Monday traversed the corridors and subterranean crossroads beneath the city of Alessandro with a serious expression; she could fully share her master's senses as well as extend her Far Sight through her, but despite that, she was worried. After all, she was alone.
"Don't worry, Monday," Tuesday growled with a calm air as the two advanced, moving at a steady pace through the underground.
"I'm not worried," she lied. She could see what her master saw, feel what she felt, but she still couldn't help feeling nervous. After all, among the seven, she had been the firstborn.
The firstborn among her disciples.
The first daughter of her mother.
And a daughter must watch over her mother, especially if she is the eldest.
They didn't take long to finally reach where her master was, Coven as she preferred to be called to avoid personal names.
"Names have power, my daughter," she had once said, although she didn't know what she referred to. She had decided to obey her, abandon her previous name, and now she was Monday, a witch, and one of the seven powers of the Witch Cult.
In front of her were ashes and burnt bones; standing in a solitary pose was she, her master, the Coven. Her expression was indifferent as she threw a bit of fire at the corpse of the possessed one.
"It's beginning," she whispered with a heavy tone that made both kneel while listening to her commands and her word.
"Yes, Master. Everywhere, they will soon emerge again, but we will be ready," she growled.
"Yes, we will be. After all, if they are The Tempest without form, we are the immovable darkness; there is no forgiveness for the apostate nor the abomination, only death."
The flames increased in intensity with those words as the purple blood on the ground evaporated and was slowly removed by a mysterious force. This was the first battle of many, the prelude to a war announced long ago; it was time for evil to be exterminated and order to reign again in the mortal realm.
Because they were many.
Because they were one.
Because they were Order.
...
Tuesday, a sinister name her master had said, even though her own innate gift wasn't combat-oriented.
"War causes few casualties compared to the disasters indirectly caused by it: hunger, disease, political persecutions; all that generated a considerable amount of death. The right intelligence in the right hands could change the world."
"The right person, in the right place and time, can change the world," her master had said.
She liked to memorize her words; they were words different from what she was accustomed to hearing in her previous life regarding the philosophy of life the Dharma had taught her.
But despite everything, it had its own depth.
The city of Alessandro was quite chaotic, so normally her master herself monitored the situation of The Tempest Cult herself, but despite everything, the kidnapping of her own sister had escaped her sight.
Her reassignment to the capital was something necessary to eliminate the cult's roots on the continent, starting in this case at home. The city of Alessandro was inhabited by approximately three million people, the majority of Feynir lineage and a minority Feysir.
The reason for her usefulness in this populous place was her own ability; unlike Monday, who possessed the capacity to share information almost instantaneously, her own ability required more analysis and support.
For that reason, among the seven, she was the one with the most subordinates.
"My lady, the kidnappings and extortions have been stopped in time in sector 3-6-1 B," said one of her assistants with a tired tone.
Her gift was Mnemodigitation, the capacity to manipulate her own memory ranging from memory repetition to photographic memory, a considerably useful ability to have as an assistant.
"Thank you, Mnemosyne," she replied with a neutral tone while continuing to analyze the general population's behavior patterns through the window.
Tuesday's ability was Predigitation, as her master had called it: deducing events through subtle calculations reducing probabilities for concrete events. According to her, her own brain functioned like a computer.
Tuesday's mind calculated hypothetical events from just a bit of information; she could deduce a person's identity just by knowing their existence or even their whereabouts just by knowing their name or birthplace. The more information she possessed, the more precise her predictions could be. Besides, this ability also helped the cult hide since she could devise the most subtle tactics allowing them to go more unnoticed.
Suddenly the mystical crystal in Lux's hands began to glow as she registered the information transmitted wirelessly at high speed, obviously using secret codes and multiple languages.
"My lady," Lux said with a solemn tone after a few seconds, "there is a situation."
Frowning, Tuesday couldn't help but feel somewhat annoyed by her subordinate's lack of clarity, but she answered herself shortly after.
"Ulheim apparently has problems with wolves."
...
The flesh was weak and the spirit eternal, but both were inexorably linked.
At the top of the Dual River hill in the city of Tara stood a small complex. In that place, the preparation for a revolt was gathering. A figure obscured by a mysterious and oppressive aura had presented himself before them.
Leaders of several hundred representatives of, in turn, hundreds of clans. All Fey, from Feysir to Feyolgs, all aligned with the movement and words of their chief, of their leader.
Of their Demagogue.
"The gods have died and the heavens are silent again," said the Demagogue's voice, a deep voice but full of impetus and youthful charisma. "But new idols will rise, they always do. Piety and faith will not die; there will be new gods, new cults, new temples, new sacrifices."
Keeping a deep silence, he concluded: "And what does that leave us?" he asked. "The Hegemony fights for a scattered dominion. Tara is being ruled by a pretender who hasn't even been able to unify Tara, much less the continent. The era of foreign dominions and foreign gods has ended," he roared.
"Our gods were murdered by theirs. Our ancestors are forgotten, but soon they won't be anymore."
Boundless pressure extended from him; a mysterious aura, a power he didn't repress, but strengthened the spirit of everyone present.
"New gods will be born, and why not bring it forward? It is time to create our own temples, create our own rites. Our own kings. The time of the hegemons has ended, just as the great kings of Tara ended in their time. Now is our time."
A deafening roar flooded the room, a roar of emotion and adoration from the crowd. The clan leaders were stunned; those shouting weren't them, but their knights, their soldiers, their warriors, their vassals, their slaves.
"What is happening? You dare to...?"
Suddenly, the head of the orderly-looking man of the Feysir race fell to the ground, while his slave, battered and humble, shouted with devotion:
"For the Demagogue! The Demagogue! No more chains, no more lords, only men! Neither kings nor gods, only men!" they roared, while the previous scene repeated tirelessly.
The nobles present who didn't show submission were murdered, and those who did could only ask for mercy from their own slaves.
The proclaimed Demagogue didn't reveal himself at any moment; he was a sinister shadow on the bloody podium.
"There are no more chains. Slaves will be free men and women, and masters simply men. That is the freedom I seek. Umilia and Cisneros, my servants, do you not agree with me?" asked the shadow with a smile, thin and small compared to his two servants.
"Yes, Master," but they quickly corrected themselves, "Yes, my lord."
"Don't worry, you get used to the weight of freedom," said their liberator to the two Feymor he had in front of him with a warm smile. "But you will have to fight for it harder than those who want to snatch it away."
The siblings' eyes shone fiercely while their hair, black as smoke, and their ebony skin stood out in the hall covered in white and gold. But what stood out most were their eyes: eyes like two burning pearls seeing the world as a sea of fire.
And into that they turned it for their freedom.