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He had tried to grab the chalice, but it was fastened tight. Others were trying to get it, to speak the chalice's purpous. but he thought he knew.

"crown" it was what was reflected in the mirror after all. If that didn't work, he would need to figure out what to do next.

Truce...
Searching? What did they mean?

Seeking... peace? To end the war between the kingdoms?
She had so many questions she wanted to ask. So many things to say, but the figures vanished, and the gate turned to a dull grey, unresponsive.

She let out a sigh, moving away from the gate to inspect the wall etchings.
7 kings... 7 crowns...
No... was there not an 8th? The silver kingdom...

Suddenly remembering, she reached into her pouch and pulled out the junk card from the "trash king."

"Does this... have anything to do with the silver king?" she whispered, as if expecting the wall to respond back.

[sploosh]

The Sun hit the water, narrowly missing those around her. Amazed at her luck, she swam to the surface and began to tread water, taking in the sight of the underground lake and its myriad mysteries. Something tickled at the back of her brain, but refused to remain pinned down long enough for her to realize it.

Noting the commotion around something at the bottom of the lake, the Sun dove, and joined the crowd around the chalice. She was able to push in close enough to read the faded word on the chalice. How old must it be to have been worn to such a state? And then there were the words below it. The others were venturing guesses, and the Sun started at the mention of the Voice. That sounded... close.

Speak my role.

King.

"The True King." Sun spoke, saying the first thing that came to her mind.

Quote:

Name: The Sun
Kingdom: Shadow (Black)
Rank: Knight
HP: 21/50
Miasma points: 9

Description: The Sun is a petite Shadow in ornate armor, which glimmers from the golden light she seems to give off. Her head is mostly covered in a hood, save for the face, which is half-covered by a mask with the sun carved into its surface like a singular eye. The mouth beneath the mask is rarely seen without a smile.

What happened to the gate was unexpected, Arynek was shocked for a bit. As for the wall left behind, it spoke of a story, about the origin of the seven king: Red, Green, Black, White, Blue, Gold and Violet.

Where's the silver? She asked. The Prefect Balance was being destroyed. There should be eight in total.

She knew it must be something to do with their kingdom, it may link to why silver was the first one to fall........

Perhaps investigating the gate had been a poor choice. It held power, this gate, carved intricately in silven-light and bathed in something far more ancient than she. She stood before it, drawn up and tall in dapper shades of red and black, Balthazar a cut swath of black and navy behind her. And oh, had she heard the tales, and oh, she had never learned.

And when you gaze long into an abyss the abyss also gazes into you.

There was a figure there, hidden, sleeping where she lay in a bed of white on white on white, so dissonant to what The Fool knew (grey & void & shade)-- and the figure before The Fool was both familiar and unfamiliar at once-- and.

Something from beyond the veil clutched at the shade's wrist, and yet another-- This was getting crowded. While The Fool tilted her head, a voice spoke, loud and clear and sonorous and sudden. While no one else could hear it, the shade most certainly did.

"Hello," she replied, dazed and annoyed, feeling robbed because this stranger knew her name. The Fool was more covetous than even the greediest of merchants, more secretive than her King's most excellent spies, and ruthless to those she revealed her name to.

And this stranger knew her and her accomplice alike.

From the gate sprang forth two figures, gossamer soft and nearly identical. (Much like the girl in red, perhaps, for they shared the same hair, the same tattoos, the same-- no, it was a stranger, that's all she was--) Studiously, The Fool committed their words to memory, carving them into the fabric of her mind, each word engraved.

A truce? The Fool had the sinking feeling that they were discussing something far larger than a simple shade, and that her metaphorical nose was somewhere it did not belong. When they faded, she stood by the gate, swaying. Sinking her fingers into Balthazar's fur, The Fool felt vaguely as though she was going to be ill.

hp// 30
miasma// 6

There were only ... seven.

Alarmed by the lack of presence of the one of the crowns, she traced her fingers over the glyphs, attempting to understand what they might have been saying. Serafina hadn't a clue, really, besides for the fact that they were pulsating and seemed to be related to The One True King, of which they did not currently have, of which Harrison would be the one.

In the Family, of course.

"There's only seven here." She announced, mostly to herself, attempting to study the wall for some kind of discrepancy. Had she missed something? Well, perhaps she should think on the kingdoms. Of all of the kingdoms, there had only ever been one that could blend in so well, in the end, effectively merging into the others. All of the people from Silver were adaptable. They could change. They could mesh into other kingdoms as if they had never been part of the original kingdom at all. They were, really, the only kingdom that could change who they were so freely.

Chameleons, almost.

Serafina rapped her hand against the wall, attempting to see if any part of it was hollow.

"Was there ever an Eighth Kingdom at all?"

She couldn't help but to ask, as much as she knew those of the former Silver Kingdom would hate her for asking such a question--she did, after all, just imply that an entire kingdom didn't ever exist. Of course it had, it was obvious. Perhaps, though, it would be more obvious what she meant as she traced the different colors, going from one to the next again and again, attempting to find where the lost color might have been sitting.

Sinclair could just start to make out numbers within the crown when he heard voices. The sounds were softer, more surreal than the low humming chatter of the other people investigating the cave. Two figures rose from the shimmering gate, so faint that they might have been a trick of the light...

The ghostly whispers mention a truce...

Then they were shooting apart, and the gate was left barren in their wake.

Somehow, he felt there wasn't much else to be found there. Many people had turned their attention to a jeweled chalice, and he heard snatches of words, titles, phrases that didn't seem to make much sense from a distance...

Sinclair squinted at it through his glasses and still-clinging drops of moisture. There were so many people crowded around it, he could barely perceive it, only seeing it through the lake's...

"Reflection..."