She appears from a swirl of shadow – as is her way.  She is quiet while Straia speaks, but in all fairness feels more alive than she has in years. Because plans set in motion so, so long ago are finally coming to fruition.  A chain of events that sparked when she stepped into Pangea all those years ago has lead them to today, and finally the spark has ignited into a roaring flame.  The very prospect of something akin to the Chamber existing in this new Beqanna breathes life into her in a way that nothing in this place had yet been able to.  It was an exhilarating, dangerous prospect.

She has Ghaul to thank for that.

“Ghaul told me once – as a child – that he would devour empires,” she says, as Straia finishes.  Many of Ghaul’s followers were as young and passionate as he was – or his blood ran in their veins.  But even though they were young – they were bold and unafraid. Something that was becoming rare in this new Beqanna.  It seemed that comfort bred complacency, but she saw none of that here.

“He lived up to that promise. He was not afraid of growth. He was not afraid of change.  He has given us the opportunity to build something greater – something that combines the Beqanna of today with the Beqanna of the past – one ripe with power and potential.”  She echoes Straia’s sentiment – aware that some will not understand until they see.  But many will – the ones who trusted in their vision – in Ghaul’s vision.

“For that, I am grateful to him – as we all should be. The Pangea of old and the new Chamber we build will remember him.”  She turns then, for the time for words is over.

She calls forth the shrouded body from the shadows – still wrapped delicately in darkness. She steps away from the group, closer to the edge of the canyon. 

The shrouded body seeps beneath the smooth stone at the canyon’s edge as if it had become one with the shadows.  But the shadows pool on the surface, concentrated in the area where he body was laid to rest for a moment before spreading out around the edge of the cliff, some seeping over the edge.  They etched a pattern in the stone – one of a dragon– the scales clearly visible in the stone.  And if you looked close, you’d see that where there should have been eyes, there were only horns.  The edge of the canyon was reformed from rough stone to smooth stone scales.  Where the dragon’s jaws opened a flame roared to life – a flame that would never go out.

Slowly the shadows receded into her body – leaving her tribute carved forever into the stone where Ghaul’s body would not be disturbed.

She comes, of course - drifting like a ghost herself towards the call. Although Beyza does not know Straia, does not understand the crusade to replace this Beqanna with one from the past, it appears to be something that Anaxarete is interested in and that is enough for the white girl. She listens, but has nothing to add - no ideas at this time.

Her attention is mostly on the absence of Ghaul, the commanding presence he bore as King. She watches Anaxarete move his shadow-shrouded body into the canyon wall and form a tribute - her heart constricting slightly though her features show no sign of her grief. It is not an emotion she wears well and it is all too easy to package away. But she’s thankful to Ghaul for his lessons, for his inspiration, and for finally, in an act of fire, making Pangea feel like her home.

Beyza cannot offer much, but she adds something small to the etching - veins of gemstones and gold in the carving grow and glitter where Ghaul’s celestial marking had shone bright against his scales, as if bleeding from where his eyes should have been, and glittering in the light of the flame.

There is a quick glance to Anaxarete - Beyza will never be too old to seek her approval - before she stands quietly  - her unblinking gaze drifting over the crowd and wondering who else will remain.