Dygra
"Dear, sweet boy," Dygra whispers, her voice reverberating within and without. "You have come here to my shrine. You have already done what is required." His being there is the only prerequisite needed, and even as the sweetness of her voice fades, the vibration will remain in his bones, beneath his feet. "Come."
She means it metaphorically and literally, for even as heat and darkness flood through Isar, something reaches for him through the obsidian, bejewelled, coiling limbs, grasping and drawing him deep into the very Climb itself. It will hurt, because transformations are not always painless - the eruption of horns from his skull, the fire searing his blood - but it will not last long.
And when he comes to, alone, in a bejewelled cavern soaked with bloody gemstones, he will find himself part of a family like no other.
Dygra has fulfilled Isar's request to become an Ancient!
She means it metaphorically and literally, for even as heat and darkness flood through Isar, something reaches for him through the obsidian, bejewelled, coiling limbs, grasping and drawing him deep into the very Climb itself. It will hurt, because transformations are not always painless - the eruption of horns from his skull, the fire searing his blood - but it will not last long.
And when he comes to, alone, in a bejewelled cavern soaked with bloody gemstones, he will find himself part of a family like no other.
Dygra has fulfilled Isar's request to become an Ancient!
