Engin's question—"what of her specific abilities?"—hung in the air, heavier than the woodsmoke curling towards the Feast Hall's high rafters. The physical form, the personality, the idea of the avatar felt tangible now, a presence sketched in their shared imagination: assertive, strong, ambitious, marked by dragon horns and slitted eyes, clad in a nature-themed cheongsam and hefting a kanabō.

But the power she would wield… that remained nebulous.

Would she inherit the same gentle, nurturing bond with the land that Ebonheim possessed, or would her connection to the divine manifest differently, perhaps even reflecting the arcane power latent in her draconic essence?

"Abilities," Th'maine mused, leaning forward, his eyes alight with the fervor of a scholar presented with a truly novel specimen. "Given the draconic infusion… an innate resistance to certain magics, perhaps? Or an affinity for raw elemental forces? Kelzryn commanded storms, did he not ? Lightning? Or perhaps a breath weapon, however minor?"

Serrandyl scoffed, slapping her gauntleted palm on the table again, making the nearby tankards rattle precariously.

"Breath weapon? Bah! Forget fancy magic tricks. She needs pure power! Something to make her weapon hit like a falling mountain! Maybe she can channel her essence into it and make it explode on impact? Or stomp the ground and shatter stone?" Her ruby eyes gleamed. "Can we give her a roar that frightens enemies? Thorsten does that sometimes. It's quite effective."

Thorsten grunted, a mixture of pride and embarrassment coloring his neck above his tunic. "It's not just roaring, lass. It's… projecting intent. But aye, something visceral. Strength. Raw strength."

"A more focused application might be prudent," Evelyne interjected smoothly, pushing her spectacles higher on her nose. "Perhaps enhanced resilience? The draconic essence could grant natural armour, tougher hide, faster regeneration than your own baseline, Ebonheim? Or consider her interaction with Magitech—would her draconic nature interfere, or perhaps even interface differently than pure divine essence?"

"She should still be tied to the earth," Hilda murmured, her gaze calm and steady. "Though her path diverges from yours, Ebonheim, her roots must remain intertwined with the valley. Perhaps abilities drawn from stone? Endurance? A connection to the deep places?"

Roderick swirled his drink again, thoughtful. "Durability is good. Intimidation, certainly. But don't underestimate the power of surprise. Mobility. Can she move swiftly? Unexpectedly? A sudden charge, appearing where least expected… that can shatter a defensive line or secure a vital objective before the enemy can react." He tapped the table. "Speed and shock."

Ebonheim listened, absorbing their suggestions.

They were all projecting, as Hilda had noted, seeing reflections of their own strengths or perceived needs.

Serrandyl and Thorsten saw a weapon. Evelyne saw a complex mechanism. Th'maine saw an arcane key. Roderick saw a strategic piece on a worldly gameboard. Hilda saw a root, needing connection.

"She needs to be tough," Ebonheim affirmed, nodding towards Evelyne and Hilda. "Resilient. Harder to damage than I am, perhaps. The draconic essence should grant that." She looked towards Thorsten and Serrandyl. "And yes, strength. The ability to channel essence into her strikes, making her melee attacks devastating." She considered Roderick's point. "Mobility too, but different from my Arboreal Stride. Something… faster, more direct. A rapid dash? A ground-skimming movement?"

The specifics remained hazy, abilities the Akashic System would likely offer once the avatar's core parameters were set. But the intent was clear: resilience, overwhelming melee power, and swift, decisive movement. Less nature-weaving, more physical force.

A divine shield-breaker, a spear point thrusting out from the valley's heart.

"So," Engin summarized, scratching another note onto his parchment. "A strong, resilient, direct combatant with draconic aspects. Personality… assertive, ambitious, capricious. Appearance, familiar yet draconic. Abilities focused on resilient melee power and swift movement."

He looked up, his expression mirroring the weariness Ebonheim remembered from twelve years prior, when they'd spent hours naming the village and the goddess herself. "Which brings us to the final, often most contentious, point. What do we call her?"

A collective groan seemed to echo Engin's weariness. Naming things by committee was never simple.

"Something strong!" Thorsten boomed immediately. "Like… Astrid! Or Skuld! A name that speaks of battle!"

"Too common," Bjorn grunted from beside him. "Needs more… weight. Jarnsaxa? No, too harsh…"

Serrandyl wrinkled her nose. "Sounds like old women yelling at clouds. Boring! Needs fire! Like… Scorch! Or Fury! Maybe Ripclaw?"

Ebonheim shuddered visibly. "Absolutely not, Serrandyl."

"How about something reflecting her dual nature?" Evelyne suggested, tapping her quill against her chin. "Axis? Indicating her role as a pivot point. Or perhaps Kaelen? A subtle blend…"

"Too subtle!" Roderick countered, swirling his glass. "Needs impact! Memorability! Something that commands attention when spoken. Drakona! Or Imperia! Something that sounds like power!"

Th'maine sighed, the sound like dry leaves skittering across stone. "Must we resort to such… bombast? Consider something evocative of her essence. Umbrael, perhaps, linking her to Ebonheim's shadow? Or Litha, for stone, reflecting resilience?"

Hilda smiled gently. "Or perhaps something simpler, reflecting her origin as a branch from the main tree? Ramia? Or Sylvana, echoing the forest?"

"Ramia?" Serrandyl made a face. "Sounds like a sick sheep."

"Drakona sounds like a poorly brewed ale," Thorsten shot back at Roderick.

"And Umbrael sounds like something you'd name a particularly gloomy pet rock, Th'maine," Evelyne added with cool precision.

They descended into a familiar pattern of suggestions and dismissals, each name proposed immediately shot down by someone else for being too plain, too complex, too aggressive, too gentle, too reminiscent of someone's unpleasant aunt, or simply sounding like a bad type of cheese.

The fire crackled merrily, casting wild shadows that danced like the increasingly outlandish name suggestions. Ebonheim felt a headache begin to bloom behind her eyes. This was getting them nowhere, much like the first time.

"Shard?" Ebonheim offered quietly after a particularly ridiculous suggestion from Serrandyl involving naming her after a type of Aslankoyash battle cry.

"Too… impersonal," Engin decided after a moment. "She's a fragment, yes, but still a being."

"Korvax?" Th'maine suggested, clearly reaching now.

"Sounds like an insect monster," Evelyne stated flatly.

"Valerax?" Thorsten tried again.

"Trying too hard," Bjorn grunted.

Roderick stroked his beard. "How about something classical? Bellona? Minerva?"

"Too… southern," Thorsten objected. "Sounds like spices I wouldn't eat."

"Cygnus?" Th'maine offered, gazing wistfully at the rafters.

"That's a constellation, Th'maine," Evelyne sighed. "And technically, a swan."

"A majestic swan!" Th'maine retorted defensively.

"We're creating a dragon-horned warrior who wields a giant club," Serrandyl reminded him dryly. "Not a ballerina."

Ebonheim rubbed her temples. The suggestions veered from the mundane to the absurdly dramatic. They needed something that captured the blend they'd discussed—the draconic fire and the divine essence, the strength and the unexpected grace of her cheongsam attire, the connection to Ebonheim and Kelzryn, the ambition and the instinct.

She thought back to Evelyne's earlier suggestion—Kaelen. It was close, elegant, but perhaps too soft. Then she considered the harsher, more draconic names—Drakara, Kaeldra. Too aggressive, too divorced from her own essence.

Her mind drifted, playing with sounds, blending fragments. Kelzryn… Ebonheim… Elle… Ryu… A faint echo of a sound Evelyne might have almost suggested earlier surfaced again.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

"Ryelle," Ebonheim said suddenly, the name tasting strange but somehow fitting on her tongue.

The bickering stopped. All eyes turned to her.

"Ryelle?" Engin repeated slowly, testing the sound.

"It sounds…" Evelyne paused, considering. "Elegant, yet with an underlying strength. 'Ryu' for dragon, 'elle' for the divine or feminine aspect? It has potential."

"Ryelle," Thorsten rumbled, stroking his beard. "Doesn't sound like hitting things, but… it has a certain… sharpness to it. I can live with it."

Serrandyl shrugged. "It's better than Scorch, I guess. Ryelle. Yeah, okay. Sounds like someone who wouldn't back down."

Roderick nodded slowly. "Memorable. Unique enough. Carries a touch of mystery. Yes, commercially viable, one might say."

Th'maine grunted noncommittally, which Ebonheim took as grudging acceptance. Hilda smiled. "Ryelle. It feels balanced. Like the calm before the storm she might represent. I approve."

"Then Ryelle it is," Engin declared, making a final note on his parchment, a sense of relief palpable in his voice. "Personality, ambitious and direct. Appearance, familiar yet draconic. Attire, a nature-themed cheongsam. Weapon, a kanabō. Abilities focused on resilient melee power and swift movement." He looked up at Ebonheim, his expression sobering. "The cost remains steep, Ebonheim. It's a significant portion of our collective faith."

Ebonheim met his gaze steadily, the playful banter of the session falling away, replaced by the quiet weight of her decision. She felt the potential drain on her power, the tangible representation of her people's devotion that would be expended. But she also felt the necessity, the cold strategic logic, and the nascent spark of this new being, this Ryelle, waiting to be given form.

"I know, Engin," she said softly, her voice clear in the now-quiet hall. "And I accept the cost. She's not a whim or an experiment. She's a… need. I sense it. Ebonheim will remain, but Ryelle will be my hand in the world, my shard beyond our borders."

Bjorn lifted his tankard, nodding solemnly. "Then I'll toast to her," he said, his deep voice rolling like distant thunder. "To Ryelle, shieldmaiden of Ebonheim. May her club fall as swiftly as her judgment."

Serrandyl whooped, hoisting her own cup. "Yeah! And may her enemies think twice, and then twice again!"

Roderick chuckled, his glass raised. "Indeed. Let her tread boldly where others dare not."

"To Ryelle," the other voices chimed in, tankards, glasses, and flasks all rising in unison. "May her path lead her where she is needed, and back again."

Engin's lips quirked into a half-smile as he joined the collective salute, raising his own glass to the flickering firelight. "To Ryelle," he echoed, the resignation in his tone giving way to a glimmer of approval. "May her light shine as brightly as her horns."

The last echo of the toast faded, leaving a silence in the Feast Hall that felt different from before. It wasn't empty; it was charged, brimming with the focused intent of the goddess and the nervous anticipation of her council. The fire crackled, spitting embers that momentarily flared like tiny orange eyes in the dim light, watching.

Five thousand Quintessence. Ebonheim felt the impending cost like a physical weight, a vast ocean of devotion poised to drain away, leaving an echoing hollowness. But the decision was made, the need acknowledged.

Ryelle.

The name felt less strange now, settling into place like a stone finding its bed in a river.

Ebonheim took a final, centering breath, the scent of woodsmoke, old timber, and Hilda's tea grounding her. She nodded once, a silent signal to the expectant faces around the table, then closed her eyes, turning her focus inward. She reached for the shimmering reservoir of faith, the collective energy of her people, and pulled.

It wasn't a gentle drawing, but a sudden, wrenching siphon. The Quintessence surged, not flowing but ripping away from her core, five thousand points draining in a dizzying rush that left her momentarily lightheaded, the connection to her worshippers feeling suddenly thin, attenuated.

The air in the hall crackled, thick with power.

Th'maine gasped, his arcane senses overwhelmed. Evelyne instinctively raised a hand, shielding her eyes not from light, but from the sheer density of the raw energy coalescing near the hearth. Even Thorsten shifted uneasily, his hand dropping to the axe at his belt.

The energy didn't gather into a soft mote of light as Ebonheim herself once had. This was fiercer. It compressed, folded inwards, sparks of draconic blue and forest green snapping at the edges like angry spirits.

A low, resonant hum built, vibrating through the stone floor, rattling the timbers above. It wasn't the gentle emergence of a nature spirit; it felt more like a storm gathering, a forge being lit.

Then, the form began to violently assert itself. Not a gradual coalescing, but a rapid solidification, sharp lines cutting through the swirling energy.

Olive skin snapped into existence, already taut over defined muscle. Silver hair erupted like a metallic cascade, instantly falling into thick, slightly messy waves around a face taking shape—Ebonheim's features, yes, but sharper, the jawline more pronounced, the expression already hinting at impatience.

The cheongsam wove itself into being around the form, deep forest green, tough-looking fibres catching the light. Root patterns in dark bronze thread coiled around the high collar and down the sleeves, the side slits cut high, revealing strong, toned legs settling into a solid stance on the flagstones.

Obsidian horns, sharp and wickedly curved, punched through the silver hair at the temples, looking less grown and more forcefully manifested.

And then the eyes flew open. Golden, like Ebonheim's, but the slitted pupils contracted instantly, assessing the room with unnerving speed and focus. This wasn't the wide-eyed wonder of a newborn deity. This was the sharp, predatory awareness of something fully formed, ready for action.

Ryelle—her avatar—stood solid now, a handspan taller than Ebonheim, crackling with residual energy.

She stretched, not languidly, but with a series of sharp, deliberate movements, like a warrior loosening limbs before a fight. Knuckles popped loudly in the tense silence. She rolled her neck, sending a series of snaps and cracks echoing in the Feast Hall's hush.

Then she opened her mouth, extended her tongue, and tasted the air.

"Well, that felt weird," Ryelle announced, her voice a clear, resonant alto with a definite edge, startlingly loud after the quiet concentration of the creation ritual. "Bit cramped on the way out. You sure you used enough juice, Ebonheim?"

She looked over at her progenitor, one eyebrow arched, the slitted pupil lending the expression an unnervingly critical cast.

Ebonheim blinked, taken aback by the sheer... presence of the avatar. The connection was there, a deep thrumming resonance, but Ryelle felt like a plucked bowstring compared to her own calmer frequency.

"I... used the required amount," Ebonheim managed, still processing the sight of this vibrant, assertive being who was, and yet profoundly wasn't, her.

"Required amount, huh?" Ryelle scoffed, planting her fists on her hips, mirroring Ebonheim's own occasional gesture but with far more attitude. "Felt a bit budget-conscious, if you ask me. Could use a bit more oomph." She gave her newly formed bicep a squeeze. "Decent definition, though. Guess you got that part right."

Serrandyl burst out laughing, slamming her gauntlet on the table. "Ha! I like her! Straight to the point! See, Ebonheim? That's proper attitude!"

Ryelle grinned at Serrandyl, a flash of sharp teeth. "Someone gets it. So, who's got the kanabō? I'm itching to try this body out on something solid." Her gaze flickered towards Thorsten, assessing his bulk. "You look like you could take a decent hit, big guy."

Thorsten grunted, crossing his massive arms. A flicker of something—surprise? grudging respect?—crossed his face. "She's got spirit, I'll give her that. Your weapon's being forged, avatar. Patience."

"Patience?" Ryelle rolled her eyes dramatically. "Boring. What's the point of being a divine fragment if you have to wait around? Isn't there anything nearby that needs a good clobbering? A stubborn rock? A particularly annoying orc?"

She punctuated her words by slapping her palm a few times with her fist, the sound heavy and resounding.

"Ryelle," Ebonheim interjected, trying for a tone of gentle guidance, though she felt strangely flustered. "We don't just… clobber things. There are responsibilities. Diplomacy. Understanding…"

"Yeah, yeah, the soft approach," Ryelle waved a dismissive hand, beginning to pace near the hearth again, her movements restless, energetic. "That's your department, isn't it? Sounds tedious."

She stopped and tugged at the green fabric of the cheongsam, showing a bit more of her upper thighs and… well, an unobstructed view between them.

Ebonheim blushed and quickly moved to stop Ryelle's antics. "Stop it. Show some decency!"

Ryelle smirked. "Don't be so uptight, Ebonheim. Nothing wrong with showing off what you've got, right?"

She punctuated the sentence with a casual flex of her glutes.

Ebonheim decided to change the subject.

"Well, you'll have plenty of time to study your physical attributes later." She glanced pointedly around the table at the amused and shocked looks. "We have other matters to discuss. Remember, Ryelle, your purpose is to be the arm of our people, our will made manifest beyond our borders."

"Yeah, I got that," Ryelle waved a hand dismissively. "Take the pointy end, poke the nasty bits."

She made a thrusting motion with her fist, almost hitting Ebonheim in the stomach before pulling it short and with a smile.

"Easy," Ryelle teased. "Just testing your reflexes, and mine."

She danced back a step, moving with unexpected grace, the cheongsam's fabric flaring and falling like leaves in a strong wind. "Don't worry, I've got the mission. But," her eyes gleamed, "I'll do it my way. You're the voice, the spirit. I'll be the hand, the blade. No negotiation with trolls."

"Perhaps a bit of diplomacy would not go amiss," Engin chimed in dryly, watching the interplay between goddess and avatar with a wary curiosity. "Subtlety is a useful tool, especially when dealing with the outside world."

Ryelle cocked her head, silver hair cascading over her Cheongsam's shoulder, an eyebrow arching again. "Sure, until it's not. You can't coax a wildfire, can't appease a lightning storm." She grinned again, baring her teeth in a fierce expression that was anything but gentle. "Sometimes, you've got to wield the storm."

"Why does it seem like there's another Serrandyl in the room?" Thorsten rumbled, chuckling despite himself.

Serrandyl clasped hands with Ryelle over the table. "The best kind of compliment, right?"

Ebonheim blinked, then rubbed her temples. Like… Serrandyl?

She ruminated over that thought. Honestly, Ryelle did feel a lot like Serrandyl. Stubborn, feisty.

But that was what she was made for, wasn't it? The personality aspects that Ebonheim lacked were deliberately pushed into Ryelle. Still, the feisty combination was rather...

"Headstrong," Ebonheim conceded, the label feeling both accurate and worrisome. "There's that. I do sense… quite a lot of that." Her lips quirked wryly. "Made to be aggressive and ambitious, as Engin put it. She reflects those choices rather… vividly."

"As per design," Th'maine mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "The traits you wished to externalize. Fascinating to see the result."

Byorn chuckled, raising his mug in a mock salute to Ryelle, who was now flipping him off. "She's certainly not you, Ebonheim. Different tree, same forest, though."

"I am…" Ebonheim paused, searching for the right word. Unsettled? Intrigued? A bit of both, she decided. "Surprised, if I'm honest. She seems… well, a lot."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.