Author's Note: This here fic has been floating around in my mind for about two years now, and it's finally come to fruition! Yay! Just a note, I use a lot of Welsh names in here, so with the appearance of each new name, I will include a pronunciation guide in my Author's Note. So, here's the guide to our first few names.

Afallen: Av-helen.

Bannog: "Ban" as in to ban someone from something; "nog" is pronounced with a long 'o'.

Brenine: Bren-ein

Curn: Kyu-ern

Also, I would like to give many, many special thanks to Finem for beta-ing this chapter for me!! She was so, so helpful and I adore her.

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The Adytum

Chapter One: “The Boy Who Will Be King”

---

The quiet countryside of Afallen was bathed in twilight, dyed crimson and gold and trimmed with indigo shadows. Silence stretched around him for miles as Riku rose slowly from the light of a blazing fire, which cast its warmth on a small encampment nestled in the snow-covered hills. He walked carefully across its center clearing, pale, bare feet sinking into the soft, frozen blanket. His lips and skin were stained blue with cold, but his mind did not process the hazardous state his body was in. Long ago it had cast away earthly thought, and was now concentrated only on the canvas tent pitched on the outskirts of the camp.

No one followed him. His fellow travelers remained seated by the fire, watching silently and waiting for Riku’s shadow to slip into the tent. Once he was gone, they would whisper, murmur guesses at what he would reveal to them upon his return.

Whatever part of him had managed to remain within his own body trembled with the effort of carrying himself, as trance set heavily in his limbs.

A boy runs.

The image fled as quickly as it had appeared, a barely discernable flash of flesh and movement across his conscious. Awareness cut through his trance in an equally swift attempt to warn him. The Sending had begun. If he did not reach the tent quickly, he would collapse here in the snow and freeze before he woke.

He is pursued.

He lifted a hand, groping almost blindly for the flap of canvas that served as the entrance to his temporary home. His numb fingers found it and he stumbled forward, breathing labored and knees buckling.

He hides. And he cries.

The boy’s sobs echoed all around him, and Riku could not tell whether or not it was because he was repeating them. Sprawled on the luxurious furs that carpeted his tent, unaware of the warmth and comfort they offered, he surrendered to the vision, curling into himself and falling completely still.

Scars mar his young back. Phantom wings sprout from their pearly lengths. He is not pure.

A young woman with bright eyes and long, mahogany hair claws at the back of her lover. She cries out in bliss. They lay in a ring of stones.

Her belly swells. She cries out in pain, now. She gives birth.

The boy grows. He runs. He is pursued.

Brilliant blue eyes are rimmed with tears. He curses the scars that stretch across his back, and then he sleeps.

When he rises, he is crowned as king. The antlers are set on his head and he smiles.

He breathes heavily. His eyes are hooded with lust. He reaches out and touches porcelain skin.

He shatters.

Darkness.

---

When Riku woke, his limbs protested movement and his head pounded as bright light poured into the tent. He groaned and unfurled into a more dignified position as a young woman called softly to him.

“The council waits, milord,” the girl whispered. She was short and slim, her fine blonde hair pulled into two short braids, which she had decorated with pale blue feathers. A young man with the same fair hair, swept back from his face to flair in the back, and grey-blue eyes stood silently at her side.

Riku nodded slowly, sitting upright and drawing in a deep breath. As he exhaled his breath carried all lingering effects of the previous night with it, and his awareness returned in full. His head was still split with pain, but this was something he knew he could not expel with tricks and small magics. It was a reminder; a physical embodiment of his visions, which would only leave him once he had fulfilled his duty.

Slowly, he rose to his feet, swaying slightly and struggling to regain his balance. His body was still weary. The boy rushed forward to steady him.

“Vaan!” the girl cried, scandalized, reaching out to pull her companion back before he could reach Riku.

“What, Penelo?” he whispered, obviously offended by her actions.

Penelo glanced pointedly at Riku, her voice hushed but her tone urgent.

“He’s the High Priest, Vaan. It is forbidden to touch him.”

Vaan cast bewildered eyes on the silver-haired man, lips parted in a silent apology.

Riku smiled sadly and stepped forward. He hated this, the way people had treated him his whole life. He was holy; he was sacred. He’d been raised to believe this, to believe that he alone had been chosen to know the will of the gods and deliver their messages to the people. But no matter how secluded his training had been, no matter how quickly he had been plucked from his mother’s arms, he longed for more. When a hand was withdrawn from kind a gesture, when ‘milord’ was uttered respectfully, coldly, his heart was gripped by sadness.

As a child, how long had he waited at his mother’s side, praying for a kiss or an embrace he knew would not come? How many times had he longed to feel the touch of another?

But it was necessary. He must be removed from the impurities of the world, set apart from the mortals that the gods had deemed unworthy of the title of High Priest. If not, his visions would be tainted with worldly thoughts, with human reactions and biases.

And so he set his mind against the sorrow, numbed himself to the warmth of the two messenger’s bodies as he passed between them. Long ago he had learned to forget about his own desires, but when the trance left his body weakened, they sprang up to claw at his human heart.

He crossed the camp once more, his bare feet greeted by scattered patches of damp grass. The sun that now blazed happily in the sky had melted most of the snow. Riku wondered how long he had been left in the darkness between trance and awareness. He wanted to ask, but he knew the question would seem too common to the two pages that followed him. Surely Penelo thought that speaking to them was below him. Vaan probably didn’t care.

“How long has it been since we made camp?” he asked, determined to prove to the blonde girl that he was just as mortal as she was. He did not bother to turn back to face her, but knew that she had paused in her steps, confused by his question. Riku heard Vaan chide her softly before answering.

“About a week, sir,” he called, the title sounding unnatural, and a bit scornful, as it left his lips.

Riku sighed carefully, hoping the pair following him had not heard the short gust of breath. Something was different, strange, about this incident. The Sending had come too quickly; the blackout had lasted too long, and his head was throbbing with a pain much more intense than usual. Either this message was of utmost importance, or he was losing strength. It was possible that he was falling ill. He had, after all, been traveling across the snow-blanketed country of Afallen for several weeks now, clad only in the traditional black robes of the High Prophet. It was also, though probably less, possible that this vision had been meant to affect him differently, to emphasize its importance.

Which brought about the realization that he had not yet interpreted the message. He stopped suddenly, nearly causing Vaan and Penelo to bump into him, as they were busy arguing softly about some thing or other.

He remembered a boy, with bright blue eyes and mahogany hair. He had seen his mother, hadn’t he? He’d watched, as she’d lain with a man in a sacred ring of stones. And there were scars on the boy’s back, the ghosts of wings. It was clear that he was considered impure, suffered punishment for his mother’s acts.

Yet he was crowned with the horns of Bannog. This image was not open to interpretation. This boy, marked with a sin that was not his own, was to be King. But how was Riku supposed to find him? Was he supposed to search every inch of the country for this boy?

And what of the last half of the vision? The boy had broken, had shattered. Riku was sure this meant that the boy’s reign would not last long. And the look in his eyes before he’d broken…

Surely, lust would be the boy’s downfall. This was not uncommon among kings, especially not among those who were young and did not know the weight of their title. So what was so important about this message?

Was it that Afallen already had a King? He was young and healthy. He was a skilled fighter and diplomat, and the people loved him. But it was possible that he would fall in battle.

Or maybe the blue-eyed boy was supposed to overthrow their king to take his place on the throne.

Shaking his head, Riku continued his trek across the camp, thankful that the two pages had not bothered him with questions about his halt. However, if this boy was to become king was not for him to decide. All would be revealed in due time.

“What have the gods to say now?” a woman of the council asked as Riku approached them. She stood to greet him, confident and determined. Stern grey eyes, burdened with past sorrows, watched him step forward, half hidden by chin-length, flaxen hair.

“Lady Ashe,” another girl reproved softly, cautiously. A scornful glance from the first woman caused the girl to nervously bite her lip and tuck a lock of golden hair behind her ear. “He has just woken.”

“Naminé is right,” a third added, reaching over to comfort the blonde girl. She was called Kairi, and many made the mistake of thinking her Naminé’s sister. They were alike, in both looks and personality, but where Naminé was quiet and fair, Kairi was bolder and striking in porcelain skin and wine red hair.

“It takes time to sort through these messages, Ashelia,” a final voice called, thick with a strange, lisping accent. Its owner rose to her full height, and Riku was intimidated despite having known the woman for as long as he had.

It was always disarming to have Fran present. She was tall and graceful, and possessed a look that was strangely alluring. Fran was a Viera, the daughter of an ancient race tucked deep in the forests of Afallen and veiled by the mists of time.

Her svelte body was covered in short, fine, mocha fur, and clothed only by scraps of armor and light, sheer fabrics. The features of her face were sharp yet delicate, and her scarlet eyes were full of wisdom. And through her snowy hair rose two long, lapine ears.

It was clear that the Lady Ashe had not appreciated Fran’s use of her full name, but everyone present knew that the Viera was the only one who would never be reprimanded for the act.

“It is possible that the meaning was not clear,” Ashe admitted begrudgingly, “but we have waited seven days for its deliverance. It is of utmost importance that we continue to the capital as soon as we can.”

Riku nodded, though he frowned, noticing a council member’s absence. “There’s no need to wait much longer,” he said, adopting a tone that was lower and more serious than the one he used casually, “The meaning of my Sending was all too clear. Where is Lulu?”

“Lulu continued to Curn a few days ago, to let Leon and Cloud know that we were delayed.”

Again, Riku nodded. He did not hesitate to immediately reveal his vision’s content.

“I saw a boy, stained by another’s sin. He will be King.”

Kairi and Naminé remained silent, eyes wide and lips parted in shock. Fran did not seem to react to the news at all, and Ashe seethed silently before speaking in a clipped, pithy tone.

“How can this be? If he is impure, why would the gods choose him to be King? Does he wear the antlers?”

“Of course he wears the antlers, Ashe! How else would the people accept him?” Kairi cried, scandalized by the fact that the older woman would dare to question Riku’s word.

“It’s possible that the antlers were those of the Run, isn’t it? They could be an omen of hardships, and a sign that this boy will help us by participating in the Run.”

“It wasn’t the Run,” Riku cut in, anxious to still the argument. “He will be King.”

“We have a king,” Ashe pointed out, plainly not ready to give up this fight and accept that someone tarnished with another’s sin would rise to power.

“And kings fall,” Fran reminded. “They grow old and they die, and their sons will grow old and die as well. It may be that this boy will not be king for some time. If that is the case, then it is the will of the gods that we find him and guide him towards his destiny. If our king falls early, then this is still the path we must take. It is not wise to question Sendings so.”

Everyone was silent as Fran’s wisdom settled in Ashe’s mind. The fair-haired woman’s defiant expression transformed into one of reluctant acceptance and she reclaimed her seat on a long log near the fire. After a moment, Kairi ventured to speak.

“It wasn’t his sin, Ashe. Riku did say it was someone else’s sin that marked him.”

“Surely it was a grievous sin then!” Ashe snapped. Kairi looked ashamed, and disappointed by the reverse effect of her statement. “So grievous that the gods saw fit for him to share the burden!”

Fran’s sunset eyes narrowed into raging slits and her voice was frozen and sharp and condescending as she reprimanded her companion.

“Surely, Lady, you do not hold the commoners’ belief in shared sin? We who are educated in the Secrets of the Mist know this is merely a fairy tale to comfort the suffering. In truth, your sin is yours alone to bear.”

Again, Ashe succumbed to Fran’s words, trusting the knowledge the strange woman held. Even the least educated of the Viera knew more of the Secrets than any man would ever learn. She also knew better than to share these dark mysteries with him.

Naminé ended her prolonged silence then, lips pursed thoughtfully.

“You didn’t tell us whose sin it was, Riku. If it were his mother’s, perhaps his marking is her punishment. Nothing is more unendurable to a mother than witnessing the suffering of her child.”

Riku was a bit surprised by the blonde’s insight. It wasn’t often that she became involved in discussions so similar to arguments.

“It was his mother’s, yes,” he replied.

“Does it matter?” the lapine sighed, exasperated. “Were it his own it would not matter either. The Gods chose him for a reason. Even as we speak, the Mist swells with anticipation. This boy will change the world.”

The profundity of Fran’s statement seemed to silence even the birds and the wind in the trees. This, then, was why Riku’s vision had assaulted him so quickly, why the cracking pain in his brow had yet to fade. He knew suddenly that it would not do so until he had found this boy.

With a deep breath, eyes closed and mind cleared, Riku could sense what Fran had spoken of. Part of him knew the boy in question had felt it his whole life. The Mist was waiting for him. It had been since the beginning of time.

And now, the hour was upon them, and the Mist hummed with excitement, audible to those who knew what to listen for. Fran’s sharp ears must have heard it, probably as discernable whispers. She’d trained him to hear the Voices long ago, but as the innocence of his childhood was lost, so were the many words of the Mist. He would have given anything to hear them speak again.

The Viera turned to him, a hidden smile playing on her lips. Leaning forward, she whispered a word he did not understand, and blew gently on the spot between his eyes, just above the bridge of his nose.

Instantly, Riku’s mind was flooded with the thrilled chatter of the Mist.

He is coming!

It has begun!

He is coming!

Sora is coming!

It is time!

The beginning…the Balancing…

He will be king again.

The others regarded Riku with wonder as he slowly opened his eyes. Only he and Fran had heard the Voices; to the other three, the Mist was forever silent. The Viera’s strange gesture and, now, Riku’s delighted expression had no meaning for them. And so they watched, awed, as he thanked her.

She nodded. “The Voices will guide you through this, Riku. Remember to listen to them.”

Riku shivered at the tone of her voice. He knew the secret meaning of her words. There were some Whispers that human ears could not hear. Fran had heard them, and she had felt it necessary to warn him. She would not tell him what they spoke of; it was forbidden to repeat what the Mist has said. But she could warn him.

“Leon and Cloud have been waiting for us; Lulu too,” Kairi whispered, clearly afraid of breaking the ominous silence, though not as scared by the notion as the silence itself. “We should start traveling again as soon as possible.”

Nodding, Riku turned to walk away, heading back towards his tent. “Start breaking down camp. We’ll leave as soon as everything’s packed up,” he called over his shoulder, not bothering to check the council’s reaction to the impolite nature of his command. He knew that Fran remained as she was, Ashe was fuming silently, and Kairi and Naminé were both wondering what they had done or said that had caused him to order them around as if they were pages. In truth there was no reason for his harsh, authoritative words, other than the pounding of his head.

His tent would not be taken down until everything else had been packed into the large traveling cart, and his horse had been fed and groomed. Ashe often insisted that he act in the tradition of his title and travel only in a litter, but he refused to force a handful of young priests to carry him across the country.

With the time he had until their journey would be resumed, Riku attempted to force himself into a trance-like state; an effort to fight the sudden turn of stomach that now accompanied his headache and left him feeling weak and nauseous. He’d been able to ward off the nausea in the presence of his council, and his reactions to the headache drew no suspicions from them; it was not uncommon for him to appear weakened and even a little sick after a Sending. Now that he was alone, however, the effort to conceal his other, more unusual symptoms was not worth it.

As he drifted into unconsciousness, a silent murmur floated across his mind. He lost the meaning in sleep, but managed to retain the sound of his name and the hazy, hooded eyes of the boy chosen to be king.

---

On the anniversary of Aerith’s death, Curn held a day of remembrance. The city and all its inhabitants were draped in black, and the streets fell completely silent. It was a mourning worthy of a queen, or goddess. Aerith was neither, though as a Prosopopeia, she had at times acted as both. And as Bannog’s Prosopopeia – second in command, so to speak, only to Riku himself – she had earned the love and devotion of Afallen as no other had or, Riku believed, could.

True, the people now respected and admired Leon greatly, but there was no love for him. He was a grave man, probably better suited for the role than Aerith had been, but this elicited none of the adoration Afallen had showered on the late priestess.

Nine years had passed since her death. Riku remembered the woman only very vaguely. As expected, the country had moved on. Days other than this one, appointed as her Remembrance, were now without thought of her sweet smile and soft yet commanding voice.

Cloud had moved on as well. He still held on to her memory, still had that sad gleam in his eyes. Yet, as expected, he had found solace in Leon’s arms, and so his life was no longer without happiness.

No matter what their genders, the case was rare in which Bannog and Brenine’s Prosopopeia were not lovers. As representatives of the Father and Great Mother, it was nearly impossible to avoid.

Some part of Riku believed Leon and Cloud would have found each other even without the influence of their titles.

Riku himself would someday succumb to his role as Prosopopeia, an avatar of the Gods. There were dozens of priests and priestesses trained for this duty, and one was always placed in the position of High Priest. He waited only for the name of the God he would represent. And then, surely, he would wait for an early grave. More often than not, the Prosopopeia were set with dangerous challenges, from which survival was rare.

Riku felt nothing at the thought. He’d been raised knowing he would likely not live to be thirty. The idea was completely natural to him.

But Aerith had been so young, barely eighteen. For several years after she’d passed, Riku had been terrified of a death that would come even more quickly than he’d been prepared for.

And now Cloud, and Leon, two of the few people he’d ever considered friends, were likely nearing the end of their term. Soon, they too would be assigned a Remembrance.

A deep, though clearly female voice cut through his thoughts as a tall, busty woman in a long, dark dress entered the room.

“Cloud and Leon are waiting to hear about your vision,” Lulu murmured in her husky voice, casting questioning eyes his way. “They figure that since it kept you so long, it is important.”

“Why can’t one of the Council explain it?” Riku groaned, weary from his headache and the stress of traveling.

“It is not their news to tell.”

“Fran knows more than I do. She’s heard it all. I’ve only seen pieces.”

“You know it is forbidden for her to repeat what she’s heard from the Mist.”

Again, Riku groaned and rose to exit the room. With an almost fond, half smile, Lulu fell into place behind him.

“You are still a child, Riku,” she chuckled.

Riku smiled as well, memories of his training suddenly vivid again. Fran and Lulu had been appointed as his teachers, the comparatively ancient Viera’s wisdom almost matched by that of the then young Lulu’s.

Riku harbored a fondness for the two women that he was required to hide at most times. The commoners believed him to be something far above earthly attachments, and their frail belief in his messages relied on this perception.

He hated having to pretend he saw them only as members of his council, but he found comfort in the belief that they saw his appreciation anyway. Surely Lulu, with her sharp intuition, and Fran, with her ability to hear things unsaid, both knew what he could never let them see.

The conference room in which he met with Cloud and Leon was small, built of white marble and decorated in deep green velvets and silks. The two men sat on large, throne-like chairs, Cloud lounging across his, which had been pushed closer to Leon’s so that his head nearly rested on the brunette’s shoulder. The blonde always displayed his affection for the other man in such ways, nearly undetectable to those who did not already know.

“Was this vision of yours really so important that you had to rest at camp for seven days?” Leon nearly scowled as Riku took a seat in a similarly fashioned chair placed directly across from the others.

The silver-haired prophet nodded. “I was unconscious for the entirety of those seven days, Leon. Traveling was not a possibility,” he said, a small glare thrown towards the older man.

“So…”

“My vision was about the new King.”

“Larsa?” Cloud asked, straightening his posture to take part in the vital conversation.

“No, I don’t know the boy’s name. But he’s been chosen as our next King.”

“So Larsa will fall early?”

“Not necessarily. Fran has made it very clear that he will not take Larsa’s place for some time,” Riku murmured thoughtfully, trying to gather the now fuzzy details of what he had seen.

“She’s told you what the Mist said to her?” Leon asked skeptically.

“Not directly. She just hinted at it.”

“And we’re supposed to do what about this?”

Riku disliked when Leon spoke to him this way. He often sounded like Riku’s messages were trivial, that he didn’t need to consult the older man on such matters. It was possibly the one thing about him that Riku did not admire. He wrote it off as a side effect of Leon’s detached nature, something he didn’t realize was sometimes so hurtful, and continued with what he now knew would be a short conference.

“My council and I are going to search for the boy and train him for his position.”

“Larsa had no such training.”

“Larsa was not King in the old ways. This boy will be crowned with the antlers. The training is necessary for him.”

Cloud spoke once more, his thoughts obviously distant.

“Then it’s possible he won’t replace Larsa at all, but will coexist with him as a separate, spiritual King?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Leon snapped. “Find him and train him and in time the meaning of your vision will become clear.”

Riku nodded once more and left the room quickly. It was obvious from Leon’s harsh tones and Cloud’s remote nature that this day was more trying on them than he’d expected it to be. Clearly, Cloud was lost in thoughts of Aerith, and this bothered Leon, though he would never admit it.

Sighing, Riku leaned against the smooth, cool, marble wall of the hallway he had entered. He hadn’t expected things to be so terse during his conference with Leon and Cloud, and now that their short advice had been given, he was left to devise his own way of finding this boy. He could take it up with his council, yes, but this would almost certainly lead to yet another argument. Ashe would never accept that the gods had chosen a king who was not of the bloodline, let alone who had been stained with sin.

After a moment, Riku decided to take a walk through the city, which was still silent with mourning. He had no idea where to start his search for this boy, and perhaps some fresh air would help him gather his thoughts. It might just help with his crushing headache too. The others, Ashe specifically, would not approve of his walking through the city without protection of some sort, but on a day of Remembrance such as this, the streets would be empty. There was no threat to be found today, and no one in all of Afallen was foolish enough to face the punishment necessary for harming the most respected and sacred person in the country. Besides, the council members were no doubt resting after their long, rushed journey. They would be none the wiser.

As Riku left the central building, his headache flared briefly, and he groaned, lifting a hand to press against his forehead, his cold fingers a welcome counter to this sudden fever. It passed quickly, much to his surprise, and within a moment he was well enough to straighten and continue with his walk.

The soft, not-so-distant sound of footsteps rose from a nearby alley, warning him that the streets were not as empty as he’d expected them to be. Riku headed slowly towards the darkened mouth of the narrow street, rising to his full height and attempting to ignore his unrelenting headache, if only to appear a bit more intimidating. Part of him mused that he was putting on such a show for nothing more than a stray cat, prowling the alley for mice or garbage. The other half remained still and silent, knowing the steps were too heavy to be feline.

As he rounded the corner, Riku halted mere millimeters away from whatever creature had attracted his attention. The heat of the stranger’s body collided with Riku’s own as if the prophet had walked into a wall, though it was only this heat, and not the stranger itself that had brushed against Riku. His skin prickled and shivered at the pleasant sensation, and as he looked up, his head swam with the unfamiliarity of something this close to contact.

His gaze was met with a pair of brilliant blue eyes identical to those he’d seen in his vision. His headache instantly receded, replaced by a single word, which left his lips unbidden.

“Sora?”

As the boy’s eyes narrowed, his head tilting upwards to regard Riku with a puzzled expression, the prophet swore he could see antlers once more, reaching regally out from the boy’s mess of cinnamon hair.

Sora remained silent and still, his confusion visibly increasing as both of the boys heard the Mist whisper a single phrase.

He will be king again.