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As it was, it is. Teachings of the Ancients have been in Ashtanon born anew. Into his crystal I am drawn. My shadow harks unto his beckon. This I continue to detest. Yet his conjure sends me at his whim. I need not stay, but am powerless to resist the command. He was schooled too well in shadow art. Then again, his lessons were at the hand of an Ancient.
From Vasatti he learned secrets not often shared with those of substance: Meridian’s invocation was strong and pure when unto his cobalt orb he first bound me. Disbelief was mine at the audacity of one so obviously just given sight. Then I had felt her hovering near. Vasatti.
Vasatti is the oldest remaining of the Ancients. Her age of rule was abruptly ceased by mine own inadvertent hand. Her demise dawned, in the end, by the rending of her shadowgates by one too careless of sanctions to stand guard. Though it had been my intent to expand the rule of her night, such a violent reclaiming of the land by light was not at all foreseen. In an effort to grant her more, I had cost her all.
When the Gates of Variance were thrown wide, shadow swallowed light without malicious intent. When light returned, it was with an abruptness that flew her shadow people to sectors as if a comet had crashed dead center her universe and dissolved the shadow too instantly for continuity to be maintained. Only flitters of darkness remained.
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