01 Family Conflict
Part 1: Backstory and Family Conflict
Aetherion's Childhood
The air inside their small home was thick with the scent of damp wood and ink. The walls, thin and worn from years of exposure to the elements, did little to keep out the cold, and Aetherion often found himself drawing his cloak tighter around his shoulders as he worked by the dim light of a flickering candle. His quill scratched across the page, its ink barely visible in the soft glow, but he pushed on, determined to finish the transcription before the candle burned out.
From the other room, he could hear the soft murmur of his mother, her voice a gentle lullaby as she tended to his youngest sibling. Her voice was a constant comfort in their home, even when the world outside felt harsh and unforgiving. His father's voice, however, was another story.
The door creaked open, and his father, tall and imposing despite his aging frame, stepped inside. His horns, once sharp and proud, were dulled and weathered with age, but his eyes—those sharp, calculating eyes—still burned with the intensity of a man who had seen too much and learned too many hard truths.
"Aetherion," his father said, his voice a mix of gruffness and warmth. "How goes the work?"
Aetherion paused, lifting the quill from the parchment. His hand ached, the muscles tight from hours of writing, but he forced a smile. "It's... slow, father. But I'll get it done."
His father nodded, stepping closer. He placed a hand on Aetherion's shoulder, the weight of it grounding him in the moment. There was a softness in his father's eyes, a kindness that often hid behind the man's stoic exterior. But tonight, it was there, flickering just like the candlelight.
"Knowledge takes time, son," his father said, his voice quiet, almost reverent. "But remember this—it is not enough to simply know. You must also understand. Knowledge is meaningless without wisdom."
Aetherion nodded, but inside, a small knot of doubt tightened in his chest. His father was a man of knowledge—a scribe of great skill, once revered for his work in the temple of Oghma. But something had happened. Something had changed. Aetherion had heard the whispers, the rumors that floated through the temple halls like ghosts. His father, brilliant as he was, had never been able to make the divine connection required of a cleric.
And though his father never spoke of it, Aetherion knew the truth. His father's pursuit of knowledge had always been tainted by his desire for power. He had sought not just to understand the world, but to control it. And Oghma, the god of knowledge and wisdom, had turned away from him.
As his father's hand fell away, Aetherion forced himself to focus on the scroll in front of him, the candlelight casting shadows over the words. But that small seed of doubt remained, gnawing at the edges of his mind.
Alexion's Introduction
The training grounds were empty, save for the early morning mist that clung to the grass like a shroud. Aetherion stood at the edge, his arms crossed over his chest, watching as Alexion paced back and forth, his eyes gleaming with excitement. The two had been training together for years, ever since their grandfather had taken them in and raised them like brothers. And though they were the same age, Alexion had always felt older, more sure of himself, more driven.
"Are you ready?" Aetherion asked, his voice quiet, though a hint of anticipation tinged his words.
Alexion stopped his pacing and turned to face him, a grin spreading across his sharp features. His light purple hued skin seemed to glow in the morning light, his black hair tied back in a loose knot. "Ready? I've been ready for this since the day I could hold a sword."
Aetherion smiled, though the knot in his chest tightened. The Rite of Enlightenment. It was all anyone in the temple had spoken of for weeks. The day when the acolytes would stand before Oghma and, if they were deemed worthy, receive the Blessing of Insight, marking their transition from seekers of knowledge to bearers of wisdom.
For Alexion, it seemed almost certain. He had always been the stronger of the two, not just physically, but mentally. He had a sharp mind, a quick tongue, and an unyielding desire to change the world. Small miracles had followed him for years—signs of Oghma's favor, they said. But for Aetherion, the road had been less clear.
"You'll be fine," Alexion said, his grin softening into something more sincere. "You've always been the smarter one. You see things others don't. Oghma will see that too."
Aetherion nodded, but deep down, he wasn't so sure. He had never experienced the divine signs that Alexion had. He had never felt the guiding hand of Oghma on his shoulder. And though he had studied hard, learned more than most, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was somehow... lacking.
"I hope you're right," Aetherion muttered, glancing toward the horizon where the first rays of dawn were beginning to break through the mist.
The Father's Failure
That night, the house was quiet, the only sound the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth. Aetherion's father sat at the table, a half-open book lying forgotten before him. His hands, once steady and precise, now trembled slightly as they rested on the worn wood. His horns, though dulled with age, still cast sharp shadows on the wall behind him.
Aetherion hesitated at the doorway, watching his father in silence. He had seen this look before—the distant, haunted gaze of a man lost in his own thoughts, trapped by the weight of his past.
"Father?" Aetherion's voice was soft, barely more than a whisper.
His father didn't respond at first, his eyes still fixed on the book in front of him. Then, slowly, he spoke.
"You know," he began, his voice rough, "I could have been more."
Aetherion frowned, stepping into the room. "More?"
His father let out a low, bitter laugh. "Yes. More. I thought knowledge was power. I thought if I knew enough—if I understood enough—I could control everything. I could shape the world the way I wanted it to be."
He paused, his hands tightening into fists on the table. "But I was wrong. Knowledge isn't about control. It's about understanding, yes, but it's also about acceptance. I didn't understand that. And because of it... I failed."
Aetherion's chest tightened. His father had never spoken so openly about his failure to become a cleric, but the weight of it had always been there, hanging over them like a dark cloud. His father had pursued knowledge with a singular intensity, but that pursuit had been tainted by ambition—by the desire for power, not just understanding.
"Oghma doesn't care about power," his father continued, his voice barely more than a whisper now. "He cares about truth. About wisdom. And I... I was too blind to see that."
Aetherion swallowed hard, his heart aching for his father. He had always admired the man, despite his flaws. But now, hearing the regret in his voice, Aetherion felt a new resolve settle in his chest.
"I won't make the same mistake," Aetherion vowed silently. "I will pursue truth, not power. And I will do whatever it takes to bring Alexion back from the darkness... or deliver justice if I must."