Key to the Conclave
The slight woman-child lay in the chamber, staring sightlessly up into the domed ceiling. It pulsated with colour, reflecting the flutter of her thoughts, fleeting, uneasy. The raised platform she lay on was in the centre of the room, minimally-cushioned, its only decoration a set of engraved characters running in a circular pattern around her. Sometimes, when she didn't quite feel like withdrawing into the rhythms of her mind, she would command the dome to show the violet skies of Mara, and just watch.
The room was hers and hers alone. She had inherited her father's ability to manage the Conclave, but his primary power was of movement, not of rhythm. She had been allowed to dance with him in his chamber on rare occasions, though of course he had been doing all the work and she just at play.
But now he danced no more, the strain of it far more than his bedridden body could take. The end was near, and she never wanted to lose him. She did not think she would ever dance again.
Certainly not today, when her thoughts were in such turmoil. She had taken over care of the Conclave, but when the ceremony was over, she realised that she had absolutely no idea what she was doing. The bustle, the presence of so many bodies she had to take charge of, the imminent loss of her beloved father, was all so different from the calm, connected theory of her usual reality.
Excusing herself politely, she had withdrawn into her chamber, connected with it, and now paced her mind, trying to initiate the startup sequence to no avail. 'There is a key,' she muttered, every syllable timed to each footfall, four steps, then turn around, repeat. Her steps faltered ever so often, throwing the rhythm off, just like when she had first started playing with her powers, a mere child.
With a growl of frustration, she exited the trance and blinked her eyes. The uneven spread of colours on the ceiling disgusted her. The residual fluttering pulses were a sign of how deeply she had failed the session. Raising one hand to massage her temple, she schooled her emotions and began rubbing her other hand against the platform in a one-two, one-two motion, wondering what she was doing wrong.
And freezing when she realised the rough surface she was rubbing on (one-two, one-two) was the border of delicate, intricate characters surrounding her.
She sat up and read the inscription for the hundredth time, remembering how it had made no sense the ninety-nine other times she had seen it.
"Explore, in silent rhythm, the curse of..."
Her mother had thought the phrase odd and morbid, but her father had given her a strange look and said it necessary. And now, she understood the burden she had been given this day.
In her mind, she began pacing once more, her steps now smooth and sure. '..responsibility,' she whispered to the ceiling, the Conclave, all the people in it she would now be caring for. Acknowledging the burden, not flinching from it. And she was greeted by a cool voice, joyous in its proclamation.
"Welcome, Caretaker of the Conclave. The systems are yours to command."
With the fifth step, she turned and stepped through a ring of light.
A/N: Written for @2dteleidoscope's prompt. (explore in silent rhythm the curse) Set in the 2R2M world (rhythm, rhyme, movement, melody), a depiction of Aria's first proper melding with the Conclave. Arilda does have a profile, but it's a bit unwieldy so I won't link to that. XD It's on the 2R2M forums if anyone is interested, though.