MASKTOURN

Kyrie wakes in a dark, square room. The floor is dirt, but she's sitting on a woven rug. The walls are stone brick, and enclose her on every side. There’s no way in, and no way out. The room is suffocatingly warm, dark and dry. Kyrie would soon begin to feel thirst clawing at her throat. She woke lying on her stomach, only to quickly realize she's been chained by the wrists and ankles. She can't get up. She can't flee. Her wings are untouched, at least Before Kyrie, sat a small, low table, covered by a rug similar to the one they sat upon. Two oil lamps flicker at either ends of the table, their small lights the only in the room. The only other objects on the table are three small wooden bowls, all filled with an unidentifiable liquid. The first is white, opaque and creamy. The second is glassy and clear, with a slight cloudy, brownish color to it. The third is just as opaque as the first, but is a deep, muddy red in color. Across from the table is the only other person in the room. A young adult. They’re incredibly pale, with skin so light it’s almost translucent in the low light. Their straight, white hair is cut choppily over its brow and shoulders, and it wears a black-and-white tunic draped haphazardly over a shoulder. Their gaze is brilliant-gold and haunting, piercing through the barriers of Kyrie's mind. The person smiles widely, and finally speaks. Its voice is that of the flaming apparition. “Welcome to the Halcyon Citadel.” (edited)

4:33 PM

"Wh- what's going on?" Kyrie stammered, and helplessly tugged at her chains. She couldn't look away from the flame- then the person- then the flame again, then the bowls- "What are you? What's going down." "Calm down, little bird." The person said. If they squinted, she almost... reminded them of someone. "You're corvi, aren't you, Kyrie Coalfoot? A crow?" A whing sob escaped Kyrie's throat. "What does that have to do with anything?" The person tilted its head slightly to the side. "Nothing. But I think you will fit in very well here." "Here? What's 'here'?" She desperately attempted to transform, but panic loosened her grip on reflexes that had become second-nature. "The Halycon Citadel. Please calm down." Kyrie did not calm down. The room was too hot, too dry. "And- and who are you?" (edited)

"I am Naiyta Hauryan. Primal, Nascent Lifebringer." "Hhhh-" Kyrie couldn't comprehend that at the moment. She knew it meant something, but it was too difficult to actually think through. If it hadn't been so damn dry, she'd already be crying. Naiyta was quickly tiring of this. "I do not have time to deal with your... meltdown. Drink." Kyrie's attention shifted back to bowls. "Wh-" "Only one. And then you can leave this room." She could leave. Kyrie scooted towards the bowls, and, awkwardly with her chained hands. picked up the second. She was surprised by its salty, meaty taste, but not incredibly offended by it. She only took a few sips of the broth before pressing her forehead to the table, trying to not be there. Naiyta scoffed, and put his hand to the back of Kyrie's head. It ignored her desparate whine, and forced her into unconciousness.