The Vessel and the Whisper

Written by StillnessandSilence

"Death stretched endlessly across the Sepulchral Wastes, a barren expanse where time seemed to falter. Somewhere on that forsaken battlefield was a moment frozen in eternity. I watched as he plucked her soul from her body with such tender care that it stirred an ache deep within my own heart."

— ~Kazcadan

The Glass Vessel

Part One

Elara Nyssara

The moment hung fractured in time, a soul suspended between life and death. Delicate, skeletal fingertips cradled her essence, holding it in place with a fragile stillness. Her gaze traveled upward, tracing the length of the bones to the ribcage, where an eerie, pulsing light emanated. Dressed in the pieces of armor and a strange ethereal mantle. The bleached white bones bore marks she could not discern.

She met its gaze—or rather, stared into the hollow voids of the skull, where no eyes resided, only an infinite darkness stretching beyond comprehension.

She floated there, caught in the in-between, tethered to this being that remained utterly still. It made no move, no sound, yet its bony grasp lingered on the glowing edge of her blue, shimmering soul. The touch was so delicate it bordered on tender, as though even in death’s grip, care was not entirely lost.

For the briefest of moments, life flickered, and she saw a man—then a skeleton—before the vision blurred again. A fleeting glimpse of someone, almost human, lingered in her mind. Why wasn’t he letting her go? Why wasn’t he allowing her to pass on?

She struggled to drift forward, toward the beyond, but an invisible tether held her fast. No matter how she tried to move, she remained anchored—caught in the grasp of something that refused to release her.

She looked down and saw her body—shattered and broken upon the battlefield. Blood stained the ice beneath her, a dark, spreading bloom against the desert expanse. A thick javelin jutted out from her torn, ruptured flesh, the cruel point a stark reminder of her violent end. She couldn't even fathom her last thoughts they were gone so quickly.

Horror clawed at her as she stared at herself, a twisted feeling of darkness creeping in. Her auburn hair fanned out around her on the sand, streaked with crimson. The blood, sinking into the white sands of the desert, seemed to pin her in place. Her eyes, wide with a frozen, twisted terror, stared unseeing into the vacant sky.

The skeletal hand moved, pulling her soul closer with an almost reverent gentleness.

“Too soon, you were taken much too soon," A hauntingly beautiful voice whispered, and ithe voice felt like an alluring caress. She calmed some as she stopped trying to escape. She lingered there in this state of undeath.

Her glimmering eyes turned back to the dark hollows of its gaze. What did this thing want from her?

A strange sound broke the stillness—a soft pop like the unsealing of a bottle. It was strange, almost alive as if the bottle itself drew a breath of air. Her attention shifted to the ornamented vessel in its grasp. It was made of blue glass, delicate yet sturdy, with a clear window at its center. Globe-shaped and intricate, it shimmered faintly in the dim light.

“Go inside. You’ll be safe there,” a voice said, calm and steady, reverberating as though it came from the bones themselves.

The skeletal hand guided the edges of her soul toward the glass. She tried to resist, but the pull was irresistible, her form drawn gently into the vessel. She felt herself compress, folding into the confines of the bottle like smoke finding its shape.

The cork slid into place with a soft pop, sealing her inside. Through the clear window, she could see the figure holding her prisoner. He raised the vessel to eye level, and now she saw him fully—long raven-black hair framing a face both sharp and refined, with silvery-gray eyes that seemed to pierce through her essence.

"Elara Nyssara of the Shattered Hills, your body is broken again, beyond my repair. But as always, I will carry you." His voice was soft as he ran his thumb gently over the glass, his words weighted with something unspoken.

“Who are you? What are you?” Her voice finally broke through, frantic, her mind still struggling to understand what was happening.

“Kaelen Deymir, Servant of Nelous, The God of Death.” His tone was calm, warm, almost reassuring. “Now, we have a long way to travel.”

She watched as he took the glass vessel that contained her soul, slipping it carefully into the hollow of his rib cage. His visage of flesh once more disappearing. He placed it beside the purple flames she had seen earlier, the ember’s glow dancing with a strange, comforting warmth. The flame seemed alive, yet steady, offering an odd solace in the eerie darkness.

Her glass prison floated closer to the ember as Kaelen moved across the battlefield. From within her transparent vessel, she could see the desolate expanse of the war-torn land. She had been just another casualty, a forgotten soul lost in the brutal wars of Morindus, the Lost Continent.

Days and nights blurred together as Kaelen journeyed onward, his presence a constant amidst the shifting landscapes. Occasionally, he would speak to her, sharing stories—mostly of life and death. Despite the grim themes, his tales carried an unexpected warmth, an almost reverent tone that made her wonder if he found solace in the telling.

At times, he would gently pluck her vessel from the hollow of his chest, cradling it in his skeletal hands. His voice was slow, deliberate, as if savoring each moment they shared.

But no matter how often she asked why he refused to let her soul move on, he would not answer. His silence was a wall she could not breach, leaving her questions to echo unanswered.

She remained tethered to the strange, comforting ember within his rib cage, its warmth a strange solace in her confinement. Together, they traveled across the desolate expanse, reaching the foot of a mountain, unlike anything she had ever seen. She had never ventured this far across Mordinus. Her life had been defined by war, vengeance, and the harsh, unrelenting struggle to survive.

Here, amidst the unfamiliar, she began to wonder what purpose lay behind her continued existence—and why Kaelen carried her deliberate caution toward the unknown. They stopped before the mountain, at its very foot. He took his time to make camp.

She floated next to his ember; it felt warmer today, different somehow. She couldn’t quite place why.

She watched as his hand reached into his chest and carefully took out her vessel. He stared at her quietly. Elara looked back with wide eyes. His mortal form seemed so different from his skeletal one. She didn’t quite understand what was happening. She only knew he was a servant of Nelous, the god of death, the keeper of the Under-Sanctuary.

“Before we go into the mountain, I am going to let you out,” Kaelen said, his tone gentle.

Elara heard the soft pop of the cork as the seal broke. Her essence, like a wisp of smoke, coiled out of the delicate glass vessel. She felt the tether of his skeletal fingers holding her steady as he drew her closer. The sky above sparkled with countless stars, their light reflecting in her now more corporeal form. For a fleeting moment, she felt almost whole.

“Why now?” Elara asked, her voice quiet as she glanced into the hollow voids of his eye sockets.

Kaelen’s skeletal hand traced the curve of her jaw with deliberate tenderness.

“After we ascend the mountain,” he began, his voice steady yet laced with something deeper, “you will forget me. I am permitted this one evening to sit beside you, to be with you, before the balance is restored. Then, you will return to the beautiful mortal you’ve always been.”

Elara couldn’t fully comprehend his words, but a deep sadness welled within her, resonating between them. She had grown accustomed to the warmth of his ember, the steady, calming cadence of his voice, and the tenderness with which he carried her.

“Elara, enjoy the stars with me. Watch the Lunestra rise. Sit here, and let me have this one night,” Kaelen said softly, his tone as gentle as ever.

She watched as his skeletal form shifted, his mortal guise returning with fluid grace. They spent the evening together beneath the glittering expanse of stars. She listened as he told her stories, shared truths, and whispered secrets—things she knew she would forget when she awoke in her new body and he had to let her go.

When the sun rose over the heavens, painting the world in golden light, Elara felt herself becoming less corporeal, her form thinning like mist. Kaelen’s mortal form dissolved, leaving behind his skeletal visage.

They shared one fleeting moment, a bittersweet silence suspended between them before he reluctantly uncorked the bottle. Her essence swirled back inside, the soft pop of the cork sealing her within. Carefully, he placed the vessel closer to his ember, as though trying to shield her for the journey ahead.

---

The Weight of a Whisper

Part Two

Kaelan Deymir

Kaelan stood in silence, smothering the fire with the heel of his boot. Without a backward glance, he began the climb up the mountain path, his steps measured and deliberate, as though the stones themselves bore witness to his duty. In his chest, Elara's soul stirred—a flicker of light caged within his ribs. Her thoughts brushed against his awareness, an unspoken tempest of uncertainty and resolve.

At the summit, the sanctuary stood bathed in sunlight, its grandeur etched into the mountain like a divine promise. Ygharis, the Mother Goddess, awaited them. Her presence radiated life itself, her long hair dancing as though swept by an unseen wind, scattering blossoms that floated gently to the ground. She stood tall, her staff of life an extension of her divine will.

Kaelan froze. He had carried Elara to this place countless times across unending cycles, yet never before had Ygharis appeared to him directly. It unsettled him in ways he couldn't name.

“Kaelan,” she said, her voice a harmony that resonated deep in his bones, “show her to me.”

Wordlessly, he drew Elara’s vessel from the hollow within him, holding it out to the goddess. The small glass bottle shimmered faintly in the golden light, fragile yet infinite in its significance. As Ygharis reached out, her touch brushed his skeletal fingers, and warmth surged through him, spreading outward. Flesh began to weave itself over bone, a transformation granted by her divine grace.

His gaze flickered to the stone altar at the sanctuary’s center. Elara’s new body rested there, serene and lifelike, as though she were only sleeping. Her hair framed her face like a dark halo, her skin radiant with vitality, draped in a gown finer than any mortal hand could craft.

“This cycle has repeated across lifetimes,” Ygharis said, her tone soft yet unyielding. “This time, I wish to change something.”

Kaelan’s mortal heart thudded in his chest, a sound he hadn’t heard in an eternity. “Change?” he echoed, his voice edged with disbelief. “How, Mother Goddess?”

Ygharis’s eyes, ancient and wise, fixed on him. “She will keep one memory of her choosing. Perhaps it will shatter the cycle. Perhaps it will only make the next parting harder to bear.”

Her words washed over him. One memory? He had told Elara everything the night before, as he always did—her past, their bond, their countless partings. He said that he’d spent many nights with her. What would she choose?

Ygharis lifted the vessel to her ear, listening as though Elara’s soul whispered directly to her. Kaelan strained to hear, but the words were not for him. The goddess’s expression softened, an almost imperceptible sadness flickering across her face.

“She has chosen,” Ygharis said, lowering the vessel, her tone reverent. “Elara will carry the warmth of your ember, the sound of your voice, and the knowledge that she was cared for between life and death.”

Kaelan’s hands trembled as he accepted the vessel back, its glow now imbued with Elara’s choices. His breath hitched when he saw her soul—small, fragile, yet luminous—gazing back at him through the glass.

“I will find you again,” her voice whispered, faint yet certain, wrapping around him like a lifeline.

Kaelan’s chest tightened, an unfamiliar ache spreading through him. For the first time in all his lifetimes, he allowed himself to feel it: hope. Hope was a dangerous beautiful thing. something he could not fully wrap himself around.

Ygharis lingered a moment longer, her gaze steady. “She will not remember you,” she said gently, “but she will carry the feeling of you. May it be enough.”

With those words, she vanished, her blossoms dissolving into the air. The warmth Ygharis had given him dissipated, his mortal flesh unraveling until only bone remained. Still, he held the vessel close, its faint glow nestled against his ember.

Kaelan uncorked the glass bottle, releasing the small, delicate flame that was Elara’s soul. It flickered upward, curling toward him, a warmth he had come to cherish more than he dared admit. He moved toward the altar, each step measured, each breath steady.

Leaning over her new body, he pressed his lips to hers in the Kiss of Life. For a fleeting moment, her soul lingered against him—a touch, a promise, a silent goodbye. Then, as always, she slipped away, her essence merging with her new vessel.

Kaelan straightened, his hollow gaze fixed on her peaceful face. He could only hope her whispered promise would hold. That this time, something—anything—might break the cycle.

He felt the ache in his soul as she began to fade. Slowly, like petals on the wind, she was vanishing before him. Kaelen had witnessed this so many times before, but this time, it was both hope and pain entwined. Deeply, he felt the sorrow of losing her once more.

And as he turned to leave, he carried with him the fragile weight of her words, etched into the core of his being. I will find you again.

---

For more information on Gods and Goddesses mentioned

Nelous

Ygharis