The raven circled the citadel tower, cutting close to its smooth, curved surface, before alighting on top of the flagstaff. It paid no mind to the city colors (blue and white, of course—fidelity and purity) below its perch, rustling in the faint, chilly breeze. It seemed to be more interested in the golden, afternoon sun sinking slowly towards the mountains, where it would soon be obscured in thick, roiling black storm clouds.
The Lady—for, after all, the Lady and the raven were one and the same—had seen such ominous clouds gather on this very horizon over two thousand years before.
Subsequently, no sunlight had graced the face of the bluff or the city upon it for over a decade. But that is another story, which may (or may not) be told at another time.
Neither the citadel tower nor the citadel castle had existed in those long ago days. There had indeed been a city here, and a castle to look over it, but it was not the Waelyngar of the present day. No white limestone in that dark era, to start. And the castle had flown pennants of blood-red and black.
It hadn’t been called Waelyngar either, for that matter. No—in those days, its name was Moribinu, in the Lady Raven’s honor. They had worshipped her in that epoch, had sacrificed to her the sweet blood of their young people, had become great under her watch. Yesss, she had made the people of Moribinu into the greatest ever to walk the earth.
Of course, in a way, the city was still named for her. In Magramish, “Waelyngar” meant “City of the Weeping Cliff.” And it was Moriba, the Lady Raven, Beinnh Waelyngar that had made it weep.
But none of that was of any concern to the Lady in this particular instant. Only the message implied by the portentous bank of clouds could worry her now. The Six must soon unite, or else the world would surely experience a fate much worse than a decade of darkness. Much worse than even a sunless eternity.
Yesss, the Parasite had emerged once more. This time it would have to be eliminated once and for all.