06 Awakening
Part 6: Aetherion's Awakening in the Underworld
The Stirring of Consciousness
Aetherion's eyes fluttered open, his vision blurred and hazy. The world around him felt wrong—distant, oppressive, and suffocating. He tried to move, but his limbs felt heavy, as though his very muscles had been lulled into a deep slumber by whatever poison had been administered. His mind struggled to catch up, piecing together the last moments he could recall.
Alexion. The thought slammed into him like a hammer. He had been speaking to Alexion, trying to reach him—trying to save him. And then... the gas. The cloth pressed against his face, the slow descent into darkness.
Now, as he slowly gained awareness, the first thing that assaulted his senses was the smell. The air was thick with the pungent stench of mold, filth, and rot—the unmistakable scent of a place far beneath the surface, where the refuse of the world above had gathered. But mingled with that stench was something far worse—something sickly sweet and unmistakably foul.
Burnt almonds. The odor was overpowering now, much stronger than it had ever been when Alexion had first returned from the expedition. It clung to everything, sinking into Aetherion's clothes, his skin, his very breath.
He blinked, his vision slowly adjusting to the dim light. All around him, the walls were slick with grime, the floor uneven and wet beneath his body. Small streams of water trickled along the stone pathways, their surfaces reflecting the faint glow of the purple-hued candles that flickered in the darkness. The haze of their light made everything seem surreal, dreamlike—yet this was no dream.
He struggled to sit up, his body sluggish and aching from the effects of the drug. As he pushed himself to his feet, his gaze swept across the room—and that's when he saw him.
The Governor in Chains
The governor.
The man was bound and gagged, slumped against the far wall of the chamber, his eyes wide and frantic. He tugged at his restraints, but they held firm, leaving him powerless and vulnerable. The man's skin was pale, his face slick with sweat, and his movements erratic, as though he too had been drugged.
Aetherion's heart raced. The governor had been an enemy, but he had not expected to find him here, in such a state. He tried to speak, to call out to the man, but his voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper. The drug had sapped his strength, leaving him weak and disoriented.
Before he could gather his bearings, the sound of soft footsteps echoed through the chamber. Aetherion turned, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes landed on Alexion.
The Relic and the Mask
Alexion stood at the center of the chamber, illuminated by the eerie purple glow of the candles. His once-familiar features were now cast in shadow, his expression unreadable as he worked with a focused intensity at the altar before him.
And there, resting on the altar, was the relic.
It was a mask—twisted, ancient, and terrible in its design. The surface was made of what appeared to be obsidian, dark and polished, with faint veins of silver running through it like cracks in the very fabric of reality. The mask seemed to pulse with a life of its own, as though it was waiting—hungry—for something.
Aetherion's blood ran cold.
"Alexion..." His voice trembled as he spoke, the words barely escaping his lips.
At the sound of his name, Alexion paused. Slowly, he turned to face Aetherion, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of the man Aetherion had once known—the friend, the brother. But it was fleeting, and in its place was a look of profound sorrow.
"I'm sorry, Aetherion," Alexion said softly, his voice heavy with regret. "I truly am. But it had to come to this."
Aetherion's heart ached as he watched his friend. "What are you doing?" he whispered, his voice weak, but desperate. "This... this isn't you."
Alexion's Justification
Alexion's gaze softened, though there was still a steely resolve behind his eyes. "It is me," he said, his tone calm yet firm. "It's who I've always been. I just didn't realize it until Cyric showed me the truth."
Aetherion tried to stand taller, to push through the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him. "Cyric?" he spat, anger rising in his chest. "You've aligned yourself with Cyric? The god of lies and chaos? You've always sought the truth, Alexion. This... this isn't the way."
Alexion's eyes darkened, and he gestured to the mask resting on the altar. "Do you know what this is?" he asked, his voice low, almost reverent. "This is the Visage of the True Sovereign, an ancient relic of Cyric's power. But it was never meant for the likes of the governor."
Aetherion's brow furrowed in confusion. "The governor? What do you mean?"
Alexion's lips curled into a bitter smile as he glanced at the bound and gagged governor, who was still struggling weakly against his restraints. "He's had this mask for years. It's why he's been so obsessed with Cyric's teachings. He believed that by unlocking its power, he could solidify his position of authority—cement his control over the town, and perhaps even extend his reach beyond it."
Aetherion's heart sank as he processed Alexion's words. "So... all of this—the cultists, the battle... it was all for this?"
Alexion nodded slowly. "The governor thought the tome would give him the answers he needed to wield the mask's power. But he was a fool. The tome didn't contain that knowledge. It never could." He looked down at the mask again, his expression hardening. "Only Cyric himself could reveal the true nature of this relic. And he would never give that power to someone like the governor."
"Why not?" Aetherion asked, his voice trembling with both anger and fear.
"Because the governor's ambition is small," Alexion said coldly, his eyes narrowing as he regarded the man in chains. "All he wanted was to tighten his grip on this little dominion, to protect his pitiful seat of power. Cyric has no use for such small, insignificant dreams."
He turned back to Aetherion, his gaze intense. "Cyric desires those with greater ambition—those who are willing to reshape the world. The governor was nothing more than a tool, a stepping stone to something greater. And now... now I hold the key to that power."
Aetherion's Plea
Aetherion took a shaky step forward, his heart pounding. "This isn't the answer, Alexion! You don't have to do this. You don't have to trust Cyric."
Alexion's eyes met his, filled with a deep sorrow. "I don't trust Cyric," he admitted, his voice raw. "I never have. But the power he offers... it's real. And it's enough to make the changes that Oghma—" He spat the name with sudden venom, "—never could. Cyric gave me the power to save my father. And with the Visage of the True Sovereign, I'll have the power to change everything."
Aetherion's stomach twisted with dread. "But at what cost?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Alexion's expression hardened. "The cost doesn't matter," he said flatly. "Not anymore. What matters is that the world needs to change. The weak, the corrupt—they have no place in this new order. And if I have to make sacrifices to see that through, then so be it."
The Governor's Fate
With a grim expression, Alexion turned and strode toward the governor, dragging the bound man closer to the altar. The governor's muffled cries grew louder as he struggled, his eyes wide with fear. Aetherion's heart sank as he realized what was about to happen.
"Alexion, stop!" Aetherion shouted, his voice hoarse but filled with desperation. "This isn't justice! This is murder!"
Alexion didn't falter. He looked down at the governor, his expression cold and calculating. "Cyric wants this 'follower' dealt with," Alexion said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Because his ambitions are small. His vision is insignificant. He clings to his petty dominion, grasping for power in a world where true strength is needed."
Aetherion shook his head, his body trembling as he fought against the effects of the drug. "You don't need to do this, Alexion. Killing him won't make you stronger. It won't make the world better."
Alexion glanced back at him, and for a brief moment, Aetherion thought he saw a flicker of doubt in his friend's eyes. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by a cold, steely determination.
"No, Aetherion," Alexion said quietly. "It will."