between the shadows and the soul - birthing, any

[Straia]

i am the violence in the pouring rain

i am a hurricane

There has always been some part of her that wishes her family had turned out differently. She has always wondered what it would have been like to be loved by Rodrik the same way he loved Oksana and Lu. Maybe they both would have gotten what they wanted, if they’d only ever seen eye to eye. But they never really had, and never would. And it doesn’t do her any good to dwell on the past, to mourn all the things she’s given for the Chamber.

Maybe no one else realized how much she has given. Maybe no one else saw things the way she did. But she’s given everything for this kingdom. As Atrox had warned her so many years ago, when she was just a girl, and he told her the story of his heart. She has always known the Chamber would demand so much of her, and she has always given it willingly.

That had meant Rodrik and Lucrezia. That had meant putting her family second. But look how the Chamber thrived. Was it worth the cost? Of course.

But Straia loves her children fiercely. That much she makes sure they know. She doesn’t coddle, isn’t overly protective. She’ll always let her children figure out the world on their own. She’ll always let them forge their own path, be in the Chamber or the Amazons or hell, even the Gates. It is their life, after all. But when they fall and they cannot get up, she will be there. When something threatens them, she will give her life in exchange. Erebor had always known this, and Straia will be certain Weaver knows it as well.

Though she will never trust Rodrik. Not even with his grandchildren. But of course, she knows much of what he has done, and suspects even more. But in the end, even that decision is Weaver’s. She will never forbid the girl from seeing him, though she may discourage it. Though she hopes her daughter will have time to spend with Kavi. He has been the only light in Straia’s family. And his gray hair and tired eyes are not lost on her. But for once, she does not like the idea of death. His death is one she does not want to face, for the world will be far worse without him in it.

Not that Straia’s ever listened to him. If she doesn’t lead the war, someone else would. So it might as well be her, because she was far from fool hearty. She didn’t want to kill, she wanted to instill fear. They were very different things, and didn’t require a bloodbath to summon a vicious god. Didn’t require the murder of so many innocents. One or two, perhaps. Someone always died, after all. But she wasn’t slaughtering in order to simply have a party of it. She was giving Beqanna what they wanted. Nothing more. Everyone could deny it, but they were all bored. They were looking for a reason to fight, to wake up, and so, she will provide exactly what they ask for.

Weaver grins as the stars appear on her coat, those amber eyes (so much like her grandfather’s) turning around in fascination. I suspect she would keep them, if she could. But eventually, it will be scars that mar her coat. Even if she chooses a life of peace, the scars always come.

Weaver comes back to Straia after her rounds, and it’s Kavi’s next words that draw Straia’s gaze away from the child. He’s not so bad, you know. “Ah, but he always was to me,” she says softly, and terribly honestly. She remembers, briefly, the day her mother died. Remembers scuttling up to his side, scared and alone and mostly just sad. Looking for comfort from him. And he had given it, but there’s something about her memory that’s tainted there. Some gleam in his eye that makes her believe it was all for show, all for her mother’s sister’s and not at all for Straia. And maybe her memory has just morphed over the years. It’s entirely possible, she knows. But in truth, she doesn’t believe her father ever cared for her at all.

And she wants to ask how they ended up here. How so much has ruined them, has pulled them apart piece by piece. But she already knows the answer. Rodrik served himself, and Straia served the Chamber. And in the end, they tore each other apart for the things they cared most about. And they had never cared most about one either, even though they should have. So instead, she doesn’t say anything more. It was going to be Weaver’s world soon anyway. Another generation in Beqanna was on the rise. They’d inherit the ashes of what their parents left behind.

And Straia would lead the destruction.

straia

the raven queen of the chamber