“I pledge my life and loyalty to Ploutonion, and to Saturn. Grant me your protection, so that I may grant you mine.”
Ploutonion had not intended to go to Saturn when he had first powered up that night.
Hell, he hadn’t even intended to power up at all - his first experience with being a Knight had not exactly been pleasant. He had intended to avoid it further, but something inside him had felt pulled, and well, powering up was as easy as taking a breath and reaching for that pomegranate, and then he was a Page of Saturn and not Rhys Banner, somewhat eternal human disaster.
He had definitely not intended to explore his heritage, or whatever it was, but in the silent night of Destiny City, perched on a rooftop and nothing odd pinging his (new, fascinating, extremely useful) internal magical radar, the oath had come to the back of his mind, and although he had never said it before, it tumbled from his lips like he had said it a thousand times.
“I pledge my life and loyalty to Ploutonion, and to Saturn. Grant me your protection, so that I may grant you mine.”
The whole world shifted around him, and in a moment, he was in the hall of a great cathedral, staring at ancient, dark gates.
And he knew this place. He knew it from his dreams, the ones that had plagued him for weeks before he had actually become Ploutonion for the first time.
This was it. These were the black gates he had dreamt of, the place where he had seen that other, older (future? it felt that way, but he had no way to prove that) him.
“My God,” he said softly, reverently.
He walked forward, slowly, taking in the entire glory of the place for the first time. It really was a Gothic cathedral - great stained glass windows, high arches, if he went outside he suspected he would see towers and spires far into the sky.
And it was all built around the Gates.
He ran gloved fingers over the strangely smooth surface. They were cold, black iron, and more, perhaps, doors than gates, but either way, there was something great and powerful behind them. And there were words across the top, in a language he could not read, but he knew what they said anyway.
“The way is shut. It was made by those who are Dead, and the Dead keep it. The way is shut.”
“The Dead Army, yes - behind the Gates, waiting for Saturn’s darkest hour. When it comes, they will ride, and whoever their enemy is had best run swiftly.”
The voice echoed in his mind more than it did in his ears - and he knew without needing more information that it was his voice, in a way. The voice of the last Ploutonion, the man his soul had belonged to before it was his.
That was an odd thought, but not uncomfortable.
The Dead Army, though, that was fascinating. That must have been what his...future...self? He? God, this was all so confusing, a tangle of timelines and messes in his head -- but it had to be what he wanted, why he wanted the Gates to open.
He sighed, and stepped away. There was too much information, and too little. All he had were a scattering of dreams and a brief whisper of a voice, from two very different times.
There was movement at the corner of his eye, and he turned, and for a brief moment he saw what had to be his past self, tucking something behind a loose brick in the wall. His skin was darker, his hair a bit shorter (perhaps a more rational length than Ploutonion’s own), but other than that, an eerie mirror image.
He slid over to the wall, testing brick by brick for the loose one, until his hand curled around one that moved. He pulled it out, and there, in the space behind the brick, was a small ring.
He wasn’t quite sure how, but he knew that this thing had to be important, or his past self wouldn’t have worked so hard to hide it.
He stretched out on one of the pews, examining the ring. It came with a symbol - two dragons, in oroborous configuration, with the symbol of Saturn in the center.
A signet ring, he realized, and he wasn’t sure if it was a memory or because of his own knowledge. Something deeply important.
He just hoped he knew how the hell to use it, if he ever had to.
