In the Absence of Light

The chamber was windowless, yet not dark.

Shadows gathered in the corners, bending toward the center of the room without ever fully crossing it. The stone beneath Aelthar’s boots was smooth, polished by design, etched with sigils that drank the light instead of emanating it.

Aelthar moved through the space of his ritual with deliberate calm.

He prepared the central altar piece by piece: a basin of blackened silver, a vial of an ink-like substance so dark it swallowed the torchlight, a shard of obsidian and a length of cord braided from silk and pristine dark hair. Aelthar held the cord for a moment as he took in the serene smell of the hair. 

“She has never liked order,” Aelthar said softly, as if answering a question no one had asked. “People often mistake that for a form of cruelty or evil.”

He dipped his fingers into the ink and drew a thin line across the basin’s rim.

“I spent most of my life believing in law. In consequence. I hunted oathbreakers, slavers, murderers, anyone who believed strength excused them from answer.” A faint exhale escaped him. “I brought them in alive whenever I could. I wanted judgment to find them, not vengeance.”

He reached for the shard of obsidian, its surface etched with layered runes, and turned it slowly in his palm.

“Then I learned how truly versatile and free the Weave really was. How the Weave could be bent in ways that wasn’t possible before Mystra’s death. That it could be used this way without being broken.” His voice hardened. “It wasn’t corrupted like some would say. It was expanded beyond the limits that they had imposed on us.”

Aelthar placed the shard into the basin. The shadows in the room leaned closer.

“They called it desecration,” he continued. “The solars. Said I had violated something sacred by touching what Mystra would not acknowledge. By teaching others that the Shadow Weave was not blasphemy, but a tool.”

He tightened the cord around his wrist, just enough to draw blood. that then dropped into the basin.

“They accused me of heresy. Of poisoning minds. Of stealing divine authority.” A humorless smile. “Not one of them asked for my side of the story. Not one of them cared about me or the ones I had helped.”

The sigils beneath his feet began to draw in the remaining light in the room. As the final light disappeared the sigils disappeared with them. The space where they had been now left with an absence, as if something had been removed from the world.

“They did not come with questions or to bring me to a trial,” Aelthar said. “They came with certainty.”

He straightened, eyes distant now.

“There would be no trial. There was no warning. They named my use of the Shadow Weave a crime against magic itself, and condemned me for teaching others to survive without their blessing.” His voice dropped. “Then they buried me in their divine radiance and absolute silence for over a decade.”

A pause.

“She was the only thing that had answered,” he added quietly. “She had pulled the strings to have me released and give me my revenge all in one move.“

The shadows deepened, thickened, coiling like silk in water.

“When I returned, I understood the truth. Justice that cannot question itself is tyranny. Magic that demands worship is not sacred, it is controlled.”

Aelthar stepped forward, tracing the final rune with his bare hand, and the hidden chamber opened.

Divine light exploded outwards from the planetar restrained inside the chamber, fighting against the shadows, held in place by intersecting sigils and chains of force. Massive wings struggled against their bindings, each feather etched with glowing script. 

Aelthar met its burning gaze without flinching.

“You were a servant of a tyrannical and cruel system,” Aelthar said, almost gently. “Judgement without reason, without compassion. That’s what Tyr has made of his supposed justice.”

He stood at the edge of the circle, obsidian blade idle in his hand, not yet raised.

“I wonder,” he continued, “did they tell you what crime I had committed before they sent their oppressors? Or did they just say guilty and let your certainty do the rest?”

The light bound at the far wall shifted. Wings flexed against unseen pressure.

“You twisted magic in a dangerous and uncontrollable way,” the planetar said, voice tight but resolute. “You fed the other mortals a lie of power and control and called it enlightenment.”

Aelthar nodded once, as if conceding a point.

“I taught them that magic does not belong to the gods,” he replied. “That it can exist without your permission.” His gaze hardened. “That terrified your masters.” 

He stepped closer to the sigil-ring, crouching, examining the stone like a craftsman inspecting flawed work.

“They said I desecrated the Weave. That by touching the shadow beneath it, I threatened all magic.” A quiet, bitter breath. “This I find amusing. For I see now, I only ever threatened your authority.”

The planetar’s chains flared brighter.

“You align yourself with Shar,” it warned. “She consumes. She leaves nothing standing, not even her champions.”

Aelthar smiled faintly.

“She never promised anything to the contrary,” he said. “She only promised to show me the truth.”

He reached out and placed his palm against the stone, feeling the Shadow Weave stir beneath the surface, patient and eager.

“Tyr imprisoned me for a decade because I broke their imaginary rules on the way of the world,” he went on. “Azuth condemned me because I shared that power, to make others achieve something beyond the limits you had given us.” His eyes lifted to meet the planetar’s blazing gaze. “You were complicit in this tyranny. Even if you didn’t know it.”

Silence stretched.

“You don’t have to do this,” the planetar said at last, quieter now. “Inside you still know what justice truly is.”

Aelthar straightened.

“I do,” he said “Justice would be your preemptive punishments leading to the Shadow Weave’s potential truly being realized. In my hands, in the hands of my followers. Those that defy the gods. And we are finding more. Ones your gods have already learned to fear.” 

He raised the obsidian blade.

“This isn’t a punishment,” he continued calmly, stepping into the circle. “It’s preparation. I need to know that even divinity can be made obedient.”

The planetar struggled, light surging, but the shadows thickened, crawling up its bindings like oil.

Aelthar pressed the blade to its radiant flesh, and the shadows seeped into the open wound.

The stone drank the first drop of celestial blood.

And the carving began.