spellbook and cast a color-changing light spell that she surrounded with a force sphere. She tossed it to Zayd, who brightened and began tossing it in the air.

Her mother’s brow furrowed. “You’re… a Prophet? Sweetie, I don’t understand. How does that…?”

The door opened and a waiter entered. “For overlooking the dress code violations,” Mirian said, flipping him a gold florin. “We’ll have the chef’s courses, paired with whatever wine you think is appropriate. After that, we’ll appreciate as few disturbances as you can manage.”

The waiter was slightly taken aback by the daughter giving orders, but seeing no protest from the parents, said, “Yes, madam,” bowed, and turned to leave.

“Thank you,” she said.

As soon as the door was closed again, Mirian explained, pausing every so often to change up the spells she was using to distract Zayd. She gave the brief version, not bothering with the myrvite titan she’d just killed. She mentioned the existence of other time travelers, but not that she’d just removed one.

“We’ve had this conversation before, then?” her father asked.

“No,” Mirian said, looking at Zayd. “Because I couldn’t bear the idea of one of the others using you against me.”

Jeron’s face fell. “But that means… you went for over ten years without seeing us? How did… you manage?”

Mirian gave him a sad smile. “I was lonely.”

Her father’s chair scraped loudly on the floor as he rose. He quickly walked around the table and wrapped Mirian in his embrace. Her mother followed, and then Zayd belatedly rushed in to join, managing to get his arms around her leg.

Mirian didn’t cry. She’d expected to. She had every reason to. But her eyes stayed dry. It had been over a decade. She’d had to forget about them. Until now, she hadn’t realized that the distance she put between them that had started as a necessity had calcified into something more permanent.

No one spoke. Eventually, the hug ended.

She thought about the life she’d had planned so long ago. I would have been an artificer in Madinahr. On holidays, I would have traveled back to Arriroba. When they ran errands in the city, they would have seen me. I would have watched Zayd grow up. They would have watched my progress. They would have been there for me.

But all this time, they hadn’t been there for her. Not out of any malice, but out of indifferent chance. It wasn’t their fault. Nevertheless, the bonds of family had chilled and withered out of neglect, long before she’d found out they’d lied to her.

Mirian summoned an illusionary bird for Zayd to chase around, then said, “Why didn’t you tell me I was adopted?”

“Because we thought it would only hurt you,” Dhelia said.

“The doctor who saw to you said it was best for children to forget,” Jeron said softly.

“Doctor Westerun,” Mirian said.

“Oh. You remember him?” her mother asked.

“No. But Grandpa Irabi did. Were you aware I had a memory curse on me?”

“A what?” her father said, sounding shocked. He looked to Dhelia, who looked equally concerned. “I… suppose you’re old enough now to know the whole story. There was fighting in Persama. Well, there’s always fighting in Persama, but this kind was worse. We read about it in the broadsheets. It was in Mahatan, I think, that city by the oasis. A bunch of families got rounded up and killed.”

“It was that Dawn’s Peace, I remember,” Dhelia interjected. “A bad joke of a name. A bad joke.”

“I think that’s right. Well, when refugees fled the city, they left behind a lot of children in the chaos. The Baracuel soldiers couldn’t exactly just leave them, could they? So they brought them north, then tried to find families for them. We had been trying to, ah, conceive for some time, so when we heard about it, we volunteered.”

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Mirian tried to remember what Rostal had told her about the rebel group. Dawn’s Peace has always been one of the smaller factions. They never could field an army until the time loop. But was that what Ibrahim did that made Rostal flee? It seemed there was little hope of Ibrahim being negotiated with. Then again, how old was he? How old had he been when the massacres had taken place? Ten? Fifteen?

Seeing her grow quiet, her mother said, “Whatever you saw as a child, it hurt you. Doctor Westerun said he had ways of helping children forget, and it was best to forget. He never said… we never were told…” She seemed unsure of herself now.

“Never told the Department of Public Security used necromancy on children?”

“That can’t be right!” her father said, gasping. “If people knew…”

Mirian gave a bitter laugh. “What would they do, if they knew? I have a feeling I know what would happen to them if they spoke about it.” She thought of the printer in Palendurio. She’d already been assassinated this cycle, along with her contact.

“We thought we were doing what was best,” Dhelia said. She swallowed hard. She wouldn’t cry either, she never did. “We were told your real parents were dead, and just didn’t want you to go through the pain of remembering that.”

Memories swirled about in Mirian’s head. They moved about like a thick black fog. Each time she reached for a memory, it was out of her grasp, but there were fragments—

“What about the cat I had as a kid?” she asked.

“We never had a cat,” Jeron said, confused. “The Hadad family had a couple of cats. Maybe you’re thinking of them?”

Mirian furrowed her brow. If she tried to think about the cat directly, the picture became too hazy. But if she thought about the stone walls of her house, the long corridors lit by glyph lamps and the little garden that overlooked the endless dunes, she could catch glimpses of him. “He was all mottled black and white, but with these dark red patches of fur. Slightly chubby. Meu. The cat’s name was Meu.” She’d remembered!

“Meow!” Zayd said. He was still chasing the illusionary bird around, but now he was acting like a cat.

“No, that doesn’t sound like the Hadads’ cats. Well, I suppose you must have had it before.”

“Who were they? My birth parents?”

Jeron said, “They didn’t know, sweetie. I’m sorry.”

Mirian sat back in her chair. The waiter returned, carrying a large silver platter. Jeron and Dhelia returned to their seats. The waiter cast a side eye at Zayd, who had paused his chase to stare. “The first course is seared bladefish steaks, complemented with Florinian cakes and fresh fruit just off the boat from Uxalak,” he said. He set the plates on the table. They both smelled and looked heavenly. Mirian barely noticed.

“First course?” whispered Jeron as the waiter left.

“What’s that?” Zayd said, frowning as he poked at the fruits on his plate.

“They add a sweet sauce to all the fruit pieces. Lots of sugar. You’ll love it,” Mirian said. She leaned back in her chair, her own food untouched. No answers here, she thought. Her father was tentatively trying the bladefish. Mirian still wasn’t sure how they made the tart glaze that went over them. “What was I like as a child?” she asked.

“Shy,” her father said at the same time her mother said, “angry,” through a mouthful of cake.

“Well, yes, angry,” he agreed.

“I remember the breathing exercises. And the meditation.”

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“I don’t think you learned the meditation from us,” Jeron admitted. “As soon as you learned the word, you started doing it before I told you how. It sped along your, ah, recovery, nicely, at least.”

It had come easily to her in the Academy too, she remembered. Using an arcane catalyst had taken forever, but she’d been the first among her peers to sense her own aura.

“Tell me about your trip,” Mirian said, finally starting in on her plate.

“Well, we came into some money. A man liked your mother’s woodwork and bought up, well, half the inventory!”

“Twenty-seven pieces. All of the sculptures, plus a few practical works,” her mother added on. “And overpaid for all of them. So your father and I—Mirian, I’m sorry, it’s habit to use that word. Would you prefer that we use our names?”

“It’s fine,” Mirian said.

“Your father and I decided to surprise you during your graduation, and take Zayd on the same trip we took you on when you were little.”

Irabi had already told her that.

“Who was this man?” Mirian asked.

“Went by ‘Vyginto.’ He worked for some merchant company. Seemed quite kind. From his accent, I think he was from out west. Is that… important?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Mirian said. “Some things are just coincidence. But go on. Tell me about the trip.”

The story of it lasted through the second course and desert. They had just left Alkazaria on the 28th of Cerelorn, making their way by barge up the Ibaihan River. By the 5th, they were in Westbay, then they departed on the 7th. She’d been lucky to catch them in Florin. Another day, and they would have been gone, starting a journey by boat up the coast. They’d only delayed it because of the triple leviathan sighting, which had frightened the port authority enough they’d put a hold on all departures.

Which was fine by both of them. Florin was their favorite city. Dhelia had gotten her hands on a special kind of myrvite wood that was veined with a softly glowing amber, and had been greatly enjoying the feel of the city, the cries of the gulls, and the smell of the ocean. Her father could live out the rest of his days just wandering the city and admiring the architecture and be happy.

And Zayd was easy to bribe. There were several parks throughout the city, each of which had water magically pumped to them so that they had artificial waterfalls and pools for children to play in. Or, they could just get him any number of sweets sold by the street vendors.

As their tale came to a close, Mirian said, “When this is all over, I’ll buy you a house here, if you want.”

Her parents grew silent.

“You still look like we just sent you off to your final year of the Academy,” her father said. “I keep forgetting. Then I keep remembering, because you carry yourself differently. Your cadence has changed. The way you look at people has changed. It’s crazy to think you’ve fought in a war. It’s crazy to think there will be a war! Everything seems so… idyllic, here. And now it seems wrong to take so much joy in it, knowing how horrible it is… out there.”

Mirian ground her jaw. They had no idea. Perhaps they didn’t need to know. But if Ibrahim resumed his attack, her family would likely be encountering his army as it moved from Rambalda to Alkazaria. Worse, given the distances, there was little she could do about it.

She had grown good at hiding her emotions, but these were her parents. They knew her too well. Her mother saw the dark look settle over her. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Mirian wanted to say ‘nothing.’ But she couldn’t lie to them. “You’re better off not knowing,” she said instead. “Enjoy it. You might as well enjoy it.”

“I still don’t understand why it’s all happening,” her father said.

The waiter came to clear the last of their dishes. Mirian reflexively embraced her focus to check his soul. She waited until he left, then said, “I don’t know yet.”

Her father furrowed his brow. “You mentioned something… an Elder God’s monument?”

“The proximal cause of moonfall is the leyline collapse,” she said. “But what that’s fueled by, I don’t know. Killing Apoph… well, I thought it might be connected to a big myrvite, but that didn’t affect the cycle. The Divine Monument’s destruction can accelerate the collapse, but only by two days. The Akanans have airships interacting with the leylines, but its not clear what effect they have on them. And the Labyrinth is connected somehow, but it’s unclear how. Since its arcane energy and dealing with the fourth spatial dimension—which doesn’t quite seem to follow the normal rules of a spatial dimension—it could be there’s significant details that are very difficult to get data on. Anything I study there has to be through inference, not direct observation. It’s also unclear if the historical Prophets were tasked with things related to this calamity, though if they were, their contributions were clearly indirect.”

There was a pause. Zayd had finally tired himself out, and was now lying with his head back on his chair, mumbling something while staring at the ceiling.

Her mother leaned over. “Honey, did you understand any of that?”

Jeron cleared his throat. “Some of it.” A somber silence came over the room. Finally her father said, “I wish there was some way we could help.”

Mirian looked at Zayd and smiled softly. “You already have.”